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gracieheartspedro · 2 years ago

Text

Who We Are

pairing: fem!reader x dbf!joel miller

description: when your father falls ill, his patrol partner and best friend, joel miller finds a way to aid in his recovery. but this solution is complicated and requires you to take on a week-long hunt for supplies and resources. being stuck on the road with an older guy you've been crushing on for ages won't be so bad, right? wrong. because he's been pining after you, too. and one of you will have to give in evenutally.

word count: 17k words. this one is a LONG ONE. get a snack.

warnings: MINORS DNI! this is 18+, post!outbreak joel, age gap (reader is in her 30s, joel is in his mid 50s), i don't describe the reader all that much, consumption of alcohol, illness that requires medical intervention, blood, guns, killing of infected, forced proximity, joel is kinda pervy?, talks of loss of family members, joel lies about his past, oral (f receiving), face sitting, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, dirty talk, creampie, after care.

author's note: ... hi folks! this one is a long one, so like I said, grab a snack and get comfy! I was going to make this multiple parts but I'm eager and unhinged. to be honest, this story is better as one big one shot anyway. I had a very intense time editing so I know I probably missed some things. I may write little branch off stories if you guys enjoy it enough. anyway, enjoy! <3 lemme know what you think!

“Didn’t know you were workin’ tonight, darlin’,” Your father’s Southern drawl brings you out of your daze. You had been cleaning glasses for the last hour and a half. Surprisingly, the Tipsy Bison wasn’t busy on a Wednesday night. You had been keeping busy by cleaning and serving two visitors.

You look up, noticing your father and his patrol partner wander into the bar. They find a seat at the bar, right in front of you as you dry some whiskey glasses.

“I work every night this week, Pops,” You mutter, turning back to the liquor bottles to grab his favorite bourbon. You knew exactly what he came here for. He wanted to pester you on your shift and watch you write under his partner’s gaze. He thought your little crush was entertaining. You have made comments to your dad in the past about how you thought Joel was nice to look at and your Dad would just laugh. He would jokingly wiggle his finger at you and tell you to find someone your age.

Little do you and your father know, Joel feels similarly about you. The first moment he saw you, he thought about how if he was a young buck, he’d lock you down as soon as he could. The age held him back initially, never even entertaining your subtle glances or welcoming smiles. Then when he realized who your father was, he immediately shut down all thoughts like that in his head. You were strictly off-limits.

“Well good, keeps you busy.”

You did not enjoy the idea of working every weeknight with a bunch of drunks, but this job was a bit better than constantly shoveling horse shit. Instead, you got to mingle with the locals. Maybe find yourself a man, since you were in your early thirties and unmarried.

Joel loved coming to the Bison when you were here. It meant he got to drink a whiskey neat and watch you twirl and rush around the bar. Tonight was slower, though, so he got the privilege of speaking with you, which was rare.

You pour your Dad his bourbon, finally glancing up at his partner who’s practically ogling at you. You made a conscious effort to avoid his piercing brown eyes.

Joel Miller was a dream boat, god damn. Every time he glanced in your direction, you would freeze up and stutter out a very jumbled “hello”. He was quite guarded, never much to talk. When he did finally speak, you found yourself reeling over his deep voice.

“Whatcha want, Mr. Miller?”

His lips twinged, his eyes flicking up to yours. He loves hearing you say that, he thinks to himself. You hand off the bourbon to your Dad, waiting for a response.

“Whatever he’s having is fine, sweetheart,” He says plainly, nodding toward the half-empty bottle. Your knees could buckle at the nickname, but you keep your composure. You can’t crumble that easily.

You three slide into a conversation about their patrolling, what they found that day, and the game plan for tomorrow. You make a sly comment about how they needed to find some meaning in life other than patrol. Your dad laughs, and Joel just stares blankly at you. You instantly want to take back the comment and never speak again, ever. Instead, you just continue drying the glasses you just washed.

When your dad finished his bourbon, you noticed his expression change from relaxed to pained.

“You okay there?” You ask, grabbing his glass and placing it in the sink below the counter. He rubs his chest, letting out a deep guttural cough. Joel looks perplexed while you get closer and notice the blood splattering into your dad’s palm.

“It’s nothing, just a cough,” He manages to say, his voice hoarse. You scan his face, knowing immediately that he’s lying.

“Bullshit, you’re coughing up blood,” You reach towards some towels, tossing them on the counter in front of him, “You should probably go get checked out, Dad.”

Joel quips, “Yeah, don’t need you getting sick when we are out tomorrow. Why don’t you stop by the infirmary before you go home?”

Your Dad just shakes his head, “You two are being dramatic. It’s nothing, I promise.”

Your Dad was known for downplaying his pain and sicknesses. You remember being a little girl traveling with him across the country and every time he got hurt, he’d just suck it up. He shattered his left pinky years ago and he resolved to just chop it off. So that’s what he did. He was lucky it never got infected. But he was known just to blow off all his ailments, reminding you he’s beat all the other odds.

So instead of fighting with him, you just nod all the while, stealing a long glance at Joel. He’s finishing his drink and you can’t help but watch his neck. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and you fixate on it for a bit too long.

You’re brought out of the trance when he slams the glass down, his dark brown eyes drooping. Joel always looked tired, but you knew after the day they had, he was actually tired.

You had a couple more hours at the Bison before you had to close up, so you bid them a farewell, reminding your Dad that you’d be home before he stumbles off to bed. He never slept much, he would just read in the living room until you got home usually.

Joel waves you a farewell, thanking you quietly for the drink.

“Don’t be a stranger,” You say as he turns his back to you to head for the door. He turns a bit, giving you a slight smirk as he reaches for the door.

You spend the rest of your shift daydreaming about what it’d be like to be with a man. You spent most of your time in Jackson without giving much of the men your age a thought. More than half were taken, anyway. While you let your mind wander, you realize your imagination is placing Joel in the spot of all the made-up situations with this said man.

You lock the bar door behind you, tugging on it to ensure it’s snug in the latch. The air was shifting, the cool warm summer turning into a slightly chilly fall. You wore a long sleeve today, luckily, or else you’d be shivering on your way home. The walk home wasn’t a long one.

When you reach your front door, you realize the living room light is on. Dad’s awake.

But as you reach to turn the knob, you hear ghastly breathing from the other side. When you swing the door open, you see your Dad in his recliner, his hand over his chest. He’s dry heaving, trying to get out a cough.

“Hey, hey,” You quickly race to his side, “Are you okay? What’s happening?”

He breathes in deeply, “I just can’t seem to catch my breath. Something isn’t right.”

You have never seen him so panicked. You nod, understanding that your next step is to get him to the infirmary. He should have gone on his way home. You didn’t know if anyone would be there and you surely didn’t know if they would be able to treat his symptoms.

“Are you in pain?” You ask, grabbing under his arms to lift him out of his chair. He’s wobbly, so you keep your hand under his armpit and use your other free arm to balance him. He shakes his head.

“Just weak.”

Your heart sinks. Never in your life has your father admitted to feeling weak or sick. It was like as soon as he got home, his body just gave out. You help him into his shoes and start your trek back towards the middle of town. You wish you didn’t have to walk him so far because it felt like with every 5 feet, his lungs were giving out and sending him into a coughing fit. You probably woke the entire town trudging him through the streets. When you get to the front step of the infirmary, you knock as loud as you can. Usually, they had an overnight shift nurse helping, having them watch over whoever was dragged there during the day. Dispensing medicine if need be. You knew a couple of the nurses, most of them your age or a bit older.

When a familiar face opens the door, you feel a sense of relief.

“Hey Sidney,” You greet her, sort of pushing your Dad into the room, still keeping your hands wrapped around his center, “Something’s wrong with Pops.”

She reaches out to help you with him, “Oh no, what’s going on?”

“Can hardly breathe,” Is all he can muster out. You look at Sidney, concern spread across your face. She nods, knowingly.

Sidney was one of the nurses you trusted the most. She gave you stitches when you sliced your hand open on a glass bottle a couple of weeks ago. She was patient and gentle, always checking to see if you were doing alright as she sewed your skin together. She’s a former Firefly, probably in her 40s. She got trained by some doctors years ago so she knew a decent amount about all sorts of medical treatment.

She takes hold of the situation completely, grabbing your Dad and walking him to a free bed near the door. She gets him to lie down and she starts scrambling for some supplies to do a quick once over of him. He looks pale and for some reason, very small, in the hospital bed.

“It’s gonna be alright,” You say, poking his arm. You say it for him, but you mainly say it for yourself. He closes his eyes and nods.

“Always is, kiddo.”

The news was not ideal. After observation and some tests, Sidney decided your father probably has pneumonia. The problem was, that Jackson was low on antibiotics and they would have to decide if your Dad’s case was urgent enough to give him some.

It pissed you off, but you had to hold back your anger. This situation was out of Sidney’s control, but you knew exactly who to raise your voice to. Sadly, the city council was asleep in their beds, as it was 4 a.m. Sidney reassured you that she would ensure your father was looked after until the morning when they could discuss with everyone if it would be okay to give him some of the highly sought-after antibiotics.

But for now, you should get some rest.

Your father fussed at you while he was in and out of sleep, telling you that you needed to go home and sleep. Your body was plagued with exhaustion and your brain was hardly functioning. You would need to plead a good case, so even a couple of hours of sleep would do you good. You ask if you could occupy a bed nearby and Sidney agrees with a sympathetic smile. You curl up, trying to clear your brain of your racing thoughts.

You can’t lose your father, he’s all you have.

You need to remind the council of all your father does.

You need him to get better.

You need him.

“We only have 4 vials of antibiotics,” Maria states, trying not to look you in the eyes. She feels horrible, but she knows deep down the rest of the council will probably reject your father using any. It was going to be a tough decision like this that made most of the people in the council think they were playing God, but it was real life. Would they give your 60-something-year-old father antibiotics for pneumonia or give it to a young child suffering from an infection? They had to think ahead and supplies were scarce.

You cross your arms, waiting for the next shoe to drop. “And?”

Tommy stands up, knowing you will not like the next sentence. He practically guards Maria with his broad frame. He resembled Joel, with his dark hair and stern eyes. His were a bit softer.

“We are low on resources, hun. We need to think ahead and ensure that the pros outweigh the cons of giving him one of those vials. You understand?”

“Why was this not a thought in the summer? When it was a good time to go seek some out? I just don’t under-”

“We had that sickness going around over the summer. Lots of people getting fevers. Before we knew it, Dr. Peters realized we were low. I had intentions to get out and try to find more, and trade with some people, but we just haven’t discussed it all yet. There’s a process. It was in the works.”

Your blood is boiling and your patience running out. Each second of arguing was another second your Dad could be closer to death.

“Well, it’s a shitty fuckin’ process. Where can I go to get more, then? Is there another community we can trade with? A hospital we can scavenge? You guys can’t expect me to sit around and wait for him to get worse.”

Maria looks to Tommy, trying to wrack her brain for a response. Tommy’s lip twitches, knowing exactly what to say. He did not want you to do it, but he knew how you were. You’d do anything for your family.

“There’s a hospital in Salt Lake that I’ve heard is practically untouched. Fireflies used to reside there and do tests. They probably left behind some supplies.”

You narrow your eyes, “Salt Lake? Isn’t that a whole week away?”

You start to pace the room, trying to console yourself. You can’t just leave for that long and assume that everyone will take care of your Dad. Tommy places his hands on his hips, trying to figure out a resolution. He liked your Dad, always going to him if he needed help around the commune. Your Dad is always one to offer a helping hand and give solid advice. He didn’t want to watch him die, either.

“How about this,” Tommy huffs, “How about we give him one of our vials and you and Joel head out to Salt Lake to scavenge that hospital? If we are right in our assumptions, there’s probably a lot of resources there. And Joel’s been there before.”

“Why are you roping Joel into this?” You press, crossing your arms.

“Joel knows where to go. He can get you there in one piece.”

“Where am I going,” Joel’s presence takes you by surprise. You turn back at the front door of the infirmary, seeing Joel’s disheveled hair sticking up in every direction. He had red cheeks, probably from the jog he did to get there. As soon as he heard about your father, he booked it from the stables to his side.

Tommy shoots Joel a knowing look, “You and her are gonna go back to Salt Lake. You think they have antibiotics at that hospital you took Ellie to?”

Joel’s visceral reaction sends you. His heart practically stopped when Tommy brought up the hospital.

You start to sweat when he does, realizing you would have to travel that far with Joel Miller.

He swallows, shifting his weight to his other leg. “Probably. Why can’t ya just give him what we have?”

Maria shakes her head at his response, “We have a long winter ahead of us, Joel. We have four vials left. This saves us from a council meeting where they shoot down everything. They won’t approve it. If I reassure them that you are going to get some more, they won’t mind if we give him one.”

He huffs, scratching his chin in contemplation. You knew this would not be ideal for him, but you’re willing to do anything, even if you had to do it alone. The four of you stand in silence while Joel wracks his brain for an excuse to say no. None comes to him.

It’s not that he did not want to help you, he just does not want to relive some trauma with you by his side. He would have to swallow back all his emotions, all the while you would be posted up right next to him. He does not want you to see him falter under pressure.

“She can’t go alone, Joel,” Tommy quips, gesturing towards you. You were shaking, your body reacting before your brain even could. Your nerves were shot.

He shakes his head, “And if they don’t have the supplies?”

You didn’t even think that far.

“They will,” Tommy says, matter-of-factly, “It’s our best bet. The Fireflies disbanded, there has to be stuff left behind.”

You don’t know how Tommy knows all this, but he must have good sources to know all these things. Joel nods at him, accepting his response. He looks back at you, trying to figure out how you feel about the proposition by reading your face.

“Does that work for you?” His deep voice isn’t meant to be intimidating, but you flinch anyway at the question.

“I don’t have much of a choice. My Dad needs the medicine. If you guys think we can make it there and back in one piece, I’ll do it.”

“We will leave tomorrow morning. In the meantime,” Joel waves over Sidney, who’s still sitting by your sleeping and dazed father, “Give him one of those vials.”

Joel sacrificing his time and effort for your father was unfathomable to you. Sure, Joel was a great friend of your Dad’s, but he truly didn’t owe you two anything. It made you enamored with him even more.

As the day shifted into the evening, you sat by your Dad’s bed and waited for the antibiotics to kick in. His body needed rest, you knew that much because he slept more than he probably ever had in his lifetime.

He was sweating out a fever, so every so often you’d pat his head with a cold rag. He would mumble a quiet “thank you” and then return to snoring. As the sun sets, you welcome Sidney back for her night shift. She checked your Dad’s vitals, telling you his lungs are already sounding a bit better. You stretch and yawn, cracking every bone in your body while you do. You were stuck in the same position for so long, elbows on your knees, your chin propped up by your hands.

You had a long trip ahead of you, and you couldn’t lie, you were scared half to death. You did not want to come back and find your father dead. You were also terrified about going back outside of Jackson. You spent most of your last 20 years living in the wild and shitty QZ’s. You were always on edge out there, and then you found Jackson. Ever since then, life has been a little more hopeful. You were able to form relationships and have some simple enjoyment, after all this time.

Your Dad finally wakes up when you start stirring more. His one eye opens first which makes you crack a smile.

“Mornin’ Pops,” You joke, grabbing his warm hand, “That antibiotic should start working soon. You’ll be better in no time.”

“Yeah,” He croaks, “But I heard you’re going somewhere.”

You bite your lip, afraid to stress him out. You knew he would worry about you, he always did.

“Yeah, me and Joel are going to get more supplies. Nothing too drastic,” You lie, brushing your thumb over his scarred knuckles, “You trust Joel enough to take care of me?”

It was the first time he laughed in the last 24 hours, “Course he will. He knows how much you mean to me. If he fucks up, he will get a load of me, that’s for sure.”

His voice was reassuring to hear, especially since he’s joking with you.

“Okay, I believe you,” You mutter, “We leave tomorrow morning, so I need you to be good and get all the rest you can. I want you up and moving when I get back, you hear me?”

“Roger that, kiddo.”

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Your tone is sarcastic and Joel can tell. You did not expect to be stuck with Joel Miller alone for a week, especially outside the walls.

He clears his throat as he finishes packing up his horse.

“Mornin’,” He grumbles, patting his horse’s mane, “Let’s get you all set up. You’ll be takin’ your Dad’s horse, Ranger. He is already saddled up, just need to get your stuff on there.”

Luckily, you packed light. You brought a couple of changes of clothes, some food, some camping gear, and of course, your gun.

Joel helps you tie down your bag and ensures all the straps he just put on are tight enough for you. You just watch him, enjoying how just takes control of the situation. He had the father instinct, always making sure everything would be safe and secure for the girls he loved. Or liked. Whatever.

You thank him, grabbing onto the saddle and flinging yourself up onto the horse. Ranger was truly your favorite horse in all of Jackson. He was the best behaved and the biggest. His mane was long and black and he loved to be brushed. You spent a lot of evenings riding him for fun, just enjoying his company.

Joel gets on his horse, adjusting how he sits before he takes the reigns and guides you towards the main gates of Jackson.

“You still sure you’re ready for a run like this?”

He’s giving you a chance to back out. But this was now an obligation. If you didn’t do this, you would indebted to everyone. You would be the person to blame if someone’s loved one died. Not really, but you felt that guilt.

“Readier than I’ll ever be, Joel.”

“How is Ellie doing?”

You were burning to make conversation. You needed to rid your mind of all the anxiety surrounding your own life. Joel was too quiet, it made you feel queasy. He was too wrapped up in his thoughts. You were about 20 miles outside of Jackson, the sun was coming up through the foliage.

He inhales sharply, “She’s a teenage girl. She’s grumpy.”

You grip onto the reigns of your horse, your body swaying back and forth with the trot.

“I remember being that young and being constantly annoyed by my Dad’s nagging,” You chuckle, remembering the days of angst, “Are you annoying her, Joel?”

Joel scrunches his face at such allegations. If anything, Ellie was annoying him.

“Course I’m not! Just… want to make sure she’s doing good. Which she is. Everyone tells me ‘bout how helpful she is.”

You think back to the last interaction you had with Ellie. She had been helping out at the stables when you were in charge of feeding and cleaning the horses before you got the job at the Tipsy Bison. Ellie wanted to know everything you knew, pestering you with silly questions like what their names were and why they were named what they were.

“She’s very helpful,” You acknowledge, thinking about how enthusiastic she always was about learning, “You raised her right.”

He huffs, “Was hardly me. She’s just smart and raised herself.”

You did not quite understand the history between Joel and Ellie, but you knew Joel was not her biological father. You had no clue how they found each other or when. But you could see the love Joel had for Ellie. You remember him lighting up when he explained to you and your dad how she was the best shot amongst the recruits.

Joel will probably never indulge you in the specifics of his relationship with Ellie, simply because it’s complicated. He never felt the need to explain himself to anyone but Tommy.

“You had a hand in some of it, Joel. Give yourself a little credit.”

But Joel was never good at that. He was hard on himself, weary to accredit any of Ellie’s behavior to himself.

The rest of the ride was occupied with the sound of leaves rustling. Joel spots a fallen tree that he says would be a good eating spot. You agree, hopping down off your horse with ease. You tie his reins up on a nearby branch and start digging through your saddle bag for the apple you packed for yourself. You were sick with unease all day. With everything going on in your life, the last thing on your mind was hunger. Plus, you were alone with a man that you had to put all your trust in.

You pop a squat on the chipping bark and get out your pocket knife to start cutting the red fruit. Joel gets out a bag of jerky from his pack and finds a spot next to you. He looks over at you, perplexed at your food choice.

“Just some fruit?” Joel interrogates, instantly knowing your hunger cannot be satiated by apples. No one can be satisfied with only fruit.

Your stomach churns at your first bite, “Just not that hungry.”

That’s all the explanation he needs. You watch as he starts to munch on his bagged meat, cringing at the sound of his mouth. You try to block it out, but it’s eating away at your brain. You hated the sound of chewing, it was such a stupid pet peeve, but you couldn’t help yourself. Joel is oblivious, probably not even hearing how loud he’s being. You smack his arm out of instinct, something you did to your dad when he was being too obnoxious.

He looks down at you with furrowed brows and annoyed eyes.

“You’re eating too loud,” You say, wanting to smack yourself at how stupid it sounds out loud.

He looks away, completely flabbergasted at the reaction. “Eating too loud? Really?”

You feel embarrassed for letting your brain get the best of you. So you just cut more of your apple off and slowly crunch on it. You try your best not to hyper-fixate on your chewing. When you’re in a trance, lost in your thoughts, Joel nudges you back. He’s getting you back, now.

“Now you’re chewing too loud,” He jokes, popping another piece of his jerky in his mouth, “Should probably keep it down. So loud you may attract some infected.”

You can’t help but smile at his stupid rebuttal. You give him props for making you feel less foolish.

“Sorry,” you mumble, eating another slice intentionally loud, “Can’t help myself. They are just so crunchy.”

You hear him giggle, his smile easing your churning stomach.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll forgive you this one time.”

You knew the ride to this hospital would be long, but you didn’t realize how barren the landscape would be. You also didn’t realize how bad your ass would hurt. You and Joel finally pull off into some woods when the sun starts to set. Joel acts like he knows exactly how to navigate the woods, guiding his horse deeper and deeper. In between some large trees, you spot a lake.

“Wanna go swimming?” You question after hours of no conversation. He glances back at you with a sly smirk on his face. When you look to your right, you notice a small path. Joel clicks his tongue for his horse to follow it. You two trot through the leaves, before coming upon a small decrepted cabin.

“This is us,” He states as he halts his horse.

He had secretly always pictured taking you out here. He could not help but insert you into his small fantasies. Some nights he would imagine what it would be like to have you stick by his side forever. He always felt guilty afterward.

You look at the building in wonder, completely speechless. You assumed you would be camping on the forest floor, not in an intimate cabin by a lake. You swing your leg over and slide off your saddle. Joel starts to tie up his horse nearby and you follow suit. You continue to look at the cabin, curious as to who kept up with it. It looked well maintained, besides some cobwebs at the peak of the roof.

“Is this yours?”

He shakes his head, “No. Technically Tommy’s. He goes this way to get to another settlement about 50 miles south. He found this place on a whim and cleaned it up.”

You look around the area, seeing there’s even a fire pit right by the water. It had chairs and stones to outline the charred wood. You could not help but imagine what this place was before Tommy found it. How many fun nights were probably spent here by the original owner? If you had no one to go back to, you would just live here. But the more you think about that scenario, you think about how lonely you would probably get. Maybe if you had someone to stay with you.

You finally look back at Joel. He’s standing on the stone path with his eyes locked on you. You get self-conscious for a moment, realizing he probably noticed how entranced you were with the surroundings.

That’s exactly what he was thinking, too. How beautiful you stood in the shadows of the trees, your eyes curiously glancing around like a kid in a candy shop. You had him wrapped around your finger without even knowing it.

“You good if we stay here overnight? Get back on the road tomorrow?”

How could you ever say no to an offer like that?

You nod, swallowing back your insecurity, “Yeah, for sure.”

Joel could build a good fire. Watching him gather all the wood and place them into a perfect formation. As soon as he lights it, it builds and builds. When the warmth envelopes you, you start to finally feel at ease. Joel sits down with a stick, nudging the fire every so often.

He felt guilty. He felt like he was betraying your father, a man who was trusting him with his daughter. He should not be imagining how a little life in the woods would look like with you. He should not be picturing how beautiful you would look underneath him. He should not be having these devious thoughts about you. His eyes are trained on the flames as they build, trying to push those daydreams away.

When his sleeve lifts as he toys with the charred wood, you notice the watch on his wrist. It looks ancient, the face of it shattered. You don’t realize you’re staring at it until he snatches his hand away from your view.

“Sorry,” You retract, sitting further into the chair, “Your watch is broken.”

He places the stick next to his foot, finally out of his head for a moment, “Yeah, I’m aware.”

You were so stupid. You know not to pry further, knowing there’s probably a story and you don’t feel like you’re at a stage with Joel Miller to dive deeper. He notices how small you making yourself, and it makes him feel bad. He never wants to make you insecure.

“Your necklace,” He starts, trying to place your mind somewhere else. It was a feature on your body that he noticed ages ago, but he never tried to beg the question, so this seemed like a great time to move the subject along. “Is it a moon?”

You reach up to your throat, feeling for the necklace you never took off. It feels like he almost wants to see if you will spill your story first. He is bad at reading women, sometimes. Most of the time.

“Yeah, it was my sister’s.”

He feels stupid, instantaneously. As soon as those words fell from your lips, he put his face in his hands.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Your feelings towards what happened 20 years ago were drastically different than how you feel now. You could still feel the horror and the pain you felt, but it wasn’t so gut-wrenching anymore. It honestly doesn’t even feel like it happened to you.

You drop the crescent moon charm from your hands, “No, it’s okay. She died on outbreak day. She was a bit older than me, her name was Reagan.”

He looks up at you and just nods, taking in the information. You don’t know if it’s a gesture for you to continue to talk, but you take it as just that.

“Her and my mom were at one of her soccer games when all hell broke loose. From what I heard, she was bit by one of her teammates and when me and my Dad were packing up our things to get out of there, I grabbed some of her stuff. A necklace, a sweatshirt, and her favorite pair of sneakers. I don’t know why. But yeah, this necklace is the only thing that survived 20 years. Sweatshirt got too small, shoes got too torn up.”

You don’t even notice the tears pricking in your eyes until you blink. You don’t even remember what she looks like, her face is kind of jumbled in your memory. You remember her hair though, long and brown and super curly. Joel just listens, his eyes trained on your hands as you nervously rub them together. When you peer up at him, you see the mutual pain written on his face.

He thinks to his beautiful Sarah. His eyes fall to his broken watch. The pain is still very palpable.

“‘m glad we have somethin’ from our people. Somethin’ to remember them by, ya’ know?”

You scan his broken watch and nod timidly. “Yeah, something to remember them by.”

You stand up after eating some more food you packed, ensuring you’re somewhat nourished before you go to sleep. Joel stares at the fire, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. He knows he has to sleep, but he knows you need it more. He’s willing to give up his hours for yours.

“You want me to do first watch?” You quiz, hoping to get the answer no. Instead, he just shrugs. You cross your arms, a cool shiver going down your back as you step away from the fire.

“I’ll start first,” He mumbles, grabbing his poking stick, “There’s a bed in there all ready for you. Get some rest, we got a long day tomorrow.”

You respond with a slight wag of your head, “Okay, goodnight, Joel.”

You turn on your heels and head towards the front door of the cabin. You creak the door open. It’s pitch black so you step back onto the small porch to grab the lantern Joel lit a while ago. You slowly creep through the one-room cabin, placing the lantern on the small table by the door. It lit up most of the room so you got a great look at the wooden framed bed, waiting for you to lay upon it.

You feel a pang of guilt making Joel sit outside to guard you as you slept. You knew you needed rest. You also knew it would start getting colder and colder and that fire would die eventually.

Joel could handle himself, after all. You would just have to push your worry aside. When you curl up onto the hard mattress, you think back to the last time you were left to trust another man to look after you as you slept. It was a traumatizing night, so instead of worrying yourself, you close your eyes and remind yourself that Joel is safe. Dad trusts Joel. Joel is a good man.

Sleep eventually takes over, your soft snores rattling off the wooden walls.

After a couple of hours, the shivering takes over Joel’s body, so he creeps into the cabin. The lantern is dimmer, slowly running out of fuel. He shakes his head, smiling to himself at your disregard for resources. He walks over to the small wood-burning oven, opening the door to it as quietly as he can. You don’t even stir. You’re a deep sleeper, he would remember.

He starts a fire with the old coals, warming up the small space. Once he stands up from his squat, he hisses at the crack of his knees. He glances over at you, making sure he did not wake you. Nothing.

You were a peaceful sleeper, your mouth slightly ajar. To Joel, you were always so beautiful. Not even just your looks, but your kind and reserved nature. You always gave him a delighted smile when he looked your way. You were dedicated to always being there for your father, which would always melt his cold heart. He would always watch you with a careful eye, praying that you would somehow get older or him, younger. He hated himself for admiring you so often, especially since he respected your father so much. But you were right there.

He sat himself in the old recliner chair near the door, peaking out the window every so often. He would always find himself training his eyes back on you, watching your chest rise and fall slowly.

It takes everything in him not to curl up next to you.

The second day starts off a bit rough.

When you wake up in the early morning hours, you take notice of a sleeping Joel in the corner of the room. You spring up, loudly rattling the bed frame. It sends Joel jumping out of his skin, his eyes flying open to look at you.

You are panting like you just ran a mile.

“Jesus Christ, girl,” He barks, his tone tired but also vicious, “Thought someone had you at gunpoint.”

“You were sleeping!”

“Shit, yeah I was, wasn’t I?” His tone is more relaxed, sort of annoyed. He rubs his eyes, glancing outside. Your horses were still there and it doesn’t seem like you guys have been ransacked.

You clench your fists, “You’re lucky we didn’t get shot in our sleep or something.”

He rolls his eyes, slowly rising from the chair he took over, “That’s a little dramatic, sweetheart. We are fine.”

After that comment, you did not want to talk to Joel Miller.

You also start to question if you can trust him. He should’ve woken you up to take charge of the watch, but instead, he ignorantly fell asleep and risked your life.

When you pack up to leave, he realizes how rattled you are. He wants to apologize, but he’s too stubborn to do so. You were being dramatic. But he shouldn’t have said that. He should’ve kept that comment to himself. He was never really good at holding his tongue, always saying the first thing on his mind.

When the sun sets on the second day, Joel promises you two should be in Salt Lake the next afternoon. The whole day pretty much consisted of you two bickering about state capitals. He swears the capital of Pennsylvania is Philadelphia.

“It’s not, it’s Harrisburg,” You would say.

You also talked about times before the Infection. He mentions his daughter, Sarah, telling you about how she used to play soccer and she loved going to the Texas State Fair. It makes your heart happy to hear him light up about her, but it makes you want to cry hearing a father talk about his dead child. You can’t imagine that type of pain, and you hope you never do. He doesn’t even know why he’s suddenly baring his soul to you, but he starts to feel like his walls are falling away and he’s comfortable around you.

He tells you about how he plays the guitar, which you lock onto quickly.

“You’ll have to show me how good you are,” You smile, imagining Joel Miller strumming along to some folksy song you request. He can only imagine what type of music you would want to hear from him.

“When we get home,” He mutters, “I'll give you a performance.”

“I cannot wait.”

The conversation with you was easy. You could get anything out of him, pretty much. You were a lot like your father, but softer. He enjoyed your company a bit more. Your laugh was infectious and you were a lot easier on the eyes, of course. When you two stop for a break, he watches as you look for four-leaf clovers on the forest floor. When you find one, you pick it up and bring it over to his hunched-down frame.

“My mom used to say they were for love and luck,” You explain, “Think you need it for both.”

He knew you were joking by the way you giggle and return to your spot on the ground. He just shakes his head and sticks the clover in his jacket pocket.

He was dreading being back in Salt Lake. He doesn’t want to relive that day when Ellie was practically ripped from him. It sent him spiraling just thinking about all the outcomes that could’ve transpired that day.

He contemplates telling you for a few brief seconds.

He wouldn’t have much to lose, especially now that everything is said and done. But then fear takes over and he wonders, would you judge him for it?

He imagines how you would react. How your nose would probably scrunch up, how your disposition towards him would soon contort into horror. You would probably call him a monster. You would probably never look at him the same way, with that beautiful smile and attentive gaze.

“You okay, Joel?”

You two were positioned on the edge of some woods off a dirt road. Joel didn’t want to attract anyone with fire, so you two decided you would just camp on the ground near the highway you would end up following to get into the city.

“‘M all good,” He practically whispers, “Just tired. You mind gettin’ first watch?”

You just silently nod, watching him rise from his spot and move over to the sleeping bags you two had set up when you arrived. You watch as he awkwardly wiggles his large frame into a small sack. It makes you giggle a bit. He positions himself with his back to you, his front facing into the woods. He can’t spend his time staring at you like he would like to, he needs to sleep.

You realize he has a leaf stuck on the back of his head. You couldn’t help yourself, it was going to bother you for as long as you were awake. You stand up and slowly creep up to him.

You squat down and pluck the leaf out of his thick curls. His head snatches back at you, knitting his brows together in confusion.

Secretly deep down, you just wanted to find a reason to touch him.

“Can I help you?”

You give him a shit-eating grin, “Yeah, you just got leaves in your hair. It was going to bother me if I didn’t get it out. You’re very, very welcome.”

He rolls his eyes, “Can I sleep now?”

“Don’t know, I’m already getting bored without you glaring at me.”

You were now on a mission to annoy him, he guesses.

Without thinking, he responds with a comment that would stick with you all night.

“Yeah, you like it when I look at you, don’t ya?”

The homestretch was only about another 20 miles. You and Joel had made good time, only taking about three days to get to the hospital. After the subtle flirting with Joel the night before, you got a little more ambitious with your advances.

Before you two took off to get to your destination, you asked Joel if you could change your clothes. You had mud all over your jeans and your shirt was reeking of body odor. The natural deodorants that were handmade in Jackson only did so much.

“Yeah, make it quick,” He orders, pointing to a more private area of the camp, “There’s some bushes over there.”

“I’m not getting dressed in a bush, Joel. Just look away,” You test, already shrugging off your flannel. He notices your bold move, instantly peeling his eyes away from your direction. This can not be happening to him right now.

“What the hell,” He murmurs, his hands propped up on his hips, “You’re doin’ this on purpose.”

You feel your cheeks heat up, “Doing what on purpose?”

“Testin’ me. Me and my patience.”

You throw your shirt over your head and grab one of your spare ones from your pack, “Well, if it’s a test, you’re passing with flying colors, Miller.”

He glances back at you without even really thinking, spotting you in your bra with a shirt covering your eyes. It’s almost like when you tell a child not to press a button, and it makes them want to do it even more.

He wanted to keep looking.

“Fuck,” He says under his breath, trying to push those types of thoughts out of his mind.

You shimmy off your pants, folding them as soon as you get them off your legs. You needed a shower so bad, you felt so filthy.

“You think we could stop back at the cabin on the way home? I want to bathe.”

Thinking about you naked and taking a bath made his dick hard.

“Yes,” He manages to say, “Hurry up, please!”

You grin at his frustration, “Fine, fine. I’m almost done.”

You and Joel trot along an abandoned highway, cars littering every lane. It was nothing new to you. You have seen plenty of cities in your lifetime. Each time was a bit different, but for the most part, they were all the same. Riddled with infected and bombed to shit.

You think back to when Tommy said Joel had been here before. Your mind starts to wonder, and being that you still had a couple of hours before you got to see the actual hospital, you decide to speak up and ask.

“When was the last time you were here?”

He thinks for a second. He was waiting for these questions.

“Over a year ago.”

You shake your head, “Was there a reason?”

You had no business prying into Joel’s life, but you felt like after spending days with him, there was some kinship. Maybe even a friendship.

“Ellie’s mom was a Firefly. They had a base camp out here,” He explains, but would he go further? Would he spill all the beans?

It’s technically not his story to tell. But then again, Ellie didn’t even have the truth, so it was a story only he knew.

You wait before responding, “Did you find her?”

“Who?”

“Ellie’s mom,” You press, glancing around some cars. You are trying to act like you didn’t care, but you could tell from the moment you entered the outskirts of the city, Joel was plagued with the weight of the atmosphere. His shoulders got heavier, his eyebrows further knitted together. He was tense.

“No, she’s dead. So I brought her home,” He says, half-bending the truth. He’s lying, but not really. Ellie’s mom was dead but that was never the reason they came out here. He just wants to say it, but his chest feels like a weight is pushing down, almost cracking his ribs. He swallowed the guilt.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

You didn’t have much else to say, letting the silence eat away at the prickle of your arm hairs as they stood up. You try to relax, but now that you are in the city, it feels real. You traveled all this way for medication so Jackson would not shun you. It sounded kind of stupid, coming all this way in hopes of a stocked Firefly hospital.

You also traveled all this way with Joel Miller. You managed to speak to him without tripping over every word and poking fun at him. You watched him sleep at night, looking so peaceful in the woods surrounding him. You try to think about the last time you saw him smile. You saw him differently, now. He came all this way to help you and your dad. He is risking a lot, disregarding his duties back home, just so he can be with you and protect you.

You ponder if things will be different when you get home. Maybe he would talk to you more when he came to the Tipsy Bison. Maybe he would wave back at you when you saw him around town.

You secretly hoped being next to him for so long would change your relationship with him.

Joel starts to ride next to you, studying your face as you stare forward.

“What are you thinkin’ bout so hard over there?” He poses, watching your face twist when he speaks up.

You lick your lips, “Thinking about what it’s gonna be like when I get home.”

“What do ya’ mean?”

You halt your horse to look over at him. He does the same.

“We came all this way and I am scared when we get back, you won’t want to talk to me anymore.”

He shakes his head, a slight chuckle escaping his lips, “Kiddo, your dad’s my patrol partner. ‘Course, I’ll still talk to you. You’re always around.”

The nickname makes you cringe. You don’t want to be a kid to him.

“Right, of course.”

When you get to the edge of the city, Joel starts explaining the game plan. How you will get to the hospital, do your sweep as quick as you can, and don’t meander around. He also explains how the exit plan is to drop everything, no matter what, and return to the horses. You see someone? Run.

You want to say you know how to handle yourself, but you resist and just nod in understanding.

To your surprise, you two do not run into any hoards. You turn a corner and spot a couple of infected twitching near an old school, and you two carefully back up and go up another block to avoid them altogether. You two don’t say anything to each other as you spot the hospital in the distance. Joel just points forward, having you trot at his side.

You pull out your gun when you start to hear some clicking nearby. Joel gestures to you to be quiet and continues to the front of the hospital. You two ride your horses to the ambulance drop-off, parking them there. When you jump down, you start to grab your pack so you can fill it with whatever supplies you find. Joel does the same, throwing his leather backpack over his shoulder. You check the magazine of your gun and take off the safety.

“Okay, we stay close to each other,” He explains in a hushed tone, “Grab whatever you think we need.”

You wiggle your head in agreement. He raises his rifle as you two enter the side door. The hospital is quiet besides the wind blowing through some shattered windows. You click on your flashlight that is attached to your backpack, making sure it’s pointed forward. The main corridor leads you down to some triage rooms and nurse's stations. Joel gestures to you to check out some triage rooms. You find some bandages and some tongue presses. You grab the entire box of bandages and stuff them in your bag. When you return to the hall, Joel is stuffing some of his finds in his pack.

“No meds yet,” He grumbles. You two press forward, keeping your steps silent. You find some lab rooms off the main hallway and you two scope out each room carefully, your guns still drawn and at the ready. You find more items; some gloves, masks, and some scissors. You pick them up, stuffing them in your back.

You hear movement from behind you and quickly spin. It’s just Joel, holding a couple of vials of medication. You rush towards him, using your light to see what the vials read.

levofloxacin

amoxicillin

“Jackpot,” You murmur, “Any more?”

He grabs a baggie sitting on a table nearby, “Not that I saw.”

You continue searching, not finding much of anything in the drawers. A lot of the stuff is picked through.

You point to a central staircase, “Wanna go up?”

“Yeah, right behind you.”

Joel was reeling, spotting some areas where blood was splattered across the walls as he walked through the hospital. It was terrifying to put himself back in this exact spot. It felt like a fever dream. Now he had you with him, another person he cared too much about to admit to anybody, let alone himself. He cared about you in a whole different way than he cared about Ellie.

You trail up the stairs, finding some old labs and nurse's stations. All were picked through. You couldn’t help but notice the blood all over the floor in some areas. You try to figure out what could have transpired here, but you don’t even try to beg the question to Joel. With the look on his face, you are afraid to say much of anything.

Something bad happened here and he was a witness to it.

It made you want to hurry up and spare his feelings. Instead of taking careful and methodical steps, you run room to room searching drawers and counters for anything of value. You find some alcohol swabs, safety pins, and some wrist splints. When you get to the last room in the hallway you’re in, you hit the jackpot. It’s a cabinet with some vials.

You start to quietly read them off to Joel who’s standing on the threshold of the room.

“Grab them all,” He says, pulling his pack off his shoulder so you can put some into his, “We can find use for ‘em.”

You also find some sutures and unopened syringes. You wish you could get down on your knees and thank whatever god is up there for blessing you with everything. You don’t believe in that though, so instead you excitingly grab Joel’s arm and shake it.

“Let’s get this all home,” You smile, pressing your fingers harder into his bicep, “Maybe celebrate with something strong from the bar.”

Then you hear it.

Click. Click. Click.

Joel grabs your arm back, shoving you behind him. He slings his pack over his shoulder and you do the same. You never had many issues with killing infected, but you did not know what you were dealing with. It was dark and all too quiet for too long. Joel creeps forward, his gun drawn forward to peek out the door. When you do the same, he tucks you back behind him.

Lining the hallway is about 3 clickers. Your stomach drops as they slowly make their way to the sounds you two made seconds ago. Joel glances back at you, his face very serious and stern.

You can read the look on his face and being that you dealt with these fuckers before, you know that you need to be silent. He looks back down the hall, spotting an exit in a staircase that’s slightly blocked by one of the clickers. He waves you along as he slowly tiptoes down the hallway. You get closer and closer to the first clicker and your gun is trained right at them as you keep your distance. You can tell by the clothing that it was a woman at one time, the infection growing out of every crevice of her body.

She clicks and clicks, but does not attack you. You and Joel continue, not making a sound as you shuffle past the next one. But once you get close to the one closest to the door, something snaps and it’s like they all realize exactly all at once. One squeals and the others follow suit. Joel yells for you to run, but you don’t budge, emptying your gun into the closest one. It crumbles to the ground. With that one down, Joel grips your wrist tightly and flings you towards the door. You two rush out as Joel lights up the hallway with gunfire.

You now know that you’re attracting every infected in a mile radius so time is of the essence. You practically fall down the stairs trying to get to the bottom. Joel does not like how fast you moving, pressing you to run faster. You two sprint down the hallway as two runners come full speed at you from an opposing hallway. You try to shoot but your gun is empty. You scream for Joel to do something and he puts them down expertly. He’s spot on even with the adrenaline coursing through his veins. You find the door you came in from and quickly make your way to Ranger. He seems sort of spooked so you try to gingerly climb up him, grabbing his reigns from the pole you tied him to. Joel is quick to mount his horse. He pulls his horse back, guiding it to head back the way you guys came.

You follow suit, hearing stirring from all around you as your hair whips in the wind. You are not worrying about the noise you two are making now, galloping down the once-busy streets of Salt Lake City.

“Don’t stop til’ I say so!” Joel calls out. You can hardly hear with your heartbeat in your ears and the wind against your ear drum.

You get to the edge of the city after about 20 minutes of dodging left-behind cars and random barriers. You get to the point where the foliage takes over and the infected taper off. You don’t realize it until you start slowing down and your heart gets back to its normal pace, you’re freezing.

You yell out for Joel, who’s still going quite fast. He halts completely, letting you catch up with his step.

“We have to stop, I’m freezing.”

You weren’t wearing all your layers and you knew it would be detrimental if you didn’t stop to wrap up before you two continued your journey. Joel nods, trotting off the main part of the road into some woods.

When you get off your horse, you can feel Joel’s eyes lock onto your vibrating body.

“Jesus, girl,” He dismounts, wrapping his reigns around a nearby branch, “The wind do you that much damage?”

You can’t help but laugh as you rifle through your pack to find your extra layers. You can remember packing two thermals, but with the way you’re shaking, you can’t even grip onto the clothes to move them around to search. You don’t even realize Joel has come to your side, you only notice when he nudges your side with his three fingers. You move out of his way so he can look, but you can’t help but feel the warmth his gentle touch gives you on your hip.

He pulls out a thermal, handing it out to you.

“Just put it over your other long sleeve,” He instructs, digging for another layer for you. You take his advice and throw it over your head. When your head pops through the neck hole, you spot him smirking at you.

“If you don’t warm up soon, I may have to share my body heat so we can get back on the road,” Joel jokes, watching you pull your hair out of the back of your long sleeve. You didn’t hate the sound of that, truthfully.

“Guess I will try my best not to warm up then.”

He shakes his head, grabbing onto your other thermal, “You can’t say stuff like that to me, darling.”

“Why not?”

Joel has slipped up a couple of times already, he wasn’t planning on giving in. But the teasing was fun and light-hearted. He knew in his heart it was not going to turn into anything.

Right?

“Because I don’t think it’s a very good idea for us to talk like that to one another,” He explains, stepping back as you add the other shirt onto your already warming body, “May lead us somewhere we can’t come back from.”

You swallow, “Maybe I’d like that.”

It takes you a day and a half to get back to the cabin. Joel promised that you two could spend a whole day there if need be. You two were physically and mentally exhausted. The horses needed rest too, you could tell Ranger was beat.

When you arrive on the property, Joel makes sure to scope out a radius before you two settle in. Ever since the sly passes you made at him, he’s been more quiet. You can tell he’s deep in thought. Maybe it wasn’t about you, but he had something on his mind.

You use the fire stove to warm up some water from the lake to give yourself a quick “bath”. You just used an old rag and some bar soap to scrub your limbs, trying to get off all the caked-on dirt. Joel stayed outside by the fire, cooking up some squirrels he was able to trap. You stood in your undergarments, lathering your skin, watching him from the window as he poked at the fire.

You felt a bit better once you were clean. The growl in your stomach was dull and kind of painful. You needed to eat, so you got your dirty clothes back on and headed outside to prop yourself up next to Joel.

When you open the cabin door, his head snaps over to you.

“Howdy, cowboy,” You gleam, walking down to the stump next to him. You couldn’t help but flirt now. It was funny to watch him squirm, the glint in his eyes not hard to notice.

“You all clean?”

You nod, giving him a cheeky smile. “Yeah, now you go get yourself all cleaned up.”

He grabs his stick poker, “Don’t got any soap.”

“Use mine.”

Joel stops his motion immediately to train his eyes back on you. “You want me to smell like you?”

“Well, I smell delicious, so why not?”

He scans your body with his eyes, “Cause if we get home and your Dad smells your soap on me, he’ll put it bullet between my eyes.”

You know he’s being dramatic, finding any excuse to opt out of using the soap you just used on your body.

“So, what you’re saying is,” You clear your throat before continuing, “If my dad wasn’t your friend, you’d lather yourself with my soap?”

He contemplates for a moment, “Yeah, and other things.”

Your heart stops beating for a second. Joel can not help but smirk at your reaction. He was playing with fire, literally and figuratively. The tension between you two was so heavy, that you do not think you could even take a deep breath in.

He stands up from his spot next to you. “Why don’t ya eat, sweet thing? I have to clean myself up, I guess.”

Joel can not do this.

You were his friend’s daughter. Sure you were grown, beautiful, strong-willed, and everything he could want and more but he could not take advantage of you. The only way he felt this way right now was because tensions were so high back in Salt Lake. You two have spent a lot of time together, the hormones… what the fuck is he thinking?

You sit by the fire, your stomach doing back flips as you think about Joel in the cabin, by himself, practically half naked.

Why were you doing this to yourself?

Your heart is racing faster than it ever has. No clicker, no stranger, nothing has made you this nervous. Your hand reaches for the door handle, but before you can turn it, Joel rips open the door.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You stand there, dumbfounded. “I-I don’t know.”

He’s standing over you, his chest rising faster the more you keep your eyes trained on him. He has a green flannel on, the top couple of buttons undone. You lift your hand to touch the skin peeking through, but he stops your movements before you can make contact. You note the scent of wood burning in the cabin and it’s a lot warmer than you left it. Joel must have started the stove again.

“We can’t.”

You shake your head, “No, we can’t, can we?”

You two know better. You know better. You know better.

You are breathing in each other’s spaces. You don��t even want to look him in the eyes. His arm snakes around your midsection, pulling you forward into the cabin. At that moment, you knew that you two didn’t know any better.

It’s almost like you two silently made the decision.

“We can’t tell anyone about this, sweet girl,” He whispers, his hands still firmly on your back. You could not resist this temptation anymore. He was right in front of you, wanting you just as badly as you wanted him.

Your eyes glance up at his dark sultry gaze, “It’s our little secret.”

His hand reaches up, gracing your chin with his touch. When he dips down to meet your height, you finally get bold and extend your hand up and around his neck. Your lips connect and you feel like a million little butterflies explode in your stomach. You had never desired a kiss from anyone as much as you did with Joel.

He’s eager and impatient, though. He’s not as soft as you imagined for a man who hardly spoke. He just wants to feel you everywhere, all at once. His mouth melts into yours, his tongue exploring every inch of yours. He’s moving you around the room, stumbling over furniture and shoes as he backs you into the large wooden bed frame.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” He mumbles into your lips as soon as he lifts you up onto the mattress. It catches you by surprise, mainly because you never expected him to manhandle you in this way. He’s hungry for every inch of you. After all these months of secretly pining for him and him not giving you any positive response, you never anticipated something like this happening. Especially at a time like this.

“Joel,” You whine, pulling him down on top of you as you fall back into the flannel blankets, “I need you everywhere.”

He grins peppering kisses down your neck, “Don’t worry, I will treat you so fuckin’ good. Been wantin’ you for so long.”

It was so filthy and hot. Your dad’s patrol partner, his best friend. Keen to make you feel good? And wanting it for a while? You must be imagining his words because you can’t even comprehend the situation.

But it’s true. Joel’s secretly been watching you when you’re not looking. When you sling drinks on Friday nights, he watches you from a booth in the corner. Tommy’s caught him a couple of times, smacking him and reminding him that you were off limits. When you came to his house with extra pot pie or soup, he would watch you walk away from his house from his living room window.

This taboo yearning kept him up at night. But now, he has you alone and he needs a taste.

He pulls back to look at your face, “Are you sure you want me?”

You can’t help but giggle a bit.

“Joel, I’ve been wanting you for longer than I would like to admit,” You purse your lips as you bring your hand up to trace his collarbone, “Think about you all the time.”

It was the truth. Your mind was taken up but all his little sly comments. The way he would drop anything to help you or your dad. His beautiful brown eyes didn’t help one bit either.

“My god, girl…Gonna have me cumming in my jeans like a teenager.”

He returns to laying kisses all along your body. It started with wet kisses down your neck, only for it to trail right where your shirt begins, right below your collarbones. You push him back for a moment, taking your shirt off over your head. He watched you carefully, ensuring there was no hesitancy with your actions. He wanted to be absolutely positive that this is what you wanted.

As soon as you reach for the clasp of your bra, Joel grabs your arms away.

“Let me,” He mumbles, letting his fingers trace along the seam of the black fabric before using his right hand to undo the back. With him this close to you again, you inhale sharply, catching the scent of your soap.

“See you took up my offer,” You tease, letting your bra fall down your shoulders, “Did you get clean just for this, Miller?”

He catches a glimpse of you under the bra and his mind goes blank. You notice his change in disposition and decide it’s best to discard every other article of clothing completely. You struggle to get your jeans off, so he helps by practically ripping them off your legs. He can’t help but spot the soak undies attached to your jeans. When you are bare under him, he gawks at you for a moment.

“A beautiful woman like you,” He shakes his head, biting his lip. He unbuckles his pants before he stands and shoves them down his legs. While he’s making an effort to get as naked as you, you start unbuttoning his flannel. He watches you take your time, thumbing each button slowly. He tilts your head back up, his eyes leering at you for a moment. “And you want someone like me?”

You know he’s probably in his own head, so you feel the need to prove to him, that yes this is what I want.

You grab onto his neck and pull him back down into a passionate kiss. When you notice him give in, you use all your might to push him sideways and onto his back next to you. You mount his lap immediately, holding him down with your body weight. Your soaked slit trudges over his large hard-on while you dip your head to capture his lips. You feel his hands trail up the sides of your body, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He finds your boobs, palming them with his warm calloused hands. You were extra sensitive so as soon as his fingers find your nipples, you’re moaning into his mouth.

When your hips jet forward, his tip slides between your pussy lips. The sensation sends him into overdrive, his grip on your waist getting tighter. He’s so fucking big.

“No foreplay, you just wanna grind your pussy right onto my cock?” His question sends shockwaves through your body and you raise your hips up off his crotch. You kneel over him, anticipating to rotate your pelvis back onto him, but he has other ideas.

Because Joel has been thinking about what you taste like for too long. He can’t just fuck you. He lays back, all the while, dragging you up to his chest so your pussy is hovering over his pursed lips.

“Joel, what are you doing?”

You feel his hot breath huff onto your slick center, “I’m gonna devour this beautiful pussy, first. Need to get you warmed up.”

Without any warning, he wraps his arms around your thighs and pushes your center closer to his outstretched tongue. You gasp when he starts to run his tongue up and down your slit. You can’t help but settle around his face, your knees feeling like they may already give out.

You’ve never sat on someone’s face and watched them eat you out like a starved man. But Joel is precise with his motions, his mouth wrapping around your clit. When he starts to suck, the suction noise makes you whimper and shake. You have only ever cum by your own hand, so when the familiar heat rises in your stomach, you know instantly this is going to be the best sex you’ve ever had in your life.

Joel is a very easy man to please. He thoroughly enjoys watching women crumble above him, their orgasms surging through their bodies while his tongue is pressed into them. But with you, he wants to drudge it out of you over and over again. You’re so magnetic on top of him, your head thrown back in pleasure. Your hands rest on your shoulders as you grind down on him, your peak teetering the edge. He shimmies his hand in between your thighs and begins to use his fingers in you, just to drive you crazier. He’s fucking up into you with his pointer and middle fingers, managing to latch onto your clit while he does.

When you tumble into bliss, Joel moans into you, egging on your spasms. You lurch forward, dragging your center off his drenched lips. Your legs are limp as you try to crawl up the bed. Joel rolls over, creeping up the bed with you. You lay on your back, propping yourself up onto some of the pillows.

“Do you need a break?” He asks, his hands feeling up your bare, still kind of shaking, thighs. You shake your head “yes” and breathe out loudly. Your body is covered in a light sheen, the sweat pooling around your hairline. Joel lets you take a moment, making sure you are completely ready for him.

When you finally meet his eyes, your stomach fills with butterflies. He’s admiring you from his position, his eyes not finding yours until he’s done checking out your bare chest. You giggle, tugging on his wrists. He takes up your advances, positioning himself above you. He’s caging you in with his tanned strong arms, only allowing you to really move your upper body. You tangle your hands through his messy dark peppered curls, which makes him sigh. He secretly loved it when women felt through his hair.

“Fuck me,” He groans as he reaches down between you, grabbing ahold of his hard member. You watch as he drags it through your heat, gathering all your wetness before teasing your entrance.

“Joel, please.”

He smirks, pushing in just his tip, “Please what, baby girl? You want me to give you all of it?”

You are already overstimulated after your last orgasm and you are a bit nervous to imagine what all of it is. You nod, though, because the stretch is already so delicious.

“Please, Joel, please. I need it,” You whine, knowing how desperate you sound. It’s music to Joel’s ears.

“Shh, baby,” He eases in further, “I told you I’m gonna treat you real good. Gonna treat this pussy, so fuckin’ good.”

When he’s fully sheathed in you, your nails are digging into his shoulders. When he eases back to pull out some to ensure you can take it, you’re a moaning mess. It only eggs him on, feeling how slick you are and how tight you are around him.

“That’s right baby, take all of me,” He says as he lifts himself off you. You have nothing to grip onto now, except the sheets that line the queen-sized bed. Joel wants to watch himself slip out of you and go back into you with ease. You love the friction, but you know you need more.

You don’t know how, but it’s like he reads your mind. He starts to increase his pace, holding onto the back of your thighs as he drills into you. The curvature of his dick hits exactly where no man could ever reach.

“Oh my god, fuck Joel! Fuck!”

Your words only encourage him to go harder and faster.

“Keep screamin’ my name, baby doll.”

The sweat is dripping down his face with how much effort he’s putting into fucking you. You’re floored at how quickly your orgasm builds again, the sounds of him plowing into you alone sends you into overdrive.

As soon as you start to vibrate under him, Joel takes that as a great time to start thumbing at your clit. You feel every one of your nerve endings burning with such rapture, that you can’t even say anything. You’re just howling, no coherent words even coming out. Your vision goes white.

The scene is something out of the old pornos Joel used to watch. You’re writhing under him, the orgasm practically sending you cross-eyed. You reach up to anchor yourself down and the only thing you can find to grab is Joel’s forearm.

“Yes, Joel!”

His hips continue to snap into yours as you squeeze his cock with your gyrating hips. He’s fucking you through it, watching your face contort. Your grip on his arm hurts, but he does not care. It’s unbelievably hot to watch the girl he has adored from afar cumming around him. Over and over.

The scene is enough to have him chasing down his own high. The feeling of your cunt gripping onto him so tight, while his name is chanted from your lips, the cum practically shoots out of him before he has time to grab his shaft and pull out. He does not empty himself in you though, quickly prying himself out of your weeping hole and spilling out the rest onto your stomach.

“Shit.”

You don’t even realize what happened, not caring about really anything except for how wonderful and high you feel. Joel tumbles onto his side, half of his body resting on yours. His mouth is close to your ear so he whispers it to you, his voice shaky.

“I came inside you.”

You lick your lips, trying to regain some saliva in your mouth, “I do not care, Joel.”

He does not prefer that answer, but he accepts it for the time being. You could not feel your face at the moment, you did not have time to worry yourself over Joel cumming inside you. It was not the first time someone did that.

Joel rolls off the bed, his legs feeling wobbly with his first steps. He’s still half hard and stumbling over to the bowl of water he just used to clean off himself. He grabs a clean rag and soaks it in the soapy water. The least he could do was clean up his mess.

You watch him trudge over to you, the cum still pooled on your stomach and a bit in your belly button.

Joel places the warm towel on your lower tummy, wiping up his mess.

“Thanks,” You manage to say, your post-orgasm haze wearing off a bit. Now you’re just cold and exhausted. You shiver as soon as he removes the towel from your buzzing body. He notes it immediately and grabs the blanket that had been kicked to the floor. He lays it over you, making sure your full nude body is covered by the chilly air.

“I need to go take a leak, I’ll be right back.”

You try to stay awake. But as soon as he gets some clothes on and heads outside to relieve himself, you’re lulled to sleep by the sounds of the rustling woods that surround the cabin.

When you slowly open your eyes, you instantly notice how dry your mouth is. The itchy fabric of the blanket is tickling your bare limbs as you shift. Joel’s not beside you.

You sit up, glancing around the cabin. His stuff is still here, but he is not. You keep the scratchy blanket wrapped around you as you plant your bare feet on the wooden floor. As soon as you take your first step forward towards the front door, it slowly swings open.

Joel stands there, fully clothed, cheeks reddened from the cold outdoors.

“Mornin’,” He says with a sleepy voice, “Got up early to get the horses fed and saddled up.”

All you remember is him going to pee outside last night, right before you fell asleep. “Did you ever come to bed last night?”

“Yeah, only got a couple of hours of sleep. You took up most of the bed.”

You clear your throat, becoming hyper-aware suddenly that you are very naked under the blanket. Joel tries not to notice your natural sensuality when you wake up. Sleepy eyes, swollen lips, slightly tangled hair. Even if last night never happened, he would be completely enamored by you.

“Oh, okay,” You mutter, trying to act natural about the fact that you slept with Joel fucking Miller last night. “We all set then?”

He shuts the front door, cutting off any more cold from slipping in. You watch him slowly start to invade your space. He feels pulled towards you, the gravity overcoming every sense he has. He needs to be close to you, touching you, feeling you.

“Yeah, we are all set.”

Chills run down your spine when his cold hand reaches out and grazes your cheek. You flick your eyelashes towards him, not knowing what to say next. He dips down to your height, kissing your lips carefully. He is nervous you will back away from him, but you don’t. You lean forward into him, the weight of your entire body pressing into him.

He is the first to pull away, but you swear you could be latched onto him forever. His big brown eyes are lasered in on your eager lips, but in the back of his mind, he knows that you two need to get back home soon. He promised Tommy four days, nothing more. And you needed to get home to your Dad. Fuck. Your Dad. His fuckin’ friend.

“We have to get home,” Is all he says.

And then he’s gone. It’s like he blipped out of the room. You blink and the door slams and you are alone again.

You stumble out of the cabin with your backpack on, your eyes adjusting to the sunshine between the falling away leaves. Winter creeps in so quickly in Wyoming, you think to yourself.

Joel is already posted up on his horse, waiting for you to hurry along and join him. You pet Ranger for a moment before you hop up onto his back. He can’t help but realize how perfect you seemed in the sunlight. Your face hasn’t aged with time like his. It makes sense because you’re so much younger than him. You’ve lived a very full and traumatic life, sure, but you still had a lot more energy to live. He couldn’t picture that you’d want to spend the rest of it with an older guy with maybe 20 more years left in him if you’re lucky.

The thoughts start to eat away at him as you two make your way through the forest.

You assume he’s just tired from not getting a lot of sleep, so you just keep your lips sealed until you make it to the main trail back home.

“So, when we get home,” You break the quietness with your open-ended statement. Joel doesn’t know what you’re insinuating, so he just keeps his head forward. “What happens, then?”

He pulls back his horse's reins to position himself looking directly at you.

“What do you mean?”

You look at him suspiciously, “Do we tell people?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Joel thinks.

“Tell them what?”

He has to be messing, right? You think.

But no, he’s deadly serious.

“About us,” You remark as Ranger trots a bit closer to Joel. He shakes his head and your heart sinks. He can’t do this, not after you two slept together.

“There is no us,” He grumbles, unable to look you in the eyes anymore, “We can’t do that. You’re too young.”

If you weren’t on a horse, you would’ve already smacked him. “What the hell, Joel? What if you get in my pants and make me feel special and now we are nothing? Because I’m a little bit younger than you?”

“No, it’s not like that-”

“Well, it seems like it is like that,” You bite the inside of your cheeks, holding back every instinct to burst into tears, “Fuckin’ asshole. I should’ve known better.”

When the walls of Jackson come into your line of sight, you could cry with excitement. Your hands were shaking, not only from the cold but the nerves. You had been silent the entire ride back. Your only desire was to get home to your Dad and ignore Joel Miller for the rest of your life.

You can only hope and pray that your father is on the mend. To keep on track and not let panic take over, you’ve tried to put your mind on other things this whole trip. Most of those things you wish you’d forgotten, already.

The doors open when you two get close. When the crack is big enough to see through, you spot some familiar faces waiting for you. Tommy, Maria, and even your father. He’s standing up straight, wrapped in layers of jackets and blankets. You tap Ranger with your foot, getting him to speed up. When you reach about 30 feet away, you practically fall off him to get your arms around your father.

A sense of relief floods your body. A tidal wave of happiness and solace. He’s okay. He’s alive.

When his scent reaches your nose, it triggers your tear ducts. After years of never having to really worry about him, knowing he can handle himself, you have felt this constant state of uneasiness the last week.

“My baby is back,” He grumbles into your hair, his arms locking around you, “I knew I could trust that Joel.”

You don’t have time to feel guilt over your actions, you’re just so happy he’s upright. You also don’t want to hear his God-forsaken name from your own Dad. When you pull back to inspect his face, you note the tiredness in his eyes. He looks better, but not his normal. You grab each end of the blanket that’s slowly slipping off his shoulders and bundle him tighter.

“Let’s get you back in the warm, how ‘bout it?”

You glance back at Joel who just nods, knowingly. You remember that you still have your backpack on, so before you stroll away, you shimmy out of it. Tommy watches you carefully as you hand it off to Joel.

“Get those meds to the infirmary,” You whisper to no one in particular. Joel studies your face, waiting for you to say something else. You do not. As he grabs your pack, you feel like Maria and Tommy are gawking at you two. Like they know something was left unsaid.

You two move differently around each other. When you shift one direction, Joel follows suit.

Joel feels like every eye in Jackson is on him. Tommy’s being the most piercing, watching him like a hawk as he grabs his horse and guides him towards the stables. While you stroll away with Maria and your father, Joel and Tommy bring the horses and supplies to the stables.

As you walk, you listen to Maria explain your father’s steady recovery. She mentions how Ellie has been keeping a careful eye on him. After she heard you and Joel were going to be gone together, she asked Maria if she could help him somehow. Once your dad got well enough to walk, she got him settled in your house. She’d go over there for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, just to help. It makes your heart swell when you hear your dad say how kind and generous she was, just like you.

Joel starts to unpack your bags from your horse first when he gets the horses parked.

“Somethin’ happen out there?” Tommy presses, noticing how odd you and Joel moved in front of him, “With her?”

“No, nothin’,” He lies, placing your bags on a table near Ranger. When he lifted the first duffle bag, he got a whiff of you and it made his stomach sink. “We just had a rough spot in the hospital. Clickers and shit. Nothin’ too crazy-”

“Joel, I know when you’re lyin’ to me,” His eyes are shooting daggers now. Joel was too old to be pestered by his little brother. He groans in annoyance but Tommy does not give up, “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do nothin’, Tommy.”

“Bullshit,” He grumbles, grabbing one of your bags, “Want me to ask her?”

“You won’t get anythin’ out of her. She’s mad at me, okay? She is pissed I won’t…”

He feels humiliated, his stomach twisting into knots. He would never intentionally hurt you. He just put his foot in his mouth when he realized how much your actions would change everything for him. He could not just be someone you slept with. He could not just leave it.

“You won’t what, Joel?”

He bites his lip, not wanting to say it out loud.

“I won’t let her ruin her life for me.”

Tommy’s eyebrows furrow, not completely understanding what he’s droning on about.

“What?”

“Jesus Christ, Tommy!” Joel wasn’t anticipating a shake-down when he got home. You two really didn’t help with those looks splattered across your faces when you rolled into Jackson.

“You slept with her, didn’t you?”

Joel shakes his head, peeling his eyes away from Tommy. Joel knew nothing could get past him, so he is practically surrendering. Tommy knew then.

“You dumbass,” He whispers, getting closer to Joel, “You slept with her when her daddy is your patrol partner? After I told you to stay away?”

Joel clenches his teeth, “I don’t need this right now. I’m gettin’ these meds to the infirmary and then I’m takin’ her stuff to her.”

“Joel-”

“Just fuckin’ drop it, Tommy. I ain’t doin’ this.”

Your Dad has a nice setup, thanks to Ellie. She has transformed the downstairs guest room into a wonderful stay, with tons of pillows and bedside service. When you get inside the house, Ellie is there. She stands in the corner of the living room, timidly, as you guide your dad back to his warm bed. Maria and her wait for you to handle getting him back to his bedroom. Even though his recovery has been a steady incline, he’s very weak and exhausted all the time. It’s his body’s reaction to fighting a rough illness, but he made sure to reassure you that Sidney told him it’ll be a couple of weeks before he’s 100% back to normal.

You get him back in bed, his eyes already drooping to find slumber again. You manage to get his shoes off and help him under his covers. Once his head hits the pillow, you stand by the bed for a minute to ensure he’s actually sleeping. You slip out of the room, and the sudden rush of comfort of being home takes over your senses. To hear the crackling of the fireplace, and the smell of your homemade candles. While you enjoyed every moment spent with Joel, there’s nothing like home.

For a second there, you thought you had that same feeling being next to him in bed. But maybe you were wrong.

You walk out to where Maria and Ellie stand. They are mumbling to each other while you kick off your boots by the door.

“Hey, Ellie,” You catch her attention, her freckled face down turning with concern. You smile, trying to ease her, “Thank you for all you’ve done here. I am glad he had someone like you looking after him.”

She nods, her lips twitching, “It’s no problem at all. I know how much you two mean to Joel and I just wanted to do what I could.”

Hearing his name sinks your heart, “We owe ya one.”

Because you did. No matter what would eventually transpire between you and Joel, you owe him your father’s life. His idea saved him. With how sick he was, Joel’s quick plan was enough to bring him home. Then for Ellie to spend her days looking after him while you two were gone? You were forever indebted to them. Sadly.

“Well, we should leave you to get settled. Let us know if you need anything at all,” Maria gestures to Ellie towards the front door. Their footsteps trail around you, heading to your front door. Before Ellie can reach for the handle, there’s a knock. You nod your head, letting her know it’s okay to open it.

Joel stands there, your bags in his hands.

You honestly just left your belongings for him to deal with. Joel looks down at Ellie, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her. She’s not as impressed, initially.

“Hey kiddo,” Joel acknowledges, before spotting Maria, “Mrs. Miller.”

“We were just heading out,” Maria says, pushing the door wider so she and Ellie can slip by his large frame, “Give the girl her things and let her settle back into her life, huh?”

Joel was already annoyed at the narrowed eyes and judgemental jabs. It’s like everyone somehow knew he fucked up.

You two watch Maria and Ellie leave, their breaths forming clouds in the cold sharp air. Jackson’s weather changed overnight, you think, remembering how it was more tolerable before you left.

“Can I come in?” Joel ponders, still holding your backpack and duffle.

It was cold and while you wanted to slam the door on him, you know you can’t. You move away from the threshold, gesturing for him to come in. His footfalls are heavy and drawn out. You shut the door, waving him towards the living room so your voices don’t carry down the hallway to your father’s newly set up bedroom.

He places your bags on the couch before he stretches his shoulders in discomfort. Your stuff was not that heavy, but Joel could not help but try to draw your attention. He glances around your living room, taking in some of the artwork and photos that line the walls. Some are old photos of you and your father, in which you don’t really resemble him at all.

“Back to how things were, huh?” You remark, bitterly. You wanted to attack him with every mean thing plaguing your mind, but you don’t. You were tired from all the travels but you were also tired of the idea of fighting for someone who does not care to fight for you back. You had done that for years with pointless boys.

The whole walk to your house, Joel’s thoughts were moving a million miles a minute. He did not want you to live your life resenting him. He cared for you deeply, but he did not want you to miss out on all the wonders of life. Joel could not give you kids. He could not give you 40 more years of happiness. He would be an elderly man before you could even reach menopause. He does not want you to regret things when you’re old and gray.

“I don’t want that. You know damn well I don’t want that.”

You could scream. But you stay even, not giving in to the temptation to just rip him a new one.

“I don’t know what you want, Joel. One minute you’re kissin’ me and begging to be with me, the next you’re telling me you can’t be with me because I’m too young.”

“Baby-”

“No! Don’t you dare? You had no intention of making this a thing, yet you played into it and got exactly what you wanted. I’m just another notch for you, ain’t I?”

Your hands are clenched, waiting for his delayed response. You are embarrassed and humiliated that you were delusional enough to let Joel toy with every one of your emotions.

“You know that ain’t true, girl. I just don’t want you to live your life regretting that I was a part of it, okay? You want to spend your days with an old man who can’t give you everything you want? ’m not good for you.”

He can’t let you make this mistake.

But you’re not easing up.

“What do you think I want? Kids? A simple life? A picket fence? Joel those are things I wanted when I was living in a world that didn’t have a brain-eating infection that’d turn people into zombies,” You’re huffing and puffing, trying to understand why he thinks he can tell you what you need and want.

“I spent years of my life wishing I could get those things, but I gave up a long ass time ago. I don’t want those things nearly as much as I want you. I fuckin’ want you, okay?”

You realize you’re not being quiet and your Dad could probably hear every word falling from your lips. He can hear you desperately plead with Joel Miller to be with you.

Joel is shocked you’re laying all this out. He can’t believe his ears when you say you want him. A man like him being wanted is quite unbelievable, especially by a woman like you.

You could hear a pin drop with how silent your house is. You fold your arms, trying not to give into the nausea you feel from spilling your soul to him.

“I just…” He fidgets with his hands for a minute before those puppy eyes glance up at you, “I don’t want to ruin your life.”

You step closer to him, your face inches away from him. You train your eyes on his mouth, unsure how to respond to such blasphemy.

“I have spent so many days thinking about what it’d be like to live in a world where the Joel Miller would even glance in my direction. I imagined what it’d be like to kiss him,” You’re whispering now, making sure this revelation is for his ears only, “I imagined what it’d be like to have a man who’d treat me well and look… Exactly like you. I have dreamed of you.”

Joel would have never guessed such a statement fall from your lips.

You breathe out, relieved it’s finally off your chest.

“I just don’t want to leave ya worse than I found ya,” His softness instantly makes you crumble into his arms. He holds you tight, before pulling away to search your face. You teeter forward on your toes, pressing a firm but attentive kiss to his lips.

When you draw back, “I’m not givin’ you up, Joel.”

The tension is shattered when you hear your Dad yell your name from down the hallway. You snap out of your trance of staring at Joel’s beautiful lips and dart toward the voice.

“Yeah?”

You open the door and see him, his eyes wide open and focused on the door.

“Who you talking to out there? Is that Joel?”

Suddenly you’re hyper-aware of every word you just said, scared half to death that your Dad would get out of bed and beat some sense into you. Joel follows you down the dimly lit hallway, but you don’t even hear him, too rattled by your father’s question.

“Yes, it’s me,” Joel speaks up, coming forward to meet your Dad’s confused expression, “How you feelin’, man?”

“I’m feelin’ like I’m hearing some odd things from down the hall. You two fighting?” His voice is breaking a bit.

The silence after he asks the question is deafening. You glance over to Joel whose mouth is slightly ajar, unable to move with an answer. You bite the inside of your cheek, wishing you could disappear into the wall nearby.

Joel cannot lie to his friend. He certainly would never do it with you right beside him.

“Yeah, you uh, heard us?” He barely manages.

“Yeah, I sure as hell heard my daughter beggin’ you to take her on, is that true?”

“Dad-“

“My daughter wants to date a man that’s 10 years younger than her own father? Kind of twisted.” He snaps, shoving the blankets off his legs. “But, I am gonna be honest… I expected this.”

You can hardly breathe with the tension in the air.

“Sorry?”

Joel’s tone is dry, and he’s unable to fully form a coherent thought.

Your dad coughs before he starts, “Well, I could tell by the way you looked at her that you had a thing for her, Miller. Didn’t think you’d be dumb enough to entertain it.”

“Dad, he’s not dum-“

“And I thought you’d get over this little schoolgirl crush, but I was mistaken, I guess.”

You were used to your Dad’s sarcasm and upfront jabs. You spent a lifetime throwing them back at him, but this time you had nothing to say. You watch as he settles back from obnoxiously tearing off his blankets.

You fiddle with your fingers, trying not to show your internal anxiety-riddled monologue. He thought you’d get over your crush. He always noticed how Joel looked at you. How did he look at you? How did you never notice?

Joel is spiraling, reverting to his original conclusions. He knew this was a horrible idea. He should have never stepped over the line. He’s a horrible man. You don’t deserve someone as awful as him.

He smacks his lips, making you and Joel come back down to Earth and out of your heads.

“Whatever is happenin’ between you two, I probably will never fully understand it. But you are adults, you do whatever makes you happy,” He says with both hands up in surrender, “I am too old to bother with my daughter’s love life. She’s a big girl, I trust her. But Miller, if you hurt her-“

“I’m a dead man.”

Your father laughs which in turn makes you smile crookedly.

“Just one thing,” He points to you, “I don't want to hear or see anythin’-”

You nod, cutting him off immediately, “Deal.”

Joel catches your eye when he smiles in your peripheral vision. You look over at him, a grin plastered to your face.

You can’t believe you’re actually going to do this.

And Joel can’t believe your father somewhat agreed to let it happen. He was sure he would have a gun in his face before he could even mutter a word. But instead, your Dad is receptive to him being with you, which is all you can ask for.

“Well, get along now, I wanna get back to sleep. You two were keepin’ me up,” Your dad grumbles, readjusting his frail frame to get comfortable in bed. You just nod, pointing at the door for Joel to exit. You follow suit, closing the door behind you tightly, making sure it clicks. Joel stands in the darkness of the hallway, waiting. He is in disbelief.

You just take one of his hands and bring it to your lips, softly pressing a kiss into his knuckles.

“Let’s go get cleaned up and take a nap,” You murmur, walking him to the end of the hallway to the bottom of the stairs. He accepts the offer, trailing behind you like a lost puppy.

You were not sure where this was all going to end up. Neither of you did. But you could not wait to carve the way with him, bringing every last one of your daydreams to life.

THE END

or is it? I have started writing snippets to go along with this story- if you want more, here's the link:

No One Fucks With My Baby

#joel miller fic #joel miller #joel x reader #joel miller x fem reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #joel miller the last of us #joel miller tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel last of us smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us #post outbreak joel #dbf joel #dbf joel miller #gracieheartspedro #fic: who we are

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rafeswhre · 6 months ago

Note

orrrr rafe having to deal with a tipsy reader but lowkey being overwhelmed at the whole situation cuz she’s being so lovey dovey and clingy but they’re not dating? 😭

rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of alcohol, suggestive comments

a/n: this is my first time posting i’m so scared loll hope you like it, thanks for sending it🫶🏼 btw english isn’t my first language, let me know any mistakes.

“I don’t know, Top!” You laughed loudly while talking to Topper, who, to be honest, wasn’t actually funny. It was probably just the number of drinks you’d already had.

“Girl, you’re tipsy!” Topper laughed at you while sipping from his whiskey glass.

“I’m not.” You rolled your eyes and tried to take another shot—at least, you tried.

“You’re done.” Rafe took the shot from your hand and moved it away from you. By the way, who knows where he had come from; you hadn’t seen him since the party started.

“What do you mean I’m done? I’m just starting.” You gave the guy in front of you a funny look.

“I mean you’re done, princess. Let’s go.” Rafe took your arm and started guiding you through the crowd.

“Baby, you’re soooo boring.” You pouted at him once you arrived in the parking lot.

“Baby?” He raised his eyebrows, looking at you.

“What’s wrong? You call me princess all the damn time, I don’t say shit to ya, big boy.” You rolled your eyes.

“Watch that mouth of yours.” He leaned back against his car.

“Why are you so grumpy all the time?” You slowly got closer to him, resting your hands on his shoulders and giving them a little squeeze.

Rafe looked closely at your hands moving down his arms. “I’m not grumpy all the time.”

“I’m not grumpy all the time.” You imitated him in a funny voice and burst out laughing before giving him a kiss on the cheek. “’Course you are.” You whispered in his ear.

Rafe cleared his throat and looked everywhere but at your eyes. “Come on, let’s get you home.” He tried to escape your little grip.

“I don’t wanna go home, Ray!” You pouted again. “Let’s stay here; we could have so much fun! More fun than we’d have in your car, let me tell ya.”

“Why are you so complicated?” He rolled his eyes.

“Why are you so boring?” You teased him, poking his arms. “Although I can think of ways to have fun in your car too.” You got close to him, giving him a significant look.

“Stop saying stuff like that.” He opened his eyes wide, feeling out of place.

“Are you freaking out, Rafey?” you asked, teasing.

“Don’t call me that.” He frowned.

“Why not? That’s what all your bitches call you.”

“No! Just- just get in the car, kay?” He opened the passenger door so you could get in.

“We adore a gentleman.” You said as you climbed into the car. He closed the door and walked around the car to get into the driver’s seat.

The atmosphere filled with an overwhelming silence; Rafe hadn’t even started the car. You felt a little guilty.

While it was true that you weren’t entirely sober, you weren’t drunk either. You knew what you were doing; it was just that the bit of alcohol had given you the confidence to tell him things you wouldn’t say when fully sober.

“Rafe?” you asked nervously.

“Mmh?” He didn’t even look at you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—I know we’re friends; I didn’t mean to make you feel bad—” Suddenly, you felt like the alcohol in your body had disappeared.

“Hey, hey.” He looked at you. “It’s alright, it’s not that, kay?” He buried his head in his hands.

“So? What is it?” You tilted your head to the side, confused.

He sighed. “You know, all your attitudes and shit.” He waved his hand in the air, trying to make you understand. “You’re getting all touchy and clingy.”

“Oh—” You looked away.

“No, no, hey.” He gently took your face and made you look at him. “Look at me, baby. It’s not a bad thing; it’s alright—it’s just—you’re kinda cold all the time. I’ve never seen you this way, it freaked me out.”

“You��ve never been with a tipsy girl?” You giggled.

“Nah, yeah, I have. I said I’ve never seen you this way. It’s different.” He turned on the car.

“What do you mean? Why would it be?”

He turned on the radio.

“Are you ignoring me, Rafe?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” You frowned.

“Nah, I’m not.” He said while steering with one hand on the wheel.

You sighed and rolled your eyes.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #outer banks x reader #obx #obx x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron request #rafe cameron season 4

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mingi-s-dimples · 3 months ago

Text

Sports Car - S.MG

“You feel so perfect.. need to feel you again. Need you to ride me, baby.” ~ inspired from one of his new post on Tate's song... + his fashion appearance for Off-White. enjoy ^^

pairing: mingi x fem!reader genre: 18+ summary: you're so eager to see mingi atap that you decided to wait for him in his car... and it gets steamy. wc: 3.7k warnings: needy desperate mingi, alcohol ingestion (slightly, he's just tipsy), car sex, semi public sex, neck grabbing, making out, biting, lots of touching, he's touchy af, fingering, he's loud, foreplay, lots of cum, one denied orgasm, multiple orgasms, overstim, unprotected (boo use protection irl!!), completely consensual, for sure forgot something, might edit later. author's note: yes atap is inspired from bm's song atap ^^ (after the after party). this is gonna become a damn series, to always write sth about them after a fashion show/appearance- oops. seonghwa fic coming later today and... it's SPICY. it's steamy.. it's a niche thing happening there-

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way.

The BMW is quiet except for the low hum of the engine, parked just far enough from the venue to stay hidden. The city is still alive in the distance, but here, wrapped in shadows, it's just you and the anticipation coiling in your stomach. You’ve been waiting, fingers tracing patterns on the leather seat, the faint scent of Mingi’s cologne still lingering from earlier. You knew he would come. He always does.

And then, you see him.

Mingi moves quickly, slipping out of the after-party unnoticed, his long strides purposeful. Even in the dim glow of the streetlights, he looks unreal—the Off-White jacket slightly open, his silver chain catching the light against the deep cleavage of his barely buttoned up jacket. His eyes are heavy-lidded, his lips a little red, and you can tell—he’s been drinking. Not enough to lose control, just enough to make his touches slower, his voice lower.

The car door opens, and the second he slides into the passenger seat, the air shifts. Heat replaces the cool night air, thick and heavy. He exhales, head resting against the seat for a moment before turning to you. His gaze is dark, locked onto you with something dangerous simmering beneath the surface.

“You’ve been waiting,” he murmurs, voice deep and rough around the edges.

You tilt your head, meeting his stare. “Knew you wouldn’t last long without me.”

His tongue swipes over his lower lip, and you catch the way his fingers flex against his thigh. He lets out a low chuckle, but there’s something restless in the way he looks at you—like he’s already lost the patience to talk.

“You have no idea.”

The space between you disappears in an instant. His hand finds the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he pulls you into a kiss that’s all heat and desperation. The taste of whiskey lingers on his tongue, mixing with the groan that rumbles in his chest when you press closer. His other hand moves without hesitation, sliding up your thigh, rings cool against your burning skin.

The bass from the after-party still thrums faintly in the distance, but here, inside the car, there’s only the sound of your breaths mingling, the rustle of fabric, and the quiet, unspoken promise that you won’t be leaving this car anytime soon.

Mingi pulls back from the kiss, breath hot against your lips, his eyes clouded with something dark and heavy. For a moment, he just stares at you, chest rising and falling, before he suddenly moves—quick, impatient.

He pushes open the door and stumbles as he steps out, a quiet curse slipping from his lips as his legs struggle to keep up with his urgency. His balance wavers for a second, but he doesn’t stop. He rounds the car in long strides, fingers brushing through his already-messy hair, the dim glow of the streetlights casting shadows over the sharp angles of his face.

Then, the driver’s side door swings open.

Mingi barely gives you a second before his hand is reaching for you, fingers wrapping around your wrist as he pulls you out in one smooth, rather slow motion. The cool night air barely registers against your skin before he’s guiding you—toward the backseat, his grip firm but not rough.

The second your back hits the seat, he follows.

Mingi climbs in after you, body pressing close, his weight caging you in as he pulls the door shut behind him. His hands are everywhere—one braced against the seat beside your head, the other slipping down your waist, gripping, holding, grounding himself in you. The scent of him is overwhelming now, a mix of whiskey, expensive cologne, and something distinctly *him*.

He exhales sharply, forehead nearly pressing against yours as he hovers over you. “Been thinking about this all night,” he murmurs, voice thick, slurred at the edges, but steady.

His lips brush over yours, teasing, slow, his breath warm. His fingers tighten on your waist before sliding lower, fingertips dragging over your thigh, pushing fabric aside.

“Shouldn’t have kept me waiting,” you whisper, smirking against his mouth.

Mingi groans, low and deep, and then he’s kissing you again—harder this time, more desperate. The world outside the car fades, the city noise nothing but a distant hum. In here, there’s only him. Only the heat, the hunger, and the way his hands start to move with purpose.

And he’s just getting started.

Your breath comes out shaky as Mingi’s lips drag along your jaw, slow and deliberate, his body pressing you deeper into the backseat. His hands are warm, gripping your waist, fingertips digging in like he’s trying to hold himself together. But you can feel it—he’s barely hanging on.

“Mingi,” you murmur, voice softer than you intend. He hums against your skin, lips ghosting over your collarbone.

“You’re drunk,” you say, a little firmer this time, fingers threading into his hair, tugging slightly to pull him back.

He exhales a laugh, lifting his head, eyes dark and lidded as he looks at you. “Nuh-uh,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly. “I’m just tipsy, my love…” His lips curve, hands slipping lower, pressing against your thighs. “And I know exactly what I’m doing.”

His fingers trace slow, lazy circles against your skin, and his gaze flickers down—watching the way your chest rises and falls, how your lips part just slightly.

“I just…” He exhales, his thumb brushing over the hem of your blouse. “I want to make you feel good.” His voice is lower now, rougher, thick with want.

His hands move with purpose as he starts undoing the buttons of your blouse, each one slipping through his fingers with ease. His touch is slow, almost teasing, until the fabric falls open, exposing more of your skin to the cool air. His gaze darkens, lingering, drinking you in like he’s been starving for this moment.

His hands slide lower, pushing the fabric of your skirt up, bunching it at your hips. Then, with practiced ease, his fingers hook into your panties, tugging them to the side, baring you completely to him.

Mingi stills for a second, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes flick up to meet yours, his expression unreadable—somewhere between awe and hunger.

“Fuck,” he whispers, almost to himself. His fingers trail along your inner thigh, deliberate and slow, but he doesn’t push any further. Instead, he leans back slightly, his free hand moving to the waistband of his own pants.

You watch, heat pooling low in your stomach as he unbuttons them, shoving them down just enough to free himself. His breathing is heavier now, but he doesn’t move to take you—not yet.

Instead, he just watches you, his hands spreading your thighs a little wider, his touch slow, reverent.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, voice dripping with restraint. “I need a second to admire you.”

Mingi exhales sharply, his hands spreading you wider, his thumbs tracing slow, burning circles on your inner thighs. His gaze drops between your legs, and he groans, deep and low, when he sees just how ready you are for him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself, his fingers grazing over your slick heat but not pushing in. “You’ve been eagerly waiting for me, haven’t you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, your hips instinctively shifting, searching for more. He smirks, dark and lazy, dragging his fingers through your wetness, spreading it, watching how you react.

“So wet,” he murmurs, his voice husky with admiration. “All this for me?”

You nod, barely able to form words, anticipation curling deep in your stomach. You needed this—you needed *him*. And he knew it.

Mingi leans in, his lips brushing over yours, teasing, before finally capturing you in a kiss that’s all-consuming. It’s slow but desperate, his tongue slipping past your lips, tasting, claiming. One of his hands grips your waist, holding you still, while the other wraps around his cock, stroking himself as he presses his body closer to yours.

He’s warm, hard, and aching against your thigh, his breaths turning uneven as he moves his hand up and down his length, slicking himself with his own arousal. His forehead presses against yours for a moment, his chest rising and falling as he exhales shakily.

“You have no idea how bad I need you right now,” he groans, his voice wrecked, full of raw want.

His hips roll slightly, the head of his cock brushing against your thigh, and he lets out a quiet curse under his breath. He’s holding back, fighting to pace himself, but you can feel it—the barely restrained desperation in the way his grip tightens on your waist, the way his kisses grow messier, more feverish.

Mingi looks down at you, pupils blown wide, lips slightly swollen from kissing you so hard. His fingers tighten their grip on your thigh, spreading you even more beneath him.

“I want to take my time,” he breathes, voice thick with need. “But I don’t know if I can.”

Mingi’s breathing is ragged, his forehead pressed against yours as he grips your thigh, fingers twitching against your skin like he’s barely holding himself together. His cock is hard and leaking against your thigh, his hips jerking slightly, desperate for relief.

He tilts his head, lips brushing over yours as he murmurs, “Baby… do you want me to take my time?”

His voice is low, almost strained, like he’s fighting every instinct in his body to slow down, to savor this. But you can feel the way he’s shaking, the way his body is screaming for more.

You swallow hard, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your legs spreading wider beneath him as you whisper, “N-no… I need you.”

That’s all it takes.

Mingi growls against your lips, his control snapping as he slides his hand down between your legs. Two fingers push into you without warning, sinking deep, and your body jolts from the sudden stretch. He groans at how easily you take him, at how wet you are for him.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he mutters, pumping his fingers in and out of you, his pace relentless from the start. He curls them just right, dragging against that spot inside you that makes you whimper.

His lips crash onto yours, swallowing every moan, every gasp as he fucks you with his fingers, his palm pressing against your clit with every thrust. The wet sounds fill the car, mixing with the sharp breaths and the faint bass from the after-party still thumping outside.

You’re trembling beneath him, gripping his biceps, but then—your hand moves.

Boldly, you reach down, fingers wrapping around his cock, and the second you touch him, Mingi *breaks*.

His hips jerk forward into your palm, a deep, guttural moan slipping into your mouth. His cock twitches in your grip, hot and heavy, and you stroke him slowly at first, teasing, your thumb gliding over the tip, smearing his arousal.

“Shit,” he groans, kissing you harder, his tongue tangling with yours as his fingers fuck into you even faster. His hand is soaked, but he doesn’t slow down—if anything, it makes him move rougher, hungrier.

Your hand tightens around his cock, stroking him in time with the way he’s working you open, and the way he *whimpers* into your mouth sends a rush of heat straight to your core.

��Gonna make me lose my fucking mind,” he breathes, his voice wrecked, his body shaking as he teeters on the edge of completely losing control.

Mingi is a mess above you, hips bucking into your hand as he groans against your lips, his fingers still working you open, still fucking into you with a pace that has you seeing stars. His cock twitches in your grip, hot and heavy, leaking against your fingers as you stroke him, your hand tightening just enough to make his breath stutter.

“Fuck, baby,” he grits out, his voice wrecked, his forehead pressing against yours. He’s trembling, trying to hold on, but you can feel how close he is, how desperate he’s getting.

Your thumb drags over the tip, smearing his arousal, and when you squeeze—just slightly—his whole body tenses.

“Shit—fuck” His moan is raw, needy, and then he’s gone, coming hard with a sharp gasp, his hips jerking into your grip. His cock pulses in your hand, thick ropes of cum spilling onto your stomach, hot and messy, as his head falls into the crook of your neck.

But even as he’s coming undone, even as his body shudders from the force of his release, his fingers don’t stop.

He’s still pumping into you, still curling them deep, his palm grinding against your clit with every movement. He moans against your skin, panting, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck as he fucks you through the pleasure, determined to drag you right over the edge with him.

His voice is hoarse, barely a whisper as he pants, “Not done with you yet, baby.”

Mingi is still panting against your skin, his breath hot, his body still trembling from his release—but his fingers don’t stop. If anything, he moves with more purpose now, his palm pressing against your clit, his fingers curling deep, dragging you closer and closer to your own high.

But then, he stills.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his lips slightly parted, his pupils blown wide, his expression caught between awe and raw desperation. His fingers slip from you, coated in your slick, and he groans at the sight, bringing them to his lips, sucking them clean without breaking eye contact.

“Baby,” he breathes, voice thick, shaking. “I can’t hold back anymore.”

His hands slide to your thighs, spreading you open beneath him as he settles between your legs. His cock is still hard, still aching, rubbing against your slick folds, teasing, torturing.

“I need you,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours, his fingers threading through yours as he pins your hands beside your head. “Need to feel you. Need to fill you up.”

You whimper, body arching into him, legs wrapping around his waist as you pull him closer. “Mingi, please…”

That’s all it takes.

Mingi exhales shakily, guiding himself to your entrance, and then he’s pushing in—slow, deep, inch by inch, stretching you open in a way that steals the breath from your lungs. He curses under his breath, burying his face in your neck, his body tensing as he finally, *finally* sinks all the way in.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice almost broken, like he’s never felt anything better than this.

He stays still for a moment, breathing you in, letting you adjust. His hands squeeze yours, grounding himself, his lips pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against your jaw, your cheek, your lips.

And then, he moves.

His thrusts are slow, deep, deliberate—like he wants to feel every inch of you, like he wants you to feel every inch of him. He moans softly against your lips, swallowing your gasps, rolling his hips in a way that makes pleasure spark up your spine.

“You feel so perfect,” he whispers, kissing you between every word. “So warm. So tight. Fuck, I love you.”

His hands release yours, trailing down to your waist, gripping you, holding you close as he thrusts into you, his body pressing flush against yours. There’s nothing rough, nothing rushed—just slow, intoxicating pleasure, his lips never leaving yours, his body moving in perfect rhythm with yours.

His fingers slip between your bodies, finding your clit, circling it gently, making you gasp against his lips. “Gonna make you cum for me, baby,” he murmurs, his voice full of love, of need. “Wanna feel you squeeze me. Wanna fill you up while you’re falling apart around me.”

And the way he’s moving, the way he’s touching you—it’s only a matter of time before you do exactly that.

Your body trembles beneath him, every slow, deliberate thrust pushing you closer to the edge. His fingers work your clit in lazy, teasing circles—just enough to make you whimper, just enough to keep you right there, dangling, desperate.

“Mingi,” you breathe, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

He groans at the sound of his name, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath hot, uneven. “That’s it, baby,” he whispers, his hips rolling deeper, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over. “Cum for me. Wanna feel you. Wanna feel you soak me.”

You don’t stand a chance.

The pleasure crashes over you all at once, your body tensing, your back arching as you gasp his name. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing him, milking him, and Mingi moans—low and wrecked—his movements stuttering as he fucks you through it, his pace still deep, still consuming.

“Fuck,” he growls, his hands gripping your hips, his body trembling against you. “Fuck, you feel—shit, you feel so good.”

His voice is ragged, desperate, full of nothing but pure need. His lips find yours in a messy kiss, all tongue and panting breaths, as his hips snap forward, faster now, sloppier, chasing his own release.

“I love you,” he murmurs between kisses, his words slurred with pleasure. “I love you so fucking much.”

And then he’s gone—his body tensing, his breath catching, his cock twitching inside you as he spills deep, his moans muffled against your lips. His hips jerk forward once, twice, his grip on you tightening as he groans your name like a prayer.

For a moment, he just stays there, buried deep, his body still shaking.

Then, with a soft chuckle, you run your fingers through his damp hair, watching the way his dazed eyes blink open to meet yours. “You’re always like this when you’re tipsy,” you tease, voice soft, amused.

Mingi grins, breathless, nuzzling into your neck. “Like what?”

“So needy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his temple. “So in love.”

He groans, burying his face in your skin. “Because I *am* in love. And I *am* needy.” He exhales shakily, squeezing you closer.

And just like that, he’s kissing you again—slower now, sweeter. Like he’s trying to prove just how much he means it.

Your breathing is still uneven, your body still trembling from your last orgasm, but Mingi isn’t done with you. Not even close.

He shifts, his strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you with him as he moves and leans on the backseat. The leather squeaks under his weight as he sits down, legs spread, hands already guiding you onto his lap. His eyes are heavy with need, lips parted as he watches you settle above him.

“Come here, baby,” he murmurs, voice low, thick with something almost desperate.

You straddle him, your knees sinking into the seat on either side of his hips. His cock is still hard, still leaking, pressed between your bodies, smearing slick across your skin. His hands grip your waist, dragging you forward until your chest is flush against his, his forehead pressing to yours.

“You feel so perfect,” he breathes, his fingers digging into your skin. “Need to feel you again. Need you to ride me, baby.”

His hands slide down to your ass, helping you lift yourself just enough for him to position himself at your entrance. And then, with one slow, deliberate push, he’s inside you again—stretching you, filling you, making you feel completely, utterly his.

Mingi groans, his head falling back against the seat, his hands gripping your waist so tightly it almost burns. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice barely more than a whimper. “You take me so well, baby. You’re perfect—so fucking perfect.”

You moan, rolling your hips experimentally, gasping at the way he presses so deep, the way he fills every inch of you. He hisses through his teeth, his hands guiding your movements, helping you find a slow, intoxicating rhythm.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his fingers splaying across your lower back, his lips tracing lazy kisses along your jaw. “Just like that. Ride me nice and slow, baby. Wanna feel you.”

And fuck, you do.

You rock against him, every movement sending pleasure sparking through your veins. His eyes stay locked on yours, dark and intense, his lips slightly parted as he watches you—watches the way you gasp for him, the way your brows furrow when he thrusts up to meet you.

His hands never stop moving—roaming your back, gripping your hips, dragging you closer. One slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing slow, lazy circles that make you tremble in his arms.

“You feel so good,” he groans, his voice wrecked. “So warm. So tight around me.” He buries his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “Love you so much, baby. Love you so fucking much.”

Your hands tangle in his hair, your lips finding his in a desperate kiss. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, swallowing your moans, his hips pressing up into you with every roll of your own. It’s slow, deep—less frantic than before but just as consuming, if not more.

You can feel yourself getting close again, the pleasure coiling tight in your stomach, your legs shaking as you cling to him. “Mingi—”

“I know, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft, reverent. “I know. Let go for me. Cum for me again.”

His thumb presses down just right, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you, and then—

You break.

Your body tenses, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your arms tightening around his shoulders as you moan his name. He groans at the feeling, at the way you squeeze him, his grip on you tightening as he fucks you through it.

And then he’s right behind you.

Mingi curses under his breath, his movements turning desperate, his hips stuttering as his own release overtakes him. He moans your name, his hands gripping your hips as he cums inside you, filling you up just like he said he would.

For a long moment, the only sound in the car is the sound of your breathing—heavy, uneven, tangled together like your bodies.

And with the way he’s still holding you—his arms wrapped around you like he never wants to let go—you know he means every word.

𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒: @blossomnet ♡ @illusionnet ♡ @mirohs-aurora-society ♡

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levisjinchuriki · 5 months ago

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truly, madly, deeply - toji fushiguro

summary: since you left him, toji has been indulging in nothing but bad habits. he makes an impulsive decision stumbling home from the bar one night

warning: post-breakup angst, mentions of heavy drinking, depression, being numb, a whole lot of angst

it’s late—too late for toji to still be out. the bar is nearly empty, quiet except for the scraping sound of chairs as the staff begins their nightly routine of wiping tables and stacking stools. the bartender shoots toji an unimpressed glance as he sets down another glass of whiskey in front of him, grumbling about closing tabs soon. toji doesn’t argue, just wraps his calloused fingers around the glass and lets the amber liquid burn as it slides down his throat. it’s painful, but the familiar sting is something he’s come to crave recently. as much as it hurts, he tries to savor the taste before throwing some cash on the table and heading out.

it’s the kind of quiet that makes the weight in his chest feel unbearable, pressing harder against ribs that have long since forgotten what it’s like to feel light.

he stumbles out of the bar, unsteady on his feet, muttering curses under his breath as he fumbles for his phone in his coat pocket. outside, the cold bites at his skin, the damp air clinging to him as the rain had never truly stopped.

the screen glows dimly, the battery dangerously low, but it’s enough to illuminate the list of names he hasn’t touched in weeks. his thumb hovers over the screen, scrolling sluggishly past contacts that don’t matter. then he sees your name. and time stands still.

for a long moment, all he can do is stare. his thumb trembles, hesitating, like his drunk mind is at war with itself. there’s a part of him that knows better, that knows he should put the phone back in his pocket and walk away. but the other part—the louder, more desperate part—wins. his thumb moves, and the call begins to ring.

once. twice. three times.

toji squeezes his eyes shut, already regretting his actions. he’s not your problem anymore. he lost the right to call you, to hear your voice, to ask for comfort. and yet, here he is, a fool hoping for a miracle at a time when no one should be awake.

“toji?”

he freezes. he hasn’t heard your voice in… how long has it been? the days have blurred together into a haze of alcohol and sleepless nights since you left. he grips the phone tighter, his throat suddenly dry.

“hey” he drawls. there’s a pause on your end. he cringes when he hears a muffled yawn from you.

“it’s late. are you okay?”. your voice is soft, groggy from the sleep he undoubtedly pulled you from. his heart breaks at the sound of it.

“yeah. -m fine. jus’….” he slurs.

“toji… are you drunk?” your voice, laced with concern, strikes a nerve. you sound just as worried as it always did when it came to him, a tone he doesn’t think he deserves anymore. you’ve seen these parts of him before—the ones he hides from the world but somehow always let slip in front of you.

“nah” he lies. “just a little… tipsy”. his feet shuffle clumsily against the wet pavement as he stumbles down the block. he feels everything and nothing all at once��silly, hopeless, in love, and heartbroken.

“toji–” your voice is soft but unmistakably disappointed. it’s a tone he’s heard before, one that digs under his ski. he knows that sound. it’s the same one you used to have when he broke promises, when he let you down, when he let himself down.

there are countless reasons why you and toji aren’t together anymore—reasons that keep replaying in his mind whenever he has too much to drink. but none of those reasons stop you from caring about him, even now. and that makes it worse somehow.

“listen…” his voice drops lower, thick with the slur of alcohol. “i know it’s late. s’probably real stupid to call, huh?”. he laughs, but it’s half-hearted, a dry, almost painful sound.

your silence is heavy and suffocating. toji knows you’re probably shaking your head right now, caught between concern and frustration. he can picture it so clearly—how you’re probably biting your lip, wanting to say something but holding back. it almost makes him smile.

as the silence stretches, the sound of heavy rainfall in the background fills the space, a constant, rhythmic sound that matches the beat of his tired, aching heart.

“where are you?” you ask, your voice barely audible above the rain.

he blinks, his mind swimming in a fog that doesn’t seem to clear. he’s disoriented for a second, now realizing that he’s walked in the wrong direction. “why?” he mumbles, a slight frown tugging at his lips.

“because i’m coming to get you” you reply, your tone gentle but firm. “you shouldn’t be out alone”. toji closes his eyes for a moment, your words sinking in, a warmth creeping through his chest despite the alcohol and the cold rain. he hears the shuffle of movement on your end of the line, and he can almost see it—the way you’re probably slipping into those ridiculous bunny slippers he always teased you about.

a small, tired smile threatens to break through as leans back against a lamppost. “don’t bother” he mutters, the words slipping out before he can stop them. “i’m fine”. another lie, but he doesn’t expect you to believe it.

“tell me where you are” you demand. he’ll take your tone over no contact with you any day.

“always so good. so… responsible” he mutters, the words slurring as his mind drifts. “you don’t gotta save me, y’know? i’m fine. always fine” he drags out.

“toji, tell me where you are” your voice is stern. it’s the same tone you used when he was in trouble, the same one you’d use when he messed up, the same one you used when you finally told him you were done.

he slumps against the cold, damp wall of the nearest building, his phone clutched tightly in his hand. he mutters the name of the street, barely audible, his words jumbled and ragged.

“i’m on my way” you tell him. there’s a brief pause before you add, “stay there”. for once, he listens. toji just stands there– drunk, stupid, soaked and numb to the rain as it continues to hit him.

he doesn’t know how long it takes before your car finally pulls up. the headlights shine bright, momentarily blinding him. he blinks a few times and there you are—stepping out of the car, pulling a coat around yourself and wondering how he’s been out here this long. you look at him, and for a split second, toji sees everything he’s been trying to drown out. disappointment flickers behind your eyes, sharp and painful. but there’s something else there too—worry.

“toji…” you sigh, a sound filled with exhaustion. he feels it in his chest like a punch. he’s happy to see you, but upset that you’re out here in the storm, chasing after him like this.

“you didn’t have to come” he mutters, but even as he says it, he stands up straighter—forcing himself to make the effort, even if it’s not convincing. his legs feel heavy, like they’re made of lead, but he tries to pull himself together. he doesn’t want you to see how much he’s been drowning.

your gaze doesn’t miss anything. he’s drenched, soaked to the bone, his clothes clinging to him, but worse than that—he’s drunk. and sad. more sad than he’s let on, even to himself. he knows it. you know it. it’s clear to you both that he hasn’t been taking care of himself—not in the way you always hoped he would.

“get in the car” you say, the command simple but firm. your voice is steady, unaffected by the storm, and it somehow cuts through the haze of his thoughts.

he doesn’t argue. not with you. not when you’re looking at him like that, not when he knows you’re right, and you’ve always been right about him.

---

the drive is quiet at first. the only sound is the soft hum of the heat, keeping toji from succumbing to hypothermia, and the rain as it taps steadily against the windshield. toji sits slouched in the passenger seat, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his eyes half-lidded as he stares out the window. his gaze is distant, unfocused—lost in the mess of his own thoughts.

“you shouldn’t drink like this,” you say, breaking the silence. your voice is soft but firm. “it’s dangerous.”

toji doesn’t respond immediately. you can see the way his jaw tightens, his shoulders stiffen just slightly. he’s a big guy, tough, but even toji has his limits. he might not show it, but you know how close he is to the edge. and tonight, it’s clear that he’s just a few drinks away from being completely inebriated.

“don’t start with me” he mutters, his voice rough with frustration. you’ve heard that tone before—the one he gets when he’s pushed, when he knows he’s in the wrong but doesn’t want to hear it.

you sigh quietly to yourself, knowing exactly where this conversation is going. you’d always had a habit of acting like his mother, trying to take care of him, trying to get him to listen to reason. it’s inevitable, really—toji always acted like a child in so many ways, and you, stubborn as you are, always fell into the role of the one who tried to save him.

“how many times have i—” you begin, but he cuts you off before you can finish.

“i know!” he snaps, his voice sharper than he means it to be. “i know, alright?”

the words hang in the air between you, heavy with the tension that always lingers when the two of you argue. you’re quiet for a moment, the only sound now the swish of the windshield wipers fighting against the rain.

you grip the steering wheel a little tighter, steadying yourself. the urge to push, to argue further, is strong, but you know better than to start that fight now. the last thing he needs is more words thrown at him, more of your frustration tangled up in his guilt.

right now isn’t the time to argue.

"then why?" you ask quietly, your voice barely rising above the sound of rain hitting the car.

toji presses his head back against the seat and lets out a humorless laugh. “why not?” he replies, his words slurred but sharp enough to sting.

you furrow your brows. he’s being difficult, like always—pushing you away with his deflection, his refusal to take anything seriously. “that’s not an answer” you say, glancing at him briefly before returning your eyes to the road.

toji turns his head to look at you then, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the car. the streetlights outside streak shadows across his face, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes, the weariness etched into his features. he looks tired—not just from tonight, but from everything.

“i don’t owe you an answer” he says after a moment, his voice quieter now.

it’s true. he doesn’t owe you anything, not after everything. not after the way you left, after the way you shattered him. you feel a pang of guilt in your chest, sharp and unforgiving, but you push it down.

“i’d still like to know” you admit, your voice softer now, almost hesitant.

he doesn’t respond right away. instead, he turns his gaze back to the window, watching the rain streak down the glass. the silence stretches between you again, heavy and unyielding, but you don’t press him further. you’ve learned by now that toji won’t be pushed into answers he’s not ready to give.

the road ahead blurs slightly through the rain, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ll ever be able to bridge the distance between the two of you.

he scoffs, turning his gaze back to the window. “what’s the point?”. it’s not a question meant for you—it’s one he’s been asking himself for a while now. you chew on your bottom lip, trying to think of what to say next, though you’re not sure anything will make a difference.

“you don’t always have to carry everything by yourself” you finally sigh.

toji snorts, a bitter sound that cuts through the tension. “yeah? and who’s gonna help me? you?”

the sharpness in his tone catches you off guard, and you flinch despite yourself. his words hit harder than they should, not because they’re unfair, but because they’re true. you left. you made the choice to walk away, and now you’re here, pretending you can fix something that might never be fixable.

he notices. if there’s one thing toji’s always been good at, it’s noticing things, even when he’s drunk and falling apart. he exhales heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. “sorry” he mutters, his voice quieter now. “i didn’t mean that”.

you know he didn’t. toji’s harsh words were never the ones that hurt the most—it’s the truth buried in them that stings.

“it’s fine” you reply quietly, your gaze fixed on the road ahead. but it’s not fine, and you both know it.

neither of you says anything for the rest of the drive. the rain continues to tap against the windshield as the distance between you grows wider.

---

toji doesn’t move after you park your car. he just sits there, staring blankly at the dashboard like it holds answers to questions he’ll never ask. his shoulders are slumped, his jaw tight. even with the alcohol dulling his senses, his thoughts refuse to let him rest.

“you wanna go inside?” you turn to look at him, suppressing the urge to reach over.

he blinks, the question pulling him back to the present. “yeah” he mutters, but his body remains rooted to the seat.

you don’t rush him. moments like these are rare—when toji lets you see him vulnerable. it’s heartbreaking, and it makes you ache in ways you thought you’d forgotten.

instead of pressing him, you wait. he’s always been a man who needs time to gather himself. and tonight, for whatever reason, he’s letting you stay long enough to witness it.

eventually, he exhales, a slow, shaky breath that seems to release some of the tension coiled in his chest.

finally, toji looks at you. really looks at you. his eyes are glassy, the alcohol making them more vulnerable than you’ve seen in a long time.

“you’re too good for this” he says, his voice heavy with sadness. it’s not just the words that hit you—it’s the way he says them, like he’s admitting something he’s been too scared to face. for the first time, toji acknowledges there’s something wrong with him. that something is his fault.

“for what?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“for me” he says almost defeated. “i’m no good. i’m just… this” he gestures vaguely at himself, his hand falling back to his side as if the effort of even that small movement is too much.

it’s clear in the way he’s looking at you that he means it. that he’s thought about this, felt it deep in his bones. you’re not sure if he’d ever admit it sober, but tonight, it’s out there in the open.

you don’t know what to say to that. words feel inadequate, like they’ll only make things worse.

“you should get some rest” you whisper instead. “it’s late”.

toji releases a breath, his gaze shifting to your apartment building. he’s been here countless times before. but it’s different now. where he used to feel at home, he suddenly feels like a stranger.

“okay”. his footsteps echo softly behind you.

when he walks in, all the memories come rushing back. the faint scent of the candle you always light fills his nose. the throw blanket draped over the couch is in the same place it’s always been. even the little details—the spaces in your home where you’d made room for him—are still there. his boots still sit by the door, his favorite mug in the cabinet, the sweatshirt he thought he’d lost folded neatly.

you lead him to your room without a word, offering him a towel and setting a pair of dry clothes on the bed. they’re his– clothes he left behind when things fell apart. you didn’t have the heart to throw them out, and he didn’t have the heart to come back for them.

“you’ll get sick” you mutter, setting a black shirt and grey sweats on the bathroom sink before turning to leave. you always fussed over him like this—still do, even now. toji doesn’t know what to do with the tight ache in his chest. he wants to cry.

by the time he emerges from the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed in warm clothes, he hears the hum of the dryer from the hallway. of course, you’d snuck in while he was washing up to scoop his sopping clothes off the floor.

in your room, you’re finishing fixing the bed, smoothing the sheets and adding extra pillows—just the way he likes. it doesn’t escape him, the way you still remember these small details.

“i can take the couch” he says, his voice low and reluctant.

you shake your head, dismissing the offer as you grab a pillow and blanket for yourself. “sleep” you say firmly, leaving no room for argument.

he hesitates for a moment, but the exhaustion weighing on him makes it hard to fight back. his body aches for rest, and though a part of him wants to address the unspoken words that hang heavy between you, he knows it’s not the time.

“we’ll talk later” you whisper as you step toward the door, your hand brushing the light switch.

toji watches you for a moment, standing there in the dim glow of the hallway. his throat tightens, and he wants to say something—anything—but no words come out. instead, he nods silently as you turn off the light and leave him alone in the room.

“thanks” he murmurs, his voice so quiet it’s almost lost in the stillness of the room. but you hear it.

toji lies awake in the bed you once shared, staring at the ceiling. the familiarity of it all threatens to undo him—the soft sheets, the faint scent of you lingering on the pillow. it’s overwhelming.

he wonders, not for the first time, how someone like you ever loved him. the thought twists in his chest, sharp with regret. he thinks about how things ended, how he pushed you away, and yet here you are—offering him kindness he doesn’t deserve.

the bed feels empty without you beside him, but as his heavy eyelids finally close, he clings to the comfort of your lingering presence. it’s enough, for now, to ease the ache as he drifts off to sleep.

---

to be continued... thank you for reading!!!

part 2

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archangeldyke-all · 7 months ago

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@sumilane made this gorgeous art and i wrote a little something for it! i posted it already last night as a reblog but i'm going to make it it's own post so gio can add more art to it!! eeek!!!

men and minors dni

sevika is feeling strangely vulnerable.

it could be the bottle of whiskey the two of you have been sharing this evening. it could be that silco, the one person she knew best in the world, is gone now. it could even be the brat he left behind for her to take care of who's been slowly worming her way into sevika's heart throughout the time spent fixing up her new arm and changing their looks together.

it could just be you, though. the sorta-sad, mostly resigned look in your eye as you lament your relationship woes to sevika.

"i dunno... every time i think i could have something with someone-- not even like, marriage, but y'know-- just someone to share some intimacy with-- something happens and it doesn't work. after a while i just start to think maybe it's not the circumstances that are fucked up 'n maybe it's just me."

"bullshit." sevika spits, shaking her head and quickly refilling her glass with more whiskey. she has to do something with her hands to keep from reaching across the table and shaking your shoulders as she speaks. "y-you're fine. perfect--" she cuts herself off, a furrow in her brow as she glares at her whiskey.

you snort. sevika's adorable when she's tipsy, stumbling over her words and staring into space. fuck. you need to stop rambling about your heartache to the woman you're hopelessly in love with. "i-i'm sorry for dumping this shit on you sev. 's boring and stupid and--"

"no, shut up, it's just--" sevika blinks up at you then curls in on herself in a manner that's almost... shy. she clears her throat and looks away for a moment, almost whispering. "i-i'd marry you."

you blink.

"what?"

"i'm saying you're fuckin' stupid if you think you don't have options." sevika mutters, hunching her shoulders so much she looks small.

you're heart's beating a mile a fucking minute, and you squeak when you bite your tongue to make sure you aren't dreaming. "you said you'd marry me?"

"fuckin'-- obviously only in some hypothetical world where you were into me." sevika shrugs. "but...yeah." she grunts, before reaching out and drowning the whiskey in her glass, muttering a "fuck." under her breath.

you blink a few times, tears spontaneously bubbling up in your vision and a lump forming in your throat. "i was under the impression that i didn't have a shot with you." you whisper.

sevika's eyes fly to yours, wide and shocked. "what the fuck would make you think that?!"

"j-just..." you trail off, gulping again. "you're the most interesting, attractive woman i've ever met, and i am one of about a thousand other fuckin' people in zaun who think so. a-and we've been friends for years and you never said anything..." you trail off as sevika stumbles out of her booth and over to yours, shoving in beside you and cornering you against the wall, clutching your jaw with both of her hands as she stares down at you-- bewildered.

"is this a dream?" she asks.

"i bit my tongue to check-- it's real."

"i-i was serious y'know. i'll take you down to the courthouse tomorrow morning." she says, her voice shaky and sincere.

suddenly, the full reality of the situation hits you, and you burst into laughter. "i-i've been in love with you for years." you admit through giggles. "years!"

sevika starts to giggle too. "m-me too."

"and your fucking haircut is so hot all i've wanted to do for the past two weeks is kiss yo--"

sevika cuts you off with her lips to yours, and you sigh, wrapping your arms around her shoulders.

it's a drunk, sloppy kiss-- years of tension and yearning finally bubbling to the surface as sevika attempts to pin you to the booth.

you have every intention of letting her do just that when she pulls away, grinning down at you.

"you really bit your tongue, didn't you? i can taste the blood in your mouth." she asks.

you nod, clawing at her desprately as you try to get her to kiss you again. sevika grins, swooping in to do just that-- but when she pulls away the second thime with her leps stained with your blood, you gasp. "oh, shit!"

"i tried to tell you." sevika giggles.

"do i need stitches? can you give stitches to a tongue?" you ask.

"this really puts a dent in all my plans." sevika cackles. you snort, and she passes you the bottle. "drink. it'll wash the blood away."

"w-what plans?" you ask as you take a swig.

"the plans i had for your tongue."

you choke, whiskey spraying everywhere as you cackle.

sevika--covered in your spit, blood, and whiskey-- smiles so wide you think her face might crack.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen

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@lavandasz

#sevika #sevika arcane #sevika imagine #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

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anachronistic-falsehood · 5 months ago

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ok no im gonna talk about this ok. rolan and rand have weird sex but also neither of them would make good fucking doms trust me iknow this. Rand is a brat bottom who needs to be shut up and made to stop thinkign and rolan is like. more confident <<remeber how he acted in his intro he’s WAY better at being in control when he’s not. in his hometown. but also he’s an overthinker like Rand and needs to stop thinking SOLITION kian needs to be in charge here. that’s a soft dom if i’ve ever seen one. but also rolan could never bottom ithink. that’s a service top. he needs to make up for leaving rand and also A Lot of other things so he’s Goinf to service top as much as posible and kian needs to actually feel in control of his life for fucking once and woukd b such a good dom but i don’t think he could be mean so he would be so fucking soft. soft ass dom. brat tamer but only uses praise and compkiments to do it and rand Will cry. so will rolan. basically what im saying is kian needs to tie rand up and have rolan fuck him and then gently kiss and praise them both the entire time this is real and also canon trust me the council told me so themselv

#sorry this is going on main idc #this is a stream of consciusness i just need to. talk about themn #tipsy whiskey posting

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 3 months ago

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Somewhere Safe | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

This story touches on sensitive themes of domestic abuse. If you or someone you know is experiencing abuse, please know that help is available. I've included resources below that offer support, guidance, and ways to take action. You are not alone, and there is always hope for a way out. Please take care of yourself as you read.

International Domestic Abuse Resource Link

Words: ~9,500

Tags: Violence, Abuse, Trauma, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Post Hogwarts, Hurt/Comfort

Beta: @newdreamlove95💚

The world tilted when Sebastian pressed his back against the wall, a slow, lazy grin tugging at his lips as the woman in front of him whispered something he didn’t quite catch.

K-something.

Karina? Kelsey? Kate? Fuck, had she even told him? Maybe once, over the roar of the music in the bar, the hum of Ominis and Garreth’s laughter, the clink of glasses and shouted orders. It was distant now, fuzzy around the edges. The only thing sharp was the heat of her breath on his skin, the way her nails scratched lightly over the fabric of his shirt.

He let his head tip back against the wall, eyes slipping closed for just a moment. He was tipsy, not drunk. The whiskey still swam warm in his veins, enough to make everything feel slow and a little surreal, like watching himself from the outside. Too much, probably. He hadn’t planned on drinking that much, but Garreth had been in rare form tonight, rambling about some catastrophic potion mishap that had almost set his shop on fire, and Ominis—miraculously—had tolerated them both for longer than usual before fucking off home.

Sebastian had thought about leaving then, too. He should have. He'd been about to grab his coat, already debating—instinctively—whether to call you.

It was always you. Even after all these years, through all the tangled, unspoken things between you, his first thought was always you.

But then K-something had leaned into him at the bar, laughing, a teasing nail dragging down his arm. The look she gave him was clear, unmistakable—an invitation, no strings attached, nothing complicated, nothing messy. Just one night.

That had been enough. He let her take his hand, let her press against him in the back of the cab, let her perfume wrap around him—something floral, a little too sweet. Not right. Not familiar.

And now, here they were. His apartment. His mind blank where it mattered.

The door had barely clicked shut before her hands were on him, pressing, pulling, trying to unravel him. Her lips were eager, swallowing the taste of whiskey on his tongue, coaxing him toward the bedroom. His fingers ghosted over her hips, hesitant, and for the first time tonight, the thought crept in—

I don’t actually want this.

He ignored it.

Sebastian let her push him back against the wall, let her fingertips skim the waistband of his jeans, let his mind fog over with something other than the sharp edges of thought. He was just loose enough to let his body take over where his mind was absent.

And then—

A thunderous pounding on his front door.

K-something startled against him, pulling back with a little noise of surprise. Another knock—louder, harder, more frantic.

“What the hell?” she murmured, but Sebastian wasn’t listening.

Something was wrong.

If it were Garreth, he’d be yelling something obnoxious through the door. If it were Ominis, he would have texted first, making some sardonic remark about how it was far too late for him to be dealing with Sebastian’s nonsense.

Then—

“Sebastian, are you there?”

Your voice. Hoarse and desperate.

“Who is that?” K-something asked, tilting her head toward the door, annoyance creeping into her tone.

Sebastian didn’t answer. His whole body was already moving—pushing past her, heart pounding.

Another hit—this one shakier, weaker. A small, broken sound from the other side.

His hands were on the lock in an instant, fumbling, his pulse roaring in his ears. The second the front door swung open, his breath caught in his throat.

What the fuck happened to you?

Your hair was a mess, wild and tangled like you’d been running. Your shirt—torn, slipping off one shoulder—was smeared with something dark, and his brain tried to tell him it was just dirt, instead of what he feared. Your eyebrow was split, a thin trail of blood tracing down your temple. The bruises blooming along your arms and neck were fresh, ugly, fingershaped.

You were shaking, too, and not from the cold. You were wrung out, your breath coming too fast, too shallow, like you were barely holding yourself together.

But it was your expression that really sent ice straight through his veins. Wide, fractured eyes. Lips parted, trembling like you wanted to speak but couldn’t. Like you were afraid.

"Fuck," he breathed. "What—"

Your eyes flickered past him into the apartment, taking in the scene—the woman behind him, her rumpled clothes, the way Sebastian had clearly been in the middle of something when you knocked.

Your face crumpled. Your whole body tensed. You took a step back.

"Sorry, I—I shouldn’t have come." Your voice wavered, raw and too damn small. Your fingers curled against your ribs like something there ached. "I didn’t mean to—"

Oh, hell no.

Sebastian took a step forward, his fingers wrapping around your wrist before you could slip away, but his voice never had the chance to follow—

A voice from behind him cut through the moment.

“Sebastian?” K-something called, her impatience laced with confusion. “Who is—”

She finally stepped closer, eyes widening when she took in your appearance. Her lips parted, expression shifting from irritation to realization. She wasn’t stupid. She could see what this was.

“…I should go.” She sputtered, already grabbing her bag from the counter. “I’ll call a cab.”

Sebastian barely heard her. He didn’t care.

She did hover for a moment, like she expected him to say something—to at least acknowledge her—but his eyes never left you. Eventually, she exhaled sharply and muttered something about Sebastian being a “waste of time” before leaving.

The sound of her footsteps faded down the hall, the distant slam of the stairwell door barely registering in his ears. It was like a pressure valve had released, but it didn’t make anything better.

Because Sebastian had never—not once—seen you like this. Not even out in the field, back-to-back with him, dueling dark wizards without hesitation. Not even on the worst nights, when you were exhausted and bleeding but still smirking, still throwing out some dry remark.

But here? Now?

You were a mess of trembling limbs and wide, haunted eyes. You looked like you were barely holding yourself together, like if he breathed wrong, you might break apart completely.

His grip on your wrist was light—barely there—but your pulse raced beneath his fingers. You hadn’t tried to pull away, but you weren’t looking at him either, gaze flickering somewhere over his shoulder like you wished you could vanish entirely.

He swallowed hard, speaking past the gravel in his throat.

“What happened?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out, just a shaky exhale that barely made it past your teeth.

Sebastian’s stomach twisted.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled you inside, stepping around you to close the door with a quiet click. You stood stiffly in the entryway, one wrist still in his hand, your other arm wrapped around yourself like you were holding your own ribs together.

Sebastian could hear his own heartbeat hammering in his ears. His skin still buzzed with whiskey, his body sluggish from the alcohol, but his mind—fuck, his mind was awake now.

Someone had hurt you. Not just in the way that left bruises blooming across your skin or a sluggish trickle of blood tracing down your brow—but in the way you stood, small and hollowed out, like something inside you had caved in.

And he was going to make them pay for it.

The rage inside him wasn’t just anger—it was something worse. Something deeper. A raw, seething thing that coiled around his spine, tightening with every second he spent looking at you like this. It clawed at his ribs, demanding blood, demanding violence.

Sebastian had done a lot of things in his life—things he wasn’t proud of, things he couldn’t take back—but none of it would compare to what he would do to the person who put their hands on you.

His voice came out strained. “Tell me who did this.”

He watched the hesitation flicker across your face. You shook your head once. No.

He felt his pulse hammer in his throat, hot frustration bubbling up beneath his skin.

“Who?” His voice came sharper than he meant, rough and edged with something dangerous. “Just tell me who—”

Sebastian felt the second he fucked up. The moment the sharp edge of his voice cut the air, you flinched—so small, so fleeting, but there. And suddenly, the anger curdling in his chest didn’t matter. You didn’t need his temper, his anger, the violence simmering beneath his skin. You needed the part of him that knew how to take care of you.

His grip on your wrist loosened instantly, shifting instead into something light, barely-there, just enough to anchor you without holding you in place. His entire body language changed—he softened, dropping the heat, the demand, everything that might make you feel like you were being cornered. Because you weren’t. Never with him.

“Hey, sorry, I didn't mean to push,” he said quickly, voice dropping low, steady, warm. “You’re safe now, love. You’re with me."

Your lips pressed together, a sharp inhale stuttering in your chest, like you were trying to keep yourself from unraveling.

Sebastian took a slow step forward. Not too close. Just enough.

“I’ve got you," he murmured, even softer now. The backs of his knuckles brushed against your arm, barely a touch. Just enough to let you know he was there. That he wasn’t like whoever had put their hands on you tonight.

“You don’t have to tell me anything right now, okay? We’ll deal with it later. You just—” His throat tightened. “Just let me help, alright sweetheart?”

Your gaze flickered to his, and for the first time since he’d opened the door, he saw it—relief. Not much, just a flicker. A tiny, fragile thing. But it was enough.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, nodding once.

“Come here.” His voice was barely above a whisper, like he was making an offering. A place to land. A way out of your own head.

And when you stepped forward—hesitant, small, but willing—he didn’t hesitate.

Sebastian’s arms came around you in an instant, warm and solid, pulling you in carefully, shielding, steady. His hands were broad against your back, his entire frame curving around you, like maybe if he just held you tight enough, nothing could touch you anymore.

Your breath stuttered against his chest, the tension in your shoulders loosening just a fraction. He felt it happen—felt the smallest bit of weight drop from you as your forehead pressed lightly against his collarbone, like you were finally, finally letting yourself breathe.

Sebastian shut his eyes, exhaling slow and controlled. His voice was a low, quiet promise against your hair.

"You're safe. You hear me, love? You're safe now. You're with me."

Your voice came out quiet, fragile in a way he’d never heard before.

“I—I’m sorry, Seb” you murmured shakily against his chest. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night. I just—I ended up here, and—”

Sebastian stiffened. For a second, he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. His grip on you twitched, and he pulled back just enough to look at you, to see the exhausted tilt of your head, the way your eyes wouldn’t quite meet his, how you were curling in on yourself like you could make yourself smaller, less of an inconvenience.

Something sharp lodged itself in his throat.

His hands ghosted down your arms, then one of them lifted before he could stop himself—fingertips barely brushing the side of your face, near the cut on your eyebrow. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

"You didn't 'ruin' anything. You can always come to me,” he murmured. “No matter what. Doesn’t matter where I am, what I’m doing—you can always come to me. Understand?”

You swallowed hard, lips parting, but no words came out. Instead, your fingers curled weakly into the fabric of his shirt, gripping at him like he was the only thing keeping you upright.

Sebastian exhaled softly. “That’s my girl.”

Your weight was pressing against him now, not quite leaning but… there. Trusting.

Then, so quiet he almost missed it, you hummed softly against his chest.

“I don’t even remember coming here,” you murmured. “I just… walked. It’s like my feet knew where to go before I did.”

Sebastian stilled. His mind tripped over itself, racing to keep up. You walked here? From your flat? That wasn’t close—at least three miles, probably more. At this hour? In this state?

His stomach turned.

Had someone broken in? Had they been waiting for you? Did you even get a chance to fight back? Why didn’t you use magic? His pulse roared in his ears, questions piling up faster than he could process them—

But he didn’t voice any of it.

Instead, he pulled back just enough to look at you, fingers curling lightly beneath your chin, coaxing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, sharp—wide with something like realization.

“You walked here?” His voice was low, too calm, too careful—like he was trying not to startle you. Like he was trying to make sure he’d heard you correctly before he let himself lose it.

You blinked at him, like it hadn’t even occurred to you that this was something he might react to. “…Yeah?”

Sebastian’s jaw clenched.

“That’s—” He exhaled sharply. “That’s miles away.”

You flinched, just barely, but this time it wasn’t from him—it was like you were only just now realizing what you had done, the reality settling in now that he had said it aloud.

“I—” Your voice wavered. “I didn’t even think about it, I just—” You shook your head, swallowing hard. “I wasn’t thinking about anything, I just needed to go. And I guess—”

Sebastian didn’t let you finish.

His hands were tightening around you in an instant—not gripping, not pulling, just there. Solid. Like he needed to convince himself that you weren’t still out there wandering the streets, hurt and vulnerable and alone.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his forehead dropping briefly against yours, eyes screwing shut. “Fuck, fuck—”

The thought of you, alone, stumbling through the dark like a ghost, disoriented, wrecked, bleeding—it made him sick. You could have collapsed. You could have gotten lost. You could have—he couldn't even finish the thought.

Sebastian sucked in a slow breath, forcing himself to breathe, to be what you needed.

“Alright.” His voice was softer now, quieter. “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s sit you down so I can clean you up, yeah?”

You hesitated, but only for a second. Then, finally, you nodded.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, nodding once in return.

“Good girl.” The words slipped out without thought, low and full of quiet, genuine relief.

Then, before you could process that—before he could process that—Sebastian was already moving, guiding you carefully toward his bedroom.

The dim glow from the bedside lamp bathed the space in soft, golden light, stretching long shadows across the floor. It was familiar, safe. You’d been here a thousand times before—kicking off your shoes without a second thought, making yourself at home on his bed, wrapped in that massive, worn-out blanket you always stole whenever you stayed over.

Sebastian barely had to nudge you down before you were sinking onto the edge of the mattress, exhausted, hands twisting together in your lap like you didn’t know what to do with them.

Without a word, Sebastian pulled the heavy blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around your shoulders, tucking it in carefully. You sank into it immediately, pulling the edges closer.

"Just sit tight," Sebastian murmured. "I’ll be right back."

You nodded—slow, small—and he gave your shoulder the lightest squeeze before pushing himself to his feet.

The moment he stepped into the ensuite, he exhaled sharply, pressing his palms against the cool porcelain of the sink. His reflection in the mirror looked as wrecked as he felt—jaw clenched, eyes dark with something raw and sharp.

The cabinet door creaked as he yanked it open, hands moving fast. A clean washcloth, warm from the sink. A Dixie cup of water. The first aid kit he’d barely ever needed but always kept—just in case. He nearly knocked over a bottle of cologne reaching for it.

When he returned, you hadn’t moved much. Still perched on the edge of his bed, shoulders drawn in, hands curled loosely in your lap. The trembling had eased, but not completely.

Sebastian set everything on the floor and knelt in front of you, careful, steady, slipping effortlessly into the version of himself you needed right now. The one who would take care of you.

“Here.” He held out the paper cup, his fingers brushing against yours as you took it. “Drink.”

You brought it to your lips, taking slow, small sips. Sebastian didn’t look away, watching carefully, making sure you drank enough. Making sure you weren’t about to fold in on yourself.

Then, once you’d set the cup aside, he reached for the washcloth, folding it into a neat square.

“Okay,” he murmured. “This might sting.”

Your gaze flicked toward his, cautious but steady, and you nodded.

His fingers were steady when they cupped your cheek, tilting your face just enough to give him a better look at the cut above your eyebrow. He barely even touched you, just the ghost of his palm against your jaw, his thumb resting near your temple.

And fuck, seeing it up close was worse.

The cut wasn’t deep, but it was still bleeding sluggishly. The skin around it was red and raw, like you had wiped at it with the sleeve of your shirt at some point. There were bruises along your temple too, darkening by the second.

Sebastian clenched his jaw so hard it sent a dull ache down his neck.

Breathe. Focus.

He kept his touch gentle, dabbing carefully at the blood along your brow, slow enough to avoid hurting you more than necessary.

You winced, breath hitching just slightly, but you didn’t pull away. Your eyes fluttered for a moment before settling on him. And that was when he felt it. Like a thread pulling taut between you—delicate but unbreakable.

He knew that look. He’d known it for years. Had seen it a thousand times in fleeting moments—across the rim of a coffee mug, under the hazy glow of streetlights on late-night walks, in the quiet of stolen glances when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

Soft. Open. Trusting. Loving.

Even now. Even after tonight—after whatever fresh hell you’d been put through—you still looked at him like that. Like he was safe. Like he was yours.

Sebastian swallowed hard, forcing down the impossible tightness in his throat.

“Good news is,” he managed, trying to keep his voice light, normal, like he wasn’t seconds away from completely fucking losing it, “you still got your pretty face intact.”

That earned him the faintest twitch of your lips. Not quite a smile, but close—softer than anything he’d seen from you all night. More importantly, it earned him the softest exhale, a breath of sound barely there, barely audible, but approaching a laugh.

Sebastian let himself smile—small, reassuring, nothing too much.

His thumb moved before he could stop it, brushing over your cheekbone, the lightest, most absent-minded touch.

"Let me see your hands," he murmured.

There was hesitation—he felt it before he even saw it. Your fingers curled into the blanket, your body tensing, as if you weren’t sure you wanted him to look. Then, slowly, you unwound your fingers, releasing the fabric, and let him take your hands.

And fuck. Even your knuckles were torn up—split, raw, some still sluggishly weeping where the skin had broken open. Dark smudges of dried blood clung between your fingers, across your palms. The skin along your wrist was bruised, as if someone had grabbed you.

He felt his pulse slam against his ribs.

You’d fought back. Of course you did. Of course you fucking did.

Because you were you. Because you were strong, stubborn, fierce even when the odds were stacked against you. But the thought of you having to fight—having to defend yourself like this, having to claw your way out of something horrible—

Sebastian inhaled sharply through his nose.

He forced it down—the fire, the violence curling under his skin, the instinct to demand names, places, details—he swallowed all of it.

Later. He’d deal with that later. Right now, you needed him.

Sebastian lifted the washcloth again, pressing it carefully to your knuckles. You hissed softly at the sting, hands jerking slightly in his grip.

“Easy, love,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, thick with something that sounded like devotion. “I’ve got you.”

He cleaned away the blood with slow, deliberate strokes, careful and methodical. Taking his time, as if it might make a difference. As if he could erase what had happened, wipe it from your skin, lift the weight from your shoulders and take it onto his own.

The silence between you settled, thick and heavy but not suffocating. Not tense. Just… there. A presence in the room.

When he finished, he set the washcloth aside and reached for the first aid kit again, fingers brushing over the zipper before he pulled it open. His hands were steady, practiced, as he found what he needed—a small tube of antibiotic ointment.

He twisted the cap off and squeezed a little onto his fingertip.

Neither of you spoke when he smoothed it gently over the cut above your eyebrow, his touch featherlight. You didn’t flinch, didn’t tense, just let him. And when he moved to your knuckles, carefully spreading the ointment over the split skin, you watched him—eyes dark, unreadable, but there. Present.

When he was finished, he squeezed your hand. That part wasn’t strictly necessary, but he did it anyway. A small thing. A quiet reassurance. And thenyour fingers curled around his, squeezing back—just barely.

Sebastian swallowed, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. “I’m getting you a clean shirt,” he said softly.

He turned to his dresser, yanking open a drawer and rifling through the mess. Because you were not staying in that fucking t-shirt. Not when the collar was torn, stretched where it shouldn’t be, the fabric stained with blood.

The thought of you still wearing it made something ugly curl in his stomach.

So he found the softest thing he owned—one of his old hoodies, oversized and warm, worn to hell but clean. Safe. Something that smelled like him.

He turned back to you, pressing it into your hands.

"Thanks," you murmured, your fingers curling into the fabric, the sleeves bunched between your knuckles.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “You can change in here,” he said. “Or the bathroom. Whatever’s—”

“I don’t want to be alone.”

His entire body went still. The words weren’t loud. If the room had been any noisier from the traffic outside, he might have missed them. But they hit like a gut punch, like a fist curling around his ribs and squeezing tight.

You weren’t looking at him. Your gaze was downcast, fixed somewhere near the floor, but your posture told him everything. Shoulders curled inward. Small. Hesitant.

Sebastian turned back to you instantly.

"Alright," he murmured, voice steady, unwavering. "I'll stay right here."

Something in your expression shifted, like the tension in your chest eased just slightly. Then slowly, carefully you peeled off your ruined t-shirt.

Sebastian tore his gaze away, jaw clenching. Not because he didn’t want to look—fuck, that was never the problem.

But because this wasn’t about that.

You needed comfort, not whatever mess of feelings he was shoving down, not whatever heat curled low in his stomach whenever you were close. Not the part of him that had spent years wanting to touch you, years wanting you in ways he’d never said aloud.

So he clenched his fists and stared at the wall, listening to the soft rustle of fabric as you pulled his hoodie over your head.

A moment of silence stretched between you.

“Okay,” you murmured.

Sebastian turned back.

The hoodie was massive on you, the sleeves swallowing your hands, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs.

He exhaled slowly, raking a hand through his hair before nodding once. “Better?”

You gave the smallest nod.

“Good.” His voice softer now, the rough edge smoothed just slightly. “Right then, let’s get you settled.”

Sebastian reached for the bed, moving on instinct. He pulled back the messy covers, shaking them out before propping up the pillows against the headboard, making sure they were stacked just right. Then, with quiet purpose, he turned back to you, nodding toward the bed.

“Come on,” he murmured, voice low, steady.

Your gaze flickered up at him, exhaustion dulling your eyes, but beneath it—gratitude. Silent, unspoken, but undeniable.

Slowly, you crawled onto the mattress, shifting beneath the blankets, and the second your head hit the pillow, you curled in on yourself, like your body had been waiting for this—this warmth, this safety—to finally let go.

Sebastian grabbed the blanket—your blanket—and tucked it securely over you, smoothing it over your shoulders before sitting on the edge of the bed, just close enough to reach you if you needed him.

“Anything I can get you?” he asked. “Tea? A snack? Whatever you want, love, just say the word.”

Your fingers curled into the edge of the blanket, your brows drawing together slightly like you hadn’t even considered that option.

“I—” Your voice was quiet, hesitant. “I don’t know.”

Sebastian huffed a quiet, almost amused sound. “Not exactly a helpful answer.”

You exhaled a soft breath—one that might have been the ghost of a laugh if you weren’t so drawn out—and ducked your chin into the blanket.

Sebastian watched you for a second, then nodded to himself, already making up his mind.

“Alright,” he murmured, standing. “Something to eat, then.”

You blinked up at him, looking so small, so tired, but you didn’t protest. Sebastian took that as a win.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, already scrolling through the UberEats app with single-minded focus. He wasn’t just looking for just anything—he was looking for your favorite restaurant.

He knew what you liked. Knew what you always ordered when you were too exhausted to cook, when you’d had a rough day, when you needed something warm and familiar to make the world feel a little less harsh.

And besides, it wasn’t like he had anything useful in his kitchen. The last time he’d checked, his fridge contained precisely one beer, a half-empty bottle of hot sauce, and something that might have once been a loaf of bread but was now a science experiment.

Not exactly ideal.

But even if he had groceries, it wouldn’t have mattered. You’d said you didn’t want to be alone. So he wasn’t going anywhere—not even to the damn kitchen.

As he flicked through the menu, your voice broke the silence.

“…Seb?”

He glanced up immediately, his full attention snapping back to you in an instant.

“Yeah?”

“…Will you lay with me?”

Something thick and impossible to name lodged itself in his throat, pressing against his ribs.

“Yeah,” he murmured, already moving. “Of course.”

He climbed into the bed beside you, careful and deliberate, mindful to keep a respectful distance—giving you space to breathe, to settle, to feel safe. But the second he was still, the second the warmth of him fully registered beside you, you scooted closer, the space between you vanishing in an instant. You curled into him, pressing into his side, burrowing against his chest like it was the only place you wanted to be.

Sebastian barely had a second to process it before instinct took over.

His free arm came around you automatically, pulling you in, keeping you there. He didn’t even think about it—just moved, just held.

And fuck, you fit against him so perfectly it made his heart lurch.

He ignored it.

Ignored the way your warmth seeped through the fabric of his shirt, ignored the way your breath ghosted against his neck, ignored the way his own pulse stupidly, traitorously picked up speed as you curled your fingers into the hem of his hoodie like you had no plans to let go.

Instead, he adjusted the angle of his phone so you could see the screen, keeping his voice casual. Normal. Like his brain wasn’t short-circuiting at the feeling of you wrapped around him.

“Here,” he murmured. “Do you want your usual?”

“…Yeah,” you said, voice half-muffled against his chest. “That sounds good.”

Sebastian hummed, tapping the order in without question.

“Alright,” he said. “Then it’s settled.”

His fingers flexed lightly against your waist, soothing, absent-minded, and you sighed, breath warm against his throat.

Sebastian swallowed hard, ignoring the way something deep in his chest ached at the feeling. He was in trouble.

But fuck it.

He’d deal with that later.

The next little while passed in silence—not the uncomfortable kind, not tense or heavy, just quiet. Steady.

Sebastian didn’t say anything. Neither did you. You just lay there, curled into him, your breath even and slow, the warmth of you pressed into his side.

But Sebastian didn’t need words.

He was just thankful you were here, that your body had finally started to relax, that the tension had drained from your limbs.

Then, eventually, the soft buzz of his phone vibrating on the nightstand broke the stillness.

The food was here.

Sebastian sighed, shifting slightly, preparing to get up, but the second he moved, he felt it. You stiffened. Barely perceptible, just the slightest tensing of your fingers against his shirt, but enough. Enough for something cold to crawl up his spine.

So instead of pulling away completely, he murmured, “Alright, come on then,” and reached down, slipping his arm around you.

You made a soft, startled sound as he shifted, rolling forward until you were draped across his back. His hands hooked securely under your thighs as he straightened, carrying you with him as he padded toward the door.

You didn’t protest. You just buried your face into the crook of his neck, fingers loosely gripping his shoulders as he moved.

Sebastian grabbed the takeout bag with one hand, snatched a couple of forks from the kitchen drawer on his way back, and carried you straight back to bed.

He placed the food between you, climbed in beside you again, and grabbed the remote, flipping on the TV. Some random YouTube video started playing—something dumb, nothing serious, just background noise to keep things from feeling too quiet.

You didn’t eat much. Just picked at your food, nudging pieces around with your fork.

That was fine. Sebastian didn’t push. Didn’t say anything about it. Just sat beside you, eating in easy silence, letting you take what you needed at your own pace.

And then, finally, you spoke.

Your voice was soft, quiet, but clear.

“…Sebastian.”

He glanced over immediately. “Yeah, love?”

You swallowed, staring at your food like you weren’t really seeing it. Then, slowly, you set your fork aside, taking in a shaky breath.

“I'm... I'm ready to tell you what happened.”

Sebastian’s fork stopped midway to his mouth.

The words settled between you, quiet but heavy, sinking into his ribs like a slow, aching weight.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched you as you stared down at your takeout, your breath uneven like you were preparing yourself.

Slowly, he reached for the remote. The video playing in the background cut off instantly, plunging the room into a thick, expectant silence. Sebastian set his fork down on the nightstand and turned his full attention to you.

“Alright,” he murmured. “I’m listening.”

You inhaled sharply, like you were bracing yourself, and when you spoke, your voice wavered—small and fragile in a way that made something in his chest splinter.

“It was him.”

The second the words left your mouth, his stomach dropped, and a sharp, seething hatred coiled hot and violent in his chest.

Sebastian knew who you meant. It was him.

And fuck, of course it was. How hadn't he put it together sooner?

Sebastian had never liked your boyfriend. Never. Not even in the beginning, when everyone else had acted like he was some goddamn catch. Sebastian hadn’t needed a reason, hadn’t needed proof—he just knew there was something off about him. Something that never sat right with Sebastian, no matter how many times you swore he was nice.

He’d never said anything, though. Not outright. You were happy, or at least that's what you said, and Sebastian—Sebastian, who was a selfish bastard on the best of days when it came to you—hadn’t wanted to be the bitter one. The one sitting on the sidelines, waiting for something to go wrong.

But now—now—he was fucking furious at himself for not pushing harder.

Because if he had, if he’d done something, maybe you wouldn’t be sitting here, hands trembling, voice wrecked, telling him about how the person who was supposed to love you had put his fucking hands on you.

His fists clenched in the blanket.

He had never understood why the fuck you got with him in the first place. A Muggle, sure, fine—Sebastian didn’t give a shit about blood status—but him?

You were brilliant, sharp, always three steps ahead in a conversation, in a duel, in everything. You had a way of reading people, of understanding things too quickly, like your mind was always moving, always making connections that no one else could see.

And your boyfriend? The guy was dense. It wasn’t even an insult, just a fact.

Sebastian had been baffled when you first introduced him. Because what the hell did you even talk about? He wasn’t clever, or funny, or anything that made sense for you. He was just… there. All tall, broad-shouldered, perfect-featured statue of a man, like some idiot Greek god who had never had a thought deeper than his own reflection.

And you, who could debate theory for hours, who could outduel anyone, who never backed down from an argument—had ended up with him?

It made no fucking sense.

At first, Sebastian had assumed it was just a passing thing. Maybe you were into the whole tall, hot, and dumb aesthetic. Maybe you just wanted something easy. Someone who wouldn’t challenge you, someone who wouldn’t drag you into the kind of shit Sebastian always did.

But then the relationship had lasted. For months.

Sebastian tried telling himself that his problem with your boyfriend was just jealousy, that it was something ugly in him that hated seeing you with someone else.

But deep down, it wasn’t just that.

He had never liked him. Never trusted him. And now—now he fucking knew why.

Your fingers tightened in the fabric of Sebastian’s hoodie, but you didn’t look at him. Your gaze stayed locked on the blanket draped over your lap, like you couldn’t bear to meet his eyes.

“He went out drinking,” you murmured, voice thin and raw. “Came home late. I was already in bed, and I—I could hear him from the other room. Slamming drawers, throwing shit. He was mad about something—probably work, or maybe just the fucking weather, I don’t know. But I knew it was bad. I knew the second I heard him that it was one of those nights.”

Sebastian didn’t move. His entire body had gone tight, coiled like a wire stretched too thin. One of those nights?

How many times had you stood there, listening to him throw shit around the apartment, waiting for him to come for you? How many nights had you lain awake, breath shallow, heart pounding, afraid of the man who was supposed to love you? How many times had you flinched at the sound of keys in the door?

Sebastian's breath was slow, measured—too controlled. He had to keep himself in check. Because if he let himself fully think about it, if he let himself process the fact that this wasn’t just some freak incident, that you had lived like this—

You kept talking, your voice quiet but raw, and he forced himself to listen.

“I tried to pretend I was asleep,” you muttered. “Hoped he’d just pass out on the couch. But then he came into the bedroom. Flicked on the light. Stood in the doorway for a second, just looking at me.”

Sebastian clenched his jaw so hard it ached.

“And then he started talking—no, ranting—about everything that had gone wrong today. Like it was my fault. Like I was supposed to fix it. I told him to calm down, but that just made it worse.”

Sebastian swallowed, his throat dry as fucking sandpaper.

Your fingers curled into your sleeves, knuckles pressing against your ribs like you were trying to hold yourself together. “He got in my face,” you continued. “He does that sometimes, to intimidate me, I think. I told him to back off, but he didn’t.” Your voice broke slightly, and you sucked in a sharp breath. “I—I reached for my wand.”

Sebastian inhaled sharply.

And then, he knew. He knew what was coming. Knew it.

But when you finally said it—when the words left your mouth, shaking, broken—he still felt like the fucking floor had been ripped out from under him.

“He grabbed it out of my hand,” you whispered. “And he snapped it in half.”

But you weren’t done.

“And then he grabbed me.”

Sebastian barely resisted the urge to fucking break something.

“I hit him,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I tried. That’s why my knuckles are—” You gestured vaguely to one hand with the other, your fingers trembling. “But obviously I was never going to win against him. Then he shoved me, slammed me against the wall so hard I thought my head was gonna split open.”

Sebastian’s fingers twitched against the blanket. His breath was coming too fast, too sharp. He needed to stay still, needed to stay quiet because this wasn’t about him, but—fuck. You were shaking now, and it took everything in him not to pull you into his arms right then and there.

“I—I must have hit the dresser on the way down,” you said, voice thick as you reached up, brushing a fingertip over your eyebrow.

Sebastian felt sick.

“He grabbed me again,” you continued, voice unsteady. “By the arms. He was yelling, I don’t even know what the fuck he was saying anymore. I—I tried to claw him off, and then he—”

You stopped. Sebastian’s pulse roared in his ears.

He didn’t move, didn’t breathe. He could feel what was coming next, and it terrified him more than anything else you’d said.

His voice, when it finally came, was low. Too low.

“He what?”

You swallowed, voice thick with unshed tears. “He put his hands around my throat.”

Sebastian’s world went fucking silent. The breath was knocked out of him. His heart slammed so hard against his ribs he thought it might crack them.

“And I—I couldn’t—” Your voice wavered, raw and unsteady. “I couldn’t breathe. I was kicking, and I—I think I got him in the ribs or something, because he let go just long enough for me to shove him and run.”

Sebastian clenched his jaw so hard it ached.

“ I didn’t think. I didn’t even grab anything,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I just—I had to get out, so I ran, and… and I dunno, I ended up here.”

Sebastian couldn’t breathe. You had to run from your own home. You had to run for your life.

Sebastian was going to kill him. No—he was going to do worse.

And then, then, his mind supplied the worst possible thought.

His voice came out strained. Tight. Lethal. “…Did he do anything else? Did he— did he touch you?”

You shook your head. Small. Quick. Immediate.

“No,” you whispered, voice thick. “No. He didn’t.”

Sebastian barely resisted the urge to collapse with relief. But the fact that he even had to ask—the fact that he had even worried about it—was enough to send another wave of fury rolling through his chest.

His voice, when it finally came, was flat, cold in a way that barely sounded like him.

“Where is he now?”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t know.”

Sebastian’s fingers curled into the blanket, his jaw locking so hard it ached.

“I don’t know if he chased me down the street,” you muttered, voice distant, "or if he just passed out on the floor in the flat.” Your mouth twisted slightly, bitter. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Sebastian saw red. Wouldn’t be the first time. Wouldn’t be the first fucking time. The words slammed into him like a punch to the gut, a brutal, taunting echo that wouldn’t stop.

How long? How long had this been happening? Had there been times when you’d wanted to tell him? When the words had almost left your lips, only to be swallowed back down by fear? How many times had you thought about leaving but been too scared?

Sebastian’s stomach twisted violently, a sickening, nauseating weight settling deep in his ribs.

Had he ever looked at you and missed it? Had you ever shown up to work, to his flat, tired or distracted, wearing long sleeves even when it was warm? Had he ever caught a glimpse of something he should have seen—some hidden bruise, some flicker of fear in your eyes—and fucking ignored it?

His vision blurred at the edges. He should have known. He should have fucking known.

And now—now it was too late, because it had already happened, and you were sitting right here, bruised and battered, wearing his hoodie because your own clothes were ruined, voice small and wrecked as you told him about how you had run for your life.

Sebastian couldn’t sit still.

The rage was too much, too sharp, clawing up his throat, curling around his spine, making his limbs itch with the need to move, to do something, to fucking fix this.

So he shoved his takeout onto the nightstand, barely registering the sound it made, and pushed off the bed before the anger swallowed him whole.

But he didn’t get far.

The second he was standing, he felt it—your fingers catching weakly at the fabric of his shirt, not pulling, not stopping him, just… holding.

Sebastian froze. His hands twitched at his sides, and he exhaled sharply through his nose, rolling his shoulders back, forcing himself to breathe, swallowing the violence in his throat.

“Tomorrow,” he said, voice hard with finality, “I’m getting all your stuff from your place.”

Your head snapped up, eyes widening slightly, but Sebastian didn’t let you speak.

“You’re never going back there,” he continued, unmoving. “You live here now.”

Your lips parted, and for a second, he saw it—that flicker of resistance, the part of you that was always so fucking stubborn, always ready to argue, to find some logical excuse for why you couldn't—

Sebastian didn’t give you the chance.

“No.” His tone was unyielding, “You don’t get to argue with me on this."

Sebastian steeled himself, forcing himself to be rational, to speak in the way you’d actually listen instead of just demanding you do what he fucking said.

“You don’t have a wand,” he reminded you, voice rough but steady. “You don’t know where he is. I’m not letting you walk back into that flat. Ever.”

You swallowed hard. “But—”

Sebastian shook his head.

“No. This is your home now,” he said. “For as long as you need. As long as you want.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but finally—so quietly he almost didn’t hear it—

“…Okay.”

Sebastian exhaled sharply, tension bleeding from his shoulders just slightly, just enough that his hands didn’t feel like they were about to break something.

“If you want to report it,” he said, steady, certain, determined, “we’ll figure it out. We’ll go to the Ministry if we need to, or the Muggle police.” His throat felt tight, but he pushed through it. “Whatever you need. Whatever justice looks like for you—we’ll get it.”

Your breath stuttered slightly, but you didn’t speak.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “We can ask Ominis which one to go to. He’s good with this shit—he’ll know what to do.” He hesitated for a second, then added, “And if you don’t want to tell him… that’s fine, too. I’ll sort it out myself.”

Because he would. If you wanted to handle this the legal way, he’d be right there beside you, every step of the way. And if you didn’t—

“But if you don’t want to do that,” he said, voice dropping lower, gentler, softer in a way that made his ribs ache, “that’s okay.”

It was your choice. All of it. For what was probably the first time in months, it was yours.

Sebastian was about to say more—was about to ask if you wanted him to do something now, to go to the flat, to find that fucking bastard—but then you made a sound. A small, barely there sound, like something breaking apart inside you. And before he could even process it, your shoulders shook, your face crumpling as the first sob ripped out of you.

Sebastian's stomach dropped.

Fuck—

What did he say? What did he do?

He had tried to be so careful, but now you were crying—really crying, for the first time all night—and fuck, had he pushed too hard? Had he said something—

Your hands were reaching for him.

Sebastian barely had time to breathe before you were clutching at him, holding him with all the strength left in you.

He melted. His arms came around you instantly, pulling you in, one hand cupping the back of your head as you buried your face into his chest. He felt the shudder of your breath, the way your whole body trembled as you broke apart against him, sobbing into his shoulder.

"Hey, hey—" His voice was low, rough, but so fucking gentle. "I've got you. It’s alright. Just—just let it out."

You gasped between sobs, fists curling into him like you needed him to keep you steady.

And then, through the shaking, through the broken sobs, “Thank you.”

Sebastian's breath stuttered, his grip tightening around you. You were still crying, still wrecked, still clinging to him, but the words were so raw, so genuine, it made something ache deep in his chest.

"Don’t thank me," he muttered, pressing his cheek against the top of your head. "You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart. This—" He exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper. "I would do anything for you. You do know that, don't you?"

You let out a soft, breathy laugh against his chest, barely more than a shaky exhale. It wasn’t light, wasn’t joyful. It was exhausted, raw, frayed at the edges like you didn’t quite have the energy for it but couldn’t help yourself. A sound that came from somewhere deep, somewhere aching.

And then, you whispered, "Yeah, Seb… I know."

Your voice was hoarse, wrecked—but sure in a way that made his ribs feel like they were caving in. Like there had never been a doubt in your mind. Like you had always known.

And something inside him cracked.

All the anger, the panic, the terror that had been keeping him upright—keeping him steady—just snapped, and suddenly he was unraveling too, spilling apart at the seams before he could even think to stop it.

Because the truth, the reality of this finally hit him—really hit him, slamming into him all at once like a freight train, like a fist to the ribs, like something he would never recover from.

You could have not made it here. He could have lost you. Not in some abstract, distant, what if kind of way.

No.

This had been real. This had happened. And if things had gone just a little differently—if you hadn’t gotten away, if that bastard had held on just a second longer—

The thought suffocated him, dragged him under, wrenched something raw and painful out of his chest. His breath hitched sharply against your hair. His shoulders trembled. And then, before he could stop it, before he could even fight it, a choked, wrecked sob ripped out of him.

Sebastian never cried.

Not when his uncle died. Not when he thought he’d lost Ominis for good. Not even when he lost Anne and the weight of his own mistakes had nearly crushed him. He’d swallowed it all down, shoved it away, because crying never changed anything.

But this—

This was different. This wasn’t grief. This wasn’t regret or guilt or self-hatred.

This was terror.

Pure. Crippling. The kind that hollowed you out, carved into you like a knife, left you feeling like there was nothing inside but raw, open wounds.

He could’ve lost you.

His breath came too fast, uneven, the pressure in his chest too much, and his mouth was already moving before he could stop it.

“I swear to God, I don’t— I don’t know what I would have done if—” His voice cracked, a raw, fractured thing that barely made it out past his lips.

“I—I should’ve known, I should’ve done something—” His grip flexed, desperate. “I knew something was off about him, I fucking knew, and I didn’t say anything—”

“Sebastian—”

“And I—fuck, I can’t stop picturing it. You— you walked here, you were just, just out there, all alone, and I wasn’t—” His voice cracked again, barely holding together. “I wasn’t there, I didn’t know—”

Your hand lifted, soft and soothing, brushing against the side of his face, and it wrecked him, because fuck, you shouldn’t have to comfort him. Not after what you had just been through. Not when he was supposed to be taking care of you.

But you did. You just held him.

Sebastian let out another ragged breath, desperately clinging to you. “I could have lost you.”

Your thumbs swept across his cheekbones, gentle, careful, steady. "You didn’t.”

He let out a sound—somewhere between a sharp exhale and a broken laugh, because that wasn’t the point. The point was that it had been so fucking close.

“I—” His fingers curled against the nape of your neck, into your hair, gripping you like a lifeline. "You have no fucking idea—I just—I thought—" He inhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against yours, his voice turning frantic, desperate.

"Sebastian—"

"I knew he was wrong for you, I knew it, and I—fuck—I just let it happen—"

"Seb—"

"I love you."

It ripped out of him.

Messy. Raw. Completely unfiltered.

“I love you and—fuck—" his voice was wild, frantic, cracking over itself. "And I swear to God, I’m going to kill him." His breath hitched, a sharp, furious sound. " I’m going to bury him, I’m going to make him suffer, I’m going to make sure he knows—"

His breath came hard, uneven, furious, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.

"He’s done," His laugh was sharp, bitter, wrecked. "I mean it—I mean it, I will put him in the fucking ground, I will tear him apart with my bare hands—"

His voice was getting rougher, more desperate, more unhinged with every word that tumbled out. He couldn’t stop—couldn’t stop picturing it, him, with his hands on you, hurting you, breaking your wand, stealing your power, making you run for your life—

"I should’ve stopped this, I should’ve—fuck, I should’ve done something the second I saw him looking at you like you were his, I should’ve fucking known—"

"Seb—"

"You don’t understand—he put his hands on you. On you. Do you have any idea what that means to me? Do you have any clue what I would do for you?" His breath came sharp and fast, his words spilling out unchecked, unstoppable. "You—you’re everything to me—I love you, fuck, I love you—"

And that was when it hit him.

He said it.

Again.

For the fourth fucking time, actually.

He had said the one thing he was never supposed to say, the thing he had spent years shoving down under layers of denial and cowardice and self-preservation because it was safer that way. Because it was easier to pretend, easier to be your friend, easier to just be there for you without ruining everything.

But it was out now. It was out, and there was no taking it back, and fuck, he shouldn’t have said it—not like this, not when this wasn’t about him, not when you had just been through hell—

And suddenly, fresh panic was clawing up his throat, his mind spinning too fast, spiraling, trying to fix it, trying to backpedal—

And then you kissed him.

Sebastian’s mind blipped.

Just shut off completely.

One second, he was losing his goddamn mind, his body shaking, his hands gripping onto you like you were the only thing keeping him from self-destructing, and the next, your lips were on his, soft and desperate and real.

It was like slamming into a wall at full speed.

Every thought cut out at once.

The rage. The panic. The terror.

Gone.

All that was left was this. You. The feeling of your hands curling into the neckline of his shirt, pulling him closer. The way your breath hitched against his lips, the way your body melted against his like you had wanted this just as much as he had.

Sebastian made a noise in the back of his throat—wrecked, wild—before he sank into you completely.

His hands flew up, cupping your face, tilting your head like he needed more, like he was drowning and this was the only thing that could save him.

He felt your fingers shaking, gripping him like you needed him as much as he needed you, and fuck, if that wasn’t enough to destroy him.

He broke away just long enough to suck in a breath, his forehead dropping to yours, his whole body shaking.

And then—softly, like he couldn’t help himself—he let out a ragged, disbelieving laugh.

“…Okay,” he breathed, his lips barely an inch from yours. “Okay. That was—yeah. That was a good way to shut me up.”

Your lips twitched—small, barely there—

But there.

216 notes · View notes

whocaresstillthelouvre · 1 year ago

Text

Golden Walkway

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader (Reader is a teacher in Jackson, has long hair.) Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: It’s your birthday, Joel takes you out to the Tipsy Bison, kisses (and does more to) you in the rain, and takes you home to give you a gift (it's sex, the gift is sex). Also, the thought of Joel spitting whiskey in someone's mouth happened and I had to write it out. 🤷🏼‍♀️ Warnings: smut, drinking, consent first, degradation second, followed by so much praise, hair pulling, spitting, Joel calls you a slut, fingering against a brick wall, F receiving oral, I watched that doggy style Narcos gif (for research) a lot, unprotected p in v, apocalypse birth control (pulling out), Joel’s canon age, Reader’s in her 30’s. Words: 4,300 A/N: Hi! Welcome to my first published fic. I'm currently working on a grander scale fic with these two, I hope to have the first chapter out within the next couple of weeks. I just really wanted to get this out there! Thanks for reading and a big thank you to @ohheypedrito for all of her help and also to our phones for not overheating when I send 40 texts at once with ideas for fics. Hope you enjoy, can't even blame the feralness of this on the full moon.

Edit: I posted the Masterlist for Elks, my work these two are included in.

***

“Was turning 21 as fun as they’d show in movies back then?” You’re cuddled in next to Joel on his couch sketching in your notebook while Joel reads a book about Native Americans that you found him. You always do this, a random question or thought to break the comfortable silence.

“Not for me, bought a 12 pack of Bud Light and split it on my porch with Tommy. Sarah was only a toddler then and I had work in the morning. Didn’t have the money or the time to go to a bar. ‘Course I don’t think a lotta people did anything the way they’d show in the movies.”

“I always wanted to have my 21st birthday at a bar, ya’ know? Wait until the clock strikes midnight and order a weird named shot.”

“Well, I reckon we could do that at the Bison tomorrow night. Might not be your 21st but I’ll get you whatever you want to drink, and the best part is you can drink before midnight.” Joel pulls you in closer and kisses your forehead, “What do you say, let me take you out for your birthday sweetheart.”

“Yes, please,” you sigh into his shoulder, “sounds amazing.”

“Wear that little blue dress I know you have hanging in your closet.”

The drinks flowing through you making you downright giddy, alcohol making you bolder, your body and your inhibitions becoming looser, your hands becoming addicted to touching Joel, first his leg, then his thigh, now his lower stomach, right at his waistband. You haven’t been this tipsy in a long time, your face feeling flushed and red more from your desire than any drink you’ve had tonight.

“You better knock that off before I take you outside in the rain and fuck you against the building, darling,” Joel huffs into your ear. His fiery warning massaging your neck causing your heart rate cooled by your inebriation to pick up.

“Sooo, keep going?” You slur back.

“If that’s what you really want,” Joel puts a forceful squeeze on your upper thigh, a layer of your dress laying between his skin and your skin. If you weren’t both sitting at the bar, and maybe in one of the more darker corners of the saloon you’d surely hike your skirt up and let him learn just how bad you want him.

It feels so good to let go with him, to giggle openly at his jokes, stare at his profile as he talks with a friend or two who stop by to say hello, or place your hand on his broad back just because you want to touch his soft blue denim shirt.

You watch as his tongue darts out and licks the leftover whiskey off his top lip, Joel’s movements becoming a little slower thanks to the amber liquid he’s been drinking all night. Some droplets glisten on his mustache, you fight every urge inside yourself to not lean over and lick them up.

“It’s what I want,” you respond as you move your hand back and forth across his waistband.

“Jesus Christ, I’m about ready to throw you over my shoulder and run home,” Joel says as he takes your hand into his and pulls it away.

“Not so fast. You told me you’d fuck me in the rain, that’s what I want for my birthday,” you whisper into his ear with a breathy giggle.

“Can’t fuck you out here in public. Small town ‘n all, but I’ll make you feel good,” Joel takes a last swig of his drink, puts the glass down and knocks his fist on the bar to let the bartender know you two are leaving. He leans forward and drawls into your ear, “Now finish your drink if you want me to show you just how happy of a birthday I can give you.”

You nod and gulp your drink down. You’re so wet, you don’t know if you’ve ever been this turned on before. Joel grabs your arm with the perfect amount of pressure, you’ve never been so happy to get outside into the pouring rain.

——

It’s absolutely storming outside, your footsteps sloshing in the puddles on the ground. The rain pelting your’s and Joel’s bodies as you walk through late night Jackson. It feels like you’re the only two people in the whole town as you make your way farther away from the bar. The bulbs of the string lights reflecting off the water gathering on the sidewalks making your path towards Joel’s house golden. You don’t rush, the two of you not scared away by the downpour, the drops cooling your burning skin. Joel turns down the street before his, pulling you behind one of the storage buildings, it’s darker back here, practically pitch black thanks to the rain clouds blocking the moon and the nearest light source being three buildings down. You’re pushed up against the brick, Joel’s hand gently cradling your head to block it from hitting the wall, he’s such a gentleman.

“Happy birthday baby, I need you to tell me you want this, ‘n you’re okay with this, I have plans for you and I need you to tell me you want it.” Joel instructs you, all you can see is his eyes and the faint lines of his facial hair, the rest of him camouflaged by the darkness surrounding the two of you.

“I want it, more than anything. Please,” your voice straining as you beg.

“Tell me you want me to have my way with you,” Joel speaks into your slack mouth as he rubs his arched nose against yours.

“I want you to have your way with me,” you moan against his wet shirt, “so bad.”

“Good girl, now, m’not gonna fuck you here, because I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop and I need to have you in my bed tonight.” Joel starts to move his hand down your body lifting the hem of your dress. “But, you are going to cum for me right here.” Joel captures your mouth with his. His hand starts to trace the outline of your panties, you mew out a cry as his fingers slip through and begin to pet you right where you ache the most. His hands are so big, his fingers so long and thick, always putting the right amount of pressure, moving the way you need him to move. Joel Miller is a capable man, everyone knows that, but nobody, except for you, knows just how capable he is.

Joel sticks a finger in you, though his finger is thick and feels so good, you need more to fill you.

“Another,” you instruct in between fevered kisses. Your pussy clenches as Joel pushes another finger in you. “Yessss,” you moan out against his lips.

“That’s my good girl, gotta get you stretched out f’me.” Joel begins to kiss his way down your chin and neck stopping at your chest, your hard nipples jutting through your wet dress. Joel takes one into his mouth, sucking the fabric and your tit deeper into his mouth. The sloppy wet sounds of Joel’s suctions making you want him more.

“Another finger,” you shudder out. “Three? You really want it tonight, don’t you?” Joel mumbles against your chest as he sticks a third finger in. It burns, it burns in the best way. You’re ready for him, it’s what you’ve been waiting for all night. You bite down on your lip as your legs begin to shake, Joel can tell you’re right on the edge and twists his fingers inside of you as he finger fucks you harder.

Your orgasm bursts forward your whole body going stiff as you try not to wail out into the night.

“That’s iiiiiit baby,” Joel pulls his fingers out of you and softly pets your pussy from hole to clit.

He removes his hand from between your legs bringing it up between the two of you resting his finger tips against your lips, you open your mouth and begin to lick. His tongue meeting yours as you both clean his thick digits covered in you. He takes his hand away leaving just your mouths to taste each other. His kiss turns tender, your kiss turns desperate.

Joel pulls away resting his forehead against yours. “My beautiful birthday girl. Let’s get you home, my gift’s not done.”

——

Your body practically chills with the promise of what is left to come. Joel grabs your hand and you take it depending on him to lead you to his home. Every step you take you feel your wet core heavy with lust, you’re soaked from the rain and from Joel, if you could drown like this, you would go down with the sinking ship. His house comes into view, your body tingling in anticipation at the site as the both of you speed your footsteps up in perfect agreement.

He throws open the gate, you’re following so close you almost trip on his heels making your way up the walkway and steps. He fumbles for his keys and unlocks the doors, you take the opportunity to run your hands all over his back and sides, rubbing the wet cloth of his shirt as it molds to his body. The door swings open and you both shuffle into his living room gasps escaping your mouths, both out of breath from your dash home and your mutual want for each other. You step out of your wet shoes and shake your hair out.

“Take your dress off, right now.” Joel huffs out as he tosses his keys on the console table and begins to kick his boots off.

You strip yourself of your baby blue frock as fast as you can. You’ve never had a reason to wear such a revealing piece of clothing. You don’t know why you held onto it, let alone grabbing it from the communal clothing rack, never thinking anything, or anyone, would be worthy enough for you to dress up for. Joel’s worthy, so worthy.

“Feel like I’m a little underdressed here…” your words grab Joel’s attention as he moves his hands up to his chest to begin to unbutton his denim shirt. He gets one button taken care of before he rips it open. Shame, it’s your favorite shirt, you'll have to fix it for him later. You watch as a button rolls underneath a table, before you can note where it lands, your attention turns back to Joel to find him stepping out of his jeans and underwear leaving him completely naked.

What a sight, what a fucking sight. There’s only a lamp on in the room, Joel’s body being cast in amber color and shadow, one side of him on full display glowing in the light, the other more difficult to discern. He moves forward stalking you. “Now I’m the underdressed one here. Take them off for me,” he says as he moves to pick up a bottle of whiskey from his shelf.

You follow his instructions shucking your underwear down your legs and leaving them pooled at your feet.

“Good girl,” Joel says as he begins to walk towards you unscrewing the lid off the bottle. He stands in front of you and takes a drink. “Open your mouth,” he orders as he grabs your hair and tips your head back. He takes another pull from the bottle, this time he raises his mouth over your mouth and begins to dribble drips of whiskey down from his mouth into yours. A moan raises from your throat, causing Joel to tighten his hold on your hair and arch your head back even more. He spits the rest of the whiskey straight into your mouth, you happily swallow his spit and liquor down. He unwinds his hands from your hair, takes another drink and kisses you, the whiskey and his tongue spilling into your mouth. Joel pulls back and takes his last swig before resting the bottle on the table. “Get upstairs.”

You don’t think you’ve ever run so fast in your life, tripping over your feet as you rush your way up, Joel’s naked form hunting you like prey up each step.

The sight of Joel’s bed brings a new wave of goosebumps to your skin.

“Bend over on the bed darlin,” Joel turns on a lamp in the corner and pulls it closer. “Need to lick and fuck you with my tongue.”

You move over to Joel’s side of the bed and bend forward, your ass sitting high in the air and your face in the sheets, you inhale the smell of Joel on his sheets. You swing your hips in giddy anticipation of what’s about to happen.

You feel his body lean over yours, his erection laying over your lumbar. “Okay baby, once again, need you to tell me you’re good with me having my way with your body,” he tempts into your ear.

“Fuck, y—yes, fuck, of course I am good. So good.”

“That’s my girl,” Joel’s heavy body lifting off of yours as he kneels between your legs. You feel his hot breaths on you where you’re aching for him the most, you widen your stance egging him on to touch you. “Look at you,” Joel licks your thigh, “so fuckin’ wet you’ve spilled out into your thighs.”

You scream a pleasured yell as Joel’s teeth bite down into the flesh of your thigh and sucks your skin into his mouth. The pain is perfect. He loosens his bite, kissing and licking the spot, the sensation making your body quiver.

“Okay baby?”

“Y-y-yessss,” you answer.

“Whaddo you need sweetheart?”

“Lick me,” you beg out, “please.”

“‘Course. Where do you want me to lick you?” Joel questions as he nuzzles his head against your ass cheek, giving it a small bite.

“My pussy. Pleeeaaase,” you’d say you sound pathetic but you couldn’t care less, your lust overshadowing any type of pride.

“Mm, you sound so needy baby, you sound like you really need my tongue on you, huh?” His teasing drawl drives you crazy, your body won’t stop moving, absolutely radiating tensity from your want.

“Please,” you implore, sobbing out.

“Alright baby,” his hands grab your cheeks and spreads them, widening his view of you. “Prettiest thing I ever seen, love your pussy.”

This act feels so depraved, everything on display for him, legs and cheeks spread wide, your pussy exhibited for him like it’s an art piece.

You literally scream into the bed, biting down on Joel’s comforter as his tongue finally meets your core. This, thiiiiiiis is what you’ve been wanting all night. Joel moans against you, not being able to hold himself back as he tastes you, his fevered licks exploring your cunt, his large tongue mapping every inch of you. He’s absolutely conquering you, the noises of his lips and tongue smacking against your wetness soundtracking his journey.

He can feel you getting close your hips beginning to cant as your orgasm begins to crest. You knew it wouldn’t take long, between the alcohol buzz and Joel’s tongue lapping up your wetness and cum from earlier, you knew you’d be a goner.

“Mmf, cum for me,” Joel speaks against you, his mouth full of you, too busy to pull away to clearly speak. You don’t think he can get any closer to you, his tongue working your orgasm up in intensity with each swirl and dash against your clit. You feel it, it’s here. Your legs instantly collapse, thankful that the rest of your body is resting on the bed. Your eyes tightly squeeze shut and then begin to rapidly blink as your orgasm shatters through you. Joel flattens his tongue against your clit as it pulses. You’re too turned on to make a noise, Joel stepping in for you and groaning as your juices seep out of you.

“Did so good baby,” Joel says leaving one last kiss on your clit before standing up behind you. You want to flip over to look at him, you haven’t seen his face since you laid down on the bed. You have no energy, you’re just a shell of a woman, the only sensations you can feel is the pool of wetness in between your legs and your light inebriation.

Your attention gets pulled to the sound of Joel spitting in his hand, followed by a hiss coming out of his mouth. When you realize exactly what he’s doing, you summon the strength needed to turn over. You flip over, your back thudding on the mattress your legs still spread wide, feet resting on the floor. And there…. there…. THERE he is, standing in the middle of his room, one large hand wrapped around his hard cock softly stroking as he watches you with hooded eyes. You know you just came, but the sight makes your pussy clench with desire.

Joel jerks himself off as his eyes roam your exhausted form. “Been thinking ‘bout this all day. You all laid out in front of me heaving for air after cummin’ all over my tongue,” slow strokes matching his lazing words. “Just about canceled our night out when you opened your door in that little blue dress, looked like you were wearing the sky, baby.”

You bite your lip as all of your senses are so overtly overwhelmed by lust. The sight of Joel’s handsome face watching you, the hazel flecks in his eyes twinkling in the golden light of the lamp. The smell of the rain on your skin mixed with the heady scent of your arousal and Joel’s sheets. The taste of Joel’s whiskey tongue still in your mouth. The sound of Joel’s fist pumping along his hard cock. The feel of the aftershocks of your orgasm still quaking your body. It’s so fucking much, you need Joel inside you. The thought of feeling him stretch you causes a whimper.

“Yeah baby? Havin’ a hard time over there?” Joel stops stroking his hard length, his hand pauses on his shaft. “You want me to fuck you now?”

“Pleeeease,” you keen out.

“Alright sweetheart.” Joel confidently strides over to you, dick still in hand. He stops right at the edge of your feet. “Turn back around ’n get on all fours in the middle of the bed f’me.”

You follow his instructions eager to please. The sooner you get this done, the sooner you can feel Joel enter you.

“Good girl,” he praises as the mattress dips lower with his weight behind you.

Your heart is pounding so loud, your whole body thrumming, you gulp down a breath of air trying to calm your need. You feel Joel’s cock brush against your ass cheek, he’s so close to fucking you.

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna fuck you real good and hard now. Happy birthday baby.”

And just like that, Joel buries his cock inside of you, you’re absolutely stretched around him. Your clit already worked over by Joel’s tongue, now your hole deliciously stinging while it flutters around his cock. He begins thrusting, tender and slow full strokes. Entering and exiting, swirling the head of his cock right at the entrance before plunging back in because he knows you love the feeling. Joel’s groans and your cries join in song as he begins to pound faster, the sound of your bodies slapping together match the rhythm.

“Feel so fucking good, always so perfect for me. S’a good girl, always take it so good,” Joel grits out.

He grabs your hair and wraps it around his fist as he pounds into you. “No one knows how fucking slutty you get for me behind these walls. They think you’re one of those innocent little teachers.” Joel pulls your hair harder causing a scream of ecstasy from you. “You love this, don’t you?”

You do. It’s so rough, so different from how gentle he always is with you. It feels like a luxury to be treated this way by him.

“Y-y-y-yes, God I love it,” you whimper.

“That’s right. That’s what I like to hear. So pretty so smart. So much smarter than me, now I’m makin’ you stupid with my cock, right baby?”

Everybody knows Joel Miller as the strong, silent type, a man of few words, somebody who doesn’t do chit chat. But with you in his bed naked and wailing as he slams into you, Joel Miller won’t shut up.

“Doin’ so good for me. So pretty, so perfect f’me. So wet for me.”

“You made me so wet earlier, I was afraid I was going to leave a mark on the barstool.” Your words coming out as tortured weeps, so lost in your ecstasy you struggle with every word spoken.

“Fuuuuuck.” That got him good. He pounds you even harder, the bed frame shaking violently against his wall, your body and cunt acting as if it’s the only barrier between Joel knocking a hole in the plaster. “Had I fuckin’ known I would have made you stick your face on that chair and made you lick yourself up as I fuck you against it.”

That’s it, that’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. Joel’s deep timbered accent grunting those deviant words as he grabs you and begins to roll his hips into your cunt. Your body is strung so tight and rigid in all places besides your hips and core, pumping and rolling along with Joel’s as he fucks you. You’re close again, your panting breaths letting Joel know.

“Baby, if you gotta cum, cum,” his grip on your hips pressure into you.

“Going … going.. going to,” the only words you can say as your third orgasm radiates out of your body, your pussy is the epicenter, tingles firing through your veins, your hands fisting the blankets at your detonation. Slack jawed and fucked senseless you rally the strength to not disintegrate and fall into Joel’s bed. Your world has been shattered by Joel, but your body survives for him, your legs and arms shaking under gravity and your weight as they deal with the fallout.

“C’mere baby, lemme help you.” Of course he can tell you’re struggling. He reaches his hands around, clutching your stomach and pulling you up against him. Your back up against his chest, his hand seeking out your breast, the other wrapping around your torso and clutching you to him. He holds you as he fucks into you, his nose brushing against your ear as he puffs and grunts against your neck. “Fucking. Love. You. So. Much.” Each word matching a thrust into you. Your hands find his and grip them, you’ve never felt more loved and protected. Joel Miller has got you.

You feel the familiar shudder in Joel’s movements as he edges close to his climax. His labored breaths getting louder and more fevered against your neck. You’re absolutely wrecked, but the angle of Joel’s cock inside of you mixed with the feeling of the shudder in his movements as he edges himself brings forth another orgasm. Words are gone, just sounds, whatever your throat can muster up and out of your mouth.

“That’s it, that’s it, that’s it,” Joel repeats. His hands squeezing yours so tightly, his chest heaving against your back, his strong thighs straddling yours, his nose pressing into your ear. You feel his body tense as he pulls out. His release coating your pussy as his whole body surrounds you. Hot breaths huffing against the side of your face in between featherlight kisses. “Love you,” a whisper in your ear so delicate and sweet as he lets go of your hands. Your body falling forward without his support, your arms catching you before crashing down on the bed. Joel gets up with a groan as you lay yourself down on your stomach, taking the opportunity to stretch your legs out before rolling over on your side to watch Joel. He stands arms akimbo in the middle of the room. He’d look like a Greek statue if his shoulders weren’t rising and falling rapidly as he catches his breath. He’s gorgeous and he looks just as wrecked as you feel.

“Probably shouldn’t have gotten up as quick as I did,” he chuckles. “Damn well feel like I’m standing in the middle of a earthquake.” You love the casual banter he puts forth seconds after being deep inside you, his cum still covering your core. This is love.

You smile at him, your cheek resting on your hand as a makeshift pillow. You’re exhausted… the whole night and your four orgasms catching up with you. Eyes feeling heavy, matching your limbs you begin to drift off.

A wet sensation in between your legs jerks you awake. “Sorry baby, just want to clean you up,” a whisper just as light as Joel’s tender attention as he washes you lulls you back to sleep.

——

“Baby,” Joel’s low voice gently wakes you up along with a soft kiss to your forehead.

You groan as you stretch your sore muscles under the sheet, opening your eyes to find Joel gazing down lovingly at you. He’s backlit by the filtered morning sunlight shining in through his bedroom windows. What a way to wake up. “Happy birthday sweetheart, I’d let you sleep all day but I need to give you my present.” His face is so bright and cheerful, a boost in your confidence provided by just how happy he looks when he’s with you.

“Thought you gave me your present already last night,” you yawn.

“Sweet girl, that was a present for both of us. Now come on, get up.” You grab his offered hand and reluctantly get out of bed. Joel wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug, his hands splayed across your back as you nuzzle your face in his warm chest. “Happy birthday.”

A/N: THANK YOU for reading my first ever fic. My inbox is always open. :)

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #joel miller/reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #elks #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #pedro pascal

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pedrospookie · 5 months ago

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I like you.

summary: Jackson!Joel Miller x Eldest Daughter Reader, Just an afternoon in Jackson, Wyoming with Joel Miller.

a/n: This is (kinda) the first Eldest Daughter Reader fic among a sea of others that I am currently working on. This one is for the Eldest Daughters™️ who were left to be their own company for a long time. I mentioned in a post a few days ago that some of these stories are a little self-indulgent, and this one most definitely is. I was always a kid who was left to play by themselves and who was often treated as a second choice or plan B. This is also stemmed from hearing “i love you, but i don’t like you” growing up, especially during my teenage years. I know that we need to do the work to heal, grow and love ourselves, but we can also allow ourselves to have experiences that help us heal or at least believe/find the trust that we deserve it (because we do!). Anyway, here’s a little bit of Fix it Joel 👷‍♂️ for the Eldest Daughter. I hope you like it!

warnings: mild swearing, hints at infidelity (not Joel), the reader having some (what i feel are) ugly guilty feelings, light smoochin. Fluff.

wc: 2.3k words

It was a quiet day in Jackson, the streets filled with the chirping of birds and a lazy breeze, cartoon-like clouds drifting through the vast sky of the flat lands as people blissfully went about their day. After a tediously bitter winter, the kind that nipped at your fingers and left a lingering chill for anyone who dared to venture into the tundra, the burning sun and fragrant blossoms thawed the people of Jackson, casting a much needed warmth and sense of serenity over the sleepy town of survivors.

Today’s patrol went without a hitch— the regular route was relatively trouble free; a few fallen branches blocking the trail and the odd foot caught in the mud posed mild inconvenience, but it was nothing compared to your life before Jackson. The river that flowed along the outskirts of the town had finally melted it’s final peaks of ice, and the meadow just past the gates to Jackson was starting to become lush with tall grass, wild flowers scattered across the soft bed like confetti. It had been weeks since an infected was spotted. The murmuring speculation across town led to a single theory; that the virus could not survive the harsh winter, allowing a decline in infected. Regardless if it is fact or fiction, you’ll take it. Especially if it meant getting home early.

While the winter may have been frosty and daunting, your heart remained warm through the tough season. A certain someone had slowly found their way into your heart, providing emotional shelter from the storm. One cozy, snowy night at The Tipsy Bison, bonding over a shared love of Fleetwood Mac and Johnny Cash, led to another cozy night sipping whiskey, and then another, and then another.

Joel’s companionship gradually seeped into your life. It was an adjustment, having lived the life of a lone wolf, even before the world ended, yet Joel filled the quiet, yearning space that sat in your chest. A space that had you had become so well acquainted with from a small age, that it felt odd to have it overflowing. From the minuscule gestures of affection, sweet words of praise, or the moments spent together in silence reading, Joel was unknowingly and steadily mending a piece of you.

The gates of Jackson groaned an achy greeting as they opened, welcoming you back into the arms of the protected city after your quiet day on the outside. The trotting footsteps crunched under the gravel roads, slowing as you approached the barn, the horses anticipating their stalls. Leaning up against the wooden frame was a familiar salt and peppered man, his broad chest and strong biceps tugging at the seems of his white shirt as his arms sat crossed on his chest.

“Welcome back, darlin’.” Joel’s thick, weathered hand reaches for yours as you dismount from your horse, waiting patiently for you to find your footing along the hay floor. Once you were firmly planted back on earth, Joel’s gentle touch brought you into him as he pressed a tender, yet eager, kiss to your lips.

“What are you doing here?” You smile against his plush lips, breaking the embrace to welcome his pleasant surprise. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“I was doing some work at the barn.” Joel points behind him at the old structure before curling his fingers into your pockets and tugging you closer, his voice lowering an octave. “Y’know, the usual mending of hinges and fences and whatnot.” He presses another chaste kiss to your lips. “Thought I’d stick around for ya t’see if you were free t’night?”

“You’re just in luck,” you say with a gentle poke to Joel’s firm chest, “my schedule is clear.”

“Mmm, thought I could cook you up somethin’ nice for dinner,” his musky voice hums, a taunting edge to his voice. “Maybe split that bottle o’ pi-not that I found last week.”

“Oh, now you’re just talking dirty to me, Mr. Miller.” You feign innocence, batting your thick lashes as your gaze leisurely meets his deep, chocolaty eyes. His pupils wide and hungry, taking you all in.

“Just you wait ‘n see how filthy this mouth can be, lil miss.” Joel muses, a faint darkness rounding out his husky tone. If this was any indication of the evening Joel had planned, you were all in.

Hand in hand, the two of you made your way towards the town centre, discussing the difference between a flathead and Philip’s head, how you spotted a fox fishing along the ravine, and the latest town gossip, specifically why Nick got dragged out of The Tipsy Bison last night.

“You’re fuckin’ kidding’ me.” Joel gasps, bewildered at the juicy slice of small town gossip you’ve shared with him. “After everythin’ Melissa did for him when he got shot by those raiders?”

“I know, I know. I would have killed you.” You mutter back with a laugh, a sliver of truth in your words that is not missed by Joel.

“Rightfully so.” He agrees with a squeeze to your hand, eyebrows knitted together in disbelief of the story he’s just heard. “These fuckin’ knuckleheads don’t know a good thing if it hit ‘em square in the face.”

Your attention shifts to The Tipsy Bison, very location in which Nick had been tossed out of less than 24 hours ago, as a familiar twang calls out to you and Joel.

Tommy stood just past the swinging doors of the bar, hand reached out towards the sky offering a wave.

“Joel! The boys ‘n I are having a drink later. You should join us!” He beams, motioning Joel inside as he tosses a dish towel over his shoulder.

“Nah, s’alright Tommy. I have plans tonight.” Joel says with a wave, “Thank you though!”

“You sure? Jimmy’s back from Louisville,” Tommy’s sweet, boyish demeanour is replaced with a cheeky grin, “supposed to be bringing some good shit with him.”

“It’s okay, Joel.” You mention softly, giving Joel a gentle shrug. It was amazing that the Miller’s managed to have friends in other cities among this hellscape. While it was exciting to have been met with Joel at the barn, you felt a weird sense of guilt for holding him back with your plans. Sure, it would be disappointing if he were to rain check your evening together, but you also could understand if he wanted to spend his evening with a friend who had made the several day trek to Jackson.

Joel couldn’t quite read the look on your face, confused slightly by your words and watching the gears turning in your head. He tried to pay no mind to it, looking back at his brother.

“We have plans tonight! But tell Jimmy he still owes me a pint!” Joel’s raspy voice laughs in response. He then shifts his attention back to you; his deep, oaky eyes looking at you with a twinkle. He gives your hand another light squeeze before slowly leading you back on your path home.

The two of you continue your walk back to Joel’s house, waving politely to neighbours as you pass by the once white picket fences and attempts at flower beds that lined their front yards. Joel could sense there was something on your mind, noticing how you had suddenly fallen quiet after running into Tommy. He kept replaying what he thought was a harmless interaction over and over in his mind, eyebrows furrowing as he dissected each frame as it passed through his brain.

“Are you sure you don’t want to pop over and see your friend?” Your meek voice breaks his train of thought, immediately drawing himself to you.

“Of course I’m sure, sweetheart.” Joel smiles softly, immediately feeling relief wash over him at the simple question. “I got plans with you!” He nudges you gently with his shoulder as your pace starts to slow.

“I know,” you say, coming to a stop by the steps to Joel’s house. “But your buddy is in town, which the fact that you have a friend in these circumstances alone is a miracle, and you haven’t seen him in a while.” You sigh, pulling your hand from Joel’s to brush a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to see him…” Your voice trails out softly, catching Joel by surprise.

“Darlin’, I gave you my word.” Joel reaches back for your hand, his thumb tracing reassuring circles across the soft skin of your palm, sharing a pleading look with you. “Plus, I like hanging out with you.” His gaze softens, lifting your hand up for a kiss before slowly helping you up the steps to his house, his grip keeping you steady as you make your way up the ancient stairs.

“Those boys are nothin’ but trouble and I reckon they’d give me a headache in more ways than one. I’d always rather spend time with you.” He reassures with a wink, reaching into his pocket for his house key.

“You like hanging out with me?” A sneaking blush comes to your cheeks, the realization freezing your feet to their spot on Joel’s porch. Why did this come as such a surprise to you?

Joel thought he had been very clear that he very much enjoys spending time with you— he saw you nearly every day. He would beg for an extra five minutes in bed together, and insist on walking you home from the stables or The Tipsy Bison. There had been several occasions where Joel managed to bribe someone to switch patrol shifts with him just so he could spend his day on horseback with you. Joel loved your company— your thoughts, your ideas, your dreams, no matter how tame or wild. He could listen to you speak for hours and never grow tired. Joel had never found someone so easy to be around, someone who he could be his whole self around. Why would he not like spending time with you?

Joel looked at you in a way that was difficult to decipher. Flashes of worry, confusion and disappointment passed over his greying face, the lines around his eyes deepening as each emotion crashed over him at lightning speed as his eyes searched yours, looking for clues as to as he how you may be feeling. Maybe he did say the wrong thing earlier?

“‘Course I do, baby.” His warm, thick hands finding themselves along the contours of your face, locking your gaze with his. “I love hanging out with you.” Joel says with an assuring yet short lived smile, his expression changing to one of concern. “Darlin’, where is this comin’ from? Did I do somethin— Did I say the wrong thing?”

“No, no, honey.” You murmur gently, a small smile of your own creeping up your cheeks to ease Joel’s worry. “I just don’t want you to miss out on being with your buddies because you’re stuck with little old me.” You brush off with a laugh, attempting to look away from Joel, but his stubborn touch wouldn’t let you, coaxing you to embrace this moment of vulnerability with him.

You knew these roots had been insidiously planted decades ago, stemming from childhood, fertilized by chronic disappointment. It was something you were forced to endure for years before accepting it as your reality. It was easier to accept that you are just a convenient second option, rather than getting your hopes up to ultimately find yourself disappointed again. You didn’t mean to be this way, it ate you up inside that Joel felt that he was responsible for this fear trying to mangle it’s way out of you. He had never given you a reason to question his priorities, and as scary as it may be, you had to trust him. Trust that his priorities haven’t changed. He gave you his word.

“If I wanted to be with those idiots, I would’ve told ya ‘n worked somethin’ out.” Joel says gently yet firmly, tracing his thumb lightly across your cheek, drinking you in. A smile slowly spreads across his face as his eyes take in your features. “And guess what?” He whispers, breaking the silence, “I don’t. I want to be with you, spendin’ time with you, drinkin a bottle of pi-not and getting my ass handed to me at scrabble with you.” Joel looks shoots you a cheeky wink. “Now, I know bein’ round an old guy like myself may be a bummer, but you’re stuck with me, missy.” He clears his throat as his hands fall from your face, slowly sneaking their way into the back pockets of your jeans. “Not only do I love you, I like you a whole damn lot too. You’re stuck, whether you like it or not.” Joel shrugs playfully, his eyes softening from his playful smirk to something deep and sincere.

His words bring a faint blush to your cheeks and a growing warmth in your chest. He does so much to show up for you, but hearing those words brought you a peace that you didn’t realize you needed. Not only did Joel love you, he liked you. Quirks, baggage, humour and all. He embraced you for who you were and loved every molecule that makes you you.

“I love you, Joel.” You say softly, fighting the growing lump in your throat as you digest the kind words that he had just shared with you. “I like you too.” You add with a smirk, wiping the pooling tear from your eye.

“Good.” He says with a fondness, firmly pressing his hands against your backside to bring you closer to him. His lips meet yours in a soft, yet passionate kiss. Joel’s hungry mouth deepening the embrace as he searched for more, his tongue slipping into your mouth as his grip on your ass tightened. Your hands found their way into his salt and pepper hair, eager to let them get lost among his soft curls. Joel broke the kiss with a sigh, the desire in his eyes fighting with his sudden withdrawal from you. He slowly pulled one of his hands free from your back pocket, reaching back into his own to grab his key.

Joel slowly unlocks the door, lazily kicking the wooden structure open as he turns back to you, delicately pushing you forward with the one hand still in your back pocket.

“Now, let’s say we crack open that bottle?”

tag list: @evolnoomym @mrsmando @picketniffler @itsokbbygrl @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @slimybeth69 @marilovespedro

(I’m sorry if i’ve tagged you and you didn’t want to be! Just let me know and I’ll remove it 💕)

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gracieheartspedro · 1 year ago

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No One Fucks With My Baby

pairing: fem!reader x dbf!joel miller (based on established back story from my oneshot Who We Are)

description: everyone now knows that you are joel's girl. when you're working a busy night at the bison, a newbie stirs up a bit of trouble. joel handles it the only way he knows how and you thank him the only way you know how.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: MINORS DNI! this is 18+, post!outbreak joel, age gap (reader is in her 30s, joel is in his mid 50s), i don't describe the reader all that much, consumption of alcohol, drunk old men who harass reader, joel fucks them up, mentions of blood, glass breaking (?), voyeurism, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, pet names

author's note: this fic is dedicated to the birthday girl @ilovepedro !!! happy birthday sweet nini, I love you so much! thank you for helping me edit this, but more importantly, thank you for being a wonderful friend. you make the world a better place. love you always <3

after the amazing love I got on "Who We Are", I decided to add to the universe. let me know if y'all want more! xoxo, gracie

“Didn’t know they made jeans that low cut!”

You were used to stupid comments made towards you by drunk men. But now that Joel has made it known, you are his, a lot of the men in Jackson kept their advances to themselves. The gentleman at the end of the bar must not know that your big ole’ scary boyfriend was positioned in a booth with Tommy and your father across the room. His eyes had been locked on you for most of the night, and every time he and the guys needed more drinks, he’d be the one to grab more.

You turn to the drunk man, who had to be your father’s age. He’s practically drooling at the sight of your ass in your favorite jeans. The summer air was not a good combination to a normally humid bar, so you had been wearing less and less clothes behind the bar. You were sporting the jeans and a tighter tank top than usual, mainly because you knew Joel would be around and you loved driving him wild when the shirt rode up on you.

“You’re gonna catch flies if you don’t close your mouth,” You joke, pouring whiskey for another patron, “Don’t think you’d like the way that would taste.”

The man slams down his glass which causes a couple people to look down at him. You don’t even glance in his direction, knowing if he’s mad, he can take it up with every man in the Tipsy Bison.

“I don’t take too kindly to sarcastic little sluts.”

Your heart stops. You calmly place the whiskey bottle down beside the shot glass you were pouring into and glance towards the red faced prick. You hear the conversations subside around the room while you lock eyes with the guy who’s bold enough to talk shit to you.

You know Joel’s already standing up from his spot at his booth, but you move quicker. You position yourself in front of him, leaning over the bar, your eyes raking down the pathetic boy in front of you.

“Pardon?”

He swallows, realizing how quiet his surroundings got. “I s-said I don’t take kindly to sarcasm.”

You click your tongue, a newfound confidence surging through your body, “I don’t think that’s all you said. Somethin’ about me being a slut?”

“Listen, girl-”

His boots are loud against the hardwood as he approaches you and the man. He stands scarily close to the barstool where the man sits. You don’t break eye contact though, wanting to handle this situation yourself.

“It’s ma’am, to you,” You cut him off, “I think it’s best if you leave.”

“I haven’t finished my drin-”

Joel reaches around the guy and grabs the whiskey glass from in front of him and slams it on the floor. The guy immediately starts to tremble, shaking like a little leaf. You crack a smile before whispering one final thing to him.

“Think you’re finished, buddy,” You flick your eyes up at Joel, who’s fury is written all over his face, “Mind walkin’ him out, baby?”

Joel grabs onto the guys shoulder with a bruising grip, “Would be my pleasure, sweetheart.”

He rips the guy from the stool, not even making sure the guy finds his footing. You ignore the shuffle outside and return to your pouring. You feel like your heart may beat out of your chest, but you’re relieved it was handled before Joel got even more handsy with him. You grab the shot glass and hand it to the fellow that was sat by the drunken fool.

“You got Miller wrapped around your finger,” The guy, who’s name you think is Aaron, says. He was a regular and frequently stopped Joel to talk about morning patrols. You smirk before snatching a rag off your shoulder.

“Yeah, he’s so wrapped around my finger that he’s gonna clean up all that broken glass.” You joke, wiping down the condensation ring the glasses left on the wooden table top.

You hear some footsteps approaching and when you look up it’s Tommy. He’s shaking his head, a grin playing on his lips.

“Where’s the broom? Joel seems busy putting that guy in his place.”

You furrow your brows as you reach for the broom, “What do you mean?”

“I just sent your Dad out there because it sounded like some rustlin’,” Tommy explains, grabbing the stick from you to begin sweeping up the shards, “I’m sure they are handlin’ it.”

Before you can get nervous, you hear the front door swing open quickly. Your Dad and Joel walk in and you can tell Joel is pissed and a bit rattled. You navigate your way around the bar and glass, reaching their booth as soon as Joel sits down. He’s cradling his right hand in his left, hissing in discomfort.

“What did you do?” You say, reaching out for his hands. There’s two gashes that litter his knuckles, only bleeding slightly. You shake your head when he pulls away from you.

“Nothin’ baby,” he mumbles, “Just taught the guy it’s not nice to talk to ladies like he did. He walked off with a bloody nose and busted lip when he started talkin’ shit back.”

You roll your eyes, catching your Dad’s glare.

“Did you break it up?” You press, wanting more of an explanation.

He shakes his head, “Nope. Joel can handle himself. I did tell the guy when he was walking away that if he talked about my daughter like that again, he’d wouldn’t be able to walk away cause he would have a bullet between his eyes.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms under your chest. “I swear to God…”

Tommy approaches the table, his task of cleaning glass finished. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder, “You okay?”

“I’d be better if the men in my life weren’t insane,” You joke, nudging Joel’s arm as he inspects his knuckles.

Tommy laughs and sits back down across from your Dad and Joel. While he makes jokes with your Dad, Joel is silent and stirred. You can tell he’s bothered by something more than handling some asshole who called you a name. You decide against pestering him more, allowing him to settle back into conversation with Tommy and your Dad.

You give him a quick peck on the cheek and return to slinging drinks.

“Thanks for staying while I lock up,” You say to Joel as pushing in the last barstool, “And thanks for earlier.”

He is propped up on one of the middle pillars, his shoulder resting on the wood while his arms and legs are crossed. He was still being quiet, not giving into conversation. You approach him, your eyes trained on his arms. He was wearing a t-shirt for the first time all summer, which made you feel some type of way. His arms were tanned beautifully and toned. His biceps were perfectly outlined by the thin fabric of the gray t-shirt.

“Anythin’ for you, sweetheart.”

You glance up at him, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “Tell me what’s got you all bothered.”

“It’s nothin’,” He uncrosses his arms and reaches out for you. You know it’s not nothing, so you wrap your arms around his waist and pull him forward. He looks a bit surprised.

“It’s somethin’, so you better tell me what happened.”

He huffs, fanning your face with his breath, “That asshole said some shit about us and it set me off.”

You squeeze him a bit, “What did he say?”

You can tell he does not want to repeat it, but you were not going to let it go.

“How I’m an old man with a young girl. How I’m old enough to be your dad.”

You feel sick to your stomach at the idea he had to hear some asshole say that. You look down between you, shifting your weight onto your other foot. You started to feel clammy, unsure of a good response that would reassure Joel.

“He’s just some asshole. What does he know?” You manage to sputter.

Joel’s shoulder’s sag, “He’s not wrong, though, baby girl. I’m an old man with a younger girl.”

You push away from him, scanning him up and down. You are pissed that he’s even bringing this up again, after all this time.

“I’m a grown ass woman, Joel. A grown ass woman with a grown ass man. Just because there’s time in between us doesn’t mean we aren’t old enough to make decisions for ourselves.”

His lip curls, “I know baby, I am just saying that sometimes we get odd looks cause of the age difference. I really don’t care anymore… Just caught me off guard, is all.”

You fold your arms, “You put him in his place, right? He’s not gonna come around here sayin’ shit again?”

“He’d be stupid to come near you again. Think I got my point across.”

You feel like you owe him something. You had a couple ways you could repay him, ensuring that he never thinks about those stupid comments again.

You use your arms to press up your bra a bit, your cleavage more highlighted with the gesture. Joel’s eyes trail down, the scoop neck giving away your suggestive movement. You step closer again, wanting to be in his space.

“My man…” You trail, your eyes falling to his agape mouth, “Makin’ sure everyone knows I’m his.”

He nods slowly before his hand creeps around your waist, “What are you tryin’ to do, girl?”

“Nothin’,” you click your tongue. “Just thinkin’ of how I could repay you for handlin’ that for me. You hurt yourself defending my honor. I owe you.”

“Don’t think of it that way. You don’t owe me anything,” His fingers start to creep down to the curve of your ass. “But, I would love to see what you had in mind.”

“Oh, you would,” You hum, your arms unfolding to wrap around his neck. “Let’s start by walking back to your house.”

Instead of responding, he dips his head and peppers kisses down your neck, taking his time letting his fingers wander around the skin on your lower back and hips. Your skin feels like it’s on fire with every press of his lips.

“Fuck,” You sigh as you try to bring him closer to you, but he’s not letting up on your neck. He’s suckling spots near your collarbone, groaning as you react to his every move. You knew at this point, this whole situation was in his hands and not yours.

He lifts his head slowly, letting his bottom lip drag across your skin, “How ‘bout this… How ‘bout I take you right here over this bar? Maybe that asshole is nearby and he can hear how well I give it to ya.”

His proposition sends you into a spiral. You and Joel have had plenty of sex in different places, but the bar? And he wants others to hear? Usually he’s telling you that your moans are for his ears only, and while he wants you to be loud for him, you’re usually too timid to actually vocalize your pleasure.

You place your hands on his expansive chest, “You want to fuck me here?”

He beams down at your question before he whispers, “I want to fuck you everywhere. Here, your bed, my couch, the shower. Hell, I’ll take you at this bar while people watch.”

“Jesus, Joel,” You huff, almost dizzy from the statement.

He brings his hand up to tilt your head back so you look at him. When your eyes meet, he brings the hand up around your neck and to the nape, right where your spine starts.

“God, I need you, sweet girl.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can speak, Joel brings you in for a passionate and eager kiss. He’s feverish, his hands now wandering down to your ass. He starts to walk you backwards towards the now abandoned bar top. You knock into a couple chairs, but his arms keep you from tripping. His hands are propped on your ass, navigating you to the edge of the bar top. When your back is pressed against it, he starts to shove his thumbs under your waist band. He pulls away from your lips to push down your jeans, letting them pool on the floor.

“Spread your legs,” he grumbles, “I want to taste you.”

You do as you’re told, shaking your jeans off your ankles and spreading your legs. Joel falls to his knees like a man starved. You note his devilish smile when you do as you’re told.

“I thought I was repaying you,” You choke out as his hands roam over your flesh. He chuckles darkly before pressing a kiss to your right inner thigh.

“Lettin’ me get between these legs with my tongue is repaying me,” He clicks as pulls at your panties. He slides them to the side, getting a great look at how wet you are already. Your knees feel like they may give out any second just from the anticipation, so when his mouth finds your entrance, you rest your elbows on the freshly wiped down bar.

Joel exploring you in this way was nothing new, but every time he went down on you, it was thrilling. He was simply so fuckin’ good at it. You never had a man take his time eating you out, desperately wanting you to cum straight on his tongue.

The vibrations from his groaning sends shockwaves down your legs, causing them to shake. Joel’s hands are the only thing keeping you stable because even your elbows are slipping from the bar top. The suckling noises coming from him are obscene, especially because you’re standing over the bar at your work. You cannot help but try to balance yourself so you can grind yourself down onto his eager tongue. Before you can really get started doing that, he pulls away, his wet lips glistening under the overhead lights.

He sticks his pointer, middle, and ring finger into his mouth, slathering them in his own saliva. You watch him carefully as he brings them up to your slit, adding to the slick that’s already there.

“I want you to cum all over my fingers before I bend you over this bar,” He practically moans. “Can you do that for me, baby?”

You can barely speak as his fingers slowly slip in and out of you, “Y-yes.”

“Yes what?” He adds another finger, curling them as he pumps in and out. Your head is spinning, watching his other hand spread over your lower stomach to hold you against the bar. You know what he wants, but you can hardly get the word ‘yes’ out, let alone the name he loves you calling him. You try to breathe in and center yourself, but the fire in your tummy burns bright.

“Y-yes, Sir. Please m-make me cum.”

He latches his lips around your clit as he speeds the strokes of his three digits. You grab onto his dark curls to hold him there to ensure that he doesn’t stop putting all the pressure right there. Your orgasm hits you like a freight train and you cannot help but scream out in pleasure.

He grabs your hips, not caring about your recovery. His dick is rock hard in his blue jeans and it makes you giggle in satisfaction. Joel has fucked you in so many different ways, but you do not remember a time he fucked you over counter.

Your upper body is laying flat against the wooden bar, your hands gripping onto the other side to steady yourself. You hear his zipper go down and then his hands are back on you. Your panties are stretched to hell already, so he practically tears the fabric off your lower body without any resistance. You chuckle at how vehement he is. He spreads your ass cheeks as he slips his cock between your closed thighs.

“Gonna need you to spread some more for me, sweet girl,” He mutters, smacking one of your cheeks lightly, “God, you’re so perfect.”

Your cheeks burn, “Yes, Sir.”

You do as you’re told, spreading your legs for him. When you do that, his dick prods at your clit, before easing into your entrance. You and Joel fuck raw, so when he opens you up, you feel every vein and ridge against your walls. He’s thick and it always takes you a minute to adjust to the feeling.

“So fuckin’ tight.”

He retracts back and inches forward again, letting you take in every inch of him. You grab onto the edge of the bar harder, your grip growing tighter with the action. He rests his grip on your hips, using them as leverage as he sets a steady pace. The moment his pace picks up, it’s like the motion pushes all the air from your lungs and you huff out louder. It only encourages him, but instead of keeping you in that position, he grabs onto your shoulders and lifts you up. You are lifted up to his chest, flush with his clothed upper body. He reaches around your arms and grabs onto your breasts through your thin v-neck.

“J-Joel,” you nudge him with your free hands, “Let me take it o-off.”

He slows his thrusts and lets you pull your shirt over your head. Instead of unhooking your bra, Joel takes the liberty to do it himself. The straps drop off your shoulders and you peel the padding off your chest. His hands instantly cradle your breasts, kneading them as he jolts forward to continue fucking you. His thumb and pointer pinch and tug at your pert nipples.

“Mmm,” He hums, “Only I can fuck you this good, huh?”

You whimper at his actions, “Only you, Joel.”

“That’s right.”

With that, he slips himself out of you, causing you to whine at the empty feeling. He moves you around like a rag doll, turning you around to face him.

Joel’s eyes are dilated and his hands are moving quickly to lift you off the ground and press your lower back into the bar. You place your hands on his shoulders, knowing exactly what position he wants you in.

He picks you up so seamlessly. It’s like when he’s horny or angry, he’s super strong and practically indestructible. He will probably complain how his back hurts later.

Your knees fold over his forearms, perfectly spread open for his taking.

You are so wet that he slips right into you. He uses the bar a bit for leverage as he fucks up into you, the angle completely sending you into a spiral. His eyes are perfectly trained on your chest, watching your tits jiggle as he drills into you.

“Most perfect thing I ever did see,” He remarks between strokes. Your nails are digging into his shoulder, right above a scar he got a couple years ago when he was out on patrol with your dad. You remember it was the first time you saw Joel shirtless. He was sitting next to your Dad in the infirmary, getting stitched up from getting caught on a sharp tree limb. You remember thinking how tan and beautiful he was back then.

Now you’re gripping onto his shoulders years later, his dick ramming into you and hitting you in all the right places.

Life is so mysterious and wonderful.

He bites his lip, putting all his focus into making you cum before he does himself. He’s a giver and for that, you’re extremely grateful. No man has ever put in as much effort. Before Joel, you did not know you could cum more than once in a single session. A couple months ago, he could not help his insatiable taste for you and made you cum 6 times.

His thrusts begin to falter when he feels you clenching around him, the fiery thrill building in your stomach. Your legs feel like jello, but as soon as the orgasm hits you, they stiffen in his grip.

“F-fuck Joel,” You whimper, stuttering at how good your body feels as your come down unravels. This orgasm is way more powerful, making you practically vibrate in Joel’s arms.

He fucks you through the feeling, his finish quickly approaching. When he’s finally finding his own release, he slips out of you before he can cum inside you. You two had an agreement that he could only cum inside you if you explicitly say he can. Since you didn't even think about it, you watch as his seed spills all over your pelvic bone.

When you two catch your breaths, he gently places you down on the ground. He steadies your wobbly legs by holding onto your naked waist.

You realize you are smiling like an idiot, completely blissed out on how good Joel made you feel. You find your footing, picking up your pants nearby. You don’t even bother with the material that used to be your underwear.

You hear Joel behind you fixing himself up, zipping his dick back into his jeans. You pull on your pants, leaving them unbuttoned. You grab the material on the ground and ball them up. You prance over to Joel, his eyes raking you up and down.

“You can keep this,” You joke, pulling at one of his front pockets. You tuck the panties into his pants, smiling widely.

“‘M just gonna add them to the collection,” He replies, gripping onto the point of your chin.

When he tilts your eyes up to meet his, your heart flutters at the action. He’s so beautiful with his fine lines and wildly untamed peppered curls. His eyebrows are furrowed as he contemplates your expression.

You finally say it. Those three words that you had been meaning to say for months. The words that you had never said to another man ever. There was a distinct moment about 2 months ago, after you had dinner with him and Ellie, where you almost said it while helping him with the dishes. It was that steadying of your heart, a moment you felt most at peace with someone. He made you comfortable. He made you feel safe.

“I love you, Joel.”

He drops your chin, his eyes soften at the statement. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Your anxiety starts to creep up your throat. Maybe you should not have said that. Fuck.

“I-I…”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” He says in almost a whisper before he takes your right hand, rubbing the top of it with his thumb. “‘M sorry I didn’t say it earlier.”

Your body relaxes, reassured by his answer. You did not have any doubts about your feelings for Joel, but your mind could not help but over analyze every little thing he ever said to you, forcing you to assume he may not feel the same way.

He brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a long kiss onto your knuckles.

“Let’s get you home, sweet girl. I gotta get up for patrol tomorrow.”

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