#tlou x afab reader

[razrbladekiss]

MAPLE HAZEL | Joel Miller — Part Three

SUMMARY: joel’s misery is palpable. you’re oblivious to it. until you’re not.

PAIRING: no outbreak!joel miller x afab!reader

WORD COUNT: 5.9k, you are welcum.

WARNINGS: angst. reader is an eagles fan (do NOT come for me, they are my boys. go birds 🦅). F L U F F. mentions of reader’s dad. tommy and joel are jerks, but joel redeems himself. tommy can suck a fat one. i kidddd <3 this is probably the angst-iest this story’ll get because im addicted to the fluff so. enjoy. 🤞🏼 not proof read or edited, i cannot be fucked for that.

TAGS: if you would like to be added for future installments, then let me know besties!! if i’ve forgotten anyone that’s asked to get added, then please slap me. @millersleee @goodvibesonly421 @j0elmlllers @scorpio-echo

SERIES MASTERLIST

Joel’s hands seize the steering wheel of his truck—the same one that’s presently stationed on your driveway—knuckles turning sheet white for the hold that he has is completely unforgiving. And sore.

He’s irascible. Livid. His anger is sheathed by shame and hatred for himself as the way that he conducted himself this morning was unseemly. Even for Joel, it was appalling. And though you didn’t appear to have any reservations, he knew that he bothered you. Your face didn’t allude to irritation, nor did your tone or mannerisms, but Joel was more than conscious of your internal hurt.

He just knows you that well.

But now he’s sitting—legs numb and cheeks charring red—striving to conjure up an apology that’ll help to shirk any ill-feeling that you may have toward him. Because he was a fucking jerk this morning.

And it was all because of an Eagles sweater, believe it or not.

9.42 AM

Birch Grove is bustling. It's considerably brighter, this morning. The doom and gloom that enveloped your small town yesterday has now dissipated, leaving nothing but small puddles of rainwater and grit in its wake, and it’s beautiful. A sight to behold when you’re leaving your house today.

You avoid the wetness on the road—hoping not to muddy your shoes—and bounce onto the sidewalk, admiring the oil slick that blankets damp gravel on your way over to Joel’s. You swear that there’s a divot in the concrete that holds semblance to a heart, but you’re not sure if that’s just a delusion from lack of sleep or some sort of sign from the universe telling you that perhaps it’s time to find a significant other.

Nonetheless, you take in the scene. How yesterday—in the midst of a storm—not a single body littered the crosswalk, therefore leaving Joel’s little coffee shop completely empty. But today—now that the air has cleared and rain almost dried up—it’s like nothing had even happened, and the entire town is out in force. Like they always should be.

Joel watches in awe as you make tracks across the street toward the cafe—wondering how he ever deserved such a buoyant presence like you in his life despite the fact that he’s a perpetually miserable middle-aged man—and busies himself so you don’t think he’s been ogling you this entire time.

But then the bell rings, Joel’s eyes flick up—against his own will—and you bound over the threshold with the biggest smile. He swallows extremely thickly.

“Good morning.” You say, as happy as ever—clearly on a high from your not-date—and pad through the room toward him. “Can I please have a—“

“You’re late.” 

One of your perfectly tweezed brows raises. 

“For work.” He elaborates. Joel clears his throat. “You’re late for work.”

“I got the day off.” You remind him. He vaguely remembers you saying something about this elusive break on Monday, but was honestly too distracted by his brother attempting to use the coffee machine. 

Joel nods, taking your favorite mug off of the shelf. You smile at the sentiment. 

“Ah, you’re going shopping. Right?”

You nod. Your stomach gurgles when your eyes satisfy the gaze of a perfectly plump cinnamon roll. Not too thick, not too over-done, and the right bun to icing ratio. It’s sitting—alone—in one of the little cake cases.

“I am.” You reply, taking the glass dome off of the top. Like last time, you swipe the sweet treat right from underneath Joel’s nose. Only, today, you slide two dollars across so he can’t complain. 

But he wouldn’t anyway. Not today. Because he admires the fact that you’re ungovernable, while simultaneously respecting him. To an extent, anyway. 

“I can get you some fall decor.”

“No—“

“He needs to spruce this place up.”

His eyes roll when he’s pouring the frothed milk atop your latte, hardly going unnoticed by his larger-than-life, sometimes a bit too overbearing brother. 

Tommy acknowledges you by saying your name, and you grin back at him. It’s nice to see one of the Miller’s with anything but a stoic expression slapped against those rough, rugged features. Though there’s something about Joel’s that seems rather superficial. 

Despite being perennial at times, you feel as though you’ve cracked through his tough exterior and. You’re certainly able to decipher between his real and mock revulsion. Last night was the first time that Joel’s guard had truly been down, and it was wonderful. 

“Get him some pumpkins. A wreath—“

“I don’t need no pumpkins. And what the hell is a wreath?”

The youngest brother pulls a stool out next to you, and bumps your shoulder as he sits. He looks at you as if to say get a load of this guy, and you laugh. Joel passes you your latte, and you think that you see a hint of a smile tugging at those plush lips. But you won’t swear to it. 

“A wreath is what Mrs. McKlaren has on her front door for each season.”

“Yeah.” Tommy chimes in. He pulls one of the Birch Grove Gazettes from the pile beside the cake case, and opens it up. “But you knew that. You’re just playin’ dumb in front of—“

You elbow him. “Quit teasin’.” Further defending your friend, you say; “it’s not his fault if he’s not too polished up on the names of things. He’s not pussy-whipped like you are, Tom.”

Joel chuckles at that comment, thanking you with a nod. A man of few words, though you get him. Down to a fine art. 

“True.” He flicks through a few pages, before he’s turning to you with a grimace when you take off your jacket to reveal one of your dad’s old Eagles sweaters. “Oh, God no.”

You frown, putting it to sit on the seat next to you. 

It’s common knowledge around these parts that there are two teams, and two teams only that it’s acceptable to support. Unless you’re flaunting the badge of the Texans or Dallas Cowboys, then you’re basically committing a federal crime.  And the men of Birch Grove take this very, very seriously. 

“Joel. I know you’re friends with this broad—“

“Watch your mouth.” He grumbles, appearing from the kitchen. He has his head down, hands full of cutlery. 

“Sorry.” Tommy says oh so quietly. “But—but look. She’s wearing the mark of the devil.”

Your eyes are rolling so hard you fear that they’ll roll straight from their sockets and into your coffee. You just know that beneath the green flannel, Joel is donning an Aikman jersey.

“That’s so dramatic.” Arms are being folded over as you speak, and he still hasn’t looked in your direction. “It’s just a football team—“

“Woah.” The two Millers harmonize. Joel eyes you directly and turns his nose up as soon as he heeds the shade of green that should be classed as blasphemy, not midnight.  

He didn’t know that you liked them. Tess liked them, too. But you know that. You’re not fucking stupid. 

And perhaps she might’ve aided the disgust that percolates through Joel whenever he hears someone utter the name Brian Dawkins, but he can’t help associating them with her. That same way he thinks of her whenever Fall rolls around, or whenever you step into his little cafe. 

He has such strong feelings for you, but needs to put them aside. He needs to bury them deep for fear of the past repeating itself because he isn’t sure if he can go through that again. His guard goes up, and eyes go down. He busies himself with cleaning. 

“Sacrilege.” Tommy spits. “It’s not just a football team, woman. It’s Irreverent. To come in here and wear that is absolutely ridiculous.”

Your jaw rolls and you look down at the faded logo. 

“I respect that you root for the birds, I do. It must be hard to support such a shit team—“

“Language.” Joel scolds, a little heated. “But, I agree. Can’t go wearin’ that ‘round these parts. It’s almost as bad as you comin’ in here wearing a Steelers jersey.”

Tommy grimaces. It’s not quite as bad, but it certainly sucks. 

But, to you, what sucks is the fact that these men—grown fucking men—are chewing you out over a sweater. It’s child’s play. 

“They’re not a shitty team. They’re great.” You defend your guys, watching Joel try to control the bitterness threatening to bust right out of his lips. “I’ve always loved them. My dad is from Philly—“

“Explains why you have such crappy taste.”

You blink at Tommy. 

“Anyway.” You clear your throat. “I’ll always root for the birds, because they’re my favorites. I also, believe it or not, enjoy the Cowboys when they play at home, or against the Giants. It’s patriotic. But they are a pretty shitty team—“

“No, they ain’t.”

“They are.” You uphold, making direct eye contact with the youngest sibling. “Remind me, when was the last time they went to the Superbowl?”

Tommy’s jaw rolls, and Joel can feel himself slipping. 

“Ninety-five.” Begrudgingly, he says. “But that don’t mean shit—“

“Kinda does.” 

“No it don’t.” He growls. “When was the last time those damn birds won the big game, huh?”

Without missing a beat, you say; “twenty-eighteen. They beat the Patriots by eight points, Brady sucked and Foles was the MVP. I tailgated at the stadium with my dad and uncle—“

“In Minnesota?”

“Yessir.” You tell Tommy before taking the last sip of your—now lukewarm—coffee. “I’ll also be heading to Philly to see the Eagles v Steelers game.”

Joel scoffs. 

“Got somethin’ to say, old timer?”

He grinds his lips together before saying; “just baffles me s’all. Don’t get how someone—Dallas born ‘n raised—can root for a team from Philadelphia.”

“Just the way it goes. But I did say that I enjoy them from time to time.”

“Shouldn’t be that way.” Tommy interjects. “Texans are meant to support Texan-made teams all the time. Not fuckin’—“

“Tommy.” Joel gestures to the customers, scolding him again for his crudeness. 

You pull cash from your purse while the two of them bicker, putting atop the counter before Joel can even refuse. You shrug on your jacket, too, promptly doing up the buttons so the tension can dissipate a little. But it doesn’t. 

“I’m not arguing with you two morons over football any longer.” A little meaner than intended, you tell the two of them. You turn to Joel, brows furrowing. “And I know why you despise the Eagles; I’m not an idiot. I saw her walking ‘round the place with her scarves in the winter, ‘n the occasional jersey on football Sundays.”

Tommy looks between the two of you, sensing some friction. 

“Don’t project Tess’s shit onto me, Joel.” Blunt, you say. “I’m sorry that I was the reason for her leaving, but it ain’t my fault we have the same interests. You can’t pussyfoot around forever, and I don’t appreciate gettin’ admonished for a fucking football sweatshirt.”

“Don’t.” He warns, wrenching a dish rag between calloused fingertips. He knew that last night’s conversation was deep-rooted in something more than just you being curious. “I’m not pussyfootin’ ‘round. I just don’t wanna talk about her.”

“I know.” You say—realizing that you were a little too hot off the mark—but you don’t feel sorry. “But there’ll always be people who like the same things that she did, or say the same things, or remind you of her.”

He looks at you. He knows what you mean. He knows that you know that—in some kind of way—you make Joel think of her. You’re so strong, like Tess. So outspoken, exactly like her. But you’re caring and kind, and don’t get jealous over the slightest little things, and you let him speak. 

You let him tell you about his troubles, not that he shares too much. And you’re not pushy. But now, it feels like you’re being exactly that. 

“I’m sorry that my mere presence as a Goddamn Eagles fan pisses you off, Joel, but I’m not going to be able to change that. You’ll just have to try and detach those memories—“

The dishrag is being hurled onto the bar along with his fists. “I’m not gonna detach those memories! I ain’t gonna forget her just ‘cus you think you know me and my relationship with that woman so well! You don’t know shit. All you do is come in here ‘n drink coffee, rant about crap that nobody cares about, make me listen to your stupid fuckin’ problems—and I’m sick of it!”

You blink back tears as you stare at him, for the volume is intimidating and completely unwavering. You’ve never been yelled at before—in front of customers, by Joel—and you want to be sick. Everyone is staring. Some people are even leaving. 

Has he always felt this way? You wonder. Has Joel always thought that your ramblings are pointless, and that your issues are facetious? You’re sure that he’s just spewing nonsense at this point, but it still stings. 

“Joel—“

“Get out.” He looks down, hands gripping tightly the wooden countertop. He refuses eye contact. 

Tommy gives you a weak smile, immediately regretting setting foot into Joel’s this morning. Quite like you, really. 

“I’m really sorry for bringing her up, Joel, I know how—“

“Go.” His eyes lift to satisfy your gaze, hurt written over his features. “Please…Just leave.”

“Okay.” You nod, lifting your purse from the stool. It’s a quick bye to Tommy that has those damn tears spilling as you walk to your car, not even looking back to wave or smile at your friend like you usually do. 

You fear that this’ll change the trajectory of your relationship with Joel. And his brother knows that. 

He knows that if he doesn’t say something—at this point, anything���then Joel will just let this sit and fester, and become something that it has absolutely no business being. 

His brother knows that you’re the only constant in his life—aside from family—and if he lets you go, then he’ll be considerably more bleak. He’ll have his patrons to keep him company, but he won’t have you. The girl that has—unbeknownst to her—given Joel something to look forward to every day. 

The girl that Joel can’t help thinking of, or talking about, whenever he gets the chance. And despite not always showing his admiration, he’s besotted with you. Infatuated, perhaps. His fondness so clear that everyone can see it. Everyone, aside from you. 

Especially after that.  

“You’re a fucking jerk.” Tommy chastises. “She shouldn’t have mentioned Tess, but that was horrible—“

“I don’t care.” Through gritted teeth, he tells him. “She took it too far—“

“No, we did.” He admits. “She probably wouldn’t have brought the bitch up if we didn’t tease her for wearing her dad’s fuckin’ sweater.”

Joel swallows the lump in his throat, refusing to admit that Tommy could be right about this. 

“You need’a get a hold of your emotions, brother. Can’t be sendin’ her away like that when we both know you’ve got feelings for her—“

Joel grumbles as he rounds the counter, polishing a few tables in hopes that his sibling will go and leave him to it. But he doesn’t. 

“Can’t let Tess be the reason you two ain’t talkin’. ‘Specially ‘cus she ain’t even in the state anymore.”

Fuck. Off. 

Tommy watches him feign emotion, knowing deep down that his brother wants to beat himself to a pulp because you didn’t deserve any of that. 

“She’s right, y’know?”

“What?” 

Tommy says your name. “She’s right. If you don’t cut ties with the things that remind you of Tess, then you’ll never be happy. Always be comparin’ shit to her, and makin’ yourself miserable. Or miserable-r.”

“That ain’t even a word, dipshit.”

“True, though.” He says. “Joel, you’re so in love with this girl, you can’t let her go over a Goddamn football team—“

“Not in love.”

“Bullshit.” The youngest spits. “You get literal heart eyes whenever you look at her, and don’t even try ‘n deny it ‘cus Maria notices too.”

Joel blinks at him, wondering how he’d been so openly vulnerable. He‘a confused at how he’d unintentionally let his guard down enough to display his feelings. The ones that he wasn’t even certain about. 

“It mightn’t be love, Joel, but you’re mad about this girl.” He says a bit softer. Quieter. “And you can try to put these feelings aside, but what’re you gonna do if she walks in here with another man? Or she goes on more dates and finds the one? You just gonna live with it? Just gonna be jealous and miserable for the rest of your life?”

Joel walks to the café window and just stares for a few moments, secretly hoping to see you stomp across the street to give him a piece of your mind. But you don’t. 

“Think you’ve done enough wallowin’ in the past, don’t you?”

He supposes that he’s right. Joel knows that there’s some truth to what is being said to him, and so he turns the Open sign to Closed, and gestures for Tommy to get the remaining customers to leave. 

“What’re you gonna do?” 

“Make things right.” Joel grabs his jacket from the coat stand beside the door, and throws the shop keys to his brother. “Close up for me, will ‘ya?”

Tommy shakes his head. He gets off of his stool and goes behind the counter, grabbing one of the aprons from the hook beside the kitchen door. 

“Turn the sign back ‘round. You might’ve just lost your most loyal customer, you can’t afford to fuckin’ lose no more.”

Joel just nods. He has no fight left inside of him. He does as told, and storms across the sidewalk to his truck. 

He’s been stationary for the last fuck knows how long, just mentally preparing himself for whatever bullshit will spill from his lips the second he sees you. If you even want to open your door to him. He wouldn’t blame you, if you didn’t. He gave you shit, and kicked you out when you spoke your mind. And the truth. Because, that’s what it was, wasn’t it? As harsh as it might’ve been, it was the truth and it was what he needed to hear. 

It’s been two hours since getting a verbal beat-down and, strangely, he really misses the sound of your voice. The oddly dulcet tone. The sweet, honeyed rhythm that slips from between two of the plushest, softest looking lips he’s ever bared witness to in his entire life. And even though some of the words that fell from them were harsh, he no longer cares. 

If he doesn’t apologize, then he might not get to hear you speak again. And he’ll take several scoldings if it means that he can listen to your beautiful tone. 

Fuck. 

“C’mon, dickhead.” He tells his reflection in the mirror. He eyes himself, wondering whether the hat should stay on or off. Because if he takes it off, then his hair might look bad, but if he keeps it on then you mightn’t be able to take him seriously. 

He’s overthinking it. 

It stays on when he’s lugging his body—warm and palpitating—from the cabin, and onto the gravel of your driveway. He minds the flower beds when his boots hit ground, knowing that he’ll have hell to pay if he crushes your blooms or kicks up any mud.

His breath is hot and heavy. It’s like he’s just ran the Boston fucking marathon, not sit in his truck for the better part of twenty minutes being too much of a pussy to knock at your front door. 

But now he’s strolling to your porch, and can’t put it off any longer. He doesn’t even know if you’re home, but he guesses that you are. The wreath that you got today—golden leaves adorned with acorns and berries—is hanging proudly against the wood that you’ve painted sage. 

He laughs to himself when his hand comes up to knock, number eight. It’s almost comical how the number of your house coalesces with the number of his favorite ex-Cowboys player. But he’s not going to bring that up. Maybe another time. 

Joel takes a few deep breaths, heart only stuttering when he hears your footsteps approaching over the suspended wood flooring. The one that he actually had to help you sand down just eight months ago because you always felt that they looked too dark. Depressing. 

He smiles weakly. It doesn’t last long. When you swing the door open and your face falls, then so does Joel’s. 

“Hi.” He whispers, internally kicking himself for being such a wimp. He clears his throat. “Nice wreath.”

You fight a grin. Your disappointment outweighs any semblance of softness at this very juncture. 

After a few hours of mulling it over—and rage shopping—you’ve come to the conclusion that you were at fault. But Joel certainly didn’t make it any better when he kicked you off the premises after his hurtful monologue. 

“Thanks.” Your cardigan is pulled tightly around your body. Cream always looks so good on you. “Is—uh—is there something that I can help you with?”

Joel looks down for a split second. It feels like forever before he’s looking directly at you again. The thumping inside of his chest hasn’t once subsided since appearing at your street, he’s never felt like this before. At least, he can’t ever remember feeling like this. 

And it’s because of this—feeling—that he’s struggling to extrapolate his inward thoughts. You heed it. You know him like the back of your hand, apparently. His face is sullen—almost remorseful—and eyes hazy. 

Has he been crying? No. He’s probably just really annoyed. He looks like that sometimes when Tommy’s pissed him off, and he needs to vent. 

You shift aside, gesturing for Joel to come in. He hesitates for a moment, before he’s stepping over the threshold and into your beautiful home. The home that presently smells like a mixture of Sandalwood and Lavender, but Neroli and Bergamot in the summer months. 

What the fuck is Bergamot? Why do I know what that smells like?

He takes it in. The subtle scent, the fall decorations that make your cozy home look even more appeasing. It’s cute. It’s put together, clean, and inviting. It’s so you. 

You shut the door behind him when he takes a few paces into the entryway, just watching him. His broad shoulders swathed in soft, green flannel are tipped slightly forward. He’s not holding himself the way that he usually does. 

“Is everything okay, Joel?” You break the silence, shuffling past him through the hallway and to the kitchen. You hear him follow behind. Those heavyset footsteps make your heart ache, for some reason. 

Even by the way he walks—slow, long strides—he seems down. Remorseful, perhaps. And though he doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, it’s always easy to tell how he feels. 

“Tea?” You offer without turning around, taking the kettle that’s just come to a boil on the stove. “I have chamomile, green, or English.”

“No coffee?” Your head shakes, pulling two mugs from the small shelf above the counter. Joel sits at your kitchen island. “How come?”

Two English teabags are being lifted from the carton—he didn’t specify, you just guess—and plopped into ceramic. 

“I don’t make my own coffee. Don’t taste the same when I do.”

His heart aches. After skipping a beat, of course. He takes a seat at your kitchen island, watching you potter around, clearly not prepared for a guest. 

“Tea is a little more warming, anyway.” You gesture for the sugar and he shakes his head. “Don’t enjoy coffee when I’m on my own. Only when I’m with someone.”

“That why you always come to see me in the mornin’?”

Faintly, you smile. Your head bobs a little bit, hanging low. 

He says your name. You look at him. “Y’know, if you ever want a coffee outta hours, I’m usually at home. You can come ‘round, if you wanna.”

That strange gnawing sensation returns beside a debilitating thumping. He feels the same, but you don’t know that. 

“Same here.” A weak smile tugs at the corners of your lips and you bring Joel his tea. The white ceramic is festooned with acorns and leaves, and he swears that you’ve just given him one of your best mugs. 

You sip quietly your warm beverage, standing opposite to where he sits in an uncomfortable silence. A lull that neither of you realize lasts an entire minute before you’re clearing your throat, and Joel is still trying to find his words. 

“Listen.” He sets down the tea—the best he’s ever had—and shifts a little bit. Joel tries to avoid eye contact with you, but understands that this is one of the times that he needs to show you just how important this is. It’s not just a casual conversation at the coffee house, anymore. 

You’re facing him fully, now. Eyes wide, lips parted a little bit. 

“I’m really sorry about earlier.” His tone is honest, wreathed with a hint of genuine sadness. “I had no business being such a jerkoff to you, kid. I said some hurtful shit, and I let my mouth get away from me.”

“You were a total dick, Joel.” 

He nods. “I know.”

“And I know that I never shoulda brought her up, but I didn’t think you’d yell at me. In front of everyone.”

He starts to cringe as he remembers what he said. How he said those horrible things. You’re such a sweet girl, he can’t believe he flipped out on you that way. 

“Do you really think that what comes outta my mouth is crap?”

“No, of course not—“

“Is everything I say fucking pointless?”

“Hon—no—no, of course not.” Joel fumbles his words a bit, just glad that he didn’t refer to you as any other embarrassing fucking pet name. He's not even sure that you caught it, what with being blinded by such a haze of anger. 

You do, though. You just don’t acknowledge it. 

Your thumb loops through the glossy handle, and you look into your mug. 

“I choose to start each morning the same way; at your café. I don’t do it because I want to come in and ruin your day by ranting, or spillin’ my guts about shitty dates and bad friends.” You refuse eye contact, still watching the tea slosh around as you move the cup ever so slightly. “I do it because I like you, Joel. You’re a great guy, and make my days a little bit easier. I’d even go so far as to consider you one of my friends. But, if you don’t feel that way—“

“Hey.” He reaches out for your hand. He’s surprised that you don’t pull away when his tan flesh meets yours so suddenly. Joel asks you to look at him, and you oblige. 

It’s so sad. Your eyes—so full of hurt—now locked on his. Soft, warm fingers wound between his thick digits. He frowns. 

“Listen to me.” Stern, though soft, he tells you. “Of course I feel that way. I tell you shit that I ain’t even told my own brother, ‘course I see you as a friend. Probably the only person I’d even wanna spend time with, if I’m honest.”

“You’re just sayin’ that, ‘cus you hurt my feelings—“

“No, I ain’t.” Joel shakes his head, trying to ignore the fact that he hurt your feelings. “I’m serious.”

“As a heart attack?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, kiddo, as a heart attack.”

Eyes roll at the sentiment, wondering whether there’ll ever be a time where Joel doesn’t refer to you as kid or kiddo. He tells you that it’s because he’s a lot older than you, but you both know there’s not even a ten year gap between the pair of you. He’s just dramatic and wishing his life away. 

“I’m—uh—I’m no good at this shit.” He looks down, a little curl poking through the back strap of his cap catches your eye. “Feelings, ‘n all.”

Instinctively, your thumb traces over the skin of his hand. You nod. You know. 

He's not the most sentimental person—nor does he cogitate  with his heart—but Joel is one of the most thoughtful men you’ve ever met, and these last few days have you feeling a different way about him. You can’t say that it’s a crush—crushes are for kids, is what your mother often tells you—but it’s certainly something. 

You’re just worried about the fact that he can’t let go of Tess. 

“Don’t gotta explain feelings, sweetie.” You tell him with a smile, reaching for your mug. The tea is cool, now. A little bit easier to drink than when it was piping hot and burning the roof of your mouth. “Just gotta feel ‘em, that’s all. Explain once you understand.”

You take a sip of the drink you made a short while ago, hands detaching. Joel almost feels weak without your touch, now. But he supposes that had it lasted any longer, he’d crumble. 

“Always know what to say, dontcha?”

“I do.” Conceited—though completely satirical—you say. He smiles, and so do you. “But in all seriousness, Joel, I know that you appreciate me. And I know that today was a complete one-off, but I just gotta know one thing.”

“Go for it.”

You suck in a breath, hating where you’re about to lead the conversation. “Did last night make you think differently of me? Y’know, when I asked those questions and pried a little?”

Joel’s heart thumps. Again. He doesn’t know how to say yeah, last night changed everything. But not ‘cus of what you asked me. 

He supposes that he can’t lie to you. He’s as transparent as a pane of fucking glass, at this point. 

“No. Definitely not.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Really. You had the right to know. Nothin’ has changed.”

Liar. 

He’s looking at you with those big fucking heart eyes that his brother teased him about earlier, and he knows it. He knows that he’s smitten. Truly, Joel is more than conscious of the fact that he’s falling—or more appropriately, fallen—for you, but he’s not at liberty to say. 

“You can tell me, y’know?”

He nods. “I know. There’s nothin’ to tell.”

“Okay.” Your tone is skeptical. He’s lying. 

He’s also been sitting here for far too long and is in desperate need of a long, cold shower to wash away the day and shirk any feelings before they come to bite him on his perfectly round ass. So he gets up—pushing the seat back beneath the island—and smiles at you. 

“Left Tommy behind the counter?”

Joel nods. “Yeah. He’s probably cussin’ me out right ‘bout now.”

Your laugh is genuine. Hearty. “Best get back then, hon.”

Joel’s mouth goes dry when his lips part to speak. Nothing materializes. Not even when he’s walking to the front door—you’re hot on his heels—can he figure out what to say. 

He’s opening it before he’s even certain of what he’s doing. 

“Miller.” You say and he turns around. He can’t help looking directly at your lips. “I’ll see ‘ya tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” He coughs. “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

He’s about to walk away—and you’re about to shut the door—before he’s leaning over the threshold and letting all rationality dissipate. Joel’s left hand meets the doorframe—mere inches from your own—and his breathing grows sporadic. 

Well, now or never, I ‘spose. 

Your fingers tingle, legs weaken. It’s only a split second, but it feels like an eternity that Joel is just standing there; staring at you. He’s waiting to make a move, you’re almost certain of it. 

“You gonna do somethin’?” You taunt, tilting your head a little. It almost snaps him out of his anxiety-induced haze. It eggs him on, if anything. 

“Fuck—shit—yeah.” Joel steps forward so that he’s no longer leaning, and the tips of his boots meet your toes. He’s careful not to stand on them. It’s sweet. 

He’s sweet. 

“C’mere.” He’s telling you when one of his calloused hands meets the nape of your neck, and both of yours are instinctively pawing at his chest. The soft, white  jersey beneath that customary flannel is like satin against your fingertips. He draws you in closer. “I lied.”

“‘Bout what?” You whisper, letting Joel’s hand shift to your cheek. It’s hard not to melt into his touch. 

His thumb brushes over your skin. You wilt beneath it. 

“Last night.” Your eyes are locked. “Everythin’ has changed.”

You nod. You feel the same way.

“And I dunno how to go ‘bout this, ‘cus I can’t do this whole lovey-dovey crap, but I do know that I wanna kiss you.”

He pulls you forward so that your faces are almost touching, and your hands have no choice but to rest atop the peaks of his glorious shoulders. This is something you only could’ve dreamed of. You and Joel in this position—on your doorstep—like something out of a fucking romcom, or Gilmore Girls. 

C’mon, man. Kiss her. 

The man’s heart juts in his throat. Two noses graze one another—when Joel angles his face so that he’s not pushing too firmly against yours—and you can’t help smiling wide at the prospect of Joel Miller, grumpiest man in Birch Grove, taking a liking to you. 

It’s almost as if your entire time with Joel flashes before your eyes—all of the early mornings and late nights spent at his coffee house, the stories shared and secrets told—and everything comes to a head in this particular moment. 

Your smile doesn’t falter. Not even when his lips meet yours, and he pushes the most dulcet kiss against your mouth. It’s so gentle. Nothing more than a delicate peck, but so passionate in the sense that; the two of you need this. The tenderness of the other’s touch—the sweet, cloying taste of sugar on your tongue meshed with malt from the tea—is welcomed almost immediately, accommodated by an unexpected desire and thirst for intimacy. 

And though it is but a peck, the two of you know that this is the start of something. Something completely unexplainable and somewhat unexpected, but something nonetheless. 

You’re the first to pull away. He’s too enamored with you. 

“Joel.” You breathe against his lips. Cheeks are flushed red, eyes hooded and completely blown with lust. “Thanks for comin’ here, and apologizing.”

“Thanks for acceptin’ my apology.” He tells you. Joel takes a step back—not before running his thumb over your skin one last time—for fear of initiating something else. “Wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t wanna.”

“Don’t go sayin’ that. ‘Course I’ll always accept your apologies.”

Joel’s heart rate must be through the roof at this point. 

“Even if I run outta maple hazel syrup?”

A gasp falls from your lips and you feign anguish. You soon smile. He looks at his wristwatch, and sighs. 

“I better get goin’. Left Tommy alone a while, now. Not sure if I’ll have a cafe to get back to, if I keep him any longer.”

You laugh. “Go on. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“If it hasn’t been burned to the ground, you mean?”

“Yeah, if it hasn’t been burned to the ground.”

Joel nods. He’s fishing about the pocket of his flannel for the key. 

“Enjoy the rest of your day, hon.”

His cheeks heat up. “Yeah, you too, kid.”

You can’t help letting out a little ha ha when he’s getting into his truck, and you’re watching from your post against the doorframe. When he gives you a little wave, he pulls away and you’re ambling back into your hallway. Satisfied. Though somewhat confused. 

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the trajectory of this day, and you suppose that nothing will ever come close. You just need to figure out what happens next. 

[gracieheartspedro]

For Cryin’ Out Loud

pairing: post-outbreak! joel miller x fem!reader

how to help the palestinians and what it means to write for the last of us characters

word count: 7.9k

description: living with joel is complicated, especially when you can’t sleep due to nightmares. when you find yourself in his bed, you can’t help yourself. but joel sure can. give him a day to mull it over.

warnings: pretty slow burn, kinda forced proximity, kinda angsty, unspecified age gap (don’t like it, don’t read it), joel gives you tons of nicknames (darlin’, kiddo, etc.), discussions of nightmares and possible mental illnesses, some fluff, reader isn’t really described, joel is kinda a gaslighter, he’s also a bit pervy, unprotected p in v (wrap it y’all), oral (f! receiving), dirty talk, joel like worships you!!!!!, joel licks his fingers clean, giving genitalia pronouns, joel’s a big boy. think that’s it. lemme know what I missed!

author’s note: I really enjoyed writing this. the idea is pretty simple but I love domestic jackson!joel. I promise i’ll try to switch it up soon and write something that isn’t jackson!era lol. support your fav fics by reblogging and commenting!! thanks love ya <3

For some reason, you always find yourself standing at the threshold of the front door when you cannot sleep. 

The air was especially brisk tonight. You wrapped yourself in a gray chunky sweater you found in the lost and found in Jackson’s thrift store, hoping to regain some warmth. Your bed may have been comfortable, but it was the place where nightmares usually plagued you. 

It was too late to be awake, and you knew that if you were caught, you would hear it from Joel. He always reprimanded you. Every time he caught you up late, it was like your father woke up and found your hand in the cookie jar. 

The dynamic between you two had changed since arriving in Jackson, and you almost resented him for it. When it was just you, him, and Ellie, you were managing a family unit. Joel was always the protective father, you being the mom or the voice of reason, and Ellie being chaos. 

When Ellie and Joel’s relationship shifted, he took on a fatherly role for you. It bothered you. A lot. 

In a moment of contemplation, you hear footsteps coming down the steps behind you. 

He’s wearing flannel pajama pants and no shirt, his hairy tummy something you did not see often. 

“What are you doing awake?” He questions, his voice groggy with a twinge of annoyance. 

You do not feel like explaining yourself, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to get out of this situation without a justification. 

You huff, leaning your back against the door frame so you can get a full look at the broad man. “Can’t sleep. Thought staring into the darkness would help.”

He grunts, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “How’s that workin’ for you, sweetheart?”

You could not close your eyes without the haunting dreams that seemed lively and so real. Every night, you had the same recurring ones. You were being chased, hunted, or murdered. Or all of the above. You would wake in a cold sweat, not wanting to shut your eyelids ever again. 

“Hm,” You say, staring back outside for a brief moment, “‘Was better when you weren’t looking over my shoulder.”

He chuckles, “Get back to bed.”

“I can’t, Joel.”

“You can and will. You’re no good when you’re tired.”

“If I close my eyes, Joel, I will just have the same goddamn nightmares I have every night. And I will end up doing what I’m doing now, which is trying to get some fresh air to forget them.”

“You’re not gonna forget ‘em with some fresh air. You just need to… get over them.”

The breeze picks up as soon as he says it, almost like the world knew the tension would have to be broken with some frigid air. You retort with, “And how do you get over yours?”

"I just accept them," he says, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. "I don't have time to dwell on them. There's always more important things to worry about."

"I'm more tired in the morning when I just endure them." You explain, trying not to cry about it. But you are so sick of them. The same thing every night.

“I get it. One day they will subside, I’m sure of it. But for now, you gotta-”

You just want him to shut up. At the same time, your mind is trying to remember the last time you did not have a nightmare. The memory makes your stomach churn. “You remember that one time we were forced to share that sleeping bag? Back in Pittsburgh?”

“Yeah,” His tone was wary, “What about it?”

"That was the first night I didn't have it." You explain, your voice a bit shaking at the insinuation. You don’t want to face the fact that Joel, the man that you have known for going on 10 years, kept your nightmares at bay. The same man who continuously rejected you and told you that he was old enough to be your dad. The same man that told you no, I don’t like you like that. I never will. That Joel. 

“And? Why are you bringing this up now?”

"Because every night I go to my bed and I'm forced to face them alone. When you were there... they didn't even bother holding my mind hostage.”

He took another step closer, closing some of the distance between you two. He towers over you and you can’t help but stare up at him in awe. Joel has always been a complicated part of your life. You consider him your sexual awakening, honestly, but he will never ever know that. Over the years, he’s only gotten more handsome. 

But now, he has a curious expression written all over his face.

"Are you saying you want to share a bed with me?" he asks, his voice gruff and low.

You suck in a deep breath, not wanting to answer. You knew that was stepping over a boundary for Joel. He liked his space. He didn’t like you impeding on that space, especially. Your bedroom was the furthest away from his for a reason.

"I don't know." You manage to say.

Joel's gaze darkened, his expression was completely unreadable. You wish you could read his mind, but you should be grateful you can not. 

Because in Joel’s mind, he’s trying to formulate a way to convince you to stay away from him altogether. The wall he has built over the last decade was intentional. He did not want to hurt you any further. He already knew you had feelings for him, but he was an old man. He did not want to drag you into his mess, all the baggage he carried. He looked after you, he shared a home with you, and that’s it. Strictly platonic. 

He shifted on his feet a little, unable to tear his eyes away from you. You shook like a little leaf.

"You don't know?" he repeated, his voice a low rumble.

You nod, "I don't know if I want that."

You do want that. But you want more, too. You knew you would be playing with fire. You would just be disappointed. 

Joel’s temptations are buried deep but they still fester every now and again. Some days he would catch a glance at you getting dressed in the crack of your door and have to take a cold shower. As soon as he felt those emotions bubble in his chest, he would try to distract himself. Maybe he would take a longer patrol. Maybe he would go to the Tipsy Bison and try to find a woman to take home. That one never really worked. 

“Well, what do you want then? Because standin’ at the door and letting all the cold air in ain’t gonna work for me or you.”

You look down at your picked-over fingernails and contemplate your next sentence. You don't want to be heartbroken in the morning when you wake up and he's there sleeping peacefully next to you and you're not... his.

"I want to sleep with you."

Joel was not expecting such a blunt response from you, but he appreciated you not beating around the bush about it. He gestures for you to step out of the doorway so he can shut the door, which you do. 

He looked down at you, his eyes raking over your face, taking in the exhaustion and uncertainty. 

"You sure?" he asked, his voice a gruff whisper.

You just nod as he locks the front door. You couldn’t believe you were doing this. 

Joel couldn’t believe it either. Maybe it was the tiredness or the instincts he felt to protect you, but he was not mad at the idea of sharing his bed with you. 

You signal for him to go upstairs, “You lead the way.”

-

Joel’s room was always off-limits to you. So when you step into his small little world, you take it all in. 

The artwork around the room was mainly nature landscapes. He had a big dresser right at the room's entrance with picture frames of Sarah, Ellie, and other family members. You were even included in one photo—a picture of you and him on some horses from last year. 

A shirt littered one side of the bed, so you took that as it was probably his side. Unfortunately for you, it was the right side. You felt a pang of guilt realizing you would probably end up restlessly lying in Joel’s bed if you were stuck on the left. 

Before he can pull back the blanket for himself, you stop him. 

“Uh, can I sleep on that side?”

He completely halts in his motions, turning his head towards you with a blank expression. “My side? Why?”

You lick your lips, already regretting this whole thing. 

“Because I have had this superstition since I was a kid that I could only sleep on the right side of the bed."

Joel wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. He can tell you are at war in your head about the question, your expression practically anticipating his rejection. 

"Superstitions, huh?" he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips."You and your weird beliefs."

You watch as he crosses to the other side of the bed and lifts the blanket. Is he actually letting you have his side? Maybe he doesn’t hate you. 

“You could also call it a compulsion, but superstitions seem more fun and less like a mental illness.”

He laughs this time, his deep chuckle making you feel a bit more relaxed about the situation. You did not feel like a burden as much. You walk to the right side and pull back his navy blue sheets and blanket. The spot looks warm and inviting so when you crawl in next to Joel, you start to realize that you’re back in the same situation you were in years ago in that sleeping bag. He was so close and warm and you wanted nothing more but for him to hold you and keep you comfortable.

But then another thing came to mind before you could imagine his arms around you. 

You usually sleep on your right side or back, but now you don't know what to do because you didn't know how Joel slept.

"Do you sleep on your side or back?"

Joel studies you as you fidget beside him, your uncertainty causing him to smirk slightly. It was almost endearing, seeing you be completely out of control of your surroundings. He remembers back when you were traveling with him you had an obsessive need to straighten up everything before you fell asleep. You had to roll yourself up in your sleeping bag the same way every night. 

"Usually on my back," he said finally. "But I can sleep on my side, too."

You swallow, trying to picture yourself sleeping. For some reason you felt the urge to have control of the situation, dictating exactly how he has to sleep, too. "Can I... I'll sleep on my side if you can sleep on your back? Is that okay?"

Joel had to suppress a smirk at your request. You knew he was trying to hold back a snarky remark. Instead, he surprises you.

"Sure, you can sleep on your side," he agreed, shifting his body weight onto his back, "’n I'll sleep on my back. No big deal."

You turn to face him, tucking the pillow further under your head. You can tell his eyes are heavy from exhaustion. You know it's time to shut up, to go to sleep, but you feel the need to say something else to him. Sometimes your brain concocts questions and statements and you know you shouldn’t say them, but your mouth betrays you.  

"When was the last time you had a girl in your bed?"

Why the fuck would you ask that? You think to yourself. It fell out of your mouth like drool.

Joel's eyes widened at your blunt question, surprise and a hint of embarrassment coloring his expression. You knew he was probably just expecting you to lay here next to him, maybe roll around a bit, then sleep. But instead, it’s an interrogation.

He took a deep breath, his mind rattling around as he tried to think of a response. He didn't want to admit what his genuine answer was to you, but he too could not help himself.

"Why do you want to know that?" he asks, his voice steely.

You hate that he even responded because now you needed to defend yourself.

"I uh, don't know. I don't know why it matters."

Joel chuckled softly, noting that you probably just had a case of word vomit. You always told him you were infamous for putting your foot in your mouth, especially in awkward situations.

"Curiosity got the better of you, huh?" he asks, rubbing his face with his hands. “You just can’t help yourself, sweetheart.”

He shifted slightly, rolling onto his side to face you, his gaze studying your expression.

You smirk, grateful that he's letting it slide. When he turns onto his side and he's at eye level with you, your face drops a bit. He is ruining the vision in your head. He’s throwing a wrench in your plans.

"You're supposed to be on your back, sir."

Joel couldn't help but chuckle softly at your comment. He knew he was supposed to be on his back, but the new angle allowed him to see you better in the faint moonlight.

"Don't worry," he said, a hint of humor in his voice. "I'll turn back over in a minute. Just... enjoying the view for a bit."

You roll your eyes, lifting your hands from under the covers and lightly hitting his arm. You knew he was just fucking with you now. 

"Okay, for that, I want to know the answer to my stupid question."

Joel let out a low laugh, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. He shook his head, amused by your persistence. You start to think about it and you have never really seen him bring anyone home. Maybe it had been a very long time and he was embarrassed. 

"Alright, alright," he said, a hint of resignation in his voice. "Last time I had a girl in my bed..."

He paused for a moment, his eyes dropping to the covers, his mind racing to find the right words.

"Go on..."

Joel took another deep breath, his voice dropping even lower as he spoke.

"It's been a long time, kiddo," he admitted, his voice pierced with a bit of shame. "Almost ten years, if I'm being honest."

Your eyes widen in surprise. "No way... You've never just... got it on with someone in bed?"

Joel's face flushed with embarrassment at your blunt question, a mix of shock and slight irritation flashing across his eyes.

"Jesus, you really don't hold back, do ya?" he muttered. He shifts a bit, trying to get comfortable in a different way. He hadn't expected the conversation to turn so personal, so quickly and he did not want to face you anymore. He was mortified. 

You mentally slap yourself in the face.

"I'm sorry, I am just tired and delusional. Uh, you don't have to answer that."

Joel could practically feel the humiliation radiating off you and he too felt the exact same way. You knew how to add to an already awkward situation.

"No, no, it's fine," he reassured you, his voice a bit gentler now. "I get it. You're tired, and your filter has taken a backseat."

"Yeah, exactly..."

He shifted on the bed, turning onto his back again, his gaze shifting to the ceiling, avoiding your curious stare.

You could not help but stare at his side profile. A prominent straight nose. His downturned lips are surrounded by some fine lines that show his age. He was a beautiful man now, but you can’t help but imagine him back in his 20s. He had to have been a hit with the ladies back then.

Joel could feel your gaze on him, studying his face. And while you were not scrutinizing him, he felt like a commodity in a museum or something.  He forced himself to keep his gaze on the ceiling, refusing to meet your eyes.

"So… ten years and no sex?”

You could seriously, not help yourself.

"Correct.” He grumbles, still not meeting your stare.

"Damn, Joel." You mutter, adjusting a bit to sit up a little more on your pillow. "I seriously thought you were sleeping around the whole time we have been in Jackson.”

He finally turns your way, a bit of offense on his face. “Why would you think that?”

You shrug, not wanting to insult him. But that’s how you formulated your grudge towards him. It was easy to just chalk everything up to problems with random women you have seen around town. 

“You just give off the energy…”

“What?”

You huff, laying back on the pillow. “I don’t know, Joel! I feel like when I’m around you all the ladies think you’re handsome. They stare.”

“They are staring because you’re always following me around and we aren’t married or… together. They think we are odd.” 

You had never heard such things around Jackson, but it does sort of make sense. Everyone was probably just confused because you two lived together but were not a couple. You can admit it is bizarre, but it just did not feel like an option any other way, in your mind. So Tommy gave you two a bigger house and you set up separate rooms. 

But in actuality, Joel secretly told Tommy that he did not want you too far from him. So when Tommy couldn’t give you any other houses nearby, Joel just told him that you two would be roommates.

“Well fuck ‘em.” You mutter, trying not to sound too offended by the thought of people gossiping about you two.

Joel just nods. You settle by tucking your arm under your pillow. You yawn, the exhaustion now taking over your body. You watch Joel grab a pair of reading glasses from the side table and a book. You decide not to bother him, especially because he probably wanted to just read himself to sleep instead of being interrogated by you any further.

You close your eyes and eventually fall asleep. The deeper you get, Joel notices how your breathing pattern changes. When he’s finally ready to get some shut-eye as well, he watches as your body crawls closer to him. Your arm swings over his stomach and rests on his forearm. He is so shocked he does not move a muscle. 

You adjust some more, not knowing what you are doing. Your leg creeps up and tucks right between his. You snuggle your face right into his chest. The only movement Joel decides to make is slinging his arm over your shoulders to pull you in tighter. 

It’s the first time in years that you two slept soundly, with no interruptions. No nightmares, no sudden intrusions, nothing. Silence and snores fill the room and that’s it.

-

When you wake up, it’s slow and gradual. Your brain hardly computes that you’re laying on top of Joel’s shirtless frame, until your hand runs across his warm tummy. 

You crook your neck up, looking at the handsome man you are spreading across. 

His lips are slightly ajar, letting out hardly-there snores. They are so pretty and pink and you cannot help but touch them with feather-like fingertips. You would feel so guilty waking him up-

His eyes slowly open taking notice of your actions even though you tried not to stir him. Your eyes fly open in shock, but he does not seem very annoyed. He smiles. 

“Mornin’ darlin’,” He says in a deep sleep-laced voice. You smile back at him, loving that he decided to call you the nickname you always got giddy over. You press your fingers into his chest before replying.

“I didn’t have a nightmare.”

His hand comes up from your shoulders and tucks some hair behind your ear as he stares down at you, “That’s good kiddo. I’m glad you slept well.”

The intimacy is almost too much. The way this is how it would be if you woke up to Joel every morning. It sends your brain into overdrive and you force yourself to ruin it a bit.

“Woulda slept even better if you didn’t talk so much in your sleep.”

Joel froze for a moment, his cheeks immediately flushing pink with embarrassment. He sits up a bit more, adjusting to the brighter lighting in his room. He knew he had a problem with talking in his sleep. Ellie used to talk about it all the time. He dreaded hearing what he was saying while curled up next to you.

"Uh... what did I say?" he asked, trying to maintain his composure.

"Something about it felt so good to be pressed up against someone, I don't know..." 

You could not help yourself and started to laugh. You knew you were going to get a rise out of him. 

Joel's face flushed an even deeper shade of pink as you started to laugh, clearly amused by your joke. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, his mind racing as he tried to come up with an excuse. He was just dreaming, it was not about you. 

"W-what?" he spluttered out instead of making an excuse. "I didn't... I didn't say anything like that."

You have a shit-eating grin on your face and you press your hands on his chest to prop yourself up. You enjoyed watching him squirm.

Joel's eyes flickered down to your hands on his chest. He sickly thought they felt so right placed there. He imagined what you would look like fully mounting him. 

He tried to keep his expression neutral, but you could see through his stone-cold exterior.

"You're messing with me, aren't you?" he grumbled, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

"Fully fuckin' with you." You giggle, hoping he is not really that mad at you. 

“You’re a brat.”

You move your foot slightly, running it up his leg. It sends shockwaves up his body, having you so close and moving around so seamlessly. 

"No, you said something about how beautiful, alluring, and incredible I am. Said I was the girl of your dreams…"

"Yeah, right," he said, a hint of playful sarcasm in his voice. "You expect me to believe that?"

"So, you don't believe me?"

"No, I don't believe you," he says, his voice stern but playful. "I think you're a dirty little liar, trying to play me for a fool."

"A dirty little liar, huh? Well, it's good to know that you don't think I'm beautiful, alluring, and incredible." You giggle at his acknowledgment, knowing he caught you red-handed.

"Oh, I never said that," he smirked, a hint of teasing in his voice. "You are all of those things, darlin’. But you're also a dirty little liar who likes to play games."

"So you think I'm beautiful?" You crack, the biggest smile painted on your face. You don’t even care that he’s calling you a liar because it does not matter. Joel thinks you are beautiful. 

“‘Course I do.”

You push yourself up onto your butt, sitting crisscross next to him. He secretly wishes you were still curled up on top of him. 

“You always this nice in the morning?” You ponder, your fingertips starting to toy with the hair on his stomach. He tries not to pay mind to it, letting you have full access to touch him. 

But it’s driving him insane. The way you look freshly woken up, completely enamored with the idea of him calling you beautiful. You have some puffiness under your eyes and your lips are more swollen than usual.

“I am always nice to you.”

You let out a scoff, “No, you’re not.”

He notices the shift in your tone and starts to get defensive, “Now you’re just lyin’.” 

Joel always loved to gaslight you in these situations. You knew better than to let him get away with it, especially now. “No there was that one time you told me you did not like me and that you would never like me. How you are old enough to be my dad-”

“Because I am!”

And there’s the wall. The only constant in you two’s relationship. He was so good at throwing it up when feelings were being expressed. When vulnerability was presented, Joel could not help but reject it. 

“And the world’s fuckin’ ended, Joel! Big deal!” You almost yell, moving your hands from him. 

Why does he already miss your hands?

He huffs, crossing his arms over his soft chest. “We have had this conversation for the last 10 years.’M not sure why we keep rehashing it.”

“And every time you turn me down it’s another fuckin’ stab in the heart.”

“You know why we can’t,” He practically growls. You can not stand to even look at him anymore with your bitterness and irritation taking over. 

“Whatever, Joel.” 

As soon as you say it, you’re already leaving his room and heading to your own. When you slam the door, you hope you have made your point. You want to scream and punch a hole in the wall, but instead you just furiously stomp around the room and grab your clothes. You had patrol at noon, so you needed to get to the mess hall before breakfast was over. You try not to cry as you strip down and get dressed.

Joel sits in bed, reeling. He hates that it has become a conversation every six months. He hated that rejecting you always sent you into a spiral of hating him for extended periods. It’s not that he did not want you, it was simply just not in the cards. He was too old to be in love. He was too old to play house with you. He just could not submit to the idea of leading you on, especially because you had so much more life to live. 

He finally works up the courage to get out of bed and put on some clothes. He opts for putting on his typical jeans and thick flannel. It was getting colder and he knew by the end of the winter, you would end up with half his flannels anyway, so he had to enjoy them while he had them. 

You storm downstairs, going to the back door for your boots when you spot him in the kitchen. 

“You got pat-”

“Yes.” You respond quickly, shoving your foot into your shoes. He stands behind you with a mug full of tea, watching your every move. 

“Who are you-”

“Jesse.”

He was asking his usual questions, which you were not in the mood to answer. 

“Hey, can you-”

You snap your head back at him, giving him the glare you gave him as a warning usually. By now, he takes it as a hint and backs off. But not this time. 

“Can I what?”

He rolls his eyes, “Can you fuckin’ not be a brat about this?”

You wish your glare came with knives. If that were the case, Joel Miller would be dead on his kitchen floor. 

You are so thrown off by the question that you just watch him get angrier when you do not respond. 

“Are you serious, right now?” You press, keeping your voice from cracking. 

He brings the mug up to his mouth, taking an obnoxious sip. When he pulls the mug away, you notice how steaming it is. “You always pull this shit-”

“No, you do! You do this shit to me every fuckin’ time, Joel. You sweet talk me, make me feel comfortable, have me lapping everything up in the palm of your hands, and then you snatch it away. Then have the audacity to get mad at me!”

You are yelling now and it is throwing him off. Joel knows better than to interrupt you like you do to him. You were the kind of person who would calm down if you felt heard. 

The way he knew you down to your core made this all so painful. Because if he was not so stubborn and true to his convictions, he would have fucked you the moment you touched his lips this morning. 

“I ain’t tryin’ to make this harder than-” “Too fuckin’ late.”

You think back to the moment last night when you knew you were going to hurt your own feelings by sleeping with him. You knew better, yet here you are, still blaming him for your stupidity.

He stands there, still holding his mug, staring you down like a wounded doe who got pierced with an arrow. He feels guilty like he misled you. Before he can say anything, you are lacing up your boots and leaving out the front door without another word. 

-

All day long, Joel wanders around the house trying to get rid of the pit in his stomach. Nothing works. A shower. Reading a book. Cutting wood. As soon as he tried to use laundry as a distraction, he reached into his hamper and found one of your t-shirts. He held it close and smelled it, trying to wrap his head around how he got here. 

You spend all day, silently fuming on horseback with Jesse. When he tries to get you to open up, you ice him out and tell him to focus on the trail in front of him. 

You get back by sundown, the sun setting making it a lot chiller than you expected. You decide to take the long way home, wanting to avoid being home for as long as possible. You were not ready to face Joel, let alone share a space with him. But unfortunately, during your patrol, you fell into some mud and needed a shower. The more time it spent on your clothes and body, the grosser you felt. 

You open the front door, announcing that you are home. It was a habit you and Joel developed after you both pulled guns on each other during late-night arrivals. 

You hear Joel mumble something from the living room, but you do not stop to listen and continue on your way upstairs to the bathroom. 

You strip down as soon as the door is closed, tossing your muddy clothing into a hamper in the corner. You would get them washed and hung as soon as you shower off. 

You hear Joel’s footsteps creaking around the upstairs hallway as you scrub your body with homemade soap and warm water. 

When you start to dry yourself off, you hear Joel grunting something in the hallway. You wrap yourself in a towel and peek your head out the door. He’s on his hands and knees wiping something off the hardwood. “What’s goin’ on?”

He looks up at you, your body only covered in a bleach-stained blue towel. It makes his head spin. He can’t even be mad that you tracked in mud. 

He swallows, gripping the cloth he’s using tighter. “You got mud everywhere.”

You step out, not even really thinking about the fact that you are not properly dressed in front of Joel. You were still mad at him, anyway. Who cares what he thinks?

“Sorry, I could’ve cleaned it up.”

He returns to wiping the wood, “It’s fine, I got it, kiddo.”

You accept his response and move on to your room, but the draft you leave behind drifts to Joel’s nostrils. Your soap smells like lavender and it always sends his mind racing when you are fresh from a shower. He clears his throat, trying to get through the emotions filling his chest. 

But it’s been like this all day. You’re all around him even when you’re not physically here. How can he get away from you? Why is he trying to run in the first place?

He’s on his knees in your hallway, cleaning up your mess, sniffing the air you leave behind because he’s fucking in love with you and he cannot help himself anymore. 

Joel starts to think about how peaceful he felt having you next to him last night and how he would love to feel that way every night. For once he’s not thinking about what everyone else would think. For once he’s thinking selfishly and caving into every desire he has ever pondered about you. How would you feel under him? How would your lips feel pressed against his pulse point? 

His body was on fire, thinking about you. 

You are fiddling with some clothes in your dresser after you flick on the overhead light. You do not hear him come into your room behind you. 

You are so wrapped up in your own thoughts that when he clears his throat to announce he’s in your room, you scream. Loud. 

“For cryin’ out loud, woman!” 

You grip your towel tighter when you turn and see him standing at your mercy. 

“Joel, what the fuck?” You yell, gesturing to the fact that you are practically naked. He does not care, of course, and his ears are ringing from your piercing scream. He gathers himself as you shift back, trying to create some distance from him.

He is trying not to gawk at the fact that your grip on the towel against your chest is only pushing up your cleavage. He’s biting back everything. “Can we talk?”

“Talk about what? The fact you crept into my room when I was trying to change? Are we past boundaries now?” 

You are pissed, trying not to rattle off another million things to discuss with him. He’s only really talking about one thing. 

He scoffs at your last statement. “Boundaries were already out the window when you crawled into bed with me last night.”

Silence fills the room as you completely stop breathing. The anger you originally felt dissipates. 

“Joel-“

“I ain’t doin’ this back and forth anymore,” He starts shifting in his spot, unsure if he really should be doing this. “I can’t live how I've been livin’. Somethin’s gotta give.”

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. 

“You are the one who won’t give, Joel.”

As soon as you say it, he practically drags himself over to you. Completely destitute. You have never seen him look so desperate before. You can tell that he’s been at war with himself ever since you left this morning. His eyes never lied.

His hand creeps up your bare arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. 

But then you remember his words from this morning. You start feeling like this is just a moment of weakness for him and that he will regret it later. You had to stop it before it was too late. You did not want to deal with the consequences. 

“Joel, you said we can’t-”

“Fuck what I said,” He cuts you off, “Do you want this?”

You stare into those brown eyes, searching for a sign of hesitance. You cannot believe Joel is being this vulnerable with you. 

But, you do want him. God, you have wanted him so badly for so long. You have searched for him in every man you have ever been with since knowing him. 

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. He takes note of your parted lips, every word failing you at that moment.

“Darlin’-”

“Yes,” You finally manage. “Yes, I do want this.”

It’s all he needs. He closes the gap between you two by wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his space. His lips crash onto yours, not wasting another breath of air waiting to indulge in his sickest fantasies. 

You are all Joel ever dreamed about. He knew that once he caved and physically gave in, his world would be shot and everything would revolve around you. For years it had been a teetering object on a cliff, one nudge would have him falling. He always managed. But now, he was falling head first. 

His lips move so perfectly with your own. Your hand released your towel and found the tufts of his curls at the base of his head. You did not care that the article pooled around your feet, leaving you completely bare in front of Joel. You have wanted this all along. To be uncovered, to be stripped down to the rawest form. He broke the kiss briefly just to scan your naked body, his forehead pressed against your own. 

“Fuck, you are so beautiful.”

Your heart stutters as his hand traces your stomach down to your hips, all the way down to your ass. He stops there, grabbing a handful. 

“I need you,” You choke out before pressing your lips to his over and over again. “Right now.”

He mumbles “jump” into your mouth and you do so, his hands working quickly to hike you up onto his waist. He carries you to your bed, wasting no time dropping you onto your back. 

He cannot get enough of your soft, swollen lips. Every time he pulls away slightly, he dives in again even more aggressively than the last time. 

You are so hypnotized by the way he feels on top of you. In the light, he seems so much broader than he was last night. He’s still fully clothed, to your dismay. You start to tug at his shirt, motioning him to remove the articles that are in your way. 

He throws off his shirt before he stands up at the edge of the bed and pushes down his jeans. 

“Joel… I-“

He just shuts you up with another passionate kiss. It’s all tongue and teeth like he’s trying to melt into your mouth. Your hands trail up his back, gripping onto his shoulders, holding him down so he is pressing against your nude body. 

“God, I have wanted this for so long,” He sputters, trying not to sound too desperate. “Been wanting this.”

That’s when his hand reaches down between your thighs and gathers the wetness your slit has to offer. His fingers dance across it, starting from the top all the way to your spongy entrance. 

“Please, Joel.”

He loves the lust-laced tone you speak with when you say his name. It almost makes him cum there and then. 

You watch as he makes his way down your body, peppering kisses from your shoulder to your hip. When he parts your legs, you feel quite exposed. The adrenaline of being so spread for him manifests into a moan. 

“You are divine, baby.”

The use of that adjective is so-not-Joel that it makes you giggle. He notes your reaction and decides to sink down into you. When his mouth gets close to your core, it’s no longer a laughing matter. 

He uses his fingers again, using them to spread open your pussy lips. He cannot keep his eyes away from how dripping you are. “This all for me?”

“Y-yes, Joel.”

“God, I was a fuckin’ fool for so long. Could’ve had her earlier and I never fuckin’ caved. Such an idiot.”

Him giving your cunt pronouns was enough to have you throwing your head back and shuttering. His touch was magnetic like he knew exactly what buttons to push as he rubbed his fingers and palm over your core. 

“Yeah, you’ve been missin’ out. Every night…” You swallow before looking down at the man that is enamored with your pussy, “E-every night I would lay in this bed, fuckin’ myself just thinkin’ about you.”

He growls at the statement, before teasingly kissing your clit. “Every night, hm, kiddo?”

“God, yes.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as he leans forward more and dives in. His nose is pressed firmly against the top of your pussy, nudging forward every time his tongue enters your hole. When that motion became consistent, you began to note the rumblings in the pit of your stomach. A familiar build-up that you managed to get when you were playing with yourself. 

His fingers move in tandem with his lips and tongue. While his middle and pointer finger slide in and out of you, his lips wrap around your clit. It’s overwhelming and all-consuming. 

You do not know where to center yourself, so your hands grip the bed sheets you were completely soaking as Joel pulls the first orgasm out of you. 

“That’s it, baby, she’s cryin’ for me, hm?”

You hardly make a noise, the orgasm is so earth-shattering that you just writhe on the mattress. 

“Oh my god…” You groan, finally able to catch your breath. When Joel removes his fingers from you, you watch as he slowly brings them up to his lips.

When he inserts them in his mouth, you gawk at him, unsure how to react. He watches your expression and chuckles darkly.

“Mm, never seen a man enjoy the taste of ya?”

You shake your head. “Never expected to hear those words leave your mouth, either.”

“Wait ‘til you hear what else I got to say.”

He stands up beside the bed, grabs your hips, and brings them to the edge. He is tossing you around with ease, bringing your lower body flush with his. He yanks down his briefs, revealing himself to you. You instantly take notice of how well-endowed he is. You never thought you would ever be close to his cock, let alone have it lining up at your entrance. 

“Joel…“ You stop him with your small voice, but still welcoming him in with your legs opened wide, “I don’t know if it will fit.”

He grins, “It will, baby. Just relax for me, okay?”

You watch him slide his member along your center, the feeling so blissfully overstimulating. You whine a bit, raising your hips to his. 

But Joel continues his torture, enjoying the way you’re squirming under him. The way your eyebrows are knitted together, your eyes shut as you grind up into him. It’s the prettiest sight. 

“Ready?”

Your eyes fly open as you watch him ease his way into your core, the sound of squelching filling the room. You don’t think you have ever been this wet for someone. 

“Oh my fuckin’ god, Joel…”

He smiles as he inches in, “Squeezin’ my cock so good, darlin’.”

When he’s fully sheathed inside, he tests the waters by drawing out slowly. You roll your hips in a circle, trying to feel out every inch of him. He fits, but you know once he starts to move faster, the stretch will become overwhelming. 

He’s trying to focus and not blow his load immediately. You look so beautiful below him, your tits slowly shifting back and forth every time he draws back and forth. He reaches out, wanting to feel the flesh between his fingers. God, he craved every inch of you, he realizes. 

You open your legs as far as you can, letting him hit you at a different angle. The movement allows him to slip in a bit more seamlessly, so when he speeds up his thrusts, you don’t feel like you will completely split in half. 

He brings your leg up to hips, and feeling your soft delicate skin against him makes him lose all sense. His hips snap faster the more you moan out for him. 

“Fuckin’ Christ, girl. I can’t believe I was missin’ out on this cunt,” He babbles, “Need this cunt every day from now on. Gonna have you all to myself every night.”

You are too fucked out of your mind to read into those implications.

“‘M all yours, Joel.”

He smiles, slowing down a bit. “Keep talkin’ like that and ‘ll finish a lot sooner than you.”

You sit up a bit, your eyes flickering over his entire body. He notices you checking out his nude frame, which makes him feel a bit more bold. He leans down, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. You love the way his tongue slips into your mouth so effortlessly. When he opens his mouth, his facial hair tickles your nose a bit which makes you smile. When his hips pick back up to a quicker pace, it sends you gasping into his mouth.

“Please, Joel,” You whine, that familiar build starts up but this time it’s like a freight train. Moving so quickly down every nerve ending in your body. “I’m gonna cum.”

“‘M with you, darlin’. Soak this dick. I’m right behind ya.”

His dirty talk causes the crash. Your body practically lifts off the mattress. You cry out so loud you are sure a neighbor could hear you. You try to gain your bearings, but you are panting like you just ran a mile. 

Joel fucks you through it, but the restriction your pussy is putting on his cock sends him over the edge. His hips stutter into yours, his seed emptying into your spent hole. He just keeps repeating your name as his thrusts slow down.

He has never had such a visceral orgasm in his life. His knees are weak and can hardly keep up his weight. He practically falls on top of you, which does not offend you at all. His warm sweaty body on top of you is almost reassuring. 

“You okay, kiddo?” He finally mutters as his hot breath fans the nape of your neck. You just nod, bringing your hand up to his salt and pepper hair. You tug lightly, smiling to yourself. 

“I’m more than okay.”

He finally sits up, his cock spilling out of you as he adjusts his position. Your hole drips a mixture of cum onto your newly clean sheets, but you could care less. It’s just another thing to hand wash tonight.

Joel stumbles to the middle of the room, picking up your bath towel. He uses it to wipe himself up before coming over to you. Your legs are still slightly apart so he decides to clean you up a bit. He’s gentle, knowing that you are probably still sensitive.

Once he finishes up, he crawls next to you as you continue to recover. Your bones felt like jello so standing up to adjust yourself was not an option.

So instead of facing him, you stare up at your ceiling fan as his eyes lock onto every detail of your profile. It brings him back to one night you two shared under the stars a couple of years ago. It was his turn to keep watch so you curled up in your sleeping bag by the fire. He admired you from across the flames, the orange hues lit up every angle of your face. It was at that moment that Joel realized that he could not picture his life without you. You had weaseled your way into every facet of his life and he used to resent the impact you had on him. You were younger, more patient but still stubborn like him. You made him laugh, like genuinely laugh, for the first time since the infection. While you may have been a bit impulsive with your emotions, he envied the way you could say exactly what you were thinking. 

Joel did not want to love you, but it was impossible not to. 

You finally look over at him, noticing the softness in his gaze.

“Are you okay?” You pose, scrunching your nose. 

He gives you a toothless smile, his eyes crinkling a bit. “I just can’t wait to sleep next to you for the rest of my life.”

tags of people I love and who may wanna read (no pressure I just love u) (some of u did ask tho) : @ashleyfilm @hockeyhughes @pedrospookie @guiltyasdave @amanitacowboy @myownwholewildworld

[frosttbitten]

PUSSY DRUNK ELLIEEEEEE

warnings: pussy drunk ellie (obviously), kinda subtop ellie, ellie almost cries at the idea of having to stop eating you out (so real), dacryphillia if you squint, overstimulation, slight womanhandling

“ellie, i can't–” you sobbed out, trying to push her head away from between your thighs. she'd been going at it for a while now, poor baby's jaw was probably hurting, and you were so overstimulated it was hurting.

your girlfriend just ignored your cries, batting your hands away. she whimpered against you, basically making out sloppily with your cunt.

ellie couldn't think about anything but how you taste. she didn't want to think about anything else, she didn't really want to think at all.

your fingers curled in her hair, but it wasn't clear if you were trying to push her away, or pull her closer. your pussy was starting to go numb, and your brain felt even mushier than it did a few moments ago, “ellie…” you whined, tossed your head back onto the pillow as a few tears slipped from your eyes.

the auburn haired girl's eyes were glassy, lapping at your heat like it was the last meal she'd ever get. she wrapped her hands around your thighs, to keep you spread open for her, shaking her head from side to side between your legs.

your thighs were starting to shake, a deep moan tore from your throat as you felt what you hoped to be your last orgasm rapidly approach. you pulled her hair harder, red crescents left on her scalp from your nails.

her tongue slid inside you, and your back lifted off the bed, ripping a sob from you as you creamed yet again, all over her tongue. ellie let out a happy hum against your pussy, and you just knew that if she had a tail, it'd be wagging like crazy right now.

your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, but ellie hadn't moved away, so it was hard to even think. you tried to scoot back on the bed, tried to pull away from her, but her long fingers were still wrapped around your plush thighs, holding you in place so you had no choice but to take it.

“no… stay,” ellie whimpered when she felt you try to pull away, her voice muffled against your dripping folds, “baby, i can't take any more of this–”

she teared up at the mere idea of having to part from your perfect pussy, using her strength to pull up onto her knees, dragging you up with her, leaving only your shoulders against the mattress. she all but laughed at your surprise, wrapping her arms around your hips so she could dive right back between your legs without you pulling away. your legs fell naturally over her shoulders, the new position allowed ellie to eat you out without you being able to do anything at all.

ellie admired your expression from where she was, suckling on your clit like it was her favorite piece of candy she'd never get tired of. your mouth fell open with a sob, tears of overstimulation pouring down your face with the force of another orgasm she expertly drew from you like it was nothing.

this has been sitting in my drafts for ages now im So sorry it took so long to come out and its literally just a drabble 😭😭

anyway ellie womanhandling me makes me feral

[ellabscrush]

— fucking you behind the screen.

thinking about getting pounded by your gamer girlfriend’s strap while unmuted..

pairings; gamer!ellie williams x reader

cw; men and minors don’t interact, making out, strap use, breeding kink, agoraphilia, r uses “daddy” to ellie once, language, dom!ellie, sub!reader.

ways you can help, boycott, do not support neil.

“jesse the fuck was that?” ellie laughs at the guy behind the mic when he missed the shot.

“dina, get him!” she shouted, “fuck yeah!”

your girlfriends excessive cursing and yelling across the room made you snap out of your phone while scrolling on tiktok, wondering if she was about to break her setup right about now.

it was mid winter and the apartment was freezing so you threw on a zip up over your top underneath, feeling the warm athmosphere disappearing from your body as you walked out your room.

“holy shit els, it’s freezing” you said shivering tensely towards the living room, but she didn’t hear you.

“took out your friend.. fucking cunt.”

not gonna lie, her little frustrated grunts and insults were very attractive, you thought. you stared at her hands switching in between buttons, her eyes glued on the screen showing her focus, manspreading enough room for you to eat her out down there.. she looked too good.

you plopped yourself on to the couch, loud enough to make her turn over, pausing her activity. she sets down her headphones and took a long look at you.

she lays back on her chair, “hey you,” she sighs.

“you almost done?” you asked, desperate for some attention.

“almost,” she replies, “this game is pissing me off anyway.”

you smiled, having a silent moment between the two of you. there was a familiar tension, but unsure wether you should go along. ellie kept scanning you up and down like she hadn’t seen you in forever, technically she hadn’t since she’d been playing all day.

“you need somethin?” you asked with confused expression.

“do i look like i need something?” she teased, licking her lips.

you shrugged, shyly looking down as you we’re hiding the redness forming in your face. you couldn’t act normal around her when she looked this good, i mean she always looks good. you soon got up from the couch, walking towards your girlfriend, giving her a long wet kiss.

“you should take this off” she insisted while tugging at your zipper, her tone switching making you go insane.

ellie, being her clumsy self, didn’t mute.

“get a room!” jesse and dina yells from the speaker, unaware the two could listen to you both smothering eachother.

“shut up,” she pulls down the mic, “i’ll get on soon.”

you burried yourself in the crook of her neck from embarrassment and laughed. she pulled you in for a deeper kiss, pulling up your one thigh and the other on to her lap.

“can we make this quick?” ellie asks making you confused, “take this shit off,” she demanded quietly, making sure her friends doesn’t hear.

“just mute it ellie,” you giggled in between the kisses.

she lets out another smirk, this time having an idea behind it.

she whispers in your ear that made you shiver a bit hearing her talk in such a dirty way as she fills you in on her plan. contemplating her genius yet scary idea, you couldn’t help but feel the adrenaline rushing up on you. it turned you on and so you agreed.

“suck.”

ellie puts her middle and ring finger in your wet mouth, prepping it with your saliva before it goes in you. she turns her chair towards her pc, leaving a bit of room for you.

“stream your screen,” she speaks into the mic, “i’ll just watch you both from here.”

a few minutes later, her strap was going in and out behind you, making you cry just trying to keep your moans in. back arched and both hands on the rim of the table infront of you as ellie make your stomach turn.

“shh, can’t let them hear you now.”

“mmph.. so deep..” you whimpered.

at this point you were barely clothed, nipples poking through the see through, thin fabric of your bra. ellie gropping your perky tits as hard as she wanted, you were hers. she could do whatever she wanted.

her hips moving faster and faster, holding yourself up with just two grips on her white desk. her praises for keeping quiet were not helping, it made you even louder.

“you look so slutty right now,” she basically drooled, “asking to get fucked under that jacket?”

“y-yes” you say quietly, “fuck daddy.”

the name made ellie flustered. her hand grabbing your jaw while your mouth was hanging open dry, she stared at the long silicone disappearing inside of you.

“ellie- i cant-“ you squeeled as you tried reaching her arms, begging for some gentleness.

“yes you can,” she whispers in your ear, “be a good girl and let me fuck you in secret, okay?”

you didn’t say anything, you couldn’t, so you just nodded. ellie kissed down your neck to your shoulder as a reward for listening, being a good girl just for her.

“gonna fuckin’ breed you..” ellie muttered in your ear, “being s-such a good mama for me.”

it started getting rough, more than before. the image in your head of what you two looked like right now, or even getting caught by her friends made you more horny. your body started shuttering and the familiar feeling of pleasure in your thighs took over.

“please baby..” you moaned trying to keep your composure.

“faster?” she asked knowing the answer, “yeah i know you want it faster, love.”

your girlfriend started pounding you like crazy while firmly gripping your swollen ass.

“perfect fucking ass sucking it in.. godd.”

the little action figures on the desk falling, table hitting the wall, making you realize how loud you two were being.

“mm ellie too much..” you whined, “please slow down!”

suddenly, she couldn’t take your begging anymore. as much as she loved hearing you, she had to shut you up. her hands quickly covered your mouth, “quit talking,” she growled.

“you have to keep it down, can you do that?” she raises her eyebrow while making eye contact with you, basically making this harder for you purposely.

“answer my fucking question. do you want me to stop?”

“no.. els no,” was all you could mumble out, “fuckk”

that last moan alerted the two on the other side of the screen, luckily ellie saved it.

“yo ellie you good?” jesse asks, “uh yeah! just bumped my knee.”

“idiot,” he laughed.

that was close. your quick taps on her hand covering your mouth lured her attention back on you, begging with teary eyes to cum. ellie was full in lust looking at you being a needy whore bent over.

she took the palm of he hand out and put her thumb in your mouth while continuing to pound you hard. your mumbled words were frustrating her, “words baby, words.”

she pushes you back towards her chest, “need your cum..” you begged looking up at her, “fuck me please.”

with that, your wishes came true as she railed you deep and faster. making you reach your climax with every thrust coming in and out of your hole.

“ellie!-“

“shut it,” she covers your mouth again aggressively, slapping your ass with one free hand. the gesture secretly making you more close to orgasming.

“that’s my slut getting fucked behind for everyone to hear.”

you couldn’t help yourself but moaned, not even caring who could hear you at this point.

“yeah?” ellie mocks, “like it that much?”

you nodded. your girlfriend feeling better right about now for letting her take it all out on you over a game.

“i’m fucking cumming.. holy shit,” you pant out of breath, feeling the turns in your stomach and liquid dripping down your thighs.

“i’m gonna cum in you, baby” ellie groaned, “make you.. all mine.”

“yes cum in me oh my god!”

she grabs your shoulders, “take my fucking dick.. f-fuck.”

ellie swore she could feel you, seeing the white ring forming on the strap made her smile just knowing no one else could fuck you this good.

“i love breeding you baby.. fill you up with that warm.. sticky cum, yeah?” ellie continues to please you as you ride out her strap, “goodd girl.. it’s okay mama.”

“els i’m shaking,” you whined, “no more..”

“you did good baby.”

don’t worry, she was actually muted this time.

[watermelonshine]

could you write something about loser!reader with ellie?

ellie williams x loser!reader mdni

part two here

content : you've been assigned to tutor the popular stoner and oh lord she's hot and you're wet. (cw: zaza🍃mentioned, anime and hentai mentioned, reader is teased a fuck lot but hah she's into that, reader is a freak oh lord, ellie lowkey digging it.)

tags babies : @robiceps @velvetinkbym @hyperbabes @ur-sick-and-married @wtvm0m0 @evieutft @ferxanda

"Ellie Williams right?"

You asked as you stood infront of the table in the cafeteria, hands clammy. Shit you didn't want to be a tutor to anyone in your class, especially not her. But when Mrs Park, who you definitely don't have intense feelings for, asked you to help her or god forbid she'll fail, you had no choice but to say yes. That's how you ended up standing infront the table of the obnoxious stoners of your year.

Everyone at the table stopped what they were doing to stare at you and it made you straighten up your back and shift the weight on your leg. Ellie lazily turned her head towards you and checked you out. You were rocking an old Attack on Titan t-shirt, your mom put all your shirts into the wash except that one, and skinny ripped jeans. The silence stretched on for too long and was broken by the dark haired girl sitting across Ellie.

"Aren't you the tentacle anime porn girl?" Dina asked.

Your head whipped towards her in shock, that can't be what they remembered you by... And that was one time damn it. You didn't realise that you put that hentai manga in your school bag and you tripped. With your habit of never zipping your bag up, all the contents in your bag spilled out and lo behold, the manga was out for everyone to gawk at.

"I'm also the one of the top students, you know..." You mumbled as you unconsciously played with the strap of your bag. You might have unconventional interests but you didn't play when it came to academics. That's the only reason why your mother didn't care about what you read or did during your free time, as long as she didn't get a call from the school about you.

"What do you want?" Ellie, on the other hand, has definitely gotten enough phone calls from the school. She quirked up one of her brows and waited for you to speak. Her shirt was loosely buttoned, allowing you to have a peak at her— is that a tattoo on her chest? hot. Her elbows laid on the back of the chair she was man spreading on. Hot, hot, hot-

Focus.

"Didn't you get an email from Mrs Park?" You asked as you readjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder. Ellie let out a chuckle as she pulled out her cell and leaned on the table. "Who checks email nowadays?" She snickered.

"She probably does that to check whether her porno got updated."

"I-I don't use my email to log into those websites. I'm... not an idiot." You were flustered beyond comprehension, Dina didn't back down when it came to making sure that no one forgot your interesting side. It didn't even help the fact that you had wedgie you were itching to fix. Fuck, it was uncomfortable.

"Look she didn't even deny watching porno."

"We share the same class? And you're gonna help me by tutoring me?" Ellie looked at you displeased as she dropped her phone on the table. The guy sitting next to Dina picked up her phone to double check. The way she looked like you as if you're the unexpected bone to her boneless chicken strip got you licking and biting your lips like an middle schooler. There was something in the way she looked when she was annoyed. It's been 2 years since you've shared classes together and one of those classes was gym and she's hot when she's sweaty. You've noticed the way she always had a half-opened-eye look to her, probably from the weed. You've noticed how she flexes her fingers or rubs them against her palms which never failed to make you imagine you both in unholy positions. Man, you sure do hoped she boned you-

It's hard to focus when your panties are wet. And you still got that damn wedgie.

"Yeah and I need to log in 5 hours per week." You spluttered that out, wanting to leave from her gaze as soon as it was possible. As much as you enjoyed being looked at like you were the scum on the earth, you still had hours of school to deal with later.

"Can't you just fake it or whatever? Surely you don't want to come over to my house all the way from your house just to teach me about Mesopotamia or some shit in your free time?" You were not sure if she said that to tease you or if she was completely oblivious to your very bothered being but regardless, you cleared your throat and said,"I can do that but your grades will not increase on their own."

Ellie stared at you for a very long and awkward amount of time while you were visibly fighting for your life to stand still under her intense gaze. She already had this effect on you with just staring at you, how the hell were you going to teach her history? She finally clicked her tongue and leaned back on the chair.

"Fine, come over to my house after school today or whatever. Don't care 'bout the time."

You scrambled to take out a paper and a pen from your bag and placed it on the table for her to write her number and address on. She looked at you in confusion.

"Jeez don't you have a phone or something?"

"It's broken."

She scribbled down her number and address and without wasting a moment, you snatched the paper out of her hand and dashed out of the cafeteria.

You were so gonna touch yourself in the bathroom. And finally fix the damn wedgie.

"That girl is absolutely smitten with you, dude!" Jesse slapped Ellie's arm as Ellie smirked at you rushing way towards the hall with an unzipped bag. "Smitten? That girl was clenching her thighs everytime Ellie spoke- wait a minute what is that?" Dina pointed at the ground next to their table. Ellie bent down to pick up the book and oh lord.

"She has balls to bring this shit to school." She laughed while tossing the book on the lunch table. Dina picked it up and immediately put it down, "Why the hell is it damp and what the fuck is watersports?"

Ellie was smiling giddily 'cause holy shit you really needed to learn how to zip your bag up.

note : the fanart belongs to @nramv , i wanted this to be one big post but then realised I don't post long fics, so I divided it into two (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠) part two is already written and is scheduled to be posted soon so the wait won't be too long and yes part two will contain sexy time. if you want to be tagged for the part two, do let me know ! also please do comment if you like this, it would mean a whole lot to me <3

[cxrdycxps]

Apologize • Abby Anderson

☢️ Canon typical violence • shitty friends • graphic depictions of injuries • AFAB reader • size kink kinda • Abby is huge • strap sex • thigh riding ☢️

Abby Anderson Masterlist • Main Masterlist

“I mean, I feel like we may be ignoring the elephant in the room?” You leaned back on your chair and looked around at the people gathered there. “Like realistically you all have to be thinking what I am?”

“Would you like to share?” Abby asked, her arms crossed and her glare leveled at you. “Seeing as you seem to be the only one who knows what you’re talking about?”

One glance at the others assured you that she was wrong. You weren’t the only one who knew. You were the only one brave enough to say it. Mel and Owen were avoiding your look and Manny was straight up staring at the wall.

“You want to travel for weeks, during winter, on some half cocked tip that the guy you’ve been looking for, for years, might be there? And you want to round us up to do this for you?” You asked her, voice growing in volume. “You’re asking us to risk our fucking lives for you to play executioner?”

“You don’t have to go.” Abby sighed, brushing you off. You hadn’t been part of the inner circle for long. Mostly because of your antagonistic relationship with Abby. Owen usually played mediator but right now it seemed he had given up that role. “Just leave now.”

“Abby, I’m gonna say this slowly. I’m going to tell you what we’re all thinking.” You stood from your seat, well aware of Abby’s strength and her abilities. You only had speed on your side if she decided to attack you. “Your dad was going to knife up a thirteen year old girl.”

“He wasn’t going to fucking knife her up.” Abby snapped, taking a threatening step towards you. “He was trying to save everyone.”

“There was no grounds for the studies.” You told her, taking a step back. “I’ve read them. I read every single page of what he had written. It was more than likely going to be a learning curve. He wrote that himself!”

“Joel Miller shot my father in cold blood.” Abby spoke through gritted teeth and you huffed a sigh, sick of the same rhetoric.

“Joel Miller shot the man threatening his little girls life. He felt that same rage you feel now. That little girl was obviously his world and your father was willing to take that from him.” You told her, stepping back again slowly. She was inching towards you. “I know why your dad was doing that. He was a good man Abby. But Ellie was just a child. She didn’t even know what they would have to do to her to get a chance of a chance at a cure.”

“I would’ve done it.” She told you and you saw your opening, grabbing at it with both hands when her shoulders sagged.

“I would have too. But I would never have let my child do it.” You told her softly and she relaxed her jaw before clenching it again. “If it was Owen or Mel or Manny, would you let someone unknowingly kill them?”

“We would’ve-” you held a hand up to Manny, silencing him.

“Would you let them do it to your father?” You knew Manny’s father was a sore spot for him and he fell silent again. “Joel did his duty as a father to Ellie. You heard Marlene’s tapes. You know what he felt for that girl, what he had lost before. He couldn’t do it again Abby and no one should’ve asked him to.”

“It would’ve saved the world!” Abby yelled, arms out wide. You winced and stepped back again. She was a formidable force to be reckoned with and you knew your odds were low if you even tried.

“It might have. It might have just been a dead thirteen year old on your father’s hands and a guilt he would’ve never absolved.” You told her and you didn’t even have time to throw up your hands to protect yourself. She closed the distance in two steps and threw a punch.

You took the hit, head snapping back. Owen stepped in at that point and you held a hand up to your throbbing cheek bone. “She’s not wrong, Abby. You know I loved your old man. But she’s got a point.”

You could feel the swelling starting, your vision blurry from the eye that took the hit. You couldn’t brush off the tears but it was more from the shock of the impact than the pain. “I would want to kill him too. I would want him to suffer for every moment I had to grieve. But you can’t do to Ellie what he did to you. He had a damn good reason.”

“It doesn’t make it hurt any less.” Mel stood, coming to Abby’s side. “We know that Abby. Knowing why he did it might make it hurt all the more. But this is the wrong path to take on. Vigilante justice won’t fix anything.”

“It’ll fix me. There’s a giant gaping wound in me. This will fix it.” Abby’s voice had lost the passion. There was no anger now, just a hollow echo of it. She had lost her fight.

Mel left Abby’s side to check on your face. She pulled your hand down slowly and winced at what she found. “Can you see?”

You didn’t know if you could or not. The eye had begun to swell, your lid barely opening. There was a trickle or warmth down your cheek and Mel’s hand came away bloody.

“Killing Joel won’t heal anything in you.” Your whole jaw ached to talk and you wondered how she could do so much damage with one punch. “It will only make that wound worse. You’ll have no one left to pin the root of your grief on.”

“Come on, let’s get you out of here before she stomps on your head.” Mel sighed, gripping your elbow tightly and leading you towards the entrance to the aquarium. “Good luck explaining this to Isaac.”

“Don’t suppose I can tell him I walked into a door?” You asked, your voice tight with the pain that was setting in heavy.

“Not unless that door was shaped like a fist. I can see each individual finger.” Manny tried to lighten the mood, his voice coming from behind you. You could hear the others talking with Abby and you hoped they would find a way to keep her off the ledge.

“You’re braver than I am.” Mel muttered quietly when you were far enough away from the main group. “I thought no one would say it.”

“You’re all at fault here. She’s been letting that fester for years and you just allowed it?” You asked, wincing when your words muffled. How big were Abby’s hands? Your mouth felt swollen. “You let her focus on that so she wouldn’t focus on you and Owen. Cause you thought she’d never find him.”

“That’s not entirely fair. She drove Owen away.” Mel snapped and you would’ve rolled your eyes if you didn’t think you’d damaged one of them irreparably.

“Into your open arms.” You sighed. “She needed a support system more than ever right at the moment you all let it fall apart.”

///

There wasn’t much to be done at the infirmary back on base. The swelling would go down in a few days, you could see light through the barely there slit when your eyelids where pulled aparet by probing fingers. It meant you probably weren’t blind or permanently disfigured. You did have a headache that seemed to be entering migraine territory.

Mel guessed at concussion on top of a stable fracture to your cheek bone. You knew she was probably right but it didn’t stop you leaving the infirmary and sneaking back to your room, dodging the questions from well meaning colleagues.

You had expected the knock on the door a lot sooner. Mel had been gone on break when you ditched the ward. You thought she would’ve come looking for you right away.

You groaned and pushed yourself out of bed. Your head felt so heavy that it hung forward and took effort to straighten up again. You massaged your temple gently, mindful of the bruising. When the door opened though you flinched and stepped back. Abby was standing there with her arms crossed.

She sucked in a breath at the sight of you and retreated back a step, letting her arms fall limply to her side. You were aware of how you looked and you knew it wasn’t pretty.

Abby didn’t speak. She stared at you, starting from your feet up to your face. Watching you as if she could catalogue your injuries through observation alone. And who knows, maybe she could.

After what felt like hours of staring you blinked your one eye that opened right now at her and held the door open further. She looked from the door back to your face and shook her head, stalking back in the direction of her own room that she shared with Manny.

You stepped out into the hallway and watched her go before shrugging and returning to your room.

///

The days that followed were hell. You didn’t know pain until the following morning when you rolled over as you were waking up and lifted a hand to rub your eye.

You hissed and then winced at the stiffness in your jaw. In the bathroom your mirror told you everything you needed to know that the throbbing in your skull hadn’t told you. You looked way worse, the bruising taking over half your face. You almost swore you could see her imprinted hand like Manny had joked.

Everything hurt and every movement pulled against it. You showered and the water pressure hurt your bruises. Opening your mouth wide enough to brush your teeth made you actually cry. Pulling your hair back even managed to make the pressure in your skull build so you had left it down.

You were pretty sure chewing was out of the question and you had no doubt you were going to have to make a pitstop and beg for one of those good pain injections you knew Mel had on hand.

Isaac had taken you off duty while you were recovering and you were more than grateful for that fact, donning a hoodie and pulling the hood up to cover your face from prying eyes.

Mel wasn’t working in the infirmary that morning but Nora offered a pain injection and some calorie packs to be dissolved in water. You shoved them in your pocket and sat still when she jabbed you with the pain relief.

The canteen happened to have soup on and you grabbed a bowl to take with you, returning to your room to wallow in your own pain and misery. You wondered again how one person could have such strength in them.

Late in the evening a knock came to your door. You opened it, expecting at least one of your friends to visit. Instead it was Abby. You didn’t flinch this time but she did, looking you over again. You opened the door wider again but she only made her observations and left, stalking down the corridor out of sight.

///

The pattern of your days continued this way for the first week. Mel and Nora allowed you three pain injections but you didn’t bother taking the fourth, just accepting calorie packs and retreating to your room.

Abby visited very evening, looked you over and then left. Every evening you offered for her to come in to your room. Every evening she turned on her heel. You were kind of getting used to watching her walk away.

Not for the first time in your life did you wish she was in some way queer. What you would give to climb her like a tree. But unfortunately her only relationship had been Owen and the rare times she had slept with anyone since it was always a man.

Not for lack of women trying. She had shot them all down stating she was in fact straight. It had probably caused more of the antagonism between you both as a means to keep yourself from getting hurt.

On the tenth day your eye was able to open all the way again. You didn’t seem to have any damage to your vision which was a lot more than you had expected if you were being truthful.

The swelling was going down in your face. It still hurt a little to chew and you hadn’t been speaking all that much but you’d soon be fit to return to work.

That evening you waited when Abby knocked instead of answering the door right away. She shifted for a minute, stepping closer to the door and further away again before knocking a second time.

You opened the door but turned away before she could look at you, returning to your bed and pressing play on the movie you had put in just before she arrived. “If you’re coming to have your nightly stare then you better come in and do it.”

Your voice was more of a croak and you had to clear your throat twice to get the words out. It was just from a lack of use because opening your mouth still hurt.

Abby lingered outside your door for a few seconds before she stepped over the threshold and shut the door behind her. There was no light on in the room but you knew the tv was bright enough to show her what she wanted to see.

“Looks better.” She spoke for the first time since you had left her in that aquarium. You hadn’t expected her to but it made for a nice change.

“It is better. No lasting damage to my eye, the headaches are gone and I can open my mouth again.” You didn’t tell her it hurt to open your mouth. She didn’t need to know that. “Just need to be careful with pressure or impact to my cheekbone. It’s a stable fracture right now but any further damage will need surgery.”

Abby flinched in the darkness, almost standing by your bed now. You didn’t look at her, not directly. She hesitated, hand reaching out and dropping back again. “I’m-”

“You can put the clothes on my desk and bring the chair over. Manny sent this movie up for me to watch. He knows I’ve always liked these movies.” You huff and hold the box out to Abby who took it from you. It’s one of those movies that leave you with more questions than answers. You have to ask the older people in the compound about certain elements of the movie and get them explained to you.

Wild Child came out in 2008, a whole five years before the outbreak happened. Watching how teenagers experienced lives back then gave you an understanding of what had been lost.

Abby sets the movie box down and moves to lift the pile of clothes from the chair and place them on your desk as instructed. The opening scene of the movie begins and you focus on it.

///

You woke alone the clothes back in a pile on your chair and the television switched off. An extra blanket had been placed over you and you didn’t have to ask why with the temperature of the room. Winter had landed in Seattle.

Your bruises were fading, mostly just the point of impact a weird shade just off your usual skin tone. The swelling had also receded and while opening and closing your mouth caused stiffness, it didn’t really hurt that much.

Nora’s probing fingers still made you wince in the infirmary, indicating the fracture wasn’t healed enough to let you back on active duty. Something she reiterated to Isaac who ordered you take a few more days. You didn’t argue with him even though you wanted to. You knew better than that.

That night you and Abbey watched Pitch Perfect. Another movie that left you with many questions. You had a fascination with high school and college. You would’ve been facing all of it right now had nothing happened.

Right as the movie ended Abby whispered your name. You pretended not to hear her, letting your eyes fall shut to see what she would do. She eased herself from the chair quietly and moved it back to its place. The weight of a second blanket landed over you again.

Most surprising was the delicate stroke of her finger over the point of impact her fist had made almost two weeks beforehand. “I’m sorry.”

You hadn’t let her say it. Interrupting her each time. Neither of you talked besides you telling Abby what the movie would be called. And her aborted attempt to apologize each time.

///

“Boo fucking yah, baby. Back and better than ever.” You swung yourself up onto the bed of the truck and slapped your hand down on Manny’s shoulder. “Get the fuck out of my seat, big man.”

Manny grunted but shifted over to the passenger side. Owen and Nora hauled themselves up onto the bed of the truck, Alice taking her place at their feet. “How are you feeling?”

“Nora, thanks to your excellent care I am a new woman.” You pumped your fist before revving your engine and tearing out of the compound as fast as you could with shouts of complaints from the others. “I’m so fucking excited to be outside that I think I’m actually high off fresh air.”

“You’re fucking crazy, is what you are.” Manny laughed from the passenger seat as you raised a gear and hit the road, swerving around abandoned vehicles. “You know people used to just drive all over the country and call them road trips? They’d just drive all day. For fun.”

“None of them ever drive with you. Nothing fun about it.” Owen called and you rolled your eyes at his withdrawn tone. You didn’t like Owen all that much. Mostly cause he had what you had wanted and had given it all up. For Mel. A downgrade if you were being honest.

“Shut up, Owen. She’s enjoying freedom and still having sight in both eyes.” Manny cheered and you pumped your fist again. “Both hands on the wheel!”

The patrol had been successful, scouting warehouses further out of the territory the WLF owned. There was great rewards in an old movie rental place and you even got to take down two runners.

When you returned the keys to the truck and your weapons you found Abby waiting at the door to the canteen, arms crossed. She barely spoke to Owen or Nora, slapping her palm to Manny’s when he held his out. She gave you the typical once over you had grown so used to.

There was no longer evidence of your injury. Your cheekbone had healed, you were as loud as ever and yet Abby still visited your room every night to check on you.

“I didn’t know Isaac approved your return to active duty yet.” It was the most she had said to you in a month and you froze in place like a scolded child.

“Last minute decision he made this morning. The others needed an extra set of hands and Nora signed me off two days ago.” You weren’t sure why you were explaining yourself. Or why you were so nervous when Abby stepped closer to you. You didn’t retreat though, not this time.

“How did it go?” She asked quietly, another step in your direction. You swallowed your nerves when she entered your personal space, the tip of her boots barely a hair’s breadth from yours. “See any scars or infected?”

“Um, a few runners. Nothing major.” You told her and she smiled blandly, her hand raising to your face. You flinched minutely and she froze but you moved closer, granting her permission to touch you. Her thumb soothed the barely these scar from where the impact of the very hand that she was being so gentle with right now had split your flesh that day.

“What’s on the watch list tonight?” She asked softly. You were too lost in the caress of her thumb to answer her and she chuckled, letting her hand fall. “You hear me?”

“Sorry, what?” You blinked at her and she laughed again, lowly so that only you would hear it. She took a step back and you snapped back to the present instead of floating above your body. “Oh, uh. I found the fourth Harry Potter movie. So now we’ve the full set and can watch them.”

“Eight movies to watch.” She hummed and you nodded. “That’s a lot of time spent together.”

“Mhmm.” You nodded and she laughed at how distracted you clearly were.

“I’ll see you later then.”

///

You knew how it looked. It looked bad. It looked desperate. It looked like you were the unluckiest bastard on this earth. It looked like you were an idiot.

A knock sounded at the door.

It looked like you were out of time.

Abby let herself into your room while you stood frozen with your back to her. You heard the steps she took and then how she paused a little away from you. Your shoulders tensed and she took another step closer.

“If you wanted me in your bed that bad you only had to ask.” She laughed quietly and your shoulders relaxed. The broken chair no longer an omen of all things bad. You had been standing on it while changing a lightbulb and the leg had given up.

The chair had been old when you had gotten it. That had been years ago. You weren’t surprised just more annoyed at the timing. “I was changing a lightbulb.”

“Is that right? You get it changed?” Abby asked as you turned to face her. Your breath hitched. It hadn’t been warm in months in Seattle. Especially not on base in the concrete rooms without insulation.

But there Abby was in a tank top and sweatpants like it was the middle of summer. You wanted the ground to open and swallow you now because you knew you’d embarrass yourself.

Her shoulders and arms were bared to you, the muscle definition making you feel physically faint. You wanted her to pick you up and toss you around. You were half tempted to piss her off enough that she’d punch you again.

“Well, did you?” You blinked at Abby for several long seconds before realizing she had asked a question. One you hadn’t heard because you were too busy wondering if there was a position that would let you grind on her bicep.

“Did I what?” You asked her, shaking your head. She looked up to the lightbulb and back to your hand. It was an empty socket and you had two bulbs in your hand. She held her hand out to you.

“Give it here.” You handed the new bulb over and she reached up, just barely stretching herself and slotted the bulb in. You reached out for the switch and grinned when the light came on just to turn it back off. It was too bright for movie night.

“You’re handy to have around, you know that?” You asked her with a smile and she laughed at you. You kicked the broken chair out of the way and crawled into the inner corner of your bed.

“I’ve got plenty more skills where that came from.” She assured you while you arranged the pillows. When you turned to look at her strained voice you found her staring at you. Or well, your ass.

You pursed your lips and tucked yourself into the corner of your bed, hitting play on the tv. Abby only hesitated for a moment before sitting down on the bed and kicking her shoes off.

She leaned back against the headboard of your bed, one long leg stretched in front of her, the other bent at the knee. Her muscle definition was apparent through her sweatpants and you wanted to ride her thigh so bad you had to bite your lip to keep yourself from saying it.

This pattern continued for the length of the eight days it took to watch Harry Potter. She sat the same way each night and each night you watched her thigh and her arm closest to you more than you watched the movie.

As per tradition at this point, Abby would say your name at the end of the movie and then usually tuck you in except this time she didn’t say anything when the credits rolled and you realized she was asleep.

You wanted to wake her, let her go back to her room. But she was fast asleep and she had slid most the way down the bed that she wasn’t going to hurt herself to sleep in that position. You turned the movie off and turned your back to her and let her sleep.

///

Warm. It was so fucking warm. Your body was melting, you were almost sure of it. You blinked your eyes open and groaned quietly. Was the compound on fire or something? What was with the heat?

Your body froze at the huff of breath against your neck. Abby surrounded you right now and you could feel her all over. She had managed to spoon you during the night, your head pillowed on her bicep, her other hand wrapped around your waist. Her big hand rested on your sternum, right between your breasts and you couldn’t help the pulse of arousal.

Her face was tucked up against your neck and her steady breathing let you know she hadn’t woken yet. So you did the cowardly thing and relaxed back into her hold, letting yourself enjoy it.

You drifted off to sleep again apparently because when you woke Abby was shifting around behind you but hadn’t actually moved away yet. “What time ‘s it?”

Abby froze when you spoke but you felt her twist to look at your clock. “Uh, early. Almost eight.”

“Got anywhere to be?” You asked, your hand moving to stop the slow retreat of her arm around your waist. She froze again and you waited for her to make a decision.

“Not until twelve. I’m headed out with Owen and Nora.” She was whispering right in your ear and you couldn’t help the shiver.

“Mm, you’re heading out with me, Owen and Mel.” You corrected her, shuffling back into her hold. “It’ll be fun, me and the love triangle that hates me.”

“Hates you? Does it look like I hate you?” Abby asked and you hummed, shrugging your shoulders. “I don’t hate you.”

“Then go back to sleep, Abs.” You huffed and she laughed against your neck, tightening her arms around you.

///

“Owen, get out of my passenger seat right the fuck now.” You pulled yourself up onto the bed of the truck and Owen looked panicked. Mel shared his look and you stared between them. “What?”

“Abby is coming with us.” Mel told you quietly like it was a secret. “We weren’t aware that you were driving.”

“I know Abby is coming?” You looked between them, confused. “That’s why I want Owen out of the passenger seat.”

Abby arrived on the scene and pulled herself up, looking between all three of you. “Am I interrupting something here?”

“We didn’t know you two had been cleared to work together.” Mel spoke up against the silence and you laughed. “She shattered your cheek bone, it’s a viable worry.”

“Firstly, it was a stable fracture. It’s all healed up and I’m not saying I deserved it but we all know why I got it.” You slotted yourself into the drivers seat. “Besides, Abby apologized.”

“Apologized?” Mel asked, dubious. Owen moved from the passenger seat, his eyes narrowed between you both as Abby took his place.

“That thing that neither of you ever did after screwing around behind my back?” Abby asked and the truck fell silent. You bit your lip to hide your smile before starting your engine.

Mel and Owen took their seats quickly and you tore out of the compound with a whoop and an accompanied bark from Shadow.

The patrol stayed quiet, moving from building to building in silence. It was driving you up the wall. You kept Shadow with you, moving around each room, checking for anything that might be of use.

“Think they might hate me as much as they hate you now?” You didn’t jump when Abby spoke but you did have to fight the urge. You turned from where you were rifling through a cabinet to find her leaning on the door frame. She took up the whole door way and you salivated just a little.

“Nope. Because you only repeated what I already called them out on.” You told her, returning to your cabinet which just seemed to hold old office supplies.

“You called them out on sneaking around behind my back?” Abby asked. You could hear her walking closer as you tossed decaying reams of paper out of your way.

“Mhmm.” You hummed, stuffing some markers in your bag. There were still in the packaging so you had high hopes they hadn’t dried out yet. She stopped behind you, you could feel her body heat.

“Why would you do that?” She asked and you shrugged, shuffling sideways to the next cabinet, she followed you. “When did you do it?”

“Like five minutes after you broke my face.” You shrugged and found bags of rubber bands that had all eroded with age. You tossed them all aside before standing up. You still didn’t turn around but you knew Abby was close behind you. She pressed closer when you were straightened up.

“Why would you come to my defense right after I had hurt you?” She asked, her large hands coming to rest either side of yours on the counter top. She was flush against you, her size difference almost overwhelming.

“Because no one ever seemed to come to your defense.” You told her honestly and you felt her huff a laugh against your hair. One of her arms wrapped around your middle, pulling you back tight against her. “I figured someone should.”

“Thank you.” You knew you probably weren’t imagining the barely there kiss to the crown of your head but a low growl from Shadow had you both spring apart.

“There’s something in here with us.” Abby muttered, loading her gun. You copied her actions and backed away from the door, maneuvering to the left of it while Abby took the right so you could both see either angle.

Whilst you and Abby had never gotten on, you were flawless patrol partners and it was evident in how you both worked, taking out two runners and a clicker with enough time for you to be sitting on a table, legs swinging and Abby to be thumbing through a magazine so weathered she couldn’t possibly be reading it.

That was how Owen and Mel found you both and they shared a look between themselves at both of your casual displays and the pile of infected between you both.

“Everything okay?” Owen asked cautiously. You looked up at him and smiled, hopping off the table. “Any injuries?”

“Nope. I got one runner and Abby got the other two.” A fact she was annoyingly proud of and you were irrationally bothered by. “You did good, Abs. I might let you be the little spoon tonight.”

Everyone in the room froze but you and Shadow who followed you out past a frozen Mel and Owen toward the truck. Soon the other three followed you, Abby slipping into your passengers seat. She was fighting a smile so you knew you weren’t in trouble with her.

///

You had gotten so used to Abby letting herself in that you had kind of forgotten that she did it. So when you stepped out of the bathroom with just a towel on and found her sitting on your bed, you didn’t really know what to do.

She gave you the usual once over before smiling at you. It wasn’t a nice smile. It was mean. Something that made your stomach fill with nerves and a wet pulse start up between your legs.

She was sitting on your bed, both legs stretched out in front of her. She patted a hand to her lap and you stared at her, incredulous. “Come on sweetheart, we both know you want this.”

You moved towards her hesitantly and paused a few steps from the bed. “You came early.”

“I did. I was hoping to talk about that little spoon comment but right now I don’t care. Sit on my lap.” It wasn’t much of a question, not the way she phrased it. You swallowed roughly again, looking back to the bathroom.

Abby wouldn’t hurt you. She also wouldn’t judge you if you wanted to retreat right now. You knew both of those things to be fact. The truth was that you didn’t want to retreat. She knew that.

It was an awkward shuffle getting onto her lap but that’s where she took over, maneuvering you so that you were straddling one thigh, one hand on her shoulder for balance and the other holding your towel together. “You don’t think I know that you’re watching me all the damn time?”

“I thought, I didn’t think you were into women.” You told her, suddenly shy in the face of this abrasive, domineering Abby. She only huffed a laugh and shook her head.

“I’m not. Never have been.” She told you and you froze in place, unsure where this was going. She bent her knee, her thigh tensing and you couldn’t help the moan, falling forward so your face was in the curve where her neck met her shoulder. “I’m sure as fuck into you though. I don’t know what it means but I know what I want to do about it.”

“Abby.” You whispered and her hands landed on your hips, pushing and pulling you into a slow grind against her thigh. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly it. I’m gonna fuck you.” She promised. When your hips had taken the rhythm she found acceptable her hands began to move. One travelled up the length of your back, up your neck, to cup the back of your head, holding you in place against her. The other tugged your towel free. “Gonna let you hump my thigh first like a bitch in heat. Then I’m gonna get my fingers into you, see how tight your little hole is.”

You whined against her neck, the friction of her sweatpants and the heat of her words had you burning up. “Please.”

“Yeah, you’ll beg me so pretty. Cause once you come on my fingers I’m getting down there to taste you. Cause I know you’ll be the best fucking meal I’ll ever have.” She groaned in your ear and your hands travelled to her biceps, your nails digging in. “And once I’ve done all of that? I’m gonna fuck you with my strap.”

“You, where’d you?” You were barely able to get your thoughts together enough to ask her about the strap. “Why?”

“Just cause I wasn’t fucking women doesn’t mean I wasn’t fucking anyone.” Your head tipped back when your breathing sped up. You lost the rhythm on her thigh just bucking against her as your orgasm washed over you. Abby leaned forward and the harsh bite of her teeth made you scream. “Not over yet, Sweet Girl. Just getting started.”

///

“Abby, Abby, Abby.” Every stroke of her cock had you chanting her name. She had you on all fours, her large hands on your hips and pulling you back on her forcefully. You weren’t sure if you knew words other than her name and please. She had fucked it all out of you.

One hand slid from your hip up your front and with a hand around your neck she pulled you up so your back was flush against her chest. Her grip on your neck was loose but you felt your breathing hitch. “Oh you like that.”

Her hand tightened around your neck and you gave in entirely, your orgasm washing over you and your mouth falling open in ecstasy as Abby wrung every last drop of pleasure from your body.

She pushed against you, friction from the strap driving her towards her own orgasm as she humped against you desperately. She some how managed to control the fall after coming so that you were both on your side.

“Thought you wanted to be the little spoon this time?” You asked her breathlessly and she huffed a laugh from behind you.

“Thought I fucked that attitude out of you.”

[edenspoem]

𝐧𝐨 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐧.

summary. ★ ┆ in this numbing winter wood guarded by her hunting-adroit family, ellie believes she is safe. but her tracking methods are not so familiar with the intelligence and vigilance of sadistic creatures—of invisible kinds. reader discretion heavily advised. ★ ┆ dark content (not dubcon/noncon, think of murder, manipulation and abuse), smut, angst, horror, major character death, prey!hunter!ellie x predator!vampire!reader (prey and predator dynamic, the kink is sort of involved), enemies to lovers to enemies again, apocalypse au, lore-centered, flashbacks from centuries ago, ellie is almost a dead-ringer lover, religious references, biting, blood sucking, reader is a bit of a stalker (vampire behavior), reader is an undeniable evil, gunshot wounds (she thought guns would work), bites don't turn people here, forbidden romance with a touch of corruption; starts out sweet, ends up ugly, one instance of physical abuse (that is not endorsed. it is shamed), arguments occur, relationships with wayward and delusional vampires are not for those who fall easy—and deeply. ellie for sure isn't thinking when it comes to you; reader is the first to touch her (she has freaked other girls but never received freak reciprocation, if you catch my drift), sub!leaning!ellie, fingering (e!r!receiving), oral(e!receiving), tribbing, masturbation, subtle overtones of masochism, drugging (with herbal tea, and for reasons that aren't violation), neck and hand fixations, slashing, victim blaming, ellie tends to sub here but energies do match. memo. ★ ┆ here comes a very long-awaited fic (circa five months ago). tried to make this one as long as i could to percolate the tension. expect bittersweetness. actual blood sweat and tears went into this thing i think. info. ★ ┆ wc: 10.9k proofreaders: @baptismbaby, @elstattoo, @meganegatari, @vifilms (thanks to each one of you for ur commentary!) masterlist. discord. palestine masterpost.

𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓

Guns will not save you, sweetheart.

There she is. Sweet opalescent girl, woolen in gear from head to toe, scrunching her nose and squinting her eyes out in the winter clearing, the girl you have long pursued. You are watching her. Chasing her, silently. 

The grove is dense where snow slipped down to die.

She sticks close to her mechanical savior: a coal black rifle up in her arms like a swaddled babe. It befits her act tremendously. She, a human solely, would not want to penetrate this forest every sacred Sunday without her guns. They have provided her plenty. Pelts, savory meats, skulls above the fireplace, fabricated potential. Some guns even go as far as scoring her family the thinning rations of a sorry trespasser.

But they will not save her.

She knows somebody—or something, is out there. Lurking in alder, hounding in spectacularly painted shade. You can tell her treading is expectant, and alert. Even the way in which she points her gun is inviting. But, on the other side, a paradox invites you.

She is paranoid. Paranoid people are alert, but easy targets. Vampires feed on easy. She hears everything in paranoia; she hears her muscles shift. Bones scrape. Eyes wake. Heart race.

But, of course, never you.

Lastingly, a forever has passed; the Millers have bid no farewell to their scriptural, woodland acreage, and never plan to. So, graciously, your recent years have been ones of watching. After all, you do have all the time in the world, so you spent some learning about this girl in the blind spots she's oblivious to. The romanticism of her not knowing you, or your presence, is that you know nearly everything about her. Much about that is to be smiled over. Even the memorable, quaint little name she has.

Ellie.

And, for a lasting time, she has been your unrequited wife of obsession.

Gorgeous girl. Thin, smart, a labyrinth of limbs and sunspots and reclused words. Hibernates in her room, as far as you can tell. She always has these interludes of solitude, cried on by sunlight, and you linger by the window whenever so. Invisible, of course, but there. Observing how long it takes a human of artistic design to perfect a mere stroke. Once on the canvas, twice, and thrice over. And sure, she ceases seclusion some days to help in pastoral tendings, hunting and patrol; but she always crawls back inside her little paintings, and shuts the hinges on relatives. She is a protagonist of silence.

No lovers, little friendships, a small existence in a small room. Alone, as of late. Never too fond of wayfaring strangers that trickle in like maple seeds. And yet today you have herded her, silenceless, to the throat of this thick forest. Confused by the sounds it produces. 

“Where the fuck am I?” she grumbles to herself, voice husky under her snared lip. The intricacies of her gun creak as she points in restless circles, aiming the long spire everywhere. She is inclined to kill the next noise. “Swear to god, if that bunny ran off already..” For a second, she looked like she wanted to bail and forget about it. But a heavy sigh falls, and the reluctance in her body goes cold. “Too deep now, Ellie. Gotta come back with somethin'.”

She is desirably late; the bunny in question is already disposed in a berry bush off the white avenue. You had to be quick, as she is too. It's almost impressive. Rather than her invigilance in sleep, or solstices of the day, you prefer her now.

Running.

Yes, a strange fixation—you are wary. However, where is the thrill in feeding if not in the chase? This is tradition.

Wonder how sweet she is.

“Shit.” Her startled whisper blurts at a spitting distance, not that far. Careful footsteps crunch in your ear. “Who got you?” You left a ribbon of blood on the ground for her to find, which she did, and now she is investigating it. This opens her up.

From your place, you could lunge and snare her now. Bite her, even. Nothing inhibits you, and her flesh is singing to you, but you want to wait. My, that invigorating sound of her blood rushing and her heart thumping. You often listened in by her windows, speculating what occurred based upon the volume; a healthy and vicious rhythm was rage, and you fucking loved the sound of her rage. It gulps the mind. Pounds the somnolent heart.

Even inches away, you can hear it.

Scent is markedly a distant world, though. All these hardships at home; you can smell the regret outside her window sill. Alcohol, sweat, wounds. Those are the main ones you use to track her, and heed the elusive, perfect moments to leave trinkets for her.

Flora, odd bones and bits—guns off the usual unsuspecting victim. You often killed things with your own two hands, and dragged them over for her, too. Makes her the lesser hunter, huh?

There is a revolver stashed in her waistband, one you left for her. 

“Not seein' anything out here,” she rasps.

Pocket knife, too. She came prepared, just not for you. With her focus swallowed, and mind inside of her gun, you stroll up from behind. Your hand plants on her shoulder before she can brace herself.

“Looking for something?” The question makes her snap around, but you behave like light.

Shoving her into the crisp ground goes smoothly, but not without a first impression. A gunshot is cracked from her rifle before you can disarm her of it. When you manage to, she flits into flight mode. Violent protests writhe under you.

Her pale face is screaming red. “Fuck! Get the hell off me!” Milk and roses, like the rest of her. She pounds her fists into your chest.

She is not easy. She is a rainstorm under your control. You have to put the weight of the world on her to chastise and limit the struggle, pinning her wrists into the snow and straddling. This subdues her, given your vampiric stamina, and your nose has never been closer. Her neck—a secodont temptation in human flesh. The scent filling you makes you laugh delightedly.

Her soft pink mouth is slightly agape, and filtering cold breath in your face. It envelops your eyes, fogs up her features, yet watching it enter, and leave her lips, fascinates you. Love is a rooting thing; you look once, and you never want to stop looking.

“Hey pretty eyes,” you allure, honey escaping your throat instead of venom. You never sound this sweet. “What are you doing so far from home?”

Ellie appears clueless to your nature. Rather, what things lie inside your mouth—sharp, and starving things. She flickers her eyes like a violent womb over your face, your blinkless eyes, and mentions nothing of it. Therefore, besides this being an obvious first encounter with a vampire, she won't expect it. Not like she can combat it, really; your strength precedes you.

Her chords tremble quietly, angrily, brows anchored low. “Fuck are you doing?”

Experiencing her voice so close and so personal makes you visceral. Lust enshrouds. “Hunting.. gathering..” you fade into a seductive coo, lips rolling over her neck. “Same as you.” Muscles in it flinch when you steal a short stroke with your tongue. Every part of her flinches.

Disgust then crosses her expression, and she blurts, “Are you a fucking cannibal?” Turning her head away. This only exposes her ripe neck more.

Either your tone, or the fact that you might be a flesh-eating killer, lifts her heart into her throat; pulses thump against your lips, so intoxicatingly. You want them in your mouth, in your memory. Somewhere they can exist and nurture you forever. “Mhh, so close.” You try to give her a hint by scraping your fangs along her sensitive carotid. 

It seems to work.

She whimpers.

This was it, in her shallow mind. Eternal rest is calling, and she has nothing but her paintings and thoughts alone to rot without her. Ellie would die and have to bear the winter sun as her witness—her only witness. God, her heart breaks just thinking: Joel will be confused. Tess will send a rescue team for a corpse, and Joel will be lost when he has nobody to give the ol' regulation lecture to. Nobody to be a worried, old man for. Simply because of something she thought only existed in fiction and fairytales. How fucking rich!

“Fuck you!”

The night has a thousand eyes, and the day has but one.

You comb three attentive fingers into her hairline, and tip her head back. The gesture is too gentle for how ugly, mangled and sanguinolent the bole of her breaths is to be made. You are too gentle doing this. Scraping your teeth, wetting her skin; you have the social grace of a sycophant, and the conduct of a lover. Eat her whole, why don't you? She is your apple to keep. Eat, eat, eat.

You crumple the sage collar of her jacket, whispering, “Hold still for me, huh?” Quiet, and cold as the forest she relies on. As your opening lips.

And that is just what she does. Tighten as your teeth sink, motionless as these very trees. When you take her blood inside, you find her absolutely celestial. And you carve your teeth into her like she is a pietistical mural to make impure. Dying as a falling angel, she squirms. The penetralia of her throat is the main thing moving: tensing muscles, swallows pushing out a river of subtle, pained sounds. Crimson breaks, and draws in lithe lines down the base. Stains the crossroads of your sucking lips.

You make a soft-spoken voice crawl out of her. “Fuck,” she curses. Her teeth leap from her plush lip, and stay open. You imagine the pain is a gentle torture for your inexperienced victim. You are feeding on a sensitive silhouette, and she is staring up, quietly at the thistle drapings above. Misty-eyed, probably. Fingers tugging on your clothes just the way you need them to.

Blood thickens as your composure thins. She tastes sickeningly sweet. There is a pure hideosity reaching under your chin and down to your collarbones, because your hunger is beginning to precede you. Some ancient, voracious and cacodaemoniacal thing is wanting, and wanting hard. From your throat, from the cavity of your torso; somewhere desperate. Wherever it is, it wants a deep mouthful of Ellie, and you aren’t morally-deposed to take her to that dark there quite yet.

Your hungry grunt stifles. She has gone soft and pliant now and is holding your arm. As a grounding measure, you think, but it sends a pricking through your spine. 

“Mhh,” you hum, slowly extricating from the side of her neck. Stronger gushing flows from the holes left behind as if the wound was crying in ease. Heaven, crying.

The cracked partings of her mouth shudder around a soundless gasp, and she reaches for the intrusion you left. Something was given and something was lost; she feels the raised punctures. Gets blood on the precious tips of her fingers. Lets her still-alive pulse hit against her palm. You took from her lifeline, and left a cruel epilogue. 

Are you truly this savoring with it?

Maria said that something was out there—something uglier than infected. Creatures lie dead rampantly, and in cryptic, clean ways that denote sentient procedure. Nothing a brainless, living dead would have the capacity to do. So now that she has drawn you, a secret world exposed, snapped like bone, she has to say something. Do something. Joel drilled that incentive.

It knocks her into fleeing like fucking hell.

As in any exciting, horrific prologue, it begins in a scatter. Ellie clambers with milk knuckles in the self-same snow, grappling to slide out from under you, and manages a slim much. Her countenance is kneeled eyes and a gaping mouth, puffing clouds every which way. The face of escape; as if she had woken in a surrounding of her own blood, which is an embroidered, but hovering truth.

You watch with an empty one. She stands up and wrestles the approaching mist for her disposed handgun, flecking up snow with her footsteps as she dashes.

Adrenaline flees with her. If she is wise, a search team will be enlisted after your whereabouts. Carnage will break in these white woods an evening hence, under vacant cover of night, and she will no doubt be a curious murderer; searching for you under a false sense of safety, in the grove here.

But if you are wise, you will be there. Waiting for her.

𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋

Evening begins in a whimper.

Or in sequences of them.

Troops shall not be drawn out, she decided. It grates her to sift this weight of knowing, this imperative information. But she is a waking potential, who has slipped her head under a crossroad and found a world of gnashing. She does not want to be the girl who cried vampire.

Well, winter is tired now. Snowfall has whirled, died, and crepuscule has crept in through the window sill. Everyone succumbed to it, except for her; still awake, still remembering. Hunched on her bed, she wads an alcohol-dredged cotton ball to the sickly white punctures on her neck, sipping harshly through her teeth. Stings like a fucking bitch. “Shit.”

But why is she still alive?

Ellie still feels the shape of your teeth in her neck. Skin flushing and pumping around them, or engraving some sort of scriptural curse. It was not painful, so much as it pained like death to think she would die. But she is here, and she feels misplaced. Watched, her faith in safety loosening.

The cotton ball is agitatedly discarded into a drawn-out trash bin, littered by all the cotton fumbled before. She pushes up at the knees and drags her ankles into the bathroom, fingers already reaching for the sink. 

“Just gotta sleep this off, Ellie.” The faucet cries, its gentle stream pouring right into her asking palms. She uses it to splash her eyes, fingers rubbing around them to wipe the water away. Rinse, and unlearn the memory.

Try, at least.

She needs solacing rest. Forest duties will call her name in the youngest morning, and without a shroud of doubt, will be the warm, shepherding drawl of her father. She is fortunate enough to hang from him, his good name, who is the least bit hard on her. But others—such as her in-a-sense, patrolaholic aunt—would reproach him for his tender loving. 

So, to cut the bullshit, she tries to lead a responsible life. Before, it was imprudence plentiful. But taking the inebriation, the heartbreakers, and the snuck-in cannabis out of her grasp has led her somewhere good. Somewhere she can feel like a worthwhile girl in one fucked up socket of the world. It seems to be valuable; she holds the highest count of infected shot in a single patrol.

Her concentration is immeasurable.

But she begins to doubt her resilience as she stares into the center of her sullen eyes.

She snags her lip to the left, contemplating. Ellie is alive for a reason. She fucked up; forgone each principle of the forest, of the hunt, omitting the signs and senses that beheld her in the stout snow. Yet, here she is, flesh in the mirror. And something else clicks: the inescapable leaving of unusual objects on her window sill face trial too. All that clattering and scratching at walls she thought was a rodent seems to align with it pretty well. Not to mention the disembodied touchings of her head and hair in deep-sleep dreamings, and awoken to in chapel-cold sweats to find nothing there.

It distressed her mind: how long should a human wonder, until it is lethal?

She concludes with the idea of a stalker.

Fucking vampire stalker.

It introduces a shiver. “Okay.” One she has to pursue genuine warmth for; she crosses her arms and kills the bathroom light, the ends of her fingers lingering up her sleeves as she crosses the threshold. Between a introspective bathroom, and an infiltrated bedroom. 

Neither are soft with the home; its safe wood walls, weeping willow scents, and inborn temperatures. She is open to the outside. She is the centerpiece for the thousand eyes of night. Cold, bare. The bed welcomes her weight in a billowing hollow for her body—yet, is the most unsettling thing she has slipped against her skin. The question of whether you manifest on this meaningful night, or let your eluding presence delude her into searching for it, begs for sleep before it can transfigure into an answer.

Her quiet, petal-soft lids droop closed. Trying to sleep conceives like death; it’s as if the air seeping her bedroom is a miasma, each breath in getting her drowsier and drowsier. Soon, all sound fades, and the inhibition whether or not hunger will find you at this crescent of night, and on her pale neck, is forgotten. 

Time is forgotten.

𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

This is where she nestles—dreams. Pretty, isn’t she?

She is water and the way it settles. She is poetry scribed in the summer month of June, feeding on its younger, more innocent, springtime chassis in which it longs to return to. Gentle petrichor, plush skin, and lashes of an auburn fire. She is beautiful; but much harrowing is to be combed inside, underneath.

Dreams and pain lulled you. But after you first sought her, watching over her in the deepest sleep on the most painful of nights, it became ritual for a farther reason: 

You fell in love. Again; love is a rooting thing; you look once, and you never want to stop looking.

Never.

Seams adore and finish the girl with eliciting interest. Low-cuts under the arms, in between the legs; it leaves less frou-frou and forest to the imagination than raised with. She really is auburn all over. She really, really is. You could not desire it any different. Peek-ins to temporal changes—when she strips plaid from pale and peels rough, woven blue and button from her muscled hips—excited you before, and they excite you now. Flesh has never been dangled in front of you as it’s in this time.

An arm is slackly risen above her pillow, and she clads a sleeveless. You can see it; the autumn forest.

But the instinct to protect, and nurture from her is worse now. And with the precedes of last afternoon—yesterday, the first of her blood taken into your vitals—you feel evermore lustful for it, leading you here at the foot of her bed. She looks peaceful now: unlatched lips, ribs that swell and wane, moon-shine on her neck. Your eyes land, in particular, on the sleeping shape of her fingers, curling slightly into her palm, which is against lilac-colored sheets.

Gods, she has the sweetest, speechless gesture of telling you where to bite.

You sidle upon the edge, tucking both legs and straightening both arms into a slow crawl until you reach that hand. It, limp at the wrist, delicately fits in yours, and you take it to your teeth.

Before you intruded her somnolent skin and trickling veins with your lust, you admired the feel of her freckled flesh against your lips. The hairs there tickled. The scent made you feen; a heavenly sigh stretching through your throat. And that sigh led your mouth open. 

You bite the apple.

She slowly creaks awake—the hinges of her eyes fluttering with a slow, white surprise. “Uhn—what the?” And when she notices, they blow wide with an olive ring. “Fuck!”

She stumbles up on her bottom. The wrist in your mouth supplied you a sip of blood before it was ripped from you and fled in excretions of that crimson nectar—wasted. It stains her sheets. Writes the event in blood. Crucifies the affrighted face of the auburn girl who grips her leaking wrist with a pressure you can hear tighten.

And she bleeds, and she bleeds—and you watch.

Like a lover.

You fawn, pouting all sick-and-sweet. “You know you could injure yourself more. Doing that.” It contorted a sicker-looking sharpness in her glare; staring from under her pricked brows. You unwind, and reach for her, “Here, let me.” But she flinches, a fitting punishment for a monster.

“Who are you?” She sounds instinctive, grit in her tone. “And what the fuck do you want with me?” The old, frightened-lamb act of her afternoon self seems to have diminished, painting her a volatile violence. She weaponizes her eyes; lacerates your red ribbon secrets into a bleed. Tries to, at least.

You never made it simple.

Well then, resilience it is. Quite stunning when she stomachs it up from her throat—a pretense swollen from hiding. Perhaps, this relenting will entertain you more. “Mmm, a secret admirer,” you intone, limning circles on the bed with your pointer. Then, you remember the situation, and chuckle. “Not so secret anymore though, I suppose.”

She looks the least bit impressed.

You still your finger, sighing. “Right.” And you plummet sights upon the silent, clothing-riddled carpet in spontaneous thought. 

Her stare wanted to carve an entire confession out of you, and unfortunately—your truth is ancient, and incomprehensible. Not the safest knowledge for humans. But seeing as she said a precise ‘who’ are you, and not a ‘what’ are you, implies she knows enough not to require too much more. Eager to soften her, though, the portion she carves is a thimbleful of sugar; a sweet, harmless idea. 

It starts with breath filling your windpipes. “Infected make life impossible, but you already understand that perfectly fine. At least on your end of things.” You squint, contorting the somethings of a musing expression.  

She gulps, and it pulls her lids with it into a pensive blink.

“We vampires, on the other hand, have it so desolate.” Your voice is softly crawling inside of her. “It makes us desperate.”

Her brows narrow. “So, you still feed on unsuspecting victims?”

“Well, is that not just the naturalistic nature of vampires?”

“Tch,” she scoffs, kneeling up from the bed. “Fucking pathetic.” Her footpath to the window is sharp. The latch clangs under her finger, and the panes are palmed open, swallowing inside the cold airs of the forest. “Now, if you don't mind—could you get the fuck out?”

You cock your head and immerse. To her, you are a thorn in the flesh; some creature she did not invite into the home of her body, and certainly not her life. You staring at her makes her want to rip out of her skin.

“What, am I supposed to empathize with you or some shit?” Her hand casts out, shrugging at you with a disinclination she conjectures as obvious. “No fuckin’ way.” It drops to her thigh.

Thus, you relapse. The mind bends into itself and what it sees is springtime—her most earning months, and you, victorious to have earned her heart that is caged. Being aware of her nature made it easier done than said, but you have your secret stash of lilies; your thornless guise. You want it to be real. You would utter anything for it to be real. 

“You're lonely,” you blurt, smooth and seductive, evocative of the moonlit shadow you sit sedentary in. Tension is born in a confounded gulp from her you hear so clearly. “You starve for some sort of company, right?”

She tuts, stares off. “Not with you.”

“Who else?”

You prick a nerve.

And her countenance seems eager to linger: lips tugging over her teeth in such a simmering fashion—so you begin again.“See—Ellie, I myself am quite alone too—”

“‘Course you know my fuckin’ name.”

“I know you watch the stars every night. For a reason, too.”

She softens at the mouth. What you said gets her skin raised; it has nothing to do with the original conversation, yet makes an eerie sense. Of course you know.

Bring up space, and she is all ears.

“Did you ever wonder how alone they are, too? Big, blindingly bright things in the sky that yet have an eternal cling to the empty, cold nothingness?” Your voice reflects the poignant contents. And in that poignant, in-between silence, your stares are battling each other. “I know it well. It drives you to rather deplorable things.”

She still says nothing. Her eyes are shifting with a million things she could, but she casts them aside and settles her lids.

“You know too.”

The sound creases her brows.

Hopeful creatures prance in the night. It is night; you are a creature. The bed rustles with your hopeful movement—legs pouring from the edge to the floor, and drifting your way over with so much as a quiet prance. You intend not to scare her, or harm her, but to persuade her of your good—in other words, ambivalent—will and soul. “Think of my feedings as a special little hello. I don't regularly interact with the human world as much as I fend from it.”

Ellie repositions herself along the sill when you join her, a chastened flinch.“Huh.” She crosses her arms. “Okay. But, like—what do you want outta’ this?” she questions, and her brows have a stronger downpour when she espies you; clenched, cautious things.

“Sanctuary.”

Her breath groans. “English, please?”

“I speak as you do.”

“Wh—okay well,” Her tongue stumbles. Articulation is never her strong suit, unless it is an articulation of rage. She pinches the bridge of her nose, crumpling her inner-eyes and pitches herself to the window, leaning on it. “Forgot you're like fuckin’ ancient, probably.” 

You thought you forgot how to laugh—but there it springs, the age-old sound. And you expect her to be offended because of it, but she eyes you in her hung position without a crack in her expression. Nothing-faced. Throat cold and tongue soft; this must be what compliance looks like. If it is, then it’s all you need.

Self-indulgence steals you. You enclose the warmth of her hand in your palm, and shape it like an alcove. Her rough skin made for a captivating texture.“Smart girl.”

You expected her to scoff—least of all, to blush, and conceal it by turning to the paned, outside world—scoffing.

Tingles run down your spine.

“So, am I granted?”

Ellie blankly snaps her head from the window. She blinks for a couple beats. “Huh?”

“To stay here—it’s what I was asking of you before.” You take a step forward, prudent and slow. Her soundless mind made you preclude; you cannot read it, but you understand where her heart is and its sensibilities. She is logical, she wants reasons. Chances are, her response will be apprehensive, and you intend to reel it out without it snagging on the gentle inside. You need to be on her level. “Housing is scarce and less sustainable than it ever has been. Surprise, surprise.”

She also loves sarcasm.

“Tch—” She straightens her spine, slipping in a fleeting smile. “What’s wrong with where you live now?”

“The others are all heartsores,” you deplore, tone elongating. “Groaning on and on about tradition and ethics.”

“By others, I’m going to assume you mean.. other vampires?”

“Indeed.”

The conversation interludes with a sigh, deep in her chest. She covers it with her arms crossed. The question then seems to fester; her lips rub together without an answer—but more thinking, and then her eyes thread up through another inhale. “Fine,” she says. With a heart softened. “Guess an invisible roommate wouldn’t be so bad.” Loneliness has convinced her. The window locks shut with a clack, a flick of her fingers. “My blood is one-hundred percent off-limits, though.” She shoots you a half-serious, half-sarcastic face—intending one over the other.

“Ah,” you wince, bending at the knees to accentuate your comment. “But it’s so sweet.”

And she cringes at it, but with faux mirth; a guarded, disgusted chuckle. “Don’t say that, either.”

You heed her wish with a small sound, “Hm.” and a mirrored smile. The sentence itself feels as though it will become repertoire. Several things do. The events here today are a stain, a crimson, violent-smelling one that cannot be washed out.

You hear the sound of fabric shifting. “Take the couch.” An indigo, plaid wool blanket is stripped from her bed, and chucked onto the quaint window-seat across, which is satin-like with moonlight; an edgeless, dull gleam reaching for it. It drapes with erratic procedure. “Don’t leave my room, don’t leave the house during the day, and don’t drag in any dead animals..”

“Do you think me uncouth?”

“Well—ugh.”  She pinches her eyes together. Then, she rolls her head around.“You know what I mean. Just act like a human and don’t get fucking caught.”

“Oh, I won’t.”

She huffs. “Good.”

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐓

She promised you it was off-limits.

But still it persisted. The ancient hunger, the memories of her inside. 

Humanity can be a limiting thing.

There, a conflict was born. You could eat from any tree you wanted. Tear it apart, watch it foam at the mouth for mercifulness. Nothing—not a thing that is tangible—is stopping you, or stopped you in the past. So, what meaning does that conviction hold when you spot the most beautiful, available, and abundant tree; beautiful with her freckles, available in her sleep, and abundant with the thing she lives on to survive and you drink to survive?

The indolent sound would not leave. It would not soften, it would not climb.

It would flow, and flow mercilessly.

It was upon her bed the night she resigned. “Fine,” she sighed, and it was said so softly in spite of the original promise. Time around you had softened her. “Just a little, right?” 

But even as it left her lips, her fingers were reluctant in folding up the hem of her sleeve. You noticed the careful pace. The second thoughts in her eyes, whispering to her fingers that this would be a potential regret, and soon a routine. The implications in her features scrunched as she watched you come closer.

“Just a little,” you reaffirmed. You kissed that node in her wrist with it, too. “Nothing more.”

The moon hung a little past three in the morning when she was up, and you were hungry. Slightly hungry. Soft urges are enough a reason.

Sensations were high that night. Teeth buried into her leather-cushion skin and it felt like a velvet drug; Ellie loathed and loved, whined and writhed for you. It fed you and silenced her. That is a sanctioned schedule. You would drink it in a this-or-nothing, soft-fondling manner and she would give it past midnight—all nights. Most times, sleep would befall, and she would need your voice to guide her awake before you decided to feed. As long as you are in accordance with time, place, health and spectation—she never minds.

Weeks flowed, and it persisted.

“You have a strange-ass routine. ‘M still not used to this,” she laughed, bolstering fatigue in her tired eyes that fluttered. Down, and down.

Perhaps you loved opportunities.

Her skin fits tight and warm in your mouth; alive and pulsing and ever so whistling blood. It was no longer massacres under your lip, it was clean, and she made little sound—besides when she had something dull to weigh in. 

Your lips sutured together, imbibing that last stria of delicate red. “Me?” you pitched, and secondly smiled as her laugh riled it in you. “You wake at this hour regardless for inessential nothings. You are strange.” 

She scoffed with character. “What?” And had it in her to laugh a little louder—praying it didn’t bleed outside the room: that and the beheaded nonsense. “The only reason I get up this early is because I have.. shit to do, people to feed..” She crinkled her nostrils and sniffled.

“Taking care of yourself for me?”

“Uh, what makes you think that?”

“Your skin tastes of honey,” you declared this alongside your caressing fingers, rolling over the fresh wound, the honey skin in question. It met like silk. “Do you want to impress the impressed?”

Either it was your question muddling her—or your statement and its ring of truth, that made her features crinkle up.“No?” Such a failured liar. She conserved not a clue about the accumulating chaos in her bathroom, whom she had no mind other than hers to blame: herbs all around, sweet liquids, ingredients you find in self-made soaps but nonetheless in heaps and scattered. She thought you were clueless to it. She tip-toed around it. “Fuck, is this just you wracking my brain again with your weird phrases and your.. old—”

“Don’t play dumb with me, darling.”

Her cheeks seemed to redden on the spot.

This unadulterated sweetening to her flesh was a decision. Raw, home-harvested honey that she lathers to sanctity herself—or satisfy you. It added up to this this little, unspoken—but traceable—secret she had slipped into, though exposed; she hadn’t treaded the feeling in years. You saw her, heard it beat in attempts to catch up with her running thoughts.

She likes you. 

Her behavior reminded you of your darling years abounding the Enlightened Age: in love with a pair of frilly, fern eyes that often wandered, and robin-bellied hair: a girl who roamed the court with gut and courage, but could not pave it through the same.

You loved her.

But she was taken from you.

Ellie mumbled,“Not dumb,” with her mouth under her fingers and pupils disengaged. She wiped at the corner with the crook of her thumb until she thought of something else. The tone was written on her face beforehand. “Just being.. considerate?” She knew it wasn’t the right one. So, she laughed and spared you her timid stare, shrugging. “Dunno’. You tell me.”

You laughed too, scornful. But not harsh. “Bit of a brat today, huh?”

Staying acclimated this other hunger. This pure, gentle, moan of a hunger. It is simple to say you believed in love; wished it upon others, witnessed it, longed a little for it. But it isn’t your function. Isn’t your toy to play with. You denied it. 

There reached a strange night: your spine was against the black-wood headboard and sacrum further down, blooming with an old sensation, and your hands were on her. Groping, guiding. Admiring the naked skin of her hips, which twitched, and writhed with sounds and sights you prefer to have faith in no one else seeing. Not in a while, at least. These lines of midnight-light wavered over her movement, her teardrop breasts, even catching the mess in between her thighs she tried to hide rubbing in between the spreading of yours. Wet and wanting and abandoned and—you remember all too much. 

She is beautiful down there.

Tears form in your heart.

Ellie was close to the edge. You could hear it in her voice. “Fuck—if you'd just stop playing hard to get, coulda’—uhn, had this way sooner.” 

The phrase confounded you. “Hard to get?” Lots of her speech confounds you; there was a love-hate relationship to be had with that. On her side, though. You found it cute.

“Just—shut up, please.” She climbed a partial note, turning grunts into whines. As soon as she said that, her fists crumpled and her tension released. You, in your long life, have never seen such an overwhelmed girl. Her cheeks were smitten-red. Cum was trickling down the stretch of her shaking, muscled thighs, and she could not help it; she was lead with it. Ellie was wobbling once you were finished.

But she loved it.

Then, there it was in the derelict chapel. The strangeness again. Down her panties was your hand, training back the seam, and in the air her cries. Angelic ones. Pushing you into substantiation; you did love her.

And you felt selfish.

“You are too paced for yourself. Go slow, like this.”

You had pushed her own hand out prior. She was palming herself in a book-sprinkled office a short couple minutes after initial arrival. You aren’t even supposed to be here with her, in this house of God, scavenging for supplies—let alone outside. She should be paired with someone Joel trusts, someone Maria has seen kill. Human, good-hearted. 

The quick, and snagging circles she performed with her fingers never compared to the attention and care you made with her. Like she was in a rush, and you had a blade to stab into the axis of the world. It did constitute sense: she was blushing with shame when you walked in on her—jeans almost off her hips—giving you the idea that she meant to finish in a dreamlike minute. But she didn’t slap her own hand for its perversion. She wore the helpless look.

“How long before you decided to tell me?”

“When we left.” The heart of her thighs compressed your hand. She was getting restless under your touch, twitching into your hand to earn more friction, biting down on her lip. Ellie can only do so much as huff when you rearrange the twining of her legs again. “It was aching s’fuckin’ bad, babe.”

You are certain that she lied. She had the velvetiness, drip and need of someone who hasn’t handled their problem since morning; it was pooling in her underwear. “Before a house of God?” you whispered, your voice a small softness in the mush of her mind. “You really are a strange one, my girl.” She couldn’t care less. You were tugging her just right and that was all she attended to. Numb-locked.

She mouthed a curse. Breath hitched in her throat. “Bite me,” she breathed out.

“Oh, you want it?”

Her face was pinching with pleasure. “Mhm.” Lips rolling over each other.

The once isolated and responsible Ellie you coerced for blood, was now tilting her chin up like a sunflower in bloom. Sometimes, she rolled her shirt up or pulled her pants down, letting you feed in clandestine places; her open thighs became a fast favorite, and dipping in between to that slickened parting made you want to write a poem with your teeth. An introduction to the core. For the thrill, for the devotion—it set the belting green in her eyes thin no matter the bite. 

It made her feel loved. 

But should it; being a strange thing to love?

Cracked moans curled out her neck. You noticed their swell, their added breath when your tongue caught her clit and wrote with it in circles, pulling her wound-ridden thigh over your shoulder. Lips, pinker than her vestal love, dropped open. You trained her voice to not be so swallowed, hidden, and conscious of being heard. You would not stop without hearing it. “Come on, Ellie,” you would coax. “Let me hear you.” And she would use it. Splutter it. Choke it.

“Fuck!”

“There, there..”

She is no virgin. She was no virgin. But, her mind made by the girls of Jackson she poured eyes—or poured lips—over, most in for casuals, or nighttime flings, neglected itself. She gave, and never seemed to receive. Ellie didn’t know if she was ever going to; then, there you were. Her heartbeat was running centuries ahead, and it gave you life.

You assumed, with an assuming inherence, to protect her from that loneliness. The loneliness you get from other people—not from the lack of them. You have her in that sort of catching grasp that feels suffocating, but ends up a pleasant surprise.

She thought you must be magic for that reason.

And the Devil for another.

“Jesus—are you listening to me?” Her voice wanted to break. It wanted to flood, it wanted to sting, it was a rough invocation that you never heard before, and her hands pranced the air. In anger. “You dragged a dead animal in here. You did exactly what I fucking told you not to!” Then, they crossed into her warmth, and the thrash song of her heart went muffled. “You fuckin’ kidding me?.” 

Everything in the world went silent to listen in. The birds, the trees, the surrounding matter. But your guilt was just as quiet when, for a change, it should have been sobbing loud. 

You caressed the words strolling from your mouth, a complacent gesture. “I was careful,” you tempted, tracing circles around that facetious hole in your face. “So careful.”

Her fingers turned to fists. “You..” Her mouth, in contrast, was a pert snag. But it soon had to face a laugh for coping. “You don’t get it, do you?.”

“I do.”

“Right.” She flinched into the light. Moved into the cold.

You get it when blood in droves leaves distasteful secrets, clinging to hardwood floors. You get it when others are involved and get dragged into it. What you do not get is the desire to see it happen. The stomachs that turn at you for not fitting into their forgivable frame. What should one expect?

Is she really this soft?

Oh, how your poor heart aches watching her not watching you.

Ellie continues at the mouth. Irritated fingers drag her under-eyes from their sockets. “Shoulda’ known this was a fucking mistake, Ellie.”  Though your oral worship was stunted; you couldn’t see her whisper these things, you knew they were real. You knew she meant them.

You knew it would ring in her head. 

That night, an attempt to instill a different idea ends in a laceration, and a throb in your nail beds. Because you thought she had done the one thing you would bleed her for:

Stopped loving you. 

You rhymed her with reasons. You extorted your very own, amended morals for relief, with palms cupping her cheeks—and she cut a statement too deep: “Huh. Doesn’t fuckin’ seem like you’re any different than those bastards you ran with until—”

Her hair was the last thing you felt before the tear.

No, no, no. You are different.

Crouching, you clutched her chin with sharpened, hidden fingers, and a controlling thumb. You stole her tears from the wardrobe panel they wept to. “My darling,” you coaxed—as sickening as the dull blade. She twisted you inside herself; staring up at you through her soaking, shining lashes, made for internal conflict she could not put a finger on. “Does it hurt?” She is right, under the condition that you are gospel. What was she thinking?

She wiped her fingers in the openings of her blood, and examined them. A sniffle cut between looking at them, and looking toward you. “Y-Yeah.” It was a painfully awkward, and docile croak. Her irises were thin with shock, breathing laboured.  

Ellie was bleeding from her cheek, to the tip of her philtrum, and to the edge of her apologies. Yet, you only cared how it..

Tasted.

“Shh, shh..” You swept her stained fingers from her face. “Let me take care of it,” whispers scattered. In her head, she was packed in litanies of heavy cotton; woolgathering. Paid the littlest bit of attention to your tongue, it lapping up her septum, furling back with blood, and how it should feel strange. But, it did not. She felt nothing. She felt the same. She still wore that lost, dreaming-eyed stare.

Why?

It is vile.

All is forgotten in time.

𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄

“Ah, shit! Fuckin’ knife.”

Ellie hasn’t been her usual.

And neither have you.

You have been feeding less this cycle, and it’s put her into this stir. Divine, enigmatic stir. Questions upon worries upon interventions—headstrong hands and kitchen knives—curdle up in her gut. Are you bored of her? Has her nectar gone sour? Have you found another source? The silence in the room is louder than usual. Whether it was your intention, or its own result, Ellie has gotten used to this agriculture of give and pleasure; she inclines her wrist without your word. She opens her neck without your teeth.

The cabin, for once, is empty this day. So is her head.

You’re stood off to the side. 

Ellie—who loves getting called stupid by her girl—pricked her finger for you. She was handling delicate produce on the counter, and her far more delicate fingers stood stockstill in their position, meeting the sharp tip of that knife in that headstrong hand. Her brows rucked, or already were; she had something on her mind. Some enchanting idea.

She sidles up against you. “Hey, babe.. mind cleanin’ this up?” Ellie wiggles her finger in an awkward and sultry manner, signature to she and she alone. There is a small, shining, seed of blood forming on the wound. 

You consider it. For a second, or more, you consider feeding into her sweet little game. And she continues to pitch that finger east and west like a last chance, but it comes into question first. “Should you be handling that knife?” you answer—and she lets a disgruntled sound slip. 

Also, you have seen your guaranteed share of slit fingers. That girl in the court had a graceless aptitude.

Ellie finds a smile to laugh at you with: insulted, asymmetrically dotted, with all the crinkles of someone who thinks so different of themselves—but it’s pretend. A softened wire in her brain molds into the warmth of your perception. She did it for Joel, once. “Guess not,” Ellie mumbles, bringing her finger down to stare at it. It almost bugged her that it wasn’t immediately in your mouth. The blood long-reaching.

Instead, you enamored yourself with the syrup-orange tea in front of you. Stirring, stirring. 

Her throat clears. “What’s that?”

You turn, at last, with knuckles bending around the base of the porcelain cup seeping with heat. It feels cold in your hands. “For you.” You press it to the middle of her chest. 

Her fingers come up to palm it, glancing at your face for a sign that another word would leave your throat. Eyeing up, and then down; she hopes you will make sense. You just hand it off to her. “Well, that answers my question halfway,” she sighs, cocking her hip against the counter. “Thanks.”

You lop a smile as nothing else seems to spring to mind. Turn away, turn away.

How should you begin—to a girl you met at the pulse of a throat—explaining that the contents in that cup can and will send her to sleep? Should you distress concern and mention how she has been missing it? Should the room go silent, and she as well? 

A confession has been smothering your thirst for weeks.

You are bored.

Vampirical instincts have sat restless and upset in the sockets of your fangs. You feel tired, you get cravings that seem to climb and climb each hour, and at the crest of night, you prowl the short corridors in this house with suffocated footsteps, listening to the heartbeats of others with a small, specking guilt. You can quench it however you please, but the one thing that will not change is that you are a winter-blooded predator. You should be hunting; you are not. It nags at you. Months with her in your hands, in your mouth—and it isn’t enough. It was never going to be. 

Last night went as usual. You rush to fill the bed before she finds it empty. Then, as you are shifting the sheets, her sleeping tosses and turns find you, and on your waist, her slender hand finds a spot made for her to fill. Her lips find something in her dream to grin about.

You brushed it under your thumb. “My sweet dove.”

Beside her, she assumes you sleep well. Then, in the morning, she mistakenly traces her mind for a memory recording her forgetfulness, tapping the unshut window, contemplating. The animal blood isn’t in her palms— you somnambulist. 

Tomorrow, you would let instinct feel hunger again. Hunting is a desideratum. A deep-in, desired ultimatum.

Then, tomorrow came.

On the couch, you give in and draw her cut fingertip into your mouth. Sucking, silent and sensual. Ellie had the tea swirling around her limbs: weighing down her arms, slumping her legs, and her nose twitched with each escape from nodding off—and yet, she was still stubborn to lie down. Though you, twirling and twirling two fingers on her arm, inspired no help for her either. Perhaps, the swirling affect is a dreaming cling to you; your touch is a sleeping reverie.

Ellie jabs, with her free thumb, into her waterlines and digs around the stiffness. She can hardly lift them. Then, a low grunt follows. “Ugh, so tired.”  She is the softest thing in this room. Nothing could compare, not you—not ever. “How did I get this tired?”

Your stained lips peel from her finger. “Abandon at night?” Clasping the tip as you talk. “You avoid sleeping.” Sucking blood from its tip feels more pretentious than it used to. Your tongue is climbing out, wasting time to be sure she watches you do it with your eyes shut in concentration, and she does.

Her eyelids droop imperceptibly watching you; a gait that out-performs centuries; your cold-fleshed lips wrapping around her warm finger, hands cupping hers, and suctioned as if it were your mortal first. The careless sanction is gone. The inaction to eating her whole—is gone. You deepen the length her finger reaches, and it hits near the back of your throat, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Licking each ridge of it, quietly cannibalistic.

Loving left and swept with you, greed.

“Babe..”

Ellie has moonshine eyes when you open yours. Green irises that no longer hold their color. Eyelids that are dog-eared, deepened and—brown-lashed, saddening. Not the eternal same. Spring is coming; why is there nothing?

After a silent pause, she answers. “I can’t sleep.” Rasp in her chords.

You dislodge her finger from your mouth once more. Sigh in the warmth fleeing you.

She ruffles her hair. “But it’s never this bad. Jesus, I just can’t fight this.”

The innocence, and lack of detection present in her springtime-longing attitude feels wrong—and is perfectly your fault. So, that conflict scars. You tighten your throat. Cause a hesitant strangle. Forever has passed; you believe you are tasting your own blood.

You flinch into partial shadows. Drop her arm. “Just—get some rest.” 

Ellie frowns at your abrupt resistance. You can hear it when she tries to plead you backwards. “Hey,” her voice cracks in that special, air-pitched tune that stops your feet against hardwood: a tired Ellie, and the couch shifts with the sounds of her sitting up. “What are you doing? Don’t go.” 

You imagine that arm is reaching out to you now.

“Cleaning up.” Stifled breath leaves you with a drop of your shoulders. “You will see me, first thing when you wake.”

She giggles. “Hm, okay.” So willing to trust.

For the first time, it sickens you. And for the last time, it make sense in your head full of heart what you can be. In her world—painted and threaded and canvas-white underneath—you can be her secret. But in yours, you are her open wound; latching condition. With no color but red. Everyplace, in every opening, red. She sees so much more than that. But she, afraid to blotch outside the lines, and you, bleeding throughout and into others, made for a conflicting pact. Messes, everywhere. And then, you understand it seems right that you feel sick.

She just assumed you were faithful to take care of them. “Love you, babe.” Even if you never pled for her faith, and her warm voice doesn’t stop you now.

You need to eat.

𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

The mourning sun wept, for what you hoped, was the first and final time.

In your Georgian years, you were introduced with transubstantiation; you often tripped on your own flounces as a little girl, but carried into bridalhood with the pearl-blue poise a faith-wielding-mother-to-be should have. No longer did you intimidate crowds with ill etiquette, but rather, with what you became—and who you turned to in fawning innocence.

Wise men. Innovators, practitioners, maestros of trade. All of them had futures under their belt, and you had a single, untouched one. God, did men feed on that.

It was temporal. Men later found your intelligence to be intimidating, and in personal accords, offensive—for a woman. Your heart was a church on fire; knowledge crept in and you crawled out of your own mouth, spreading those words. Disgusting, secular truths. The court censured you for it. Kept you from attending banquets, beat you with threats of asylum, and rose torches to your beloved solace for it. It was a quiet hatred hailed, and yet performed so loud: your ears throbbed in pain each night.

But it never stopped you.

“Why do they cast you out here?” A voice—curious and delicate—whipped your intrigue out of your head, for a change. You peeked, with wide eyes, from under your brow and quivered over the silhouette leaning against the quaint terrace opening. It nudged off, and only then did its fern and fox-orange features become apparent, small pockets of light raining across. “With the dogs?”

Then, you knew it; it was her. Smiles creased in your throat. “And why do you wear pants?” But you showed just one, a subtle one. “And come to banquets smothered in coal?”

Albeit, she was clean; the wares of her straining day in the mines clung to noses. She pinched her coat open, and sniffed out either a truth, or a lie. The flinching of her nostrils proved one. “Ah—damn, guess I made a pitiful attempt at washing my own coat, huh?”

Her self-blaming quip pushed those smiles right up. Even, in your eyes. “Mhm,” you hummed, and it seemed to peel her lips back even more, off-centered teeth shining.

You tried to get her to simper, always. Seeing the slight gap in her teeth, all while inappreciable, pounded your unsettled heart.

Spring came in droves. It came with the bushels, it tore with the rain, and it ended with lips against your ear that promised you the period inbound was helpless. The summer was going to be helpless to your happiness.

“You don’t care for their thoughts,” she told you. “You grant yourself everything. It’s beautiful.” 

Her white-hot breath burned through skin. Where did your sense of abandon go—you wonder? She was telling you to be free, but with lissome arms around you, you wanted a limit. You would rage without a hand to settle you where it wanted. And when you got too quiet, it moved; your invisibleness to being a lover menaced her to bits, but it was just that—invisible. There, buried. Low in the meadow.

Your arm leapt from rest. It wrapped with care. “No,” you whispered, a scared tremor in her hold. “Don’t go.”

Refusing her romances for little whiles, she never expected it—but expected you.

She laughed. “See?” Because you do get what you want.

You do lose your freedom.

Rain clung to blades of grass. Your phrase was foreseeable, but you had your ears folded and feet bare in the garden. The meadow before, beheld by two, and now yourself alone. At least, you assumed you were alone. If loneliness—and happiness, medlied together—felt as pasture and moisture did free under the pallets of your toes, the wet blades between, then it was fine. You would be fine with it, with this. The latchet heels you refused to wear, as a girl and then, hung from your fingertips.

But staring at that puncture of light high up made your concepts swell. Fine is not fine enough, if her being there made your days even finer. Love couldn’t abide longer; you tossed your heels in the vendure, lifted your drapings, searched for her through the atrium openings and contended with a stride that made it to the exits.

And out of them again.

Sharp fingers clutched you from behind, and it sent you a shrill. Your throat grated with it. “Let me go!” But as soon as the world rolled upside and around your throat, it collapsed being pounded into the ground tandem with insertion of pain. You constricted with prayers left inside.

Strange, pitched siphons of a dead kiss; a pair of coldnesses attached there—faceless as it lies too close—and drained the blood. You went silent. You were terrified feeling drips of blood escape your carotid and the mouth of the thing, ending up in that green grass. Pitiful, the tears. Vision gone wet and dull, this was it. In your mind, gentle for some end: this was it.

And then, you became again.

The creature replaced loss with a new fiber. While you were drifting into numbness at a glacial pace, no longer staring beyond your eyes, sudden flows of cold liquid were pushed and bursted. The pain waned, then it abated. Warping into a strange, something-else phenomenon. For a second, all the sound in the world emptied and nothing replaced it. Even in the hollows, where air is invited and dismissed, it was hauntingly quiet; you weren’t sure if you were breathing at all. Then, as a whip is lashed, it pops.

The first sound of this life, was a gasp. “Oh, god!” you choked from the air present inside you. It almost hurt to breathe, and your windpipes suffered a severe whiplash, strangling you to cough, cough, and cough until whatever pearl-shaped bane that was in there—was out. But as you clutch the flesh upon your chest, your heart drops. You are sitting up—free, without a thing to hold you in place. 

Was it a dream?

For mornings you relapsed to the same conjecture; waking up felt no different than falling asleep. Cotton breathed, winter continued, and sunshine eclipsed in real life as it does in a dream. In the prologue of summer, you could never fall asleep. You were never tired enough. Wanted less of light and more of night, and you could not put a finger on it.

It became an ode to transient living—which you could sing no more.

But, something ached. From your throat, to the seedless pit of your stomach, something was wanting for you—wanting hard. 

Conniption. That was all you needed. Tangled ligatures of conniption, a communion, and the weapons to do it. You went prepared: a knife was laced tight into your undergarment, accessible from the breach of your pressed breasts, but not once did you evince it. You did not need it.

You figured that out with your first victim. The blood—oh, it poured from the base of his voice into his shirt and it wrote your name in the stone tiling. In red, it whispered to you. Luring, convincing. You imagined claiming the possessions on his person, and returning your stolen virtue to its place in-heart was his result, but then you began to precede yourself. 

Thoughts from another age trickled in. His skin, pulsing inside your teeth before you made the bite. It was meant to be.

Inside chapel doors, it was quiet and cold. To you, it was; the temperature perceived has a scattered origin. Summer heat coagulates against the windows, pulses inside the stone and almost boils the pool of blood under his head, but you are what you have changed into. Sucking, with hunger and without a stomach, it warms your lips before it chills and dissipates. Weird—love often operates as so.

Those doors groaned open. Behind your attention. 

A relieved sigh starts. “God, I was searching all about for you,” that familiar voice said. Her knowledge was perfect, but on a peripheral edge; she had figured you were inside because your equine presence was outside, but she did not see you as soon as she entered. Blood left a curious trail. “What in.. God..” Into a forest of devotional pews.

God abandoned centuries ago.

“Joel!” Ellie reaches for him with a scream. “Get the fuck off him!”

With a mouthful of blood, her pale lips are focused on. You rise, teeth crimson, and she is standing there in the melting numb with nothing to protect her but flannel, wide-eyed with this waking world. Had the tea not kept her? “Ellie,” you rasp. The hole in your throat left with the fear of your failure—factured to her being here, and not on that couch. She hates. She hates your guts. She is staring at you, watching, and it is a shifted stare you hope upon none. Your throat goes swollen: understanding it.

You wanted to protect her.

Her fingers writhe in careful spasms. Lips fold in. “Joel?” She wants to be confused. But her guts sinks considering if she were to have slept, she would have missed this. Missed Joel, in confusion.

The swollen sounds that so much as struggle, and die in the windpipe. “I couldn’t do it, Ellie.” You draw the last breath you feen to kiss her with. You scrape toward that chance; step in a careful line.

Ellie regresses—she denies your approach. Her flinch is all too familiar. “You..” she trembles, and deprives you of beholding the one thing that fascinates you from reason: her unprecedented eyes, a green gift from the mother underneath. Tears dilate in the corners. Lumps in the throat toughen her swallows. “Couldn’t do it?” Her mind is hers, again. “You fucking killed him!” 

Him?

When she wails, is when she trades you her look again. Brighter, sharper, raging and horrible. Space between your bodies diminishes as she closes it, but it is a meant punishment; to reach the man behind you. She comes near, and not near enough. “Joel..” Sobs will her mouth unhinged. “Joel, please..” Heaven cries.

Is he more special than you?

Both knees thud into the ground. She bare-hands the blooded snow, clenching it into a fist. Screaming, mouth wanting to curl into itself—louder, louder. “You killed him.. You killed him!” Ellie chants, and snow crumbles from her grip as she replaces it with the fabric over her blue heart, hysterical. Her own throat chokes her. “He’s fucking dead.. Look, he’s fucking d—d..” Icicles could form on her philtrum if it were a month earlier. Hunger admits; it could have been.

Really, you never learned who he was to her. Father, saviour, a nevermind-stranger. To you, or for you, everything about this home was a secret. The doors, not to touch. The floorboards, given to screeching. Other humans—she made sure your eyes kept her way. His firewood scent lit the halls at night, pulse calm; your judgement relied on the stories you felt throughout the house.

The smell of estrangement.

God, it reeked. Alcohol settled on his windowsill for nights along months. It seemed foreign. Not meant to be. Misplaced, you attempt to recall. You wipe at the blood that won’t go away.

Curious thing: you don’t recall his name being a craving.

Winter fills you again, and when you decide to sidle up against her in the snow waning to spring, she does nothing. For a moment, she is still curled—deadened—to his chest. That stubborn auburn strand has shifted from its tuck, adhering to the snot on her lip. You touch her to return her some life.

It works, to your disbelief.

She sniffles.

You breathe out, “Ellie?” close to her nape exposed, gentle enough not to shatter silence. “My girl?” But it gets fabric to shift under you. Attention to be given.

She turns slowly, and without a word. Stares without a drought in her waterlines. Your reflection consumes you in them, as both hands consume her at the sides, cupping her delicate, mourning-blue face. You could eat her. Sweet as an apple: round, shining, blooding whooshing to the surface. But you would begin with her lips. From her lips, to her love, as you did your girl before.

Yes, see? You are different.

You are different, and she loves you. “I love you.” You kiss her. Unrequited and soft. Though, the gesture snags curls into her lips. Yes, yes—please keep smiling.

Her lips part to utter something. Throat moves with the shape of a word. But, it does not dislodge. She swallows it, her lips snaring with it, pushing into this frown of undelight you could never have foreseen; doll-wide eyes and knife-point brows cutting into her own flesh. And then, puncture.

Your chest opens up.

It burns. It slides in. What is this sensation?

Out of that sudden choke-up, you drop your interests to the foreign parting. Seeing it, you stop living; silver protrudes from your chest, ribs holding it in place, and her hands are the guide. Fingers wrapped with love and promise, whitened from the pressure, around this blade and its hilt. No, not the blade you left for her; this one is a stranger, intrusion. The sacred invitation.

Its embrace is warm, not cold.

The dense snow is not when you plummet spine-first into it. It is warmest thing soothing your body ever since her last touch. You’re staring up at your freckled angel, high up—hopeless, but not confused. She has nothing more on her mind that you need to hear.

Revenge is her concept.

You cannot intimidate her to return. There is none. There is no return. This is not a punishment.

Your happiness is helpless; it is spring.

perm taglist: @whore4abby @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @fleshunger @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @beemillss @elsmissingfingers @maleelee @seraphicsentences @ravyaryn @sunnsh1ne @kaykeryyy

fic taglist: @vanillachic @bartshart @666killz @lianxian33

[let me know if you'd like to get on that perm taglist]

[shaunasrabbit]

Late Night Visit | QZ!Joel x F!Reader

Explicit. Minors DNI. Part IV.

Summary: You and Joel go to Bill and Frank's.

Tags: No use of y/n, canon-divergence (Bill and Frank are alive because I'm not killing my gays during pride month), reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns (also wears a dress for like 2 seconds), some physical descriptions (has a bush because #bushnation and is curvy if you squint), age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his 50s), alcohol consumption, bratty reader and mean!Joel, dom!Joel, verbal degradation, like one tiny little sexy smack, choking, spit, dirty talk, pussy pronouns, use of good girl and other pet names, oral (f!receiving), spit, light biting, finger sucking, unprotected piv, the pullout method (don't try this at home), f!masturbation, uhhhhh sexy use of duct tape lol and subsequent breath play, cum eating. If I missed any tags, please let me know!

Word count: ~9.7K

Read on AO3

A/N: I was having a fuck ton of fun writing this chapter and I didn't realize how long it was getting so I'm sorry or you're welcome idk. It felt necessary to dive into the reader's backstory a little as so many things were brought up for her at Bill and Frank's. I hope you enjoy getting to know her a little more. I definitely did. Also, a massive thank you to everyone who has been keeping up with the series and reblogging/commenting. I appreciate you so much. Lightly proofread this myself, so my apologies for any typos. All on me. As always, likes/reblogs/comments and feedback are welcome. Thank you for reading! Divider by @/saradika-graphics

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

After sleeping on the cold, hard forest floor for a night, you’re thrilled when Joel says there’s an old Girl Scout camp to crash at.

The two of you have been trekking to an unknown location for a day or so and you’re ready to just get to wherever you’re going. Joel’s being reticent about sharing details of the run you’re on which is out of character. He’s generally open about the logistics of a job, but you’re not pushing it, too desperate for the work after being blacklisted by Wade. Plus, you get to escape the crowded, stressful QZ for more than a day or two. Any amount of time away is a real treat.

The sun is tucking itself behind the horizon by the time you get to the camp. Tiny, wooden cabins create a perfect circle around a firepit, filled with ash and a few charred animal bones. A pang of nostalgia hits you like a punch to the gut.

“You know, I used to be a Girl Scout,” you whisper as you do a perimeter check alongside Joel. Talking helps you not think about the chance of seeing infected. You passed through a small town a few hours ago and had a run in with two clickers, but both of you came out entirely unscathed. 

Joel hums before exhaling sharply through his nose. “Must not have been a real good one,” he retorts before putting his pistol back in its holster. “I’ve seen you tryna tie a knot.”

You roll your eyes, trudging up the steps to a cabin. With a soft grunt, he follows you up the short flight of stairs and you can hear his knees crack. It’s a miracle he can fuck you as hard as he does considering his age. Joel unlocks the door with a key that he fishes out of the inner pocket of his tan leather jacket. This must be a regular route for him and that calms any wariness you had about the job.

“Yeah, no. I kind of sucked,” you admit as you follow him inside. The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches and you wonder if it’s a hint of a smile. “I quit when I was like…eight, maybe? Nine? Worst Brownie in my troop. I barely had any badges.” 

“Doesn’t surprise me.” 

When he turns his back, you give him the middle finger and another eye roll. 

There’s a part of you that’s still pissed about what happened last week with Wade. Still embarrassed that Joel acted like your protector, like you couldn’t handle yourself, but there’s a bigger part of you that’s so turned on by the idea of Joel wanting to fight someone on your behalf, like he was telling Wade not to fuck with what’s his. You know you’re not his, not even sure you’d ever want to be, but each night for the last week, you’d play with your clit while thinking of Joel coming into your apartment with bloody fists and fucking you, smearing it all over you. Marking you. Your cheeks get hot just thinking about it.

Joel locks the door and shoves a rusty chair under the handle although it’d be useless considering the two massive windows in the cabin. At least the glass is intact so you’d hear someone, or something, coming. You scan the room. Two sets of dusty bunk beds, a wooden chest, a couch with torn upholstering, a dresser with peeling paint, a narrow nightstand adorned with two candles with crispy wicks. Joel lights the candles before heading to the dresser, pushing it to the side with great force and grit teeth. He reaches down and lifts the loose floorboard, pulling out a hunting rifle with a scope and a box of ammo. You watch as he loads the magazine, his face lit by the warm candlelight. 

“We’ll—”

“—sleep in shifts. I’ll take watch, you take watch. Yeah, yeah. I know,” you finish for him, irritated that he bothers explaining shit you already know.

Shooting you a dirty look, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed, Joel sits on the couch and spreads his legs wide. You think about crawling onto his lap, but restrain yourself, taking a seat next to him instead. 

“Was gonna say we’ll leave when the sun rises. We’re makin’ real good time. Less obstacles than I thought,” Joel says, eyes flickering over to you as you pull your legs up and tuck them under you. 

“Where are we headed anyway?”

“Bill and Frank’s.”

“That was really helpful. Great explanation, Joel,” you deadpan, giving him an exasperated look. You realize suddenly how tired you are. “Who are Bill and Frank, and where are we meeting them?”

Joel is visibly annoyed, sitting next to you with his jaw clenched and his arms crossed. 

“People I trade with. Meeting ‘em at their place in Lincoln.”

“Lincoln,” you mutter to yourself as you get up and head towards your pack, pulling out a map. Tracing your finger from Boston to Lincoln, you purse your lips. It’s only about fifteen miles from the QZ. “This is like…a six hour hike. Why were we walking for a whole day?”

“Now, why the fuck d’ya think we’ve been taking the long way?” he spits.

“Raiders, infected, rubble, people like us.” Your face is hot, embarrassment settling in your throat. 

Joel hums in response, giving a small nod as you walk back over to the couch, collapsing on it with a sigh. It can never just be easy. Nothing can. How nice would it be to be able to hop in a car? The drive would be what, forty minutes with traffic? Maybe less? You would be able to listen to music, stop for lunch at a diner, put your hand on Joel’s thigh while he drove. But you can’t do any of that. Not in times like this. Not when Joel is just a man you work with, a man you sometimes fuck. Nothing else.

“Get some shut eye,” he grumbles, standing up. Your eyes drift to the way his shoulders slump and his heavy eyelids. “I’ll take first watch.”

You shake your head and stand up, too. Joel spent the whole day guiding you with strict vigilance. Always alert, always on. You’re the same whenever traversing out of the QZ, but you feel like it weighs on Joel heavier for some reason. 

“No, it’s fine. You rest. I can watch,” you say. “I got it.” 

For a moment, you think he’ll protest, your eyes searching his face, but he doesn’t. He just nods and blows out the candles before lying down on one of the bottom bunks. Boots still on, pistol still strapped in its holster. Closing his eyes, he lets out a heavy sigh, giving in to his exhaustion.

“Get me up in four hours.” It's a demand, not a suggestion. 

“Mhm.”

Four hours go by quickly, but you can’t bring yourself to wake him up despite the lethargy that threatens you. 

To your surprise, Joel is fast asleep. You realize that you haven’t ever seen him sleep, generally back before the sunrises while working. The one time you spent the night together, he let you rest. Your chest tightens at the memory of the weight of Joel’s arm draped on you while you slept. 

Joel mumbles in his sleep. If it were anyone else, you’d probably find it annoying, but seeing this gruff, hardened man babble complete nonsense and twitch with his eyes closed is endearing. You wonder if he’s like this in his apartment in the QZ or if his nightly glass of whiskey knocks him out hard. 

While he rests, you keep a firm grip on the rifle, periodically scanning the outside through the windows, being sure to walk quietly across the weathered floorboards. They’re creaky, but you do your best not to wake Joel.

At some point, your mind wanders to the last time you fucked Joel. Maybe you’re bored, but you can’t stop thinking about Joel counting, only letting you come when he got to three. You think about being on your knees for him, the weight of his cock smacking your tongue before he came down your throat. Pressing your thighs together, you feel slick gather in your panties. 

You look over and see Joel’s body limp with sleep, and figure he won’t wake up for a while. Okay, you have time. Just go in the closet and get yourself off before he wakes up. Considering how turned on you are, it won’t be that hard, right?

Fuck it. 

Exercising extra caution, you get up, setting the rifle down on the couch. Your pistol is in your ankle holster, so you’re still armed. Slowly, you open the door to the closet, eyes closing tight and your lips curling inward when the hinges squeak. You slip in and carefully shut the door. With urgency, you unbutton your pants and shove them down along with your underwear, leaning against the wall.

Your middle finger slides down your slit and fuck, you are soaked. Holding back a whimper, you begin to rub your clit quickly, trying to make it fast. Shutting your eyes, you picture Joel’s hand instead, how it would feel for his calloused fingers to be playing with you instead.

He’d whisper things in your ear. He’d tell you it’s pathetic how wet you are for him, tell you to be a good girl, tell you that you look pretty while moaning for him. Right now, you do feel pathetic, getting yourself off while Joel is asleep in the next room. For some reason, that just gets you closer to your release. 

What if you went out there and woke him up by straddling his lap? You want to kiss down his sharp jawline, grind on his bulge, and ask him to fuck you. 

What you want the most, though, is for Joel to kiss you. It’s only happened twice during the same drunken night. Joel was wasted and so were you, practically falling into each other on the way to your apartment. It seemed like an accident when his lips met yours the first time. He hurriedly kissed you again like he was trying to figure out if it had actually happened. 

As he was leaving, once the two of you were dressed, you went to kiss him goodbye. He turned his head, your lips awkwardly meeting his cheek. You brushed it off even though you were humiliated. What else could you do, though? You acted like nothing happened. Joel did the same. 

Now, here you are, thinking of kissing Joel hungrily while riding him, watching his eyes shut as he groans and spills into you. It sends you falling over the edge. Your pussy spasms and you clamp your hand over your mouth as you come, trying to stifle your cries. You rest your head against the wall, panting with your eyes closed. If Joel had been the one giving you that orgasm, your legs would be trembling, but your own hand can’t compare. 

You pull up your pants, buttoning your jeans, and slip out of the closet. Returning to the couch, you sit down and move the rifle onto your lap. Joel groans in his sleep and you continue to fantasize about hearing him groan in your ear as his cock plunges in and out of you.

Before you know it, the sun begins to rise. Joel jolts awake, his hand instinctively going to his pistol. When he realizes all is well and that you’re wide awake, sitting on the couch, the tension dissipates from his body. 

“Good morning, sleepy head,” you tease, a playful smile on your lips. 

“Jesus.” Joel rubs his eyes. His voice is gravelly, heavy with sleep. “Why didn’t ya wake me up?” 

“You were out like a light. Didn’t want to wake Sleeping Beauty,” you reply. Your eyes shift down to the obvious bulge in his jeans. Raising an eyebrow, you smile and nod towards his pelvis. “Good dream?”

Joel glares at you and then rubs his eyes with his palms like he’s trying to get knead the night away. You find yourself a little enchanted by him like this, tousled hair, hard cock, prominent lines between his brows from his face being pulled tight all night. You want to drop to your knees in front of him and beg for him to fuck your mouth. 

“Jesus, it’s the ass crack of dawn. ‘Nough of that,” he scolds. “Y’should’ve gotten me up. What if you had fallen asleep and gotten us killed?” 

“Well, I didn’t fall asleep and I didn’t get us killed,” you answer simply, shrugging your shoulders.

“Now I gotta deal with you being tired and grumpy all day,” Joel grumbles and stands up, his joints cracking. He walks over and rips the rifle from your hand while you shoot him an amused look. He mutters, “Piss me the fuck off.”

“I think you’re projecting, Joel. You’re always the grumpy one,” you say, brushing off his last comment. Joel’s snide remarks don’t hurt your feelings anymore, not when you know how he praises you when he fucks you.

Good girl. Did so good. Look so good like that.

Darlin’. Baby. Sweetheart. Sugar.

Your thighs clench just thinking about Joel’s gruff voice in your ear.

“Just shut up and lay down. Thirty minutes and then we gotta get movin’,” he says, slinging the rifle over his shoulder before moving towards the door to take the chair out from under the handle. “Gonna do a perimeter check. Thirty minutes.”

You roll your eyes but do as he says, taking off your jacket and lying on your stomach where Joel had been sleeping. It’s still warm from his body heat. You bunch up your jacket and use it as a makeshift pillow. Sleep takes you gently away. 

“C’mon. Up.” Joel jostles you awake, earning a groan from you. Your eyes are narrow when you glance up at him. He’s much more awake now, pack already on and rifle slung over his shoulder. “Let’s go. You’ve already wasted our time.”

Rolling your eyes, you get up and stretch, shrugging your lightweight denim jacket on. Snagging your pack, you follow Joel out the door. Spring has arrived and the early mornings still have a bite to them, but when you step outside, the sun is higher than it should be if Joel had only let you sleep for thirty minutes. You let the warmth of its rays wash over you, smiling to yourself. Thirty minutes, my ass, you think before slowly jogging to catch up to Joel who has already started walking.

It takes you about two hours to get to your destination. The hike was fairly smooth, only stumbling upon a few stray infected. Nothing that you and Joel couldn’t handle. The two of you were quiet. Joel was annoyed with you, you could tell, and you were exhausted. It wasn’t too out of the ordinary.

You approach a small town, surrounded by a fence with barbed wire and a sign that reads DANGER HIGH VOLTAGE. Joel tells you to stay put as he walks toward the box with a keypad, typing in a code. As the fence opens, a burly man with maybe one of the biggest automatics you’ve ever seen comes barreling out of a gorgeous, white colonial style home with gray shutters and a large American flag above the porch. The man has shoulder length hair, a scruffy beard, and wide shoulders. He sports a scowl and his gun is pointed directly at you. For some reason, you don’t feel fear, just tension. Joel’s with you. You’re fine.

“S’me,” Joel calls out, waving a disarming hand in the air. 

The man lowers his weapon and you trail behind Joel, shutting the gate of the fence behind you. It clicks locked. You’re taken aback by the sight in front of you, mouth slightly ajar. Shops, although empty, with fresh paint, potted flowers, meticulously cut grass. It’s almost like stepping into the old world. If you closed your eyes, you’re sure you would hear children playing, inane chatter, life before it all went to shit. 

“Hey,” Joel barks, snapping his fingers at you. You didn’t realize you were in a trance. “Keep walkin’.” 

The man meets you by the picket fence in front of the house with his frown and weapon, giving Joel a nod and a handshake. You’re not listening to whatever they’re talking about, standing behind Joel with your eyes still roaming your surroundings, in total awe of whatever the hell this is. 

“Bill, this is—”

You cut Joel off and give Bill your name along with something that resembles a half smile. Bill nods. A man of many words, apparently. The three of you walk inside and the smell of apple pie lingers in the air, making your stomach quietly grumble. You realize you haven’t eaten yet today and apple pie, something you haven’t had in twenty years, smells divine.

“We freeze the apples,” a different man says as if he could read your mind. Frank, you presume, has walked in from the kitchen. His hands are on his hips, smiling, and his beard is well trimmed, a stark contrast from Bill. He steps towards you and takes your hand, “I’m Frank.”

You introduce yourself and smile, putting your other hand over Frank’s. Warmth radiates off of him and he reminds you of someone, but you can’t quite place who. You drop hands and Frank greets Joel, pulling him into a hug. You’ve never seen Joel hug someone before. You’re almost envious, wondering what it would be like to have Joel hold you outside of fucking you. 

“Well, come on in. I’ll give you a tour,” Frank says, putting a hand on the small of your back to guide you into the living room.

It feels like a home. A real home with decor and tchotchkes, paintings and collages, records and a piano. You’re not sure you said anything besides holy shit and wow the entire time Frank was showing you around. Back in the dining room, Joel and Bill are sitting at the table, both looking incredibly stern, but there’s no tension, no malice. It’s just serious. It’s business. They’re checking things off of a list on a notepad and drinking whiskey—neat and on the rocks. Just how Joel likes it. 

Putting your hands on your knees, you bend down to look at the various spirits on the brass bar cart. You can feel Joel’s eyes on your ass.

“Fuck, this place is incredible,” you gush. “You guys looking for a third?” 

“You know, you’re not quite our type,” Frank chuckles softly, leaning against the archway. 

You smirk at him and straighten your back. “Yeah, I figured.”

Joel’s looking at you from the table, pen idle in his hand. When you glance at him, you think you’re going to melt into those brown eyes of his. They look softer here, illuminated by the warm sun filtering in through the sheer curtains. What would it be like to sit across from Joel at a table like this and drink coffee in the morning? What would it be like to sleep beside him in the master bedroom with its canopy bed and venetian carpet? Is Joel wondering the same thing right now as he stares at you? You make yourself sick with these thoughts. 

You almost forget Bill and Frank are there until Frank breaks the silence. “I’m going to take you to the boutique down the road, then you two can shower and freshen up before dinner. Does that sound okay?”

Nodding, you follow him out the door. The town is quaint and somehow so well-kept. You walk in silence, taking it all in, while listening as Frank explains how he and Bill met and how they fixed up the town. It’s a love story. An apocalyptic one, but still one nonetheless. Until now, you didn’t think those existed anymore.

Frank opens the door to the boutique and your eyes widen at the sight. Racks and racks of women’s clothes, a wall of accessories, a case of jewelry, boxes of shoes, and makeup.

“Holy shit,” you say under your breath for the hundredth time today. 

“Take whatever you need, whatever you want. It’s free,” Frank offers with a wink, walking up behind you with his hand on his hips.

You turn to look at him, brows raised incredulously. 

“Are you serious?” you ask. He nods. “I don’t even…thank you.” 

Frank doesn’t say anything, just smiling as you start to look through the racks. The clothes are dusty and some of them have tiny holes from moths, sure, but they’re in good shape. Much better condition than anything you have back in the QZ. Plus, they’re actually cute. You were never old enough to go shopping at boutiques like this, your teenagehood soiled by the outbreak before you even got the chance. 

“So,” you start, rubbing a silk dress between your fingers, “how did you guys meet Joel anyway?”

“Well, I started talking to Tess on the radio,” he says and you stop moving altogether. Tess. “Bill hated that, as I’m sure you can guess. When we actually met Tess, along came Joel. You know how that is, wherever Tess is, there Joel is.”

Tess. You met Tess when you met Joel a few years ago. It had been a year or so after you started smuggling that you started working with their crew. Joel’s a damn good smuggler and you practically needed recommendations before he let you in on jobs. You were younger then, in your mid-twenties, and had to prove yourself to be an asset and you did. Tess recognized this, giving you credit where credit was due, but she was never particularly nice to you. Neither was Joel. Eventually, you started going on regular runs with Tess, Joel, Adam, and every now and then, a few others.

Adam was a few years older than you, but still much younger than Joel and Tess. The two of you stuck together if you ever needed to split up in pairs. So yeah, you get it. Wherever Tess went, Joel went. You could tell he was always particularly protective of her, but they had known each other for years. They trusted each other; it made sense. You never thought too much about it. 

About six months ago, Tess stopped coming around. Joel’s moods were worse than usual after that, but you didn’t say anything to him about it. You wouldn’t dream of it. Frankly, it was none of your business, but you were curious. When you brought up Tess’ absence to Adam, he said that there were logistical and financial disagreements among some of the group members. You didn’t believe it, but you let it go. As long as you were getting paid, what the hell did it matter?

Something sour bubbles in your belly at the thought of Tess and Joel. You ignore it, trying to focus on the clothes in front of you with their bright colors, patterns, and soft fabric. 

“I’m a little surprised Tess isn’t here with you two,” Frank says and you look up to meet his gaze, giving him a small shrug. He smiles and nods, dropping it altogether.

You pick out a few things to try on. Jeans, tank tops, t-shirts, a few blouses, new boots, even a dress and a pair of heels. You also snagged some new underwear and a lacy bra. In the dressing room with the emerald green, velvet curtain pulled shut, you strip. Trying on each of the pieces one by one, you admire the way they hug your waist and accentuate the curve of your hips and ass. When you get to the dress, your breath hitches. You haven’t worn a dress in years. The low, square neckline makes it hard not to stare at your own breasts. The black dress is short, landing above your mid-thigh and you notice how nice your plush curves look. You smile to yourself, thinking about how amazing it would be to have somewhere to actually wear this.

When you come out, Frank’s holding you a bag and you dump your findings in it. Before you leave, you stop and look at the makeup, grabbing mascara and blush. 

“Do you think I’m going to get an infection from how expired this shit is?” you ask.

“It’s possible. I guess you have to decide if it’s worth the risk.”

When you get back to the house, you can smell whatever Bill is cooking. Some sort of meat. Maybe duck? You aren’t entirely sure, but it’s divine and you’re reminded again of how hungry you are. Frank tells you that you can shower as Bill makes dinner, pulling a fluffy bath towel from the linen closet and showing you to the guest bedroom that you’ll be staying in.

“Unless you and Joel are sharing a room?” Frank asks, uncertainty clear in his voice. 

“Definitely not. Unless you want him to kill himself,” you reply with a short laugh and shake your head. The words tumble out of your mouth when you say, “Thanks for the clothes and the shower and for having me here.”

Frank just smiles, resting a hand on your shoulder and giving you a smile that says you’re welcome. 

You head into the bedroom, noting all of the decorations and the matching furniture set. Tears well up in your eyes as you look at the clean sheets, thinking about how you can’t wait to fall into the fluffy pillows tonight. 

In the shower, you cry and you cry hard. It’s just overwhelming, being in a place that feels incredibly normal and reminiscent of a time that’s so far away, so far gone now. You let yourself drown in the emotion as the shower pelts you with hot water. 

When you get out and wipe the condensation off of the mirror, you examine yourself, grateful that your eyes aren’t puffy. You attempt to dry your hair with your towel and put on a coat of mascara. That small touch makes all the difference and you realize that you haven’t felt this pretty in a long time. Sure, you know you’re desirable. You would fuck you, but this feels foreign. It feels luxurious. 

You get dressed and pull on a new pair of jeans that hug your ass perfectly, pairing them with a tight, black long sleeve. It has three buttons by your breasts that you leave undone to accentuate your cleavage. You tie it all together with new boots and a dainty necklace. Stepping back, you take in your reflection. Again, you’d fuck you. 

Stepping into the hallway, you see Joel leave his bedroom at the same time. Your pussy pulses and your chest tightens when you see him. His beard is trimmed and wet curls are falling on his forehead. The clean flannel he’s wearing hugs his biceps and you want to sink your teeth into them. He looks less rugged, more domestic in a way that makes your heart hurt a little.

Joel’s eyes travel down your body, lingering on your breasts for a moment and finally, he meets your gaze. Both of you stand there, just staring at each other before he clears his throat.

“Y’look, uh…clean,” he says, voice low, and he runs his tongue over his teeth. 

“Yeah, you too. For once,” you tease although your tone is flat.

He motions towards the stairs. “We should—”

“Yeah.”

The two of you head downstairs and see Frank carrying dishes to the dining room table. It’s set with frilly placemats, wine glasses, and two long candles dripping red wax onto glass holders. Your eyes are wide when you see the food laid out in front of you. It’s duck, as you suspected, with mashed potatoes, gravy, and asparagus. Plus, an unopened bottle of Beaujolais. 

“Ready?” Bill asks, uncorking the bottle and pouring everyone a glass. 

You nod and approach the table, but before you can pull out your chair, Joel does it for you. Raising an eyebrow and glancing at him, you take a seat.

“Such a gentleman, Joel. On good behavior today?” you whisper so only he can hear. 

“Will you shut it?” he hisses back, passing you a glass. 

“There we go,” you say back, smiling more to yourself than to him. “That’s more like it.” 

The four of you settle and Frank picks up his glass, raising it to initiate a toast. You’ve never even toasted to anything before and though you’re almost thirty, you feel like a child sitting at the adult table during Christmas dinner. 

“To new friends,” Frank begins, nodding towards you before looking at Joel, “and old friends.” 

Your face gets hot as the four of you clink your glasses together and mumble cheers. The first taste of wine you have is more of a gulp than a sip and if it weren’t incredibly rude, you would’ve finished the whole glass in one go. It’s better than any alcohol you’ve consumed in the QZ and while you could smuggle better shit in, you have other priorities like the medication for Susan. After tasting this though, you think you’ll ask Frank if there’s something you could trade for a bottle. Maybe two.

Frank, Bill, and Joel chat about supplies while you sort of listen, focusing mainly on the delectable food in front of you. Again, this meal is better than anything you’ve had in the QZ and truthfully, maybe even better than anything you’ve had in your whole life. You have to consciously pace yourself so you don’t scarf it all down in under five minutes.

At some point, Joel kicks your shin from under the table, grabbing your attention. When you give him a look that says what the actual fuck, he nods over towards Frank. You realize then, totally fucking embarrassed, that he asked you a question and you didn’t even register it.

“I asked where you’re from?” Frank smiles, patient and warm. When your eyes dart over to Joel, he’s biting back a smile while chewing and looking down at his food.

Asshole. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. You take a sip of wine, your glass nearly empty. “I’m from Portland. Maine, not Oregon.”

As you speak, Joel’s eyes flicker to you and he stops chewing to listen to you. It’s the first time you’ve ever shared any personal information with Joel and even now, he didn’t ask, you’re just answering someone else’s question. Something about Joel knowing anything about you makes you uneasy. You figure it’s because all you’ve learned about him has been through other people.

“Beautiful place to grow up,” Frank says, pouring more wine into your glass. You smile to say thank you, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Did you spend a lot of time on the water?”

“Yeah, my dad was a fisherman.”

Bill nods in your direction. With his mouth full he says, “Great skill to have in times like these.”

It comes in flashes. The feeling of cold sunscreen on your back, the gentle sloshing of the boat that rocked you to sleep like a baby, lobster shells cracking like ribs. You think about your dad with his toothy grin. The scent of fish that lingers. You start to feel sick.

Maybe it shows on your face, the way you’re solemnly reminiscing, because Joel’s boot meets your leg and strokes it lightly, like he’s patting you on the back. When you glance over at him, he’s looking down at his plate. It was probably just an accident, you tell yourself.

You take another sip of wine like it’ll wash away your thoughts. It pools in your stomach, that deep warm feeling you’ve come to appreciate during times of discomfort. 

“You think that until you eat so much fish that you’re pretty sure you’re going to get mercury poisoning,” you attempt to joke, but you know your tone isn’t convincing. It comes out more sad than anything.

“Guess there are worse ways to die,” Joel mumbles. 

You laugh. You don’t mean to, but it just comes out. Frank joins you while Bill and Joel are silent, staring at each other like you and Frank have lost it altogether. When the laughter dies down, Frank changes the subject like he knows you’d rather not talk about yourself anymore. You mentally thank him for it.

Three bottles of wine later, dinner ends and you feel fatigue overtake you. After helping Frank with the dishes, you excuse yourself and head upstairs to the room you’re staying in. You strip off your clothes, only clad in your new matching bra and panties, before collapsing in the bed. You tell yourself that you can take your makeup off tomorrow. 

Snuggling into the sheets, you take a deep breath. You hadn’t expected the day to exhaust you quite like this. Working as a smuggler usually meant life or death situations and risk. Here, you feel safe, but you feel like you’ve expended more energy than ever before. The entire experience of being in a place like this, a place so resonant of a life you could’ve had, has weakened you. Each step you took in this sanctuary weighed a hundred pounds. Your limbs feel heavy and you’re thankful for a few hours of uninterrupted rest.

The wine from dinner hit you so hard that you don’t hear him come in. It isn’t until the bed sinks in next to you that you realize you’re not alone. Waking from your slumber, you instinctively turn to reach for the pistol in your pack that you’ve strategically placed next to your bed. Even if this is the safest you’ve felt in years, you’re still on edge. Force of habit. A firm hand grabs your wrist to stop you.

“Stop,” he demands. Joel loosens his grip on you and says, softer now, “Just me.”

As you register his presence as safe, your heartbeat slows. Your arm drops and you sigh deeply. 

“Fuck you—you scared the fuck out of me, Joel,” you hiss, closing your eyes. “What do you want?”

When the blanket is pulled from your upper body, your eyes open again, the same startled look from before. Joel’s hands land on your breasts, thumbs tracing the lines of the lacy fabric of your bra, eventually making their way down your sides. He digs his fingers into the plush of your hips. Your breath hitches, knowing damn well that you’re already getting wet. 

“Pretty,” he whispers, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of your panties, hiking them up further. “You wear these just for me?”

“No.” You roll your eyes and let your head loll to the side. “I wore them for Frank.” 

Joel grabs your chin and forces you to look up at him. It’s dark, so damn dark, but you can see a sliver of his face lit up by the moonlight that’s creeping in through the sheer curtains. His eyes carry that lustful darkness that you know so well. Joel wants something from you and he’s going to get it. You want to give it to him. Whatever he wants, it’s his and you don’t need to say it aloud. Joel knows.

“What do you want?” you ask, voice quiet and unintentionally sultry.

“You playin’ dumb tonight? I think ya know what I want.”

“Then take it,” you reply, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. The look in Joel’s eyes makes your clit throb in anticipation.

“Wasn’t askin’ permission, sweetheart. I know you’ll gimme what I want,” Joel rasps, leaning down to kiss and nip at your pulse point.

He’s right and you almost hate it. Joel’s a smug bastard, always has been. He knows that whatever fight you put up, it’s all show. He knows you like the verbal sparring, the way he grabs you, the way he fucks you harder when you piss him off; you think he likes it, too, since he keeps coming back for more. Maybe it’s as much for him as it is for you.

You let out something between a dry laugh and a groan. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

“Y’real mouthy tonight.”

“Maybe something big in my mouth would shut me up.”

“I got other plans for you,” he mumbles, pulling your earlobe into his mouth and biting lightly. 

You inhale sharply. “Hope they’re good considering you woke me up.”

“That how you talk to someone who’s about to fuck you good?” Joel’s breath is hot against your neck. 

Your pussy throbs at the thought of having Joel deep inside of you. Eyelids fluttering closed, you think you mumble something like please or sorry or both. If you weren’t so aroused, you’d probably be mad at yourself for essentially giving in already. You orgasmed less than twenty four hours ago. What happened to your self control? If you’re being honest, you’ve never had it when it comes to Joel.

One of Joel’s hands leaves your hips to paw at your breast, flicking your nipple with his thumb and feeling it pebble under his touch. You bite back a moan, but your breathing is shallow and gives you away. Joel hums against you before sucking on the tender skin where your neck meets your shoulder. The thought crosses your mind that he’s being forceful enough to leave marks and that there’s a chance Bill and Frank will notice tomorrow, but your mind quickly moves on from the topic when Joel tugs at your nipple. You let out a small squeak at the sensation. 

“Think I didn’t notice the way these tits were hangin’ out a dinner?” he asks, breathless, although it’s not really a question. Joel pulls away to admire your chest and yanks your bra down, letting your breasts hang over the fabric. “And in front of strangers, too. Shameless little whore, huh?” 

“You don’t have anything to worry about. You heard Frank, I’m not their type,” you deadpan.

“I didn’t say anything about bein’ worried. Wouldn’t be anyway,” Joel says, sliding one hand down to your clothed pussy and cupping you. “Y’know who this pussy belongs to.”

You can’t help but think, yours, yours, yours. All yours Joel. 

Squirming under his touch, you rut your hips into his hand to chase any hint of pleasure. Your brows are furrowed as you look up at him. He smirks, satisfied with himself, and rubs a torturously light circle on the soaked center of your panties with two of his fingers.

“Feel how wet she is for me, baby?” 

Baby. You almost whine at the pet name. Joel calls you pet names all the time, but tonight it’s hitting you differently. You’ve been emotional, maybe that’s it. 

Nodding, you sit up on your elbows and grind into his hand. It’s not enough and Joel knows it, but he doesn’t give you more than this. For now. It’s easy to tell he’s enjoying watching you like this, all desperate and needy for him. You still won’t give in and moan, so you just breathe heavily and chew on your lip as you take in the dull pleasure of his thick palm on your hot core. 

“Play with yourself,” he instructs, removing his hand from you and standing up.

Your previously heavy lidded eyes are now wild as you stare at him and you make no move to touch yourself. He just stands there, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. 

“C’mon, play with yourself,” he demands, voice low and laced with annoyance. “Y’look real dumb just starin’ at me like that. Haven’t even fucked you stupid yet.”

Cheeks heating up and pussy throbbing, you go to slide your hand under your ruined panties when Joel tuts at you.

“Over ‘em.”

“Joel, are you fucking serious?” you whine, almost sounding like a bratty child.

“Do I look like I’m playin’ games with you?”

You roll your eyes, but acquiesce and begin to play with your clit over your panties. It’s painful how muted the pleasure is. All you want is Joel’s fingers or his tongue or his cock. Really anything besides this. Looking up at Joel, you hope you can give him puppy dog eyes to convince him to fuck you, but you’re distracted by the way he’s palming his cock through his jeans. The hardened length is prominent even in the dark of the bedroom. 

“Is this what you did the other night while I was sleepin’?” Joel asks as he undoes his belt. 

Your lips part, your eyes widen, and your chest gets hot. Embarrassment spreads over you like wildfire. “I-I,” you stammer, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Joel laughs quietly and takes his t-shirt off, revealing the salt and pepper chest hair that covers scars across his chest. Your eyes are glued to his abdomen, taking all of him in. He shucks off the sweatpants he borrowed for the night, stepping toward the bed.

“I-I-I,” he mocks you cruelly. His teasing goes right to your pussy, making you clench around nothing. “Please, darlin’. I heard you tryna muffle those pretty sounds a’yours.”

A small moan slips from your lips as you frantically rub yourself through your underwear. Your fingers are getting wet through the barrier of the fabric that’s thoroughly soaked by your juices. 

“What were you thinkin’ about?” he asks, pulling the covers back and slipping in beside you. Heat radiates off of him and you feel yourself getting sweaty from arousal, embarrassment, and him.

You don’t respond aloud, but you tug at the waistband of his boxers, wanting nothing more than to see his cock. Joel shakes his head. 

“Use your words. Y’love to run that mouth, so let’s hear it.”

“You, Joel,” you admit, whimpering. “Your tongue, your cock.”

He hums, pleased by your answer. Joel leans in and kisses below your ear before whispering, “S’what I thought.”

Joel slides his boxers down and kicks them off, his hardened length finally there for you to see. Your lips part as you stare while he strokes himself once and then twice, exposing the red, swollen head of his cock. You pick up the pace of your fingers as if it’ll relieve any ache at all. 

“Alright, sweetheart.” He slides down the bed, positioning himself between your legs and pulling your damp panties off. “Since you need it so bad.”

When Joel places a sloppy kiss to your clit, you finally let yourself moan earnestly. 

“Love hearin’ those pretty noises,” he mumbles against your cunt between licks.

Relief floods through you as Joel begins to flick your clit with his tongue. Light and fast. Just how you like it. Each movement is precisely what you want. Joel just knows your body at this point. You tangle a hand in his hair to push him closer, to encourage him.

The sounds he’s making as he eats your cunt are utterly obscene and you try not to contribute to the noise by biting your index finger, well aware that you’re in someone else’s house. Two people that were very kind to you and are letting you stay in their home. The least you can do is not moan and wake them up. 

Joel makes it hard for you to keep quiet when he slips two fingers in your cunt and curls them upwards, hitting the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. A strangled sound claws its way out of you as you try to hold back your cries of pleasure. When a moan that’s a little too loud slips out, Joel digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your inner thighs and you get the message. Shut. Up.

You look down at Joel. His graying curls are a mess from you pulling on them, his pupils are blown lecherously, and he’s rutting his hips into the bed. The sight of him hurdles you toward your orgasm. Joel can feel you start to clench around his fingers. Knowing that you’re close, the hand that’s not inside of you shoots up and he shoves two fingers into your open mouth. You suck on his fingers as they move in tandem with the ones inside of you, hitting the back of your throat a few times, making you gag. 

All the sensations at once are overwhelming when your release hits you. Thighs trembling and closing in around Joel’s head, you moan around Joel’s fingers and tears well up in your eyes, ultimately slipping down your temples and into your hairline.

Joel pulls his fingers from your mouth and your pussy at the same time before lightly smacking the inside of your thigh, conscientious of the volume of the impact. His tongue is still circling your clit and you can’t take it anymore, wriggling away from his touch. Finally, Joel relents, looking up at you with slick, swollen lips. He looks absolutely fucked. His thumb rubs a soothing circle atop of the hair on your mound, sticky and wet from your arousal and Joel’s spit.

You’re panting when he hovers over you, looking down at the sheen of sweat covering you from your orgasm. His cock rests on the soft part of your lower belly.

“C’mere, taste yourself,” he husks.

This is it, you think. He’s finally going to slip his tongue in your mouth and kiss you. You’ve been itching for it since the first time you kissed him and you feel excitement flutter in your stomach. Looking up at him expectantly, you hold your breath, but you’re surprised when Joel’s thumb meets your bottom lip and pries your mouth open. You stick your tongue out without even thinking about it, and Joel spits directly into your mouth. His warm salvia pools on your tongue and you close your mouth, swallowing the taste of both of you. 

You can’t help but feel disappointed yet you try to remind yourself that Joel just made you come on his tongue and fuck, it was good. The aftershocks are still reverberating in your core. 

“Good girl,” he praises, voice flat and gravelly. “S’that what you wanted?”

Inhaling shakily, you nod. Joel’s forearm rests by the side of your head, your chests pressed together, while he drags his cock through your slick. Every time the head brushes against your clit, you shudder, still so sensitive from your orgasm. 

“What else did you say you were thinkin’ about?” he asks, still teasing your slit with his cock.

“Your—”

Joel sinks in without warning and his hand flies to your mouth in an attempt to quiet you before you wake Bill and Frank. It works, mostly. Despite your orgasm and his fingers, his cock still stretches you out. It amazes you that no matter how many times you take him, you still feel him work you open. 

Once Joel bottoms out in you and stills, you finish your sentence through exasperated breaths. “Cock. Your cock.”

He groans at this as he begins to thrust into you, shallow yet fast strokes, his cock nearly pulling fully out each time. He’s fucking teasing you. Your moans are hiccupy little noises, not entirely satisfied with the fucking you’re getting. You know if you tell him this, he’ll stop entirely. Just to fuck with you. You also know how to get him going. Just start talking. 

“I know you’ve brought other girls here. Is this what you do, Joel? Bring girls you like here?” His brow furrows at your question, still not fucking you quite how you’d like. You’re surprised that your words are coming out so smoothly. “Wine them and dine them, then make them come?” 

Joel laughs darkly at this and picks up the pace, earning a quiet moan from you. You feel satisfied with yourself, knowing that you’re getting to him. Part of you wonders if he would’ve reacted differently if you mentioned Tess by name. 

“Who said I like you?” 

“I-I think—fuck,” you exhale as he starts to fuck you harder, kissing your cervix with the head of his cock. You close your eyes, telling yourself to pull it together long enough to finish your sentence. “You like me. Enough to be in my bed when you’ve got your own.”

Shaking his head, he buries himself deep inside of you and ceases any movement. You almost whine out of frustration, but you hold back. Joel uses his free hand, the one that’s not supporting him, to wrap tightly around your throat. You choke out a moan and clench around him. 

“I like you when you shut the fuck up,” he says through grit teeth. 

You smile and try to laugh, but it sounds more like a cough than anything. Joel loosens his grip ever so slightly as he starts moving his hips again, fast and deep. Just what you wanted. 

“R-Really? Thought you liked hearing my pretty little noises?” you manage to get out with his clutch lighter than before.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Joel groans, shaking his head. He stops moving and this time, you actually do whine. “Can’t keep that fuckin’ mouth shut.”

Joel releases your throat and leans over, still buried inside of you, to reach for your pack. 

“What’re you—”

He pulls out a roll of duct tape you keep in the front pocket just in case the soles of your boots start to go. Your eyes widen and you swallow hard to try to get rid of the lump in your throat. Anxiety or excitement? You can’t tell.

“Fleshlights don’t talk,” he mutters before ripping a piece of tape off with his teeth, “and that’s all y’are to me.”

Before you get the chance to even think about something to say, Joel slaps the duct tape across your mouth. It’s primal—the way your breathing becomes heavy and frantic through your nose and your chest heaves, like prey being caught by a predator. At the same time, your cunt tightens around him and you feel arousal leak from you. You think that there has to be something wrong with you. This shouldn’t turn you on this much, right?

Joel doesn’t resume fucking you yet, still and sheathed all the way inside of you. His dark, blown out eyes search your face.

“Breathe, breathe,” he orders, but his voice is almost soft now, stripped of the edge it carried before. A hand comes up to cup your jaw and his thumb brushes the tape. “Breathe for me, baby.”

You close your eyes and focus on your breath and the gentle caress of Joel’s rough hands. Eventually, your breathing becomes normal again, consistent. When you open your eyes, Joel’s looking at you and you think you see a flash of concern cross his face.

“Y’okay?” he asks, waiting for your go ahead.

Nodding a little too excitedly with wide eyes, you lift your hips up and your hands fly to his lower back, trying to press him even close to you. Joel’s hand drops from your face and he wears a smug smile as he throws your legs over his shoulders, now impossibly deep inside of you. You moan, muffled pathetically by the tape.

“Good, ‘cause I gotta keep my word and fuck you real nice.”

Joel grabs a good handful of your thighs, digging his fingers into you, and starts pistoning in and out of your cunt. Your hands fist the sheets, trying to ground yourself as he fucks into you brutally, hitting that sweet, spongey spot deep inside of you. If the duct tape weren’t there to stifle your cries, you’re sure you’d wake up Bill and Frank. 

“Much better,” he grunts. “Now I can focus on how fuckin’ nice and tight this cunt is.”

You whimper at his filthy words. Joel has such a mouth on him and you never, ever want him to shut up. Every time he talks to you in bed, you make sure to pay attention, commit it to memory so you can replay it over and over again when you touch yourself.

The tempo he’s set is merciless, his cock slamming into you relentlessly. Your cunt spasms around him and you close your eyes tightly, already feeling that familiar pressure building in your lower belly. Joel notices and he smiles. It’s crooked, smug and exposes his canines. He shifts his angle slightly and rolls his hips into you, groaning quietly. The change earns a wanton moan from you and you arch your back, trying to feel him as deep as possible.

“So damn needy,” he growls. “You were really thinkin’ about this all day, huh?

Joel spreads your legs into a wide V and begins to fuck you slower. You whine, brows pulled tightly as you feel your impending orgasm slip away. His eyes are trained on where his body meets yours, watching his cock, completely coated in your juices, slide in and out of your puffy lips. 

“Fuck, sugar.” He exhales. “Look at that. She takes me so well.” 

You nod, but you don’t look because you can’t pull your eyes away from Joel. He’s covered in a sheen of sweat, broad chest glowing in the moonlight, and you wish you could lean forward and lick the perspiration off of the protruding vein on his neck. Joel’s fucking beautiful. 

With your legs spread wide, you feel exposed, but you’re not self conscious. The way Joel’s looking at you, like he could devour you whole, is electric. 

He’s still staring at your pussy, enamored, when he gathers his spit in his mouth and lets it fall from his lips, landing directly on your clit. You moan at the sensation, tilting your head back. One of his hands drops to your sensitive bud and he begins smearing the wetness around. The way he rubs your clit with intention is fucking divine and when he starts to fuck you again, you feel that white hot pleasure return.

Joel’s breathing is ragged and you can tell he’s trying not to make too much noise. At this point, you’re not sure if it matters. The bed is faintly creaking, the sound of skin slapping is unmistakable, and although your moans and cries are dampened, you can still hear them. 

“Squeezin’ me tight,” he says with a sigh. “Gonna give me another, sugar? C’mon, gimme one more.”

The circling on your clit doesn’t stop for even one second and his hips rocking into you don’t falter—your eyes roll back as you come. Your cunt throbs around Joel’s cock and he groans in response, fucking you erratically through it. The high-pitched cries that pour out of you are softened, but not entirely squashed by the tape. As you come down from your high, Joel pulls out of you abruptly.

Fisting his cock, he mutters your name, sandwiched by expletives that you can’t quite distinguish as your ears are ringing from the aftershocks of your orgasm. You manage to sit up on your elbows to look at Joel and the swollen head of his cock, glistening from your cum. With a final groan, he spills his warm, sticky spend on your lower belly and the hair on your mound. 

Joel’s panting as he rolls over next to you, hands coming up to rest on his forehead as he shuts his eyes. You sit there and let him catch his breath, just watching the way his chest rises and falls. Once his breathing decelerates, he opens his eyes and looks over at you—lying there with your mouth taped, covered in his cum. 

Turning on his side to face you, he lets out a short, dry laugh that could easily be mistaken as a scoff. In one quick motion, Joel rips the duct tape off.

“Ow—fuck,” you curse under your breath. Your hand comes up to rub the soft yet irritated skin in an attempt to soothe the sting. “That fucking hurt.” 

“You’ll live.”

You roll your eyes and go to get up so that you can clean Joel’s mess off of you, but he stops you with a firm grip on your forearm. Annoyed and exhausted, you don’t bother fighting it, letting your head drop back onto the pillow. 

Joel’s middle and index finger swipe a long stripe down from your belly to your clit, gathering his cum on his fingers. 

“Open,” he instructs. 

Without a second thought, your lips part and you let your jaw hang open. Joel sticks his fingers in your mouth and you close around them, eyes fluttering shut as you moan and take in the heady, salty taste of his cum.

“Suck.” You do.

“Swallow.” You do.

Fingers popping out of your mouth lewdly, you feel your cheeks get hot with arousal and a hint of embarrassment. Joel knows how much you liked that and you’re sure he’ll hold it over your head at some point. 

“That’s my good girl,” he practically coos. You feel sheepish from the praise, forcing yourself to look away. 

Joel reaches over and grabs the shirt he discarded earlier from the floor. Tenderly, or as tenderly as Joel seems to be capable of, he wipes the remainder of his spend off of you. His gaze meets yours and the moment feels charged. Your mouth is slightly agape and you notice his eyes flit to your lips. If there were ever a time for the two of you to kiss, it’s now. A few moments pass, and it doesn’t come.

“Such a gentleman,” you mumble, breaking the silence. “Guess you are on good behavior.”

Whatever trance Joel was caught in is broken and he snaps his eyes away from you. He runs a hand through his sweaty curls. 

“Oh, fuck off,” he grumbles.

You smile and roll your eyes, adjusting your bra so it’s back in its proper place, covering your nipples that are still hard. For the first time all day, your mind is blank, too exhausted to think. So you let yourself melt into the bedsheets, pulling the blanket up to cover your mostly bare body. Joel doesn’t move. Joel doesn’t say anything.

The only thing you two can hear as you lie on your backs is the sound of each other’s breathing. At some point, you drift off to sleep.

When you wake in the morning to the birds chirping, Joel is gone. You swear you felt him place a gentle kiss on your temple before leaving a few hours ago, but you might have been dreaming.

[vivwritescrappythings]

set me on fire, i'll keep you warm

alpha!joel miller x omega!f!reader

part 2

You get stuck in a cabin during a snowstorm for longer than you anticipated.

an: this is my first a/b/o fic so it is probably weird and awkward, but i'm trying to push myself out of my comfort zone and write different styles of relationships!

tw: a/b/o/ dynamics, afab reader, fem reader, alpha joel, omega reader, marijuana use, joel is mean, angst, comfort, SMUT, this is an a/b/o fic so everything associated with that is included (knotting, mating cycles, heat, claiming bites, scenting), p in v sex, vaginal fingering, creampies, unprotected sex, masturbation, dubcon

word count: 12.5k

masterlist

MDNI!

--

The night outside the cabin was quiet, the snow drifting down in the dim light of the backlit clouds. It was too late to be sitting outside like this, letting the cool air wash over you in an attempt to rid yourself of your bad dreams. Dark circles were stamped under your eyes as you self medicated, the deep skunky scent of weed wafting from your lips and into the evening. 

Nightmares were a fairly common side effect of the apocalypse, so you didn’t bother with waking up Joel as you snuck past the couch he slept on. You’d be waking Joel up every night if you did that.

“What are you doing?” The groggy voice behind you made you jump. Apparently tonight you had.

Joel’s voice startled you, nearly making you drop the joint as you turned to look at him over your shoulder. Your face already felt warm from your embarrassment at getting caught, the incriminating joint still between your fingers. The smoke curled around the two of you, drifting into the open door of the cabin. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” you mumbled, looking up at the alpha as he stood in the doorway. You had the collar of his thick, canvas hunting jacket turned up high to cover your scent glands, his smell strong enough to cover yours. It wouldn’t be smart to broadcast to anyone nearby that you were an unbonded omega. 

Joel’s eyes darkened at the sight of you, illuminated by the crisp night. You knew the jacket swamped over you, the sleeves pushed up to expose your hands and the excess tucked beneath you as you sat. He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, studying your exhausted expression with a touch of concern.

“Mhm, I can see that,” he drawled, his eyes flicking down to the joint in your hand. “You smokin' again?”

Your gaze subconsciously darted down to where his biceps bulged under his flannel. You swallowed thickly, looking back up at his shadowed eyes. “Just so I can fall asleep,” you mumbled, feeling like a teenager who’d just been caught by their dad. You took another greedy puff off the joint before he could say anything else, putting it out against the porch railing before tucking it into a rusty Altoids tin from which it came and into your pocket. 

You exhaled a thick cloud of smoke as you stood, crossing the porch in just your socks and ducking past Joel inside the house. “Made sure your jacket covered my scent and everything, didn’t want any passers by to smell me,” you murmured as you squeezed by him. You smelled like weed and like Joel, the sweet scent that lingered on your skin only detectable if you got close.

The sound of Joel inhaling as you walked past him was audible, as if he was testing your method and making sure he couldn’t pick up your scent. You glanced up at him to see his nostrils flare before he schooled his face into a neutral expression.

He followed you inside, closing and locking the door behind you. "You know that stuff ain't good for you," he said gruffly, his eyes following your every movement.

You were shrugging his jacket off, hanging it back up on the hook next to yours. Your sweater was threadbare, on its last leg before you’d have to look for a new one in an abandoned house or store. “I know, Joel,” you murmured softly, brushing a hand over your face. You crossed your arms over your chest, tucking your freezing hands into your armpits.

Your eyes were bloodshot and glassy, the buzz of being stoned making your movements more languid. “Only do it sometimes, just when I can’t sleep,” you said, trying to assure the alpha across from you.

Joel's expression softened at your words, but still, a hint of concern etched his features. The set of his jaw told you he knew what these sleepless nights did to you; the bags under your eyes and the fatigue in your movements didn't escape his notice. 

"Sometimes is too much," he rumbled, closing the distance between you. He reached out, his calloused fingers gently brushing an errant snowflake off your face, his touch tender despite the roughness of his hands. You closed your eyes at the contact, his skin rough against yours before he pulled away. 

"If you can't sleep, you should come to me. You know that, right?"

“Joel, s’okay, it doesn’t happen very often,” you murmured, stubborn as always. 

You knew Joel could help you sleep in an instant, all it would take is you crawling on the couch with him and pressing your nose against his scent gland. It was one of the easiest parts of being an omega with an alpha around. But, you were stubborn to a fault.

The corners of his mouth tightened, and he let out a low growl. "I don't care if it's once in a blue moon or every goddamn night," he snapped. "You need to start relying on me more. I don’t know why you gotta deny your nature and act like you’re so goddamn tough. Stop being so damn independent all the damn time."

You huffed, not letting Joel sway you. His frustration was obvious, you could smell it mixing with the musk of his scent. “You wouldn’t say that to me if I was an alpha or a beta,” you bite back, brow furrowing. It was rare that Joel got mad at you like this–especially over something as stupid as being hard-headed. You’d been that way the whole time he knew you: an omega fighting her designation.

The day you presented as an omega you cried yourself sick. It was like your life had ended, every opportunity seemingly disappearing in an already difficult world after the outbreak. You were hellbent on proving yourself to be worth more.

Joel's jaw tightened as his eyes flashed darkly at your words. He stepped closer, closing the distance between you until he was towering over you. "You don't get it, do you?" he asked softly, the sneer apparent in his voice. "It's different for you. You're an omega."

Your throat tightened, frustration cutting through the relaxed haze of your high. “If you don’t trust me to take care of myself, Joel, why did you take me on as your patrol partner?” you hissed, staring up into his gaze defiantly. You were starting to get emotional, tears stinging at the backs of your eyes as you tried to suppress them. Joel stood over a head taller than you, glaring down his aquiline nose at you as you argued.

His scent was strong in the small hallway, his chest puffing up as he cornered you near the wall. His arm shot out, palm pressing to the dilapidated wood paneling near your head.

"I brought you because I trust you to shoot straight," he retorted, his voice rough. "Not because I think you can handle yourself on your own!"

His words made you flinch, the hurt clear on your face. Your mind was reeling, struggling to process what he said as you balked at him. It dawned on you how stupid it was to think an alpha would trust you. To them, you’d never be more than just an omega even if you pushed yourself to the brink. 

You didn’t give him an answer, slipping under his arm and heading to the small bedroom you occupied at the back of the house. Everything in you was screaming to hide, to make yourself small. Distress scent was already pouring off of you in waves, leaving the air bitter as you tried to hold the tears threatening to spill until you got behind the bedroom door.

“Goodnight, Joel,” you hissed, slamming the door shut behind you and locking it.

—

You didn’t know what time it was when you woke up, just that there was light streaming in through the aged blinds covering the window. The fire in your room must have gone out when you slept, the air was frigid as you sat up in bed. Peeking out the frosted glass revealed there was more snow on the ground than when you fell asleep—meaning another day of holing up in the cabin until it passed.

You had half the mind to hide in your room all day, not wanting to face Joel after last night. You cried yourself to sleep, betrayal weighing heavy on your heart. You still felt the sting of it, part of you wondering if he even respected you as a teammate or just thought you were a pathetic, bumbling omega he got stuck with. 

If it wasn’t for your stomach growling, you probably would have stayed in hiding.

The door to the room creaked when you opened it, deciding to venture out to get water and something to settle your upset stomach. The light was dim out in the rest of the cabin, the dying embers of the fire casting an orange glow across everything. Joel was a lump on the couch, but you couldn’t tell if he was awake.

Joel hardly slept, guilt and worry gnawing at his gut. He had tossed and turned on the couch all night, listening to the sound of your sobs through the door until you finally fell asleep. If he could go back and take it all back, he would in a heartbeat.

It wasn't the creaking of the floorboards that woke Joel, but the faint scent of a distressed omega. He stirred, his eyes fluttering open to see you quietly entering the kitchen. He watched you in silence, guilt-stricken features as he studied your careful movements. As he slowly rose from the couch, moving towards the kitchen in a silent prowl, his eyes never left you.

“You're not gonna eat just jerky all day, are you?" he asked gruffly, leaning against the kitchen door frame. You were gnawing on a piece of it, staring out the bay window over the sink in the long-abandoned kitchen.

In your haze, Joel managed to surprise you. You yelped at the sound of his deep voice, spinning around and falling back against the kitchen counter. “Jesus Christ, Joel,” you said, finding your footing again. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you turned to look out the front window at the snowy landscape surrounding the cabin. “Just about gave me a heart attack.”

A hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of Joel's lips as he watched you jump, a low, raspy chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Sorry 'bout that," he drawled, running a hand through his disheveled hair. His eyes followed your gaze out to the window, the snow falling silently outside.

You didn’t know what to say to him, your chapped lips pursed as the two of you stared at one another. He looked worse for wear, his dark hair was sticking up in every direction, his under eyes so dark they almost looked bruised.

He cleared his throat, the silence between you two deafening. "Can we talk?" he asked. He cringed at his own question, knowing that of course he wanted to talk, he knew he had to talk. He just didn't know how to start. He reached out towards you, but stopped himself halfway, his hand dropping limply to his side 

You sniffled, running a hand over your face as you took a deep breath. “What if I said no?” you whispered, crossing your arms over your chest. The smell of your distress was all too clear, the acrid scent of it covering your normal honeyed-earth smell. 

"Please."

The word was out of his mouth before he could stop it. The pleading tone in his voice surprised him, and he knew it surprised you too. He was an alpha, a strong and powerful one at that, he didn't beg.

But as he looked at you, at your exhausted frame and red-rimmed eyes, he didn't care. He'd beg for your forgiveness a thousand times if he had to. Crawl to you on his knees. It pained him to see you like this. Especially when it was his fault.

The sound of Joel’s deep, twangy, Texas-accented voice begging made one of your eyebrows arch. He never begged, he never had to before. Not alphas like him. You sighed, hazel eyes darting to look out the window over the kitchen sink at the snow. “I’m listening,” you mumbled.

Joel let out a breath through his nose, his heart rate returning to normal. At least you were giving him the chance to explain.

The only sound in the room while Joel put his words together was the floor creaking beneath you as you turned to face him again, watching his coffee-colored eyes nervously flit up to yours. It was times like this that made it hard to believe Joel was the alpha and you were the omega, when he’d snap and then come running back to you with his tail between his legs like a kicked puppy.

You used your arms to boost yourself onto the counter, feet dangling off as you settled on the cool tile. You were nearly Joel’s height this way, leveling the playing field a bit by making him look straight at you. You pulled a knee up to your chest, the other leg still hanging down as you mashed your cheek against your kneecap.

He took a step closer, standing in front of your bent leg now as he looked at you. His rugged features softened as he spoke, his voice gruff. "Look...what I said last night," he began, "It was really shitty, and I didn’t mean it, and I'm sorry."

He reached out, calloused fingers gently wrapping around your ankle, giving it a squeeze. "I just... I worry about you, that's all." His thumb pressed the wonky stick and poke tattoo of the omega symbol on the inside of your ankle. You’d given it to yourself when you were seventeen, some rebellious act of reclaiming your identity. Now it was just a faded memory of growing up in a quarantine zone.

Joel always had a hard time with words, expressing himself more through actions than any alpha you’d ever seen. You rarely shied away from his touches, coming to expect them over the past year the two of you had been assigned together as patrol partners. 

You sighed, blowing air out through your nose as your head tilted. Joel stood close to you, your hanging calf pressed along his thigh as you met his gaze. “I know you worry, Joel,” you said softly, looking up at him through your lashes. “But you gotta treat me like a teammate, not like you’re my babysitter.”

He looked embarrassed, his eyes darting to the ground and then back up to you. "I never meant to make you feel like you were just some object, or incompetent. I just…” he sighs, struggling to find the right words. “You make me so damn frustrated sometimes."

You huffed, shaking your head. “You don’t get to try to justify it, Joel,” you said, an exasperated tone in your voice. Of course he’d qualify it, find it wasn’t entirely his fault. “You reduced me to an incompetent partner, useless. Just an object for breeding,” you whispered, your glare hard. “Felt like you had no respect for me unless I was bending over for you and letting you fuck me.”

Joel bristled at the words, the sting of them hurting almost as much as the pain on your face. He clenched his hands into fists, his whole body tensing with the effort to keep the need to comfort you under control.

He took a step forward, his eyes fixed on you. "I do respect you, dammit," he growled. "You don't think I don't admire how strong and independent you are? If I didn't respect you and trust you to have my back, I would have found a new partner a long time ago."

“You said all I was good for was shooting straight, Joel,” you said, your voice cracking as you spoke. You worried your lower lip with your teeth, fingers tapping nervously against your bent leg. It felt like you were going against your DNA, standing up to Joel like this.

Joel ran a hand over his face, the weight of his actions sinking in. He knew you were right. He knew he had crossed a line.

"You're right, it was unfair," he said, his eyes darting to the floor. "I was just frustrated, I was worried about you. This job, it's dangerous, and you've got such a damn stubborn, independent streak. You never ask for help, and I always worry I'm gonna wake up one day and find you not there, and it’ll be my fault for not being fast enough."

You huff, your expression softening slightly at Joel’s confession. You knew he was dealing with his own demons, his own reasons to wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. He was still standing between your legs, fingers looped around your ankle. “Joel,” you murmured, “I’m not running away or anything, I just was smoking a joint to help myself sleep.”

Joel looked up at you when you spoke, his gaze lifting from the faded tattoo. He hated how defeated he felt, and he hated how hurt you looked.

"Damnit, you don't need to do that. Why can't you just come to me when you can't sleep, and I can help you sleep the right way?" he sighed, moving in closer.

His frustration made you even more angry. “Fuck, Joel. Does the sleeping thing really bother you that much?” you huffed, moving further back from him on the counter and turning to look out the window. You felt queasy, chewing over the idea of telling him a bit of the truth. You decided to go for it. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve never scented an alpha before.”

The wind against the side of the cabin was the only thing filling the silence. Most omegas got scenting partners out of the way when they were teenagers, exploring their desires and learning what they liked in a mate. But you were in your late twenties and never tried any of it because you were too busy fighting your designation. You didn’t want any part of being an omega, even if that meant not experiencing things.

You didn’t even know what you were doing—didn’t even know where to start.

Joel's eyes widened when you confessed that you had never scented an alpha before. The revelation took him aback, making his breath hitch in his chest. His mind went through a whirlwind of thought, the realization that he would be your first alpha to scent you hitting him like a truck. He can hardly consider the fact that it was contingent on if you let him. 

His omega had never scented an alpha before. The possessive instincts within him roared to life, clawing at the edges of his mind. No, you’re not his. He needed to stop thinking that.

"You never-" he began, his voice rough and strained. "You never scented anyone?"

Your cheeks erupted with warmth, embarrassment rocking through you. You ended up covering your face with your palms, not wanting Joel to look at you. “I’ve scented other omegas… betas.” It felt too submissive, too docile. You didn’t want to be like other omegas you saw in the quarantine zone and Jackson—stuck bending to their alphas’ every whim, you wanted to be free.

“So don’t get so offended that I haven’t scented you, it’s not personal.”

Joel's jaw dropped at your confession, his mind spinning. He had known you were stubborn and independent, but this? He had never heard of an omega not scenting anyone by the time they were out of their teenage years.

The way you covered your face, the smell of your embarrassment and shyness filling the air, made something primal stir in his chest. The thought of no other alpha ever having the opportunity to even scent you was both thrilling and infuriating.

“I just wanted someone to treat me like their equal,” you whispered, crossing your arms over your chest. It was hard for you to let the silence exist between you, always filling it. You had to move from the weight of Joel’s surprised gaze, making you turn to the window and stare out of it. The snow was so heavy outside the cabin that you could hardly see the trees. “I would do it, I just don’t want to become someone’s property. Which I know scenting is really different and far from mating and being claimed but it feels like the first step.”

Joel's heart ached as you spoke. He knew you wanted equality and respect, something he always thought you deserved. But to know that you had never allowed yourself to feel comforts like being scented because of fear of being treated like property was something he hadn't realized.

He leaned towards you, trying to see your eyes. "You know I wouldn't treat you like that, right? I would never make you feel less than an equal just because you're an omega," he said, his voice low and gentle.

“You tried to last night,” you mumbled, still facing away from Joel. You leaned your forehead against the window, the glass cool against your skin. That was what made it so difficult, you couldn’t forget the tone Joel spoke to you with—it was the same tone that alphas used to force omegas to submit. It rattled you.

Joel clenched his jaw at your words, guilt bubbling up in his chest again. He knew you were right, that he had tried to reduce you to just your designation, that he had spoken to you in the way that made most omegas crumble.

He moved closer, close enough that he could smell the sour scent of your distress again. Everything at him was screaming to make it better, to fix it.

"You’re right,” he admitted. “I was a dick, and I hurt you. I won’t do it again. I swear on Ellie’s life."

You felt warmth radiating off him and onto your back. “You really scared me, Joel,” you whispered, your voice wavering as you spoke. That was the truth of it, he scared you last night. “I know you can overpower me in a second if you wanted to—I really have to trust you not to. My life is in your hands.”

As you spoke, Joel’s heart ached. He knew you were right. You were strong and fierce, but he was an alpha, and he could overpower you in a heartbeat if he wanted to. He gently squeezed your ankle, tugging on it. He could feel the heat radiating off you, and it took every ounce of restraint he had not to press himself against you.

“I know, I know I did. I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured, the nickname coming out before he could stop himself.

You sniffled, wiping tears from the corners of your eyes. You didn’t know what to do, anxiety binding your chest in knots. Joel stood close to you, nearly touching your back as his hand flattened against the porcelain countertop. “Alphas don’t have to think about that kind of stuff, ya know? You don’t have to constantly worry about it. You could be alone for your whole life and it wouldn’t be a problem, it’s not the same for omegas.” 

Your forehead was still pressed against the window pane, your body curling up to make you small. “Don’t gotta worry about an alpha forcing a claim on you, or killing you if you refuse. I’ve got to think about it all the time, even in Jackson. And then you wonder why I hate being an omega.”

Pain and sadness wrenched in Joel's chest as you spoke, his heart breaking at the vulnerability in your voice. He knew you were right—alphas didn't have the same worries and fears that you did.

He closed the distance between you, his chest pressing against your back as he leaned over the counter. He could feel the tremors in your body, and he desperately wanted to fix it, to make it better, to take your pain away.

"I know, baby," he murmured again, hooking his chin on your shoulder. The wiry strands of his beard curled against the collar of your sweater. "I know."

There was something in his solemn tone that made you break, a pathetic whimper rocking out of you before you could stifle it. He sounded so small, you never heard him sound like that before. It cracked a hole in your defenses just enough for the whole structure to come crumbling down.

You let out a sob, turning against Joel until you could bury your face in his chest. You cried into his flannel, fingers twisting in the well-worn material. He was still your person, your best friend in the whole world. You always turned to him.

Joel's heart ached as you buried your face into his chest. He could feel your tears soaking into his shirt, and his arms wrapped around you, pulling you as close as physically possible.

He held you tightly, one hand coming up to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. He gently guided your head to rest against his chest, his chin resting on top of your head.

"Shhh, baby, it's okay," he whispered, his voice rough and thick with emotion. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Wanted to take it all back the second I said it, I was such an asshole."

You didn’t know how long you cried for, clinging to Joel like a life preserver in a storm. He held you close, his calloused fingers tangling in your hair and his chin resting on the crown of your head. You inhaled his scent from him, the deep, musky smell of an alpha, mixed with a spicy scent that was entirely Joel’s. 

Joel held you through your tears, his fingers running through your hair in a soothing motion. He inhaled deeply, his nose buried in your hair, the scent of your distress beginning to fade and be replaced by a more familiar honeyed earth scent.

It took you a while to calm down, making you hiccup as your tears eventually ran dry. His shirt was soaked with them, but he didn't care. He just wanted you to feel better, he wanted to fix whatever he had broken.

"You all cried out, darlin'?” he murmured, his voice soft and gentle.

You nodded against Joel, sniffling still. “I know you’re sorry, Joel,” you mumbled, your voice soft and thick from crying. You still held onto him, face pressed into his sternum.

Joel's heart clenched at your mumbled words, his hold on you tightening slightly. "I'll say it as many times as you want to hear it, baby," he said, his own voice rough with emotion. He rubbed slow, soothing circles on your back. Your body was pressed against him, warm and soft.

Joel’s voice sounded thick, his Texan drawl heavier. You just held on, trying to catch your breath. The wind sounded louder outside, buffeting against the roof and filling the silence between you two.

Your distress scent faded, only leaving your cloyingly sweet smell behind. Joel took another breath, inhaling. It was intoxicating, the way you smelled. Almost honeyed earth after a heavy rain, it was addictive. He always had a hard time focusing when he was close to you like this.

He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, focusing on you and you only. He continued to hold you, his fingers still running through your hair. "Feeling better, darlin'?"

You nodded, pulling away slightly. You wiped your face off, your skin damp from your crying. “Yeah, I’m better,” you whispered. You looked up at Joel for a moment, your eyes bloodshot and watery. 

Joel's eyes roamed over your face, taking in your puffy eyes and running nose and swollen lips. You looked beautiful even when you had been crying, and it took all of his self-restraint not to pull you back against him again.

He nodded, his thumb coming up to lightly trace your wet cheeks, wiping away a few remaining tears. "I’m glad, darlin'," he murmured, his eyes not leaving yours.

Your lips were pursed thoughtfully, considering. “So you’ll start trusting me to handle myself?” you asked, trying to negotiate. “And I’ll rely on my instincts more,” you offered, still whispering. “Alright?”

Joel's heart was pounding in his chest as he held your ankle, his thumb rubbing over the faded tattoo there. He knew you were right, that he often let his protectiveness get the best of him when it came to you. He wanted to keep you safe at all costs, but sometimes in his efforts, he ended up stifling you.

He exhaled deeply, feeling the guilt and the weight of his actions settle heavily on his shoulders. He knew he would agree to anything you asked. "I will, but you have no idea how hard it is," he murmured, his gaze never leaving your face.

You nodded, tears still burning in your eyes. You needed him to agree, or this wouldn’t work. “Joel, should we change patrol partners?” you asked, tilting your head. You didn’t want to, but it also wasn’t safe for him to constantly put himself in harm’s way for you. “Someone easier for you to be around might be better. And I need someone who trusts me.”

Joel's stomach lurched at your question, the thought of being paired with someone other than you making his blood run cold. "No," he growled, his hand tightening around your ankle reflexively. "No. We're not changing partners."

He stepped even closer to you, his eyes filled with determination. "I don't want anyone else. I don't want you paired with anyone else. It's you and me," he insisted, his voice firm.

Joel crowded in close, pulling you toward the edge of the counter. Your knee pressed against his waist, his belt warm through the hole in the knee of your sweatpants. You clicked your tongue softly, your small hand smoothing along the back of his larger one. “S’okay, I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, making sure he looked you in the eye. “You and me. Just gotta start trusting me.”

Joel's shoulders sagged with relief, the tension draining from his body as he heard your reassurance. The feel of your hand against his, the way your knee rested against his hip, it grounded him, reminded him of what was important.

“I trust ya.” He leaned in even closer, resting his forehead against yours. "You and me," he repeated, his voice a low rumble. "Always."

He took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet, honeyed scent of you. It filled his senses, calming his nerves.

You basked in the closeness for a moment, letting your eyes slip shut as you inhaled his deep, heady musk of him. It felt resolved for now. “Alright big guy, let’s make some food,” you said, lightly patting Joel’s stomach with a hand before you twisted around him off the counter in the kitchen.

Being outside of Jackson made you miss electricity. Thankfully you knew there was a chance that there would be a storm during the scouting run, packing the truck with extra food and firewood that had now come in handy. 

But, neither of you realized the storm would last for so long. It was three days that you two were stuck in the cabin, watching as the snow piled higher and higher. You weren’t waiting for it to melt, just to stop coming down so Joel could see your way out without crashing into a tree or a boulder.

You cracked two cans of Chef Boyardee that Joel found in one of the houses you picked through, setting them in the fireplace to warm as you sat cross-legged on the rug in front of it.

Joel was moving around behind you, the springs of the couch squealing as he sat on them. His gaze made the hair on the back of your neck prickle. But, he stayed silent—typical behavior for him. 

You looked at the grandfather clock on the wall, surprised to see that it was already nearing three in the afternoon. You must have slept in later than you expected, most of the day already having gone by. Honestly, it was better that way, you and Joel were starting to get a bit of cabin fever.

Silence permeated the room, brightly patterned oven mitts you found in a drawer covering your hands as you scarfed down the food. “So you used to buy this stuff at like, the store?” you asked, finally breaking the quiet as you turned to look at Joel.

You were little when the outbreak started, you didn’t remember much of what life was like before. It was normal for you to ask him things. Joel felt like a bridge to a different time.

It always caught him off guard when you asked about life before the outbreak—he couldn’t help but forget how young you were compared to him. He nodded as he chewed, glancing up to see you backlit by the fire. It made you look like you had a gold light surrounding you.

“Yeah, we used to buy everything at grocery stores,” he said, clearing his throat a bit as he talked. “There was more food than you could imagine, really, there was too much. A lot of it got thrown away.”

You listened with rapt attention, chewing the ravioli thoroughly. You really couldn’t imagine such abundance—even in Jackson everything was grown and made to satisfy the needs of a few seasons. Nothing ever went to waste, though. 

“That sounds like a dream,” you said softly, finishing your food. You stretched out on your back on the rug, the fire warming your side as you got comfortable. 

“These days it seems like one,” he mumbled, the sound of his spoon scraping the can filling the room. He couldn’t look at you directly, it felt like he was staring at the sun. It was hard not to go to you. His palms itched with the need to feel your fire-warmed skin beneath them. 

Joel got up sharply, running his fingers through his hair as he looked out the window. “M’gonna go hunting before it gets too dark out,” he said, scratching the back of his head as he walked away from you.

You hummed your acknowledgment, watching Joel pull on his gloves and his jacket and sling his rifle over his shoulder. He smelled the collar of the coat, your scent probably lingered from when you’d borrowed it last night.

“Be careful,” you murmured, watching Joel from where you lay. You wanted to get up, go adjust his jacket and the twisted strap of his rifle. But you stayed where you were.

“Always am,” he said, giving you a once-over before heading out the front door and into the snow. 

You busied yourself with melting snow to fill the big plastic bin Joel had dragged inside from the truck, cleaning the guns and mending some clothes with a needle and thread. Normally you’d go hunting with Joel, but you could tell he needed space for a bit. 

The cold woke him up, made him feel like he finally got his head out of water. Being stuck in that cabin with you—with your smell—was driving him crazy. The two of you spent a lot of time together, but it normally was outside. This was the first time you’d been smashed together in close quarters for more than a day. 

It was making him lose his mind.

He’d rather be shot than admit it, but he spent the first ten minutes of his hunting trip holding the collar of his jacket to his nose and fisting his cock. As soon as he realized he could smell you on the canvas, he’d been hard as a rock. 

Joel never met an omega whose scent got to him as much as yours.

He held the aging fabric in a fist to his face as he stroked up and down his shaft. His eyes were screwed shut, jaw clenched so hard it ached. It wasn’t hard for him to imagine that his spit-slicked hand was yours, the image of you stretched out on the rug stuck in his mind. The fire illuminated the contours of your body, highlighting the swell of your breasts and the indent of your waist.

It wasn’t the first time he fantasized about you. It started with a dream of you crawling into his sleeping bag while you were out on a scouting mission, pressing up close and nuzzling into him like you were his, whispering everything you wanted him to do to you in his ear. 

He woke up from that painfully hard, thankful that he was in the safety of his bedroom in Jackson rather than with you. But it spiraled viciously from there—even if he didn’t start off thinking of you, he would certainly get there eventually. Knotting you, biting you, fucking you. It all lived in his head. 

Joel groaned, biting down on his lower lip as his cum spilled onto the snow. The tree he was leaning against was rough on the back of his head as he slumped a bit, taking deep breaths. It took him a few moments for the ringing in his ears to stop, head finally clearing as he tucked himself back into his pants. 

With the edge taken off he readied himself, wiping the sweat off his forehead before grabbing his rifle off his shoulder. There was always some level of shame he felt after he jerked off to the thought of you, knowing he’d have to face you again and pretend nothing was amiss. 

The wind howled as he walked deeper into the forest, pushing his thoughts aside as he started to look for any semblance of tracks in the snow.

—

The rabbit Joel killed was a decent enough dinner with the dried soup you brought from Jackson, the meal rich enough to lull you both into silence as you thumbed through old paperback books you found in a closet. 

It was long dark when you told Joel you’d be going to bed, wishing him goodnight as you made your way to the bedroom. You were tired enough to fall asleep with little fuss, curling into the thick quilt and going unconscious almost as soon as your head hit the pillow.

But, of course, you didn’t stay that way. 

Screams filled the space around you. You were unseeing, choking on thick smoke. Opening your mouth to speak only resulted in a scream, the sound ragged and desperate. You could hear gunfire in the distance, but you didn’t know which way to look.

You were alone in this place, that much you could tell. The air was thick and warm—smelled like the omega shelter back in Vegas, you spent two years there. You reached out ahead of you into the darkness, hoping to find a wall or furniture or something. But it was empty, each step further into the black maw that seemed to have no ending. 

The sound of clicking made your hair stand on end. You were all-too familiar with that sound, the labored breathing of an infected following it. You didn’t know which way to move, the clicking was directionless. There were no weapons, no way to run. 

Clicking filled your ears, directly on top of you. Teeth tore into your flesh, ripping into your arm as—

You woke with a jolt, eyes wide in the darkness as you let out a choked gasp. Screaming still haunted the back of your mind as you sat up, trembling hands running over your face as you tried to enter the world of the living.

Your nightmares were relentless, memories of the fall of the Las Vegas QZ still fresh in your mind despite it happening a decade ago. The explosions that brought the walls down, the influx of raiders and infected alike. The smell of smoke and burning flesh and hair made you choke, forcing you out of bed as you fumbled for your Altoid’s tin on the nightstand.

Joel was asleep when you crept through the living room, good ear pressed into the cushion of the couch as you tiptoed past. The night was cold, Joel’s jacket back on your shoulders as you looked off the porch and pinched the joint between shivering fingers.

It stopped snowing, at least. The sky was cloudy, the moon peaking through sections of the clouds and making the snowy landscape glitter like diamonds. You and Joel would be able to leave in the morning.

A gust of wind made you shudder, the joint slipping from your fingers. It was a scramble to catch it, sending you to your knees. The wooden boards creaked as you tried to grab the remainder of your joint as it rolled. Your fingers just barely missed it, clutching the empty air as you watched it fall through a crack in the floorboards and disappear.

“Fuck!” you groaned, sitting back on your heels. You’d be awake the rest of the night, still feeling edgy and paranoid from your nightmare. You dragged your hands over your face, exasperated.

You headed inside, defeated. Joel’s jacket was returned to its hook as you looked at the way the fire lit up the room orange. The shadows flickered along the walls, sending shivers down your spine as you remembered waking up to the same glow in Las Vegas.

Then your gaze landed on Joel, still comfortably sleeping on the couch. One leg hung off, planted against the floor as his other foot was far over the edge—he was far too tall to be sleeping on the sofa.

You paused, chewing your lip as you stared at him. If you swallowed your pride, you’d be able to sleep tonight. 

It was a hard thing, letting go of your fears. You realized if there was ever an alpha you’d bend to, it would be Joel. Something about him made you trust him, even when he was harsh and rude and distant, you still knew him inside out. 

Part of you knew he was yours, even if you wouldn’t admit it. It was the talk of Jackson, Joel panting at the heels of some young omega like a lost puppy—you heard the whispers. 

You decided to give him a chance.

He didn’t stir as you approached, wondering if you should wake him up or just clamber onto him. The couch was already cramped enough with just him on it.

You tentatively reached out to shake his arm, Joel’s dark eyes opening almost as soon as you touched him. He sat up fast, looking ready to fight as his gaze took in every inch of the cabin. You yelped softly, moving back from him in surprise.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked, voice thick and raspy from sleep as he started to get up. 

“I can’t sleep,” you admitted sheepishly, wringing your hands together in front of you. You felt silly asking him after everything that had happened between you two, but you promised him you’d follow your instincts more. His muscles tensed, you didn’t mean to cause such a commotion, your heart in your throat. “It’s stupid… I-I can figure it out.”

Joel relaxed, the tension in his shoulders leaving as he processed what you said. Your concern made him smile softly, a hand reaching out to curl around your shoulder. “Want me to help you sleep?” he asked, voice low. He treated you carefully, not wanting to scare you off. 

He was honored you were even willing to ask.

You huffed softly, brows furrowing as you nodded. His grin stretched, heart thumping with excitement as he obliged you. He was relieved you were asking, wanting to be a good alpha for you. Wanting to help you. “We can stay out here or go to the bed, up to you, baby,” he murmured, dark eyes focused on you as you considered. 

“The bed,” you mumbled, turning with little fanfare. Joel followed hot on your heels, warm at your back. You were anxious, breaths short and shallow as you tried to calm down. 

It was no big deal. It was just Joel. Your Joel.

You got in first, curling beneath the bedding as you turned to look up at Joel. He was toeing off his heavy boots and taking off his belt, shining orange and yellow in the dim firelight. He looked formidable from this angle, tall and broad like most alphas were.

“You alright?” Joel asked, noticing the trepidation in your gaze. He sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on the old quilt as he leaned a bit toward you. “I can go back to the couch. Don’t want you to feel pressured—I won’t do nothing you don’t want to do.”

You hummed, nodding. “It’s just sleeping, right?” you whispered softly. Your eyes were wide as you looked up at Joel, laying back on the pillow. 

He nodded. “As easy as closing your eyes,” he assured, his drawl thick. 

You couldn’t imagine the luxury of sleep coming so easy, but you nodded anyway. Joel clambered into bed with you, sliding beneath the covers with a sigh of relief. You were sure it felt better on his back than the couch, watching him stretch as he settled next to you.

“Just gotta come here,” he said, looking over at you. You looked so sweet in the dim light, eyes wide and lips parted. He wanted to reach out and pull you over himself, instead he dropped his hand, fingers tapping the top of the comforter in anticipation.

You acquiesced, scooting over to meld into his side. His arm curled around you, occupying the void between your neck and shoulder. Joel was so warm, it felt like you were cuddling with a space heater as you settled into him. His big hand pressed between your shoulder blades, rolling you toward him and tucking your face into his throat.

It was so easy to get comfortable, melting into him as you took in a deep breath. You always thought he smelled so comforting, warm and a little musky. You only ever caught his scent in passing, never concentrated like this.

Joel felt how you relaxed against him, a smile on his face as one of your arms stretched across his chest and your nose pressed into the hollow of his throat. It took you a few deep breaths to completely let go of your tension, the set of your shoulders sagging against him. “That’s it,” he murmured as he rubbed your back.

It only took a matter of minutes for you to feel your eyelids drooping, your breathing slowing as you meld into him. “M’tired,” you mumbled, sounding groggy. Your words were muffled against his neck, lips ghosting over the delicate skin of his throat. 

Joel chuckled softly, fingers lightly curling at the nape of your neck. “I know, baby,” he said. He glanced at you, dark eyes watching how your eyelids got heavier and heavier with every blink. He was surprised you were so willing to scent him, and how fast it worked.

He shifted slightly, bearded cheek pressing against the top of your head as he let his eyes shut. He felt so calm. The fitful sleep he normally experienced eluded him as you both finally drifted off.

—

Sleep became a sweltering, restless thing throughout the night. Dreams took on dark silhouettes, feverish shapes and flashes of light that seared and burned through your veins. You were weightless in the murky water surrounding you, fingers reaching for something. Someone to anchor yourself to.

Joel.

All your senses smashed into one, an explosion as life-altering as the Big Bang. You were a writhing mass of feeling that had you leaning into air heavy with tension and desire.

He was in it with you, just out of sight. You were so familiar with his presence, his smell, you always knew the weight of when he was nearby. Then, all at once he was with you in the dark place.

He was everywhere. The press and slide of heated skin where your bodies met and separated. You called for him, voice catching and dying in your throat before you had the chance.

You were burning from the inside, your spine an inferno as you reached for him in the dark. You knew he would fix it, knew he was what you needed. He would get you through the blaze and onto the other side.

He was a weighted shadow around you. Completely surrounding you, pulling you tight and grounding you to the anchor of his body. He kept you from drifting off into the fathoms of the abyss.

“Joel,” you whispered. You heard him respond to you in turn, the sound of your name like honey on his lips. The press of his mouth to your neck was like napalm and jolted you—

— and you woke with a rattling gasp, lurching where you lay in bed next to him. Sweat was beaded under your arms and around your temples, heat radiating from where Joel’s arms held you to his side.

You were panting into the cool air of the cabin, blinking until the unfamiliar shapes found themselves into focus once more. It was daylight, far past sunrise from the way sunlight was filtering through the blinds.

Your skin felt a size too small. Everything was uncomfortable and itchy as you stirred in Joel’s embrace, lifting your head out of his neck to take in deep breaths of clean air. It still carried his scent, permeating the room throughout the night. The area between your legs ached like a wound, your thighs squeezing together to relieve the throbbing. 

Something made him wake, the air shifted and thickened around him as he slowly blinked into the morning air. Part of him almost surged out of bed, ready to defend and protect. But he understood on first inhale.

The smell of you was everywhere. It was all-encompassing and alluring, filling his senses all at once. Saliva was rushing to his mouth, your scent was an intoxicating thing that had his nerves alight. Desire took hold of him, real and rooted in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

You knew when he woke, you didn’t even have to look at his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you gasped, turning away from him as your hand snaked between your legs to feel the mess of your sex. The predicament you put the two of you into was less than ideal. “I thought we had more time—I didn’t mean to.”

He was relieved. You were still in there, in your own mind enough to talk. His mind was slow to the uptake, blood rushing elsewhere as his thoughts turned over themselves. He was trying to remember from before, trying to figure out what it meant.

A soft heat. A distant memory from a junior high health class sprung into his mind. Not a hard heat brought on by a cycle. A soft one could be brought on by stress or exposure to an alpha, but they are shorter than a hard heat. Temporary. Sometimes a single knotting is enough to pull an omega from a soft heat unlike hard heats that last a week.

Joel cursed. It was too loud in the quiet of the room. His head was swimming from the force of the blood rushing to his cock, painful and aching as you moved away from his side.

“Gotta tell me right now, do you want me to go?” Joel asked, already rolling toward you. He followed the way your arm disappeared beneath the waistband of your sweatpants, your face twisted with both pain and pleasure.

It was a sight he only thought he would see in his wildest fantasies.

You were rigid and panting, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment as you tried to order your thoughts. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of Joel helping you through a heat before. His rough and attentive hands guiding you through it.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cutting into a whine. “You don’t have to—I just, I can do it on my own if I have to.”

The air between you was aflame before Joel kicked the quilt off and turned toward you. The need to give someone, you, what you needed was burning in him. It was a reminder that even after all this time he was still an alpha, he could still do this for you. 

A wet stamp of his lips on your throat made you keen, tilting your head back against the pillow to give him more space. His hand curled around your jaw and pulled you to him, lips smashing together in a fervent kiss. It all felt like it was building for far longer than the last evening, the urgency as you opened your mouth against his was the culmination of nearly a year of pining.    

The kiss deepened, his body tipping into yours and setting his skin on fire. Joel grabbed you with a wide hand, shifting you fully beneath him as his mouth dropped to your throat. He bit down hard enough to make you jolt, hands grabbing onto his biceps.

You were still mumbling into the air, shaking from holding back. Joel took your jaw in his hand and pressed his forehead to yours, his dark salt-and-pepper curls already damp from sweat. “Stop, baby,” he murmured softly, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “I know what you need, I’ve got ya.”

It was easy to give in then, nodding as you both moved together quickly. Joel stripped you of your clothes, tossing them into the room as your fingers fumbled with the buttons on his flannel. You wanted to feel his skin under your hands, trace the contours of his muscles and the shapes of his scars. He was deliciously broad, all realistic working-man muscles–he had never been the flamboyant type.

He couldn’t help but press his cock into the crease of your hip as his nose traced to the curve of your throat, taking in the sweet scent there. His knot ached with the friction, a groan pulled from his throat as he devoured your mouth.

A big hand gripped at your belly and then your hip, positioning you so he could settle between your bent knees. He blindly found his rightful place between them, wide quads pressing against your own. The breath rushed out of him as he reached down and felt your soaked cunt against his fingertips.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Joel breathed against your jaw. You were in a haze, hardly processing what Joel was saying as you whined, lifting your hips to the press of his hand. 

The air was punched out of your lungs as he dipped his fingers lower to collect the slick pouring from you, smoothing the rough pads of his fingers over your clit in swirling motions. His other hand flattened over your belly, holding you down to the mattress as he strummed his fingers over you as carefully as he would a guitar.

“Ohh,” you gasped, letting your eyes fall shut at the feeling as your hips stuttered in his hand. “Joel.” 

It was all you could manage to say, all you could manage to think. His expression made your heart trip, your hands reaching for him without hesitation. Your fingers were still slick from when you’d touched yourself upon waking, petting them over his beard as your hips rolled against his hand.

Joel caught the smell of you on your fingers, his dark eyes flashing. His lips dropped open as he sought your hand, pulling your index and middle finger into the hot, wet confines of his mouth. You whined, brows drawing together as warmth covered your face and neck. Needy, wet licks of his tongue took the flavor right off your fingers. 

He couldn’t help but jolt his hips forward, pressing the hard line of his cock against the back of your thigh. A deep sound rumbled from his chest as he let your fingers drop from his mouth, rocking you with his hips again.

The hand between your legs dipped lower, two thick fingers pressing into you. An urge he couldn’t articulate spurred him on, a sympathetic moan escaping him as he watched your back break on a whine. His eyes nearly rolled back in his skull as he felt the tight press of you around every curve and bend of his fingers.

You were painfully sensitive, already feeling yourself tightening around his digits as your thighs clamped around his forearm. It felt wonderful, transcendental, but it wasn’t enough, not right now. “Joel,” you gasped, hips tilting fervently against his hand, “I need–”

He nodded before you could even finish your sentence. He knew, of course he knew.

There was an ache of emptiness as he pulled his fingers from you, taking his cock in his hand and smearing your arousal over it. His weight pressed down above you as he hitched your thighs over his, nudging his hips against yours. You keened at the blunt press of the head of his cock through the seam of your sex, the wet sound of your lips parting for him loud in your ears. 

He teased you for a few moments, pressing the tip of his cock against your clit to make you whine sweetly. The grin on his face was diabolical, he knew it was mean to keep you on edge like this right now–but he couldn’t resist.

“Joel, fuck,” you groaned, digging your nails into his arms. He got the message, rocking forward to find purchase against you and filling you with a hard slot of his hips. You were wet enough to take him in one go.

You both stilled against one another, panting and holding on as you adjusted to the new sensation. Joel never thought in a million years that he would be so lucky. To have you pressed into the mattress beneath him was a dream come true, making him let out a strangled noise as he dropped his weight to his forearms to press his nose back against your neck.

Your cunt pulsing wetly around him brought the dying man back to life, pulling him in as your pants grew more desperate. He let instinct take over, pupils expanding like ink dropped in water as he set his teeth against the soft skin of your shoulder.

It wasn’t gentle. You didn’t want it to be. Joel grabbed you hard and fucked you senseless, driving you deeper and deeper into the mattress. The repetition of him filling you over and over was merciless, reducing you to mush beneath him as you forgot everything aside from his name. He nipped at your collarbones and anywhere else he could reach, each sharp feeling of his teeth drawing a ragged sound from you as your head pressed back into the mattress.

Joel was completely running on instinct, focused on filling you. To pin you down and knot you deep where you were begging for it. 

The walls of your weeping cunt were starting to flutter around him, spine arching like a bow pulled too tight. He grabbed your hip with a wide hand, forcing you to take him deeper. You were whining, mumbling pleas Joel couldn’t quite understand as your hands spasmed on his arms. He pressed his lips against your neck, stamping wet kisses up and down your throat, licking at your heated skin.

He rutted his hips hard against yours, making shivers run up your spine as you tried to catch your breath. You felt frantic, euphoria clouding the edges of your vision as he worked you higher and higher. Everything in you became painfully tight, a strangled whine coming from your throat as your legs shook and squeezed around his hips.

The pleasure was overwhelming, white-hot and practically making you pass out as Joel hitched your leg up, pressing into you as he grunted like an animal. Your whole body spasmed, cunt clamping down around him like a vise as you desperately tried to stay conscious. 

Joel’s hips bunched against yours, his teeth setting into the junction of your neck. The tease of a claiming bite, just enough to make you whimper. He jerked back away from your neck at the last moment, lifting his weight off of you as his dark eyes squeezed shut. Pleasure was licking at the base of his spine, muscles of his abdomen knitting together.

He groaned, spilling inside you and grinding your hips together. Too caught up in his instincts, his head whipped to the side to bite the calf that rested on his shoulder, teeth digging into the meat of it. You keened, pleasure and pain mixing as he pressed in close as his knot began to swell inside you.

The soft sheets embraced his body as Joel collapsed, his weight pressing you into the mattress as you shared each other’s breaths. Your pussy was still pulsing around him, making him tremble as he panted into your throat. The ache of his knot inside you was satiating, drinking a cool glass of water after a long summer’s day.

You brought his mouth to yours, the two of you shifting so Joel was on his back and you sprawled over his chest. He was greedy, thick fingers snaking between your bodies to feel where you two were joined. A broken sound came from his mouth as he felt how you were stretched around his knot.

You traded breaths and open-mouthed kisses, breeching whatever semblance of a chance at a professional relationship after this. Joel’s big hand pressed against your spine, pulling your belly to his as he nuzzled at your cheek, the curve of the bridge of his nose mashing into your heated skin. His beard tickled your face, making you scrunch your nose on occasion as you stamped your lips to his.

He softened enough to slip out of you, making you whine as he dragged his fingers through the mess between your legs and pressed it back inside your cunt. 

It was his intention to pull away, to go to the living room and give you some space now that you no longer needed him. But you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pressing your face into his chest. Your knees hooked around his thighs, moulding your bodies together as the sun casted stripes across you.

You fell asleep that way, hopelessly tangled as your heart rates slowed and breaths grew heavy.

–

You needed him twice more, waking him up at sunset and in the middle of the night as the moon rose high in the sky. Each time was feverish, you woke him desperately by teething at his throat and pressing your bare pussy against the hard muscle of his quad. It was too easy to press his knot inside you both times, the two of you whispering nonsense to one another as you bedded down, Joel sucking lazily at your breasts before you licked and nuzzled the scoop of his throat.

He felt something terrifying as the moonlight illuminated you after taking his knot for a third time, spend and slick leaking from your puffy, abused cunt as you drifted off. The need to keep you wrapped around his heart like a cage, delirium making him want to hide you away in this cabin with him and never go back to Jackson. 

He blearily reminded himself as sleep closed in that you just were in a difficult situation, he was the only alpha you could have turned to. It was nothing personal.

–

Waking up was a luxurious thing, rest seeped into the marrow of his bones as he stretched in the body-warmed sheets. He was lucky you were feverish enough to keep them both warm through the night, the fire in the hearth long burned out. Sun painted his eyelids orange, a hand scrubbing his salt and pepper beard as he finally opened them.

You were curled at his side, eyes open as you looked out the window. Upon his waking you turned to him, pensive and thoughtful as you took in his expression. You were returned to yourself again, calm without the storm threatening to swallow you whole.

“Thank you,” you murmured, voice thick with sleep as you used his arm as a pillow. The smell of sex and sweat was starting to fade, the evidence only in the marks Joel had sucked onto your throat… and your chest… and your stomach… and your inner thighs. He blushed at how carried away he’d gotten, over a year of hidden-away need manifesting as him greedily taking all you were willing to give yesterday.

“You didn’t have to take care of me,” you whispered, the silence from Joel making you panic. He was just looking at you, his curls sticking up every which way as the back of his skull remained pressed into the pillow. 

“‘Course I did, baby,” he murmured, his Texas drawl even thicker first thing in the morning. He reached out to you, gently squeezing your shoulder beneath the grasp of his fingers. “Wasn’t gonna let you suffer.”

You both stared at one another, neither of you daring to move first as though the dream would fall apart. Joel studied you just as you did him, taking in every twitch of your features as his brown eyes turned molten in the morning sun.

It was impossible to say who moved first. Your hand was on Joel’s jaw as his fingers pressed into your waist, lips smashing together in a fervent clash of teeth and tongues. 

You straddled him this time, giving his aching back a break as you leaned over him and kissed his jaw. For some reason you felt more desperate now than in your soft heat, cupping his cheeks with your hands as you curled your fingers into his beard.

There were no excuses this time, truth revealed in the morning light. No biological need driving either of you together aside from your lust.

Joel’s big palm smacked the curve of your ass, making you squeak against his throat before a giggle poured from you. He grinned, squeezing the plush flesh in his hands as he pressed his lips anywhere they could reach.

“Can I?” you whispered, eyes wide as you pulled back to meet his gaze. You looked vulnerable, as though you thought he would reject your advances despite the fact that his cock was already swelling with arousal. He couldn’t even imagine a world where he could reject you.

“Anything you want, baby,” he breathed, ready to burn the world for you if you asked.

You smiled, relief flooding through you. You didn’t think Joel would push you away, but you weren’t sure. Thank god you guessed right.

You spat in the palm of your hand, lifting yourself up just enough to reach between the two of you and take Joel into your hand. Without the haze of your heat blinding you, you were shocked by the size of him. It was hard to believe you were able to take his knot at all given the swell of him beneath your fingers.

Your eyes widened as you bent your head to look down at your hand. “Jesus Christ, Joel,” you murmured, the awe in your voice making his chest puff with pride. You glanced back up at his face, lips parted as you experimentally stroked him along the entirety of his length.

Joel’s nostrils flared as his eyes closed, pride warming your belly as you repeated the motion. The skin of his cock was overheated and velvet-soft, a quiet moan falling from your lips as you watched his expression twist. Precome leaked down to mix with your spit, the head of his cock flushed–part of you was tempted to ignore the aching between your legs to get your mouth on him.

You weren’t that generous, though.

It took a bit of contortion to line Joel up with you before you were pressing down on him, the two of you gasping in unison at the stretch. There was a twinge of pain, but you were too impatient to let him open you up on his fingers. His hands were iron around your hips, the force of his hold almost bruising.

He could see all of you in the morning light, his eyes tracing up as though he was seeing God for the first time. Joel was mesmerized, watching the bounce of your breasts as you rode him, the slight jiggle of the soft flesh of your thighs and lower belly. Your eyes rolled back in a way that made his heart twist, the roll of your hips making him root deep. 

Your hands pressed against his chest, feeling the long-healed scars by knives as you moaned. Joel’s hands smoothed into the creases of your hips, gripping you tight as he brought you down on his cock, hips fucking up into you.

It took all your focus to stay on top of him, thighs trembling as you dug your knees into the soft mattress. Your breath hitched every time he hit the deepest parts of you, eyes rolling back and mouth lolling open. The pleasure was so overwhelming it was almost painful, making you want to sob above him.

Despite your desperate coupling over the past day, this felt entirely different. This was something new and unknown, your bodies moving together as hot flashes of euphoria drip through your veins. 

Joel was in awe, the feeling of your soaked cunt gripping at him was almost too much to handle as the bed creaked beneath his back. He didn’t even realize how loud the springs were last night, too delirious to care. Each rock of his hips made your body pitch up before he shoved you back down in a dizzying loop that had you both groaning. 

Everything in you tightened as he railed into you, nails digging into his chest as the feeling hooked into you and dragged you toward the undertow. You were at the edge of a cliff, balanced dangerously at the edge of it as you whimpered.

“God, can feel you squeezin’ around me,” he breathed, his voice strangled. He railed into you in a frantic rhythm, brows drawn together as he held you so tight you knew you would be sore.

It only took another one, two, three snaps of Joel’s hips against yours before you fell. You barely were able to catch yourself in time, your orgasm spreading through you like a lighting strike as your muscles convulsed and your cunt spasmed around his cock. He cursed, an arm curling around your back and making your spine arch as he held you against him.

Joel couldn’t get enough of you, the wet squeeze of your cunt felt like a heaven he shouldn’t have been allowed in. He was vaguely aware of his mouth running, your name spilling from his lips as he fucked into you, treating you like a toy for his pleasure as he manipulated your hips.

You took everything he gave you, leaning over him to press your mouth against his. You were moaning against one another, begging in whispers. It didn’t take him long to bring you down onto him and keep you there, teeth gritting and breath stuttering as he pumped you full of him. Joel let out a groan through clenched teeth, sounding like a wounded animal as he forced you into stillness for a few moments before letting go.

The rest was easy, you collapsed onto him as Joel kissed and nosed at your hairline. He scented you where he could, feeling possessive in the aftermath. 

You didn’t talk for some time, communicating through touch as you let bliss keep your bodies bound to bed for a little while longer. But the sun was shining in the sky, the truck bed full of supplies for Jackson occupied the back of your mind as you looked down at Joel, soft and sweet.

“Let’s get going?” you asked, sounding more like a demand than a question. You didn’t know what else to do, lifting your chest from his as the air began to cool your sweat. Your legs were shaking like a colt’s against the floorboards, spend dripping down your legs before you wiped it away with your sweatpants. You would change into jeans for the drive home anyways.

Joel watched you with curious eyes, seeing the way you distanced yourself as you dug through your pack for fresh clothes. He stood, groaning a bit with the effort after spending so long in bed. It was only a few strides to get to you, pressing his body along your back.

“I want to do this your way,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around you and pressing his lips against the crown of your head. “I’ll do whatever you want, just wanna be yours.”

You felt giddy, a smirk quirked the edges of your lips that you tamped down, hands still clutching the sweatshirt and jeans like life preservers. “You mean that?” you asked, leaning back against him. “What if I never let you bite me?”

“Then I won’t bite you,” he said, no hesitation in his voice. He squeezed you once, letting you go and allowing the cold air rush against you once more. “Just think about it, you don’t gotta know now.” 

Joel stamped a kiss along your hairline before leaving the bedroom.

Packing up went quickly, the two of you working in tandem to make sure everything was still bound down and tarped in the back of the truck before clambering in. You watched the cabin disappear in the rearview mirror, already feeling nostalgic as it vanished behind snow-covered pines.

It wasn’t a long drive, maybe five hours if Joel went slow. He was going to go slow, milking every moment he got you all to himself before returning to Jackson. It only took you ten minutes into the drive to slide across the bench seat, lifting his arm to curl beneath it.

“So my way, huh?” you asked, pressing your nose against the canvas jacket he wore. 

Joel chuckled, a victorious grin stretching on his face. “Yeah, your way, baby. You’re in charge.” It felt odd to say, a bit unnatural to give himself to you like that. An alpha bowing to an omega.

You grinned, an arm wrapping around his thick torso and pressing close as he followed the snow-covered road. The landscape sparkled like diamonds, the two of you silent as you didn’t want to break whatever that moment was. 

Unsure of what lay ahead, but excited to find out–knowing it just may be something special.

[mari-positas]

fall into temptation | three

Jackson! Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Reader

series masterlist

summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher’s daughters.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56). several mentions of religion and religious symbols, reader has a father and two sisters, all who come with names, reader gets put into a a very uncomfortable situation, insecurity, anxiety, Seth is an asshole, protective Joel, he threatens to break someone’s jaw which is a warning in and of itself. SMUT. loss of virginity, reader is inexperienced but not totally clueless, oral (both m and f receiving), risky unprotected p in v sex (please wrap it up), lots of praise and pet names (baby, babygirl, honey, you know, the works), Joel gets a teensy bit rough, creampie, hint of aftercare, ends with a cliffhanger, but also not really if you think about it?

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 10k

a/n: it was not my intention to post this on jesus day, but here we are. this took forever and a day considering the second part was posted back in september, but i am so so proud of myself for finally completing a wip i could cry. i did a bulk of the editing while i’ve been sick and in all honesty i probably should have asked someone to beta for me because i think i coughed out like 90% of my brain cells this week, but i think it turned out okay. ish.

Somehow, even over the volume of the live music, you could still hear their hushed, astonished whispers.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Is that Joel Miller with Pastor John’s daughter?”

“What’s she doing holding his hand?”

“He’s got to be at least twice her fucking age—”

Throat bobbing anxiously, you glanced up at Joel.

His shoulders were squared back, his head held high. 

Solid. Steady.

Joel couldn’t seem to care less about the bewildered stares, the judgment that was being flung his way. Not once did he seem to waver. But you?

Oh, you were already starting to crumble underneath it all, on the verge of falling apart right before everyone’s prying eyes. Shame sat heavily inside of your chest, the weight of the feeling suffocating you, making it harder and harder to breathe as it prevented air from reaching your lungs.

It had nothing to do with Joel. Of course it didn’t. It had all to do with you and with who you were. Their beloved preacher’s sweet, innocent young daughter. 

His youngest daughter. 

Suddenly, the whispers were no longer whispers.

“Oh God, she’s not going home with him, is she?”

“That’s not right! Someone should say something!”

“Pastor John would never allow something like this.”

“Poor thing’s naive—she doesn’t know any better.”

Hot, stubborn tears of frustration glazed over your eyes and threatened to spill. It was as if you were a child who didn’t know any better, a gullible, clueless little girl with nothing in her brain who needed to be rescued—saved from the bad, bad man before he did bad, bad things to her.

Had it been anyone else, no one would have batted an eye. No one would have noticed, let alone cared. But it was you that Joel Miller was leaving the bar with in the middle of the night and it was you whose hand he had clasped in his own. That is what made it wrong. That is why it was a problem.

Everyone’s concerns had nothing to do with him at all, they had everything to do with you. You, you, you. You were the sole reason why it was a problem, the reason why he was being perceived as the Devil himself, horns out as he dragged the poor little unsuspecting angel down to the fires of Hell.

“Joel?” Overwhelmed, you instinctively reached for his arm with your free hand. Cold and trembling, your little fingers curled tightly around his bicep, digging into the firm, bulging muscle through the thick corduroy fabric of his sleeve. You whispered his name again. “Joel—”

“S’alright, babygirl,” he reassured you quietly over his shoulder. He gave your hand a comforting squeeze. “S’alright. Just keep your eyes on me, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You just keep on lookin’ right at me, okay?”

Nodding, you inhaled deeply and focused on him. Only him. The broadness of his back and his shoulders. Tufts of hair that curled over the collar of his shirt. Only him. He’s what mattered. He’s all that mattered.

“Almost there,” Joel murmured, squeezing your hand again as the door came into view. “Breathe, baby. We’re almost there. I’ve got you. You’re alright. Ain’t gonna let anythin’ bad happen to you. Promise I’ve got you.”

It wasn’t until his fingers wrapped around the old, brass handle that you finally exhaled the breath you had been holding out in utter relief, though it was very, very short lived. Just as Joel pulled the door open, you felt a hand wrap around your arm. Dry, slender fingers dug into the soft flesh above your elbow as an attempt, and a feeble one at that, was made to tear you out of Joel’s grasp.

The music stopped and the bar fell silent. Everything and everyone came to a sudden standstill, freezing mid dance, mid drink, mid bite, mid gossip.

Shocked, you glanced over your shoulder. “Seth?” you squeaked his name. “What—what are you doing?”

Seth didn’t acknowledge you. His focus was on Joel.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Miller?”

Joel’s anger couldn’t be seen, but it could be felt. So palpable you could have wrapped your fingers around it. It radiated off of him and loomed over the entire bar like an incoming storm cloud. Threatening. Dangerous.

“Where are you taking her?” Seth demanded, his other hand curling around your wrist as he tried, but failed, to snatch you from Joel’s side once more. “Let the girl go! You let her go right now, you hear?”

Caught in between the two men, you nervously turned to look at Joel. Nostrils flared, jaw clenched, seething eyes that did the talking for him. His message was loud and oh so abundantly clear.

If Seth didn't take his hands off you, he wasn’t going to have any hands.

Not after Joel Miller was through with him.

Blazing heat flooded your face. As if it couldn’t possibly get any worse, everyone had now gathered around you to watch the tense encounter, eyes wide, brows raised and jaws practically on the weathered, hardwood floor.

Tommy Miller stood among the crowd, subtly shaking his head, his lips pressed together in a tight, thin line of disapproval as he glowered at his older brother. Would he be looking at Joel like that had it been Esther in your place? If she was the one he was taking home? Would any of this be happening if it was her instead of you?

“Seth.” Uttering his name, you shifted your attention back to him. You sounded calm and collected, despite feeling anything but. Joel’s hand in yours was the only thing keeping you steady and grounded. His touch was the only reason you hadn’t yet spiraled into a state of panic. Clearing your throat lightly, you spoke again and tried your hardest not to waver. “Please let go of me.”

Still fixed on Joel, he spat, “I’ll be damned if I let him take you anywhere.”

“He’s not taking me anywhere, Seth.” Without thinking, the words came tumbling out of your mouth—loud and clear for everyone in that room to hear. “He isn’t forcing me to go with him. I’m making the choice to leave with him. Out of my own volition. Please let go of me.”

Finally, Seth looked at you. His old, worn features were twisted in disbelief. “What?”

You swallowed dryly. Part of you wanted you to shrink away, curl into yourself. Instead, you straightened your posture, forced yourself to stand a little bit taller. Willed yourself to have a backbone for once in your life.

“You heard me,” you said, lifting your chin in defiance. Several onlookers gasped in surprise at your rebellion. Where had this insolence come from? “I’m choosing to leave with Joel. Now, please let go of my arm.”

Behind you, Joel stood silent and still. 

Watching. Observing. Waiting.

He wanted nothing more than to intervene. Rip you out of Seth’s hands and shatter each and every last bone in all ten of his fingers for putting them on you. Had Joel not realized that this was probably the first time in your whole, entire life you’d mustered up the courage to use your voice, he would have easily given into the urge. He wanted to protect you. He needed so badly to protect you. Yet, he knew you weren’t helpless or incapable of standing on your own two feet. He knew you deserved the chance to stand up and speak for yourself after a lifetime of being silenced, a lifetime of being forced to stay in your place, seen but never heard.

“Seth, let go of my arm,” you repeated. It was no longer a polite request. It was a demand.

He scoffed. “Do you honestly think I’m going to let you leave with somebody like him? You think I’m just going to stand back and let him take advantage of you?”

Oh, you hadn’t liked that insinuation, not one bit. 

It caused something inside of you to finally give way.

Snap.

The blood in your veins boiled, ran hot enough to make you feel like you were about to burn from the inside out. “Joel isn’t taking advantage of me! It isn’t like that,” you seethed, furiously. The quiet, well mannered, obedient good girl everyone in Jackson knew was gone. And she could stay gone. In your periphery, you could see Leah elbowing her way through the sea of people to the front of the crowd with an incredulous look plastered on her face. She stood there beside Tommy, who appeared to be just as incredibly bewildered by your outburst. “Don’t treat me like I’m some child who doesn’t know any better! I’m an adult and I’m old enough to make my own choices, okay?”

For a moment, you had forgotten it was Seth standing there in front of you.

“I’m capable of making my own decisions! I don’t need you to dictate my life. I don’t need you to tell me what is and isn’t good for me—controlling what I should and shouldn’t believe in.” Your voice trembled as emotions you’d been suppressing for years bubbled their way up to the surface. Amidst the chaos, you could feel Joel squeeze your hand again, as if silently encouraging you not to lose your nerve. He was your anchor, the only person who could keep your world from capsizing. You knew he wouldn’t let you drown. Not even God, who you had always been forced to believe was your pillar of strength, had ever made you feel this protected. Safe. “I don’t need you to tell me how to live and much less when it’s the end of the world.”

It wasn’t Seth you were addressing.

It was your father.

Your father, who controlled every last thing, from what you would eat to the way that you dressed and how you wore your hair.

Your father, who refused to let you have a mind of your own, who simply could not bear the mere thought of you thinking for yourself.

Your father, whose love felt like shackles, heavy, rusted metal restraints that had been digging into the flesh of your wrists for far, far too long.

“You need to let me go now,” you said, swallowing back the lump in your throat. Once more, you caught Leah from the corner of your eye, your heart lurching in your chest when you noticed her desperately trying to wipe at her eyes with the back of her hand. She was the only person in the room who understood how you felt. Her rebelliousness only ever masked the pain of knowing her father’s love came with terms and conditions—and the fear of knowing what would happen if those terms and conditions weren’t met. For several weeks, you’d gotten a taste of what she went through everyday, how her fear of putting her foot down led her to run around in secret and live a double life. “Just let me go.”

Seth firmly shook his head. “No! I’m not letting you go anywhere with him. I don’t know what the hell he did to you, but he’s clearly got you all fucking brainwashed.”

That was fucking enough. Joel stepped in, lowering his voice as he said, “Y’know, I’ve just ‘bout lost count of how many fuckin’ times she’s asked you to let her go now and it’s really startin’ to piss me off.” Raising an eyebrow, he laid his offer out on the table. “Here’s the deal. You let go of her right now and I won’t shatter your fuckin’ jaw into pieces. That seem fair enough to you?”

“No.” Seth gripped your arm even harder, prompting you to let out a little yelp as his nails dug painfully into your skin. Though it’d been accidental and he hadn’t meant to hurt you, it didn’t matter. He’d just set off the ticking time bomb that was Joel Miller.

Furious, Joel snatched a fistful of his shirt with his free hand—the other still held yours. Gentle, despite being mere moments away from beating someone to within an inch of their life.

“Joel! Stop!” Tommy’s voice broke through the tension as he approached. His footsteps were slow—careful and cautious, as if he was afraid to make any kind of sudden movement. “Joel. Hey. C’mon now, let’s not do this, alright? Ain’t gotta handle things this way. We can talk it through. No need for anyone to wind up bleedin’ in the fuckin’ infirmary tonight, so just take a breath and let him go.”

Blatantly ignoring Tommy’s attempt to keep the peace, Joel tugged Seth forward, yanking him closer. “Listen to me and listen to me good ‘cause I ain’t gonna fuckin’ say it again. You’d best take your fuckin’ hands off her right now unless you wanna spend the rest of the night sweepin’ up your teeth off the floor of your own fuckin’ bar,” he threatened, his tone enough to send a chill up anyone’s spine, even your own.

“You wouldn’t dare, Miller.” Somehow, Seth managed to keep a straight face, but you could see it so clearly in his eyes and in the tremble of his lower lip—oh, he was terrified of Joel and rightly so. “Not in front of all these people. Not in front of your brother. That wouldn’t be a smart move considering you’re already on thin fucking ice for what you did to that boy’s face, now would it?”

Joel tugged him closer. “Test me,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Go on. Fuckin’ test me.”

His challenge was immediately met with a pathetic look of defeat. Seth dropped your arm and he was released.

“S’what I fuckin’ thought.” Without another word to the man, Joel whirled around and roughly pulled the door open, leading the way outside. As you both descended the building’s old, creaking wooden steps, you began to shiver and he suddenly remembered he’d left his jacket behind inside the bar. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “C’mere, my little dove,” he murmured as he tucked you against his side for warmth. “I’ve got you.”

The first thing he did was light the fireplace.

“Should start warmin’ you up, sweet girl,” he’d said to you over his shoulder. He tossed a log into the blaze as you sat perched on his couch rubbing your bare arms with your hands. “M’gonna go upstairs and find you a blanket, alright? You stay put.”

“Okay,” you’d mumbled, knowing there was no point in telling him not to fuss over you.

Even with the soft, fleece throw blanket he had draped around your shoulders and the warmth of the flames in front of you, you continued trembling. Subtle, but he’d noticed it, felt it when he had sat down beside you and pulled you close against his side. “Oh baby, you’re still shakin’?” That was when he realized you weren’t cold. Frowning, Joel rose to his feet and disappeared down the hallway. He came back to the living room a minute later with a glass of water in his hand. With a small, labored grunt, he dropped to one knee in front of you and held it out. “Here.”

“No, thank you.” You shook your head. “I’m not thirsty.”

“Maybe not, but I’m kinda worried you could be in a bit of shock right now,” he stated, the creases in between his brows deepening as he observed you for any other physical signs of distress. Carefully, Joel lifted the glass to your lips, gently coaxing you to take a drink. “C’mon, darlin’. Think you can be a real good girl for me and at least take a couple sips? Hm?”

Sighing softly, you nodded and did as he asked of you, taking a small sip of water. It soothed your dry mouth and throat and you took another one. Maybe you were thirsty after all.

“Little more, now. Little more. That’s it. That’s my good girl.” Once he was satisfied with how much you’d had to drink, Joel set the half empty glass down on the oak coffee table behind him. He turned back to you, placing his large hands on either side of your thighs below the hem of your dress. He started tracing soft, soothing circles into your skin with his thumbs. “M’real proud of you for standin’ up for yourself back there, sweetheart. Took a whole lot of fuckin’ courage to do that, y’know.”

You glanced down at your hands in your lap. “Mhm.”

“Baby. Hey. Look at me.” One of his hands abandoned your leg and he reached up, delicately taking your chin between his thumb and index finger. He tilted your face upwards, his worried gaze meeting your own. “Talk to me. M’right here.”

“That—that was a lot,” you admitted meekly, shoulders sagging as the adrenaline started wearing off and your body slowly came down from the peak hormone rush. “It was a lot.”

Sighing, Joel’s hand fell away from your face. “Yeah, I know it was a lot, babygirl. I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“No.” You were quick to cut him off. “Don’t be sorry.”

His chest heaved with another sigh, this one deeper, heavier, bearing the weight of his guilt. “Well I am,” he said. He planted his hands on either side of you on the couch and lightly shook his head. “Didn’t even fuckin’ think twice when I pulled you outta that fuckin’ supply closet and took your hand in front of all those people. I was so fuckin’ hellbent on showin’ everybody you were mine that I didn’t even stop and think ‘bout what all it would mean for you. It was selfish of me. Real fuckin’ selfish. And I’m sorry, little dove.”

“Do you regret it?” you asked, quietly.

Joel chuckled in spite of himself. “M’pretty sure I’m the one who should be askin’ you that question, darlin’,” he remarked. “Tell me. Do you regret it? Do you regret me pullin’ you outta that closet?” He momentarily paused. There was a stutter in his heartbeat when you dropped your gaze away from his, silence your only reply. “Do you regret me takin’ your hand in front of everyone?”

Of course not.

You wanted to be his and you wanted everyone to know it. There was no regret, none. 

Still. 

The consequences that you would undoubtedly have to face in the morning were overwhelming. Daunting.

Surely, by then, your father would know about you and Joel. When he came downstairs right after sunrise and he discovered you weren’t in the kitchen helping Lydia prepare breakfast, he would question where you were and make some kind of remark about how you should not be sleeping in this late. He would tell her just how irresponsible it was for you to ignore your duties and obligations to him and the family. Sloth was one of the seven deadly sins, after all. He would make her trek upstairs and wake you, and when she did, your sister would find your bed empty.

Meanwhile, there would be a knock at the front door.

No stranger to having members of the congregation show up on his doorstep when they were in need, be it of prayer or comfort, your father would answer it only to find someone, not in need of solace, but who felt that it was their responsibility and moral obligation to inform him that they had seen his youngest daughter leaving The Tipsy Bison with Joel Miller in the middle of the night, hand in hand.

He wouldn’t believe them.

“Now, that is simply not true,” he would say, offended that anybody would have the nerve to show up at his door and accuse you of something so vile. “That’s not possible. I know my daughter and she would never do such a thing. It must have been someone else that you saw with him. Someone who looked like her, perhaps.”

Then, Lydia would descend the staircase and tell him you weren’t in your bedroom. “She must have gone up to the main street as soon as she woke up,” she would suggest with a shrug, not yet privy to the events that had taken place the night before at the party you and Leah had snuck off to. She never had to worry about you, the good one. “I did notice we were running pretty low on eggs. Sugar, too. She probably wanted to be the first in line at the pantry to—Papa? What’s the matter?”

The color would drain from your father’s face when the realization slowly sank in. No, you weren’t out on the main street picking up eggs for breakfast and sugar for his tea. You were lying up in Joel Miller’s bed—defiled, impure, and with the curse of Eve on your flesh. Even after dedicating his entire life to making sure you did not stray from the path of righteousness, he had failed. You had fallen into temptation. 

There was a chance he would have mercy on you. All you had to do was beg and plead for his forgiveness—and more importantly, for the forgiveness of God. “Vow to atone for your sins,” your father would say, his gaze fixed on the Holy Bible in his lap. He probably wouldn’t be able to look at you, not after what you had done. “Repent. And swear to me, child, that you will never so much as glance in that man’s direction ever again.”

No. That’s not what you wanted.

You wanted Joel and the freedom to be with him. 

But that freedom came with a high, high price.

You were willing to pay it, but you’d be lying if you said you were prepared to navigate the consequences. Then again, was there really any way for someone to prepare themselves to be shunned by their own father?

“I can take you home,” Joel offered quietly, the sound of his voice taking you out of the future and bringing you back into the present.

“What?”

“I can take you home,” he repeated himself. “I can take you home right now if that’s what you want, sweet girl. Won’t give you any kinda grief ‘bout it.”

Confused, all you could do was stare at him.

“Listen to me, baby. You mean a lot to me. More than I can even begin to explain,” Joel reassured you before any kind of doubt could find its way into your mind. “I want you to stay with me. There’s nothin’ on what’s left of this fuckin’ earth I want more than for you to stay here with me. But what you want matters to me a hell of a lot more than what I want.” He reached up, lightly stroking your cheek with his thumb. “If you decide you wanna go home and go back to your family—back to your old man—then that’s where I’ll take you. Okay?”

Your father would give you an ultimatum. But Joel? He was giving you a choice. And he’d respect that choice.

“I wanna free you from your cage, my little dove. But I think we both know you’ve gotta make the choice to fly outta there on your own.” He lightly swept his thumb over your quivering bottom lip, his eyes meeting yours as he whispered, “Door’s wide open for you. What you do next is all up to you.”

“I’m afraid, Joel,” you confessed. A tear slipped from the corner of your eye and rolled its way down the side of your face. He was quick to wipe it away, along with the others that followed. “I do want out of my cage. I really, really do. But I’m terrified. All I have ever known is my family and my faith. I have never been apart from my father and my sisters.”

His expression softened. “I know you’re scared. Can’t promise you things will be easy, but there is one thing I can promise you.”

“What’s that?” you questioned, then waited with baited breath.

He gingerly cupped your cheek in his large palm. “I’ve got you,” he swore to you, just like he had done so back at the bar. “If you decide to stay, I promise I’ll take real, real good care of you, alright? For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. You won’t ever have to worry ‘bout a thing with me by your side. Swear it on my life.”

Warmth blossomed in your heartspace and finally, you stopped trembling. Lifting a hand, you curled your fingers around his wrist as your gaze fell to his mouth. “Joel?”

“What is it, darlin’ girl?”

“Kiss me. Please.”

With a gentle nod, Joel’s other hand found your hip, the warmth of it seeping through the cotton fabric of your dress. Leaning in, he brushed his lips against yours. It was a chaste thing, soft and innocent until you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer to you. “Babygirl,” he mumbled against your lips. He deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue through your parted lips and into your mouth. He tasted like bold bourbon and citrus beer. There was a faint hint of tobacco too—you recalled him admitting to you one night in the church house that while he wasn’t all that much of a smoker, at least not like he used to be when living in the zones, he would occasionally partake in the habit if he happened to come across a pack of cigarettes while out on patrol, pairing the nicotine with a drink. He tasted delicious. He tasted delicious because he tasted like yours.

You sank back into the worn, supple brown leather of his couch, tugging him forward so he sank in with you. Over you. Releasing your near death grip on his collar, you managed to wedge your hands in between your bodies and began to claw furiously at the buttons of his shirt, your fingers shaking out of pure desperation to feel him. It wasn’t until you were halfway down that he finally noticed what you were doing and leaned back, catching both of your wrists.

“Baby, wait,” he panted, shaking his head. “Don’t think now’s a good time for that—”

“Joel, please,” you pleaded, the intense ache between your thighs almost too much for you to bear. “Please. I want it. I want you.”

“S’been a rough night for you.” Joel’s voice was hoarse—strained, like he was aching just as much, if not more. “You’re real emotional right now. Vulnerable. Last thing I want is to take advantage of you at a time like this.”

You frowned. Had Seth’s words gotten into his head?

“You’re not taking advantage of me.”

“Darlin’ I just don’t think we should—”

“Joel, please,” you begged him again. “I was so good for you, was I not? Wasn’t I patient, just like you asked me to be?”

His lips thinned into a tight line. He wouldn’t be able to resist much longer. You, his beautiful little temptress of Eden.

“I waited for so long,” you reminded him. “I’ve been so, so good for you. Please, just make me yours already. I don’t want to think about anything else right now. I just want to be with you. Please, Joel. I need you so badly it hurts.”

Christ.

No man could stand it. No man could possibly have the strength to deny you.

With a look of utter defeat, he folded. Before he could say another word or make another move, your greedy mouth was on his, and you kissed him with fervor, with urgency, as you finished the task of unbuttoning his shirt. Pushing it off of his shoulders, the corduroy fabric fell into a crumpled heap behind him, nearly knocking the glass of water off the coffee table. You broke away from him and shamelessly marveled at his mouth watering form—you admired the way miles of smooth, tanned skin stretched over his wide shoulders, broad chest and soft, soft belly. Arousal pooled between your legs and you reached out and raked your fingers down his chest, and over his stomach, going lower and lower, following the trail of coarse, dark hair that led you to his brown leather belt. You clumsily started fumbling with the brass buckle until he caught your hands once more.

“Slow down, my little dove,” he murmured. “No need to rush this. We’ve got all night.” He stood up and held his hand out to you. Time blurred a bit—maybe it was your nervousness mingled with the eager anticipation of what was to come, but there seemed to be a small gap in your memory, a blank space that spanned from the moment you rose off the couch until the moment you found yourself standing in his bedroom where you were about to answer to the call of the flesh.

Dropping your hand, Joel switched on the lamp on his bedside table and kicked off his boots before taking you into his arms. “C’mere, honey.” He nuzzled your cheek with the tip of his nose as he spoke, the scruff of his beard tickling your cheek. “Couple’a rules, sweet girl. I do somethin’ that you don’t like, you tell me. You want me to stop, you tell me to sto—”

Without waiting for him to finish his sentence, you slowly lowered yourself down onto the floor and knelt at his feet with purpose, as if kneeling before an altar, a sacred, holy space. Though you felt anxious, you were eager to worship. “I haven’t forgotten about what I said earlier tonight,” you cooed, noticing the mild look of surprise on his face. “I said I’d make it up to you and I intend on keeping my word.”

All the blood in his body rushed south to his cock and it strained painfully against the crotch of his jeans. “Baby, I—” Again, he was cut off, only this time by the sound of his own groan when your hand brushed up the front of his thigh and over his growing bulge. He glanced down, his heart thrumming painfully hard against his sternum as he watched you reach for his belt buckle.

With all your might, you willed your hands so as not to tremble. It was self-explanatory, what you were about to do, but your total lack of experience sowed seeds of doubt into your mind—you wanted to make him feel good, just like he had made you feel good outside of the church house during services. Just how you knew he would make you feel tonight.

Hand still over his buckle, you pressed the tenderest of kisses to his bulge through his jeans. Then, turning your head, you rested your cheek on one of his thick, blue denim clad thighs and peered up at him through your eyelashes with a small, nervous smile as you confessed what he already knew. “I’ve never done this before.”

Oh, how sweet and endearing you were. Joel reached down and smoothed your hair back and away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “S’alright, honey,” he crooned, grazing the silkiness of your cheek with his index finger. “I’ll walk you through it. Teach you how to be a real good girl and suck my cock just the way I like it. That what you want, my little dove?”

His filth made your cunt clench hard around nothing.

Slowly lifting your head off of his thigh, you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and managed a clear, consenting nod as your hands fumbled with his buckle, the clinking sound of metal ringing loudly in your ears. You undid the button on his jeans and pulled down his zipper, your throat drying when you saw the outline of him, his size intimidating even behind the cotton fabric of his faded, black boxer briefs.

With a harsh swallow, you glanced up at him, silently asking him for his permission to continue.

Such a polite little thing, Joel thought to himself. “Go on, sweetheart,” he encouraged.

You tugged his jeans down to the middle of his thighs and hooked your index fingers underneath the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs, pulling them down and freeing his cock. There was a deep, swooping sensation in your belly as you watched it slap up against the lower part of his abdomen. After many nights of sitting in his lap, feeling him through his clothes, grinding your cunt down onto him, you thought you’d at the very least had an idea of what you would be in for, but oh, how wrong you had been. He was so much bigger than you could have imagined, and your stomach swooped again when you realized he was not going to fit. Anywhere.

Licking away the dryness of your lips, you take him in one of your hands, feeling the heaviness of his length in your palm. He was so long and so, so thick.

“Oh fuck,” Joel hissed the curse through gritted teeth, his hips jerking forward involuntarily as your touch sent a charged jolt of electricity shooting up the length of his spine. He looked down at you, his pupils blown wide with arousal. Christ. You hadn’t even done anything to him yet, but seeing you sitting so prettily at his feet was almost enough to make him come on the spot.

Delicately wrapping your hand around him, you found yourself almost in awe at the way your fingertips barely, just barely, touched. The sheer size of his cock dwarfed your hand, and made it seem so much smaller than it really was.

“You’re so big,” you murmured, echoing your thoughts. You licked at your lips again, suddenly feeling ravenous, an appetite that had seemingly come out of nowhere making you salivate. The tip of him was flushed red, slit already glistening—how badly you wanted, needed a taste. Never, ever, did you think you would be down on your knees for anything but prayer, but there you were, starved and desperate to bite into the forbidden fruit.

“What’re you waitin’ for, darlin’ girl?” he croaked.

“Permission,” you replied, sweetly.

“Go right ahead, baby. S’all yours—I’m all yours.”

Yours.

Yours, yours, yours.

Finding your first push of courage, you leaned forward and so carefully swept your tongue along the tip of his length, collecting the slight saltiness leaking from the slit and getting your first delectable taste. With your hand still wrapped firmly around his base, you looked up, your eyes locked on Joel’s face as you flicked your tongue up against the rigid underside of his cock.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Joel groaned, all of the muscles in his stomach already pulling taut when he felt you dragging your tongue in a slow, purposeful lick along the length of him. “Babygirl.”

“Is that good?” you asked him, sounding hopeful. “Am I doing good?”

“Doin’ so, so fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart. Look so fuckin’ pretty down on your knees for me.”

Pleased, you wrapped your mouth around the head of his length, pressing forward and taking him in as far as you possibly could—which, in all fairness, wasn’t very far. At least not as far as you would have liked. Another groan tore itself from the depths of his chest as your plush, plump lips sealed around him, your tongue warm and wet on the underside of his cock. Moving both of your hands to rest on the sides of his thighs, you began to move your head back and forth, following what felt most natural to you. The nerves you initially felt slowly but surely dissipated, vanishing one by one with every curse, every tremble, every sharp breath.

Joel resisted the urge to buck his hips forward, fought the desire to feel himself at the back of your throat. He needed to be gentle, so careful with such an innocent, pliant thing who had much, much to learn. “Sweet little fuckin’ mouth feels so good around my cock, baby, just like I fuckin’ knew it would. Y’think it can take more of me, little dove? Hm?”

You hummed, the vibration intensifying his pleasure.

“Yeah? Y’trust me?”

Your reply came in the form of a muffled, “Mhm.”

Joel reached down and cradled the back of your head in the palm of his hand. He carefully guided you further onto his throbbing length, slowly feeding you one inch at a time. Your fingers dug into the denim of his jeans. He was much more than a mouthful for you, and you could only take about half of him before he hit the back of your throat, prompting you to gag around him. Drool dribbled out from the corners of your mouth and down the sides your chin, dripping onto your lap.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart. Yeah, that’s it. Little more now, honey,” Joel encouraged. He bucked his hips forward, his head slipping further down your throat. Just when you felt like you were about to choke, he pulled out and you tried your hardest not to cough and sputter as you took in a much needed, precious breath of air. He gave you a few seconds or so to finish catching your breath as he shoved his jeans and boxer briefs further down his legs. He stepped out of the articles of clothing and kicked them somewhere off to the aside, standing before you completely bare. “Open up.”

Your absolute devotion to him bred sweet submission, so as worried as you were that you wouldn’t be able to handle it, you nodded obediently and very willingly did as you were told. 

He guided himself right back into your waiting mouth, pressing deeply. You tried to relax your jaw, reminding yourself to breathe in and out through your nose. Tears streamed down the sides of your face as you did your best to forestall another gag. “Little bit more,” he said, thrusting his hips in a slow, steady controlled rhythm. He advanced even further into your mouth—trusting he wouldn’t suffocate you, nor push you too far past your limits, you opened up wider. He moaned, “Yeah, baby. That’s my good girl. That’s my good fuckin’ girl.”

With a bit of newfound confidence, you hollowed your cheeks and sucked him. You swiped your tongue along the thick, prominent vein on the underside of his cock, earning yourself more of his sweet, sweet praise.

“Fuck, yeah, suck me off, sweetheart. This pretty little mouth was fuckin’ made for sin,” he breathed, guiding your head back and forth with a firm, but gentle hand.

You moaned, the noise muffled around his length. Slick soaked through your panties and coated the insides of your thighs. With another moan, you tightly squeezed your legs together, inwardly reminding yourself that patience was a virtue.

Noticing the way you had shifted, Joel moved his hand from the back of your head, lightly curling his fingers around your jaw. He pulled you off of his cock, a loud, lewd popping sound bouncing off the sage green walls of his bedroom. “C’mere, baby.” He grabbed your arms, effortlessly hoisting you up to your feet.

“What’s wrong?” you questioned him worriedly. “Did I do something wrong?”

Chuckling softly, he brushed a finger along the strap of your dress. You could do no wrong, his perfect, perfect girl. “Of course not, sweet girl. You did so fuckin’ good for me,” Joel reassured you, lightly tracing along your collarbone with his finger and making your flesh erupt in goosebumps. He leaned forward and feathered a kiss onto your lips, murmuring against them, “Are you wet, little dove?”

Before you could even process the query and generate some kind of coherent response, he dove his opposite hand between your thighs, cupping your warm heat in his palm. At this, your weak knees buckled, prompting you to reach out and grab onto his arms to hold steady and keep yourself from falling into a helpless heap on the floor.

“Oh, honey. You’re soaked. That what sucking my cock does to you?” he cooed. He peppered another kiss, this one onto the corner of your mouth. His voice lowered another octave. “Poor little thing. She needs me, don’t she? Needs me to take care of her?”

You whimpered. “Yes.”

“Manners, babygirl,” he reminded you, skimming your cheek with his nose. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, please.”

Humming in approval, Joel withdrew his hand from in between your legs and guided you backwards towards his bed. “Sit,” he commanded gently, bidding you to let go of him. “Arms up.”

Reaching for the hem of your dress, he took great care in pulling it over your head, then discarded the vibrant yellow material over his shoulder, leaving you in nothing but your cowboy boots and thin, cotton white panties. Without a word, he knelt before you and pulled off one boot, and then the other, setting them both aside. He hooked two fingers underneath the elastic waistband of your underwear, coaxing you to lift your bottom off of the bed, just long enough for him to pull them down and slide them down your legs. He was so tender in the manner in which he undressed you.

“Fuckin’ beautiful, beautiful girl,” Joel praised. His dark gaze dragged down the length of your body as you sat before him wearing nothing but the delicate, gold chain around your neck. The holy cross nestled between your supple breasts gleamed in the light of the lamp on the nightstand. He would leave it on until your decision was made, set in stone. “My pretty little dove.”

“Joel.” You whimpered his name, hands curling around fistfuls of his dark blue sheets. You were drenched now, in dire need of some relief. If he didn’t touch you where you needed him most, you would surely lose your mind.

Desperate, you leaned back slightly onto his bed and parted your knees, your folds glistening as you showed him just how badly you needed him.

Joel groaned, almost visibly salivating at the sight. The blazing heat in his eyes sent ripples of desire coursing through your body, straight to your throbbing core.

You opened wider. “Please.”

“Christ, babygirl. Already soakin’ the sheets.” Sliding a finger up along the seam of your pussy, he grazed your clit, the touch light, but somehow still enough to make your hips arch off the mattress as white-hot pinpricks of pleasure danced their way up your spine. He lowered his head and leaned in, your sweet scent drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Just when you were about to start pleading him for more, he dipped his face into the apex of your thighs, his mouth finally, finally, meeting your wet heat.

“Oh!” you gasped, your head falling back. “Fuck!”

Against you, his lips curled upwards into a wicked grin. He’d never heard you curse before, not until now.

Joel took his time devouring you, savoring the essence of your cunt with each broad stroke of his tongue. Sealing his lips around your clit, he flicked the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves over and over again, eliciting from you some of the sweetest noises that he had ever heard in his entire life. In preparation for what you both knew was to come, he pushed one finger inside of you, the invasion causing you to fist his sheets even harder. He then slipped in a second finger, groaning in sheer, carnal bliss at how your walls squeezed them, at the mere thought of them squeezing his cock in the same manner. How was it that you felt so much tighter this time around?

“Oh God.”

You shouldn’t be saying His name. Not like this.

Not when something this sinful was being done to you.

Hungrily, Joel lapped at you, curling both of his fingers in an upwards motion to hit the perfect spot. He knew you were close, felt it in the way that you squirmed and writhed. Draping his arm across your hips, he pinned them down onto the bed, holding you still as he chased your high as if it were his own.

“Joel,” you chanted his name over and over again in a fevered prayer. Releasing the sheets, your hands found his hair, tangling themselves in his curls. Your head fell back, and you cursed at the ceiling of his bedroom. “Fuck, fuck, fuck Joel—”

Pushing onto his mouth, you came, moaning his name so loudly you were certain the whole neighborhood was getting an earful.

Joel pulled back, his beard and mustache slicked with your spend. “S’right, honey,” he crooned, his digits still buried to the knuckle as he helped you to ride out your wave of ecstasy. Eventually, when he pulled them out, you tried closing your shaking legs. He tsked and shook his head, wrenching them open further. “No, no, baby. Keep those pretty thighs open for me. Wanna see her.” He admired his work, his cock twitching at the sight of your pussy, swollen and shining, and ready to take him.

Like earlier, there was another brief skip in time.

Mind still in a haze, you hadn’t even realized that he’d risen to his feet and guided you further up onto his bed, not until you were lying on your back with your head on his pillow and he was hovering over you, his hard length brushing against one of your messy, inner thighs when he settled himself between your legs. 

Your heart began to pound in a mingle of both fear and excitement.

Joel’s eyes met yours. His pupils were blown so wide, there was not one, single trace of brown anywhere to be seen. “Y’absolutely sure about this, little dove?”

Your response came without hesitation. “Yes. I’m sure.”

He pressed a kiss to the underside of your jaw. Your submission was a gift, and he would cherish every last second of your surrender to him, savor it for as long as he possibly could. His lips, soft and warm, skimmed along the column of your throat, leaving a trail of fresh goosebumps in their wake.

If, by some chance, you decided that you wanted to go back to your father and to your faith, Joel didn’t know how he would find it in himself to let you go, not after this. Of course, he would have to let go, though.

The last thing he wanted was to help free you from one cage just to stick you right back into another. While he was no stranger to loss, he had to admit to himself that to lose you would be a knife to whatever was left of his heart.

Shoving the thought out of his mind, he reached down and gripped the base of his cock, pumping it in his fist before running the leaking head along your puffy lips, coating himself in your wetness with the hope it would ease some of the pain you were bound to feel. “Ready, babygirl?” he asked you, lightly teasing your entrance. “Might hurt a bit. M’gonna go slow. Just need you to relax for me, alright?”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got you,” he promised.

You nodded, saying softly, “I know.”

Though he knew he had all of your trust, Joel could still sense your anxiousness. He reached out for your hand, lacing your fingers together with his own as he gingerly pressed forward and eased himself into you, taking the very innocence you had been taught your entire life to preserve, one slow, careful inch at a time.

“Oh—Joel!” You cried loudly at the initial stretch, your pretty face scrunching in discomfort. Tightly slamming your eyes shut, sparks flew behind your eyelids when he finally bottomed out. The burning sting in between your thighs was too overwhelming, almost impossible to cope with. He felt so enormous within you, you could have sworn he was in your belly. Another broken cry fell from your lips and he swallowed it with a comforting kiss.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed against your lips, a thin sheen of sweat coating his brow, neck, and chest. He wasn’t sure where he found the strength, but he suppressed his urge to thrust. Instead, he dropped his face into the hollow of your neck and waited, giving you the chance to adjust to him. He mumbled against your skin. “Doin’ so good for me, sweet girl. Y’know that? You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me.”

Even in discomfort, you preened at his praise.

He squeezed your hand, and after a minute, he gave an experimental thrust of his hips—and then another and another before he ceased his movement once again. He was so big and you were so deliciously full of him.

Eventually, the pain subsided, and you found yourself asking, no, begging for more. “Move.” Your other hand found itself cupping the side of his face, coaxing him to lift his head and allowing your gazes to meet. Your soft, plush thighs parted further to help accommodate the breadth of his hips. “Please, Joel. I need you to move—I need you to fuck me.”

Surely, you would be the death of him.

He drew his hips back with cautious, tender care, then advanced in the same manner to fill your precious cunt all over again. He did it over and over, your pleasured moans encouraging him to begin picking up the pace. He drove his cock in and out of your weeping pussy, the slapping of flesh against flesh, the lewd, wet squelch of you around him inspiring him to fuck you harder, faster. And the noises you were making?

There was something oh so beautiful about your cries, sweet raptures of submission as you laid there beneath him, all too graciously taking everything he had to give you like the good, good, good girl you were for him.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” Joel rasped. “Look at you—look at the way you take my fuckin’ cock, honey.”

And you did.

Glancing down, your gaze fell between your bodies and you watched in awe, openly marveled at the way Joel slid in and out of your cunt, how he knocked hard so deeply inside of you, driving himself as far as he could possibly go.

“Fuck Joel, I’m gonna—” You tried warning him as the pressure in your belly neared its peak, but you tumbled over the edge before you even had the chance to finish your sentence. Arching up off off the bed, you pressed your chest against his, your fingers squeezing his own so hard you feared you might break them.

“That’s it babygirl, let go,” he grunted, speeding up his thrusts. “Squeeze my fuckin’ cock—just like that. Good girl. My perfect, perfect girl.”

You didn’t quite get the chance to let the praise sink in.

Joel pulled himself out of you, and with ease, he flipped you over onto your belly. His hands gripped your hips and pulled them up off the mattress, his fingers moving to firmly knead the fleshiest part of your ass. He leaned over you, the head of his cock nudging at your hole. “Y’think you can handle a little bit more, sweetheart?” he whispered the question into a tumble of messy hair, the delicate scent of the lavender shampoo you used to wash it filling his senses. “Answer me, little dove.”

“Yes,” you replied breathlessly with a nod. “I can.”

With a satisfied hum, Joel sank into you, this second stretch not quite as overwhelming at the first, but still intense. “Relax,” he murmured, hunching further over your quivering back. He pressed a kiss onto the top of your head and then leaned down to brace his hands on either side of you. “Need you to be sweet for me just a bit longer, okay, baby?”

“God,” you whimpered when the heaviness of his balls came to rest on your sensitive clit.

It was the second time you’d uttered His name.

Joel almost grinned at the irony. He found his rhythm, groaning in gut-deep satisfaction with each snap of his hips—each smooth stroke in and each smooth stroke out.

“Oh fuck, sweet girl.” Heaven was indeed a real place, and Joel Miller was buried in it to the hilt, right at this very moment.

He was getting closer and closer.

Maybe it was your eagerness to help him reach his own release mingled with the pride you knew you would feel once you did that gave you a second wind, a fresh, new burst of energy. You planted your hands firmly on his pillow. Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you curved your spine and pushed back onto Joel with purpose, meeting his thrusts halfway as you rode his aching length to the satiation that waited for him at the end.

“There’s my girl,” he rasped. “Oh fuckin’ Christ—”

No way he could live his life without you now.

He needed you.

He needed you so much more than you needed him.

Joel slipped an arm around your shoulders, across your chest.

“Oh!” you gasped as he then yanked you back, pulling you flush against him. The rough crash of your back against his chest, combined with the angle in which he was fucking you knocked the wind out of your lungs.

His lips were at the shell of your ear. “Stay,” he panted, his breath hot against your cheekbone. He wrapped his other hand lightly around your throat. Relentless, were his hips now—his movements had become frantic. Desperate. “Stay with me, baby.”

Even as you fought to catch your breath in the position he had you in, you picked up on the fact that he wasn’t asking you of it, nor was he demanding you of it.

He was begging you.

Him, the most feared man in this town. Begging you?

“Joel,” you choked.

“Please, my little dove,” he pleaded, turning your head towards him. His mouth was then on the corner of your own, his beard roughly scratching the soft and delicate flesh of your cheek. “I need you, babygirl. Stay with me. Please, just fuckin’ stay with me.”

Your hands curled around his wrists. “Yes, I’ll stay,” you moaned. “I’m yours, Joel. I’m all yours. I—I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’ll stay with you.”

A low, guttural sound rumbled through his chest. Joel firmly took hold of your cross, and without so much as a warning, he ripped the chain from around your neck and tossed it somewhere over his shoulder. He heard it land on the hardwood floor with the tiniest, faint clink the moment he spilled into you, ropes of warm release coating your fluttering walls. Curses and groans spilled from his lips and into your neck. Your cunt clutched at his pulsing cock, greedy for every last drop of his spend she could get.  

Once you were filled, you both collapsed beside each other on the bed, heaving to catch a steady breath.

“Y’okay, sweetheart?” Joel managed to ask, his chest still rising and falling rapidly.

Exhausted, all you could do was nod and utter, “Mhm.”

He exhaled an amused huff through his nose. “C’mere.” He reached for you and pulled you against his side. He draped an arm around your shoulders, holding you as close to him as was possible. “Y’did so good, honey.”

Your mouth curled into a small, contented smile.

Several minutes had passed by, and despite telling him that you were too tired to even think about moving, Joel made you get up and use the bathroom, and while you did so, he ran a clean washcloth under warm water. “Here, darlin’. Let me clean you up,” he’d said, his lips meeting your forehead in a loving token of affection before he sank down onto one knee and ran the damp cloth along the insides of your thighs. He took extreme care when he wiped at your swollen folds, knowing you were still sensitive to the touch. “There we go. All done, now.”

Not long after, you were both back in his bed, wrapped up in his sheets.

Yawning, you nuzzled into bare his chest, your eyelids feeling heavier and heavier with each and every second that ticked by. You’d started drifting off when you heard his voice.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” you answered sleepily, eyes still closed.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“Mean what, Joel?”

There was a brief pause. “Y’know, when you said you’d stay with me.”

Snuggling closer to him, you mumbled, “Mhm. Of course I did.”

“S’not gonna be easy,” Joel murmured into your hair.

“I know.” You yawned. “But I have you.”

“You do. You’ve got me—and I’ve got you, babygirl.”

“Mm. I know that too, Joel.”

You felt him kiss the top of your head and then fell fast asleep in his arms.

The sun bloomed over the Grand Tetons.

Your father would wake soon, that’s to say if he wasn’t up already.

The nerves began to set in.

Joel must have sensed it. “Breathe, baby. S’gonna be okay,” he soothed, squeezing your hand.

With one of his warmer, heavier jackets that normally didn’t see the light of day until winter season draped around your shoulders, the two of you made your way down the road and towards your house. Or better said, towards your father’s house. Because after what you were about to do, that yellow and white cottage would no longer be a place you could call home.

He led you up to the porch. “Y’sure you don’t want me to go in there with you?” he asked, quietly.

You could have laughed. You almost did.

“Do you believe that to be a wise choice?”

“No, I reckon it ain’t the best idea,” Joel admitted with a sigh, raking his free hand through his unkempt, salt and pepper hair. He looked up at the house, then back at you. “Look, little dove. No matter what happens in there, just know that everythin’ will be alright. M’gonna take care of you. For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. I’ll try my hardest to be everythin’ you need.”

“You already are, Joel,” you said, your gaze earnest.

His chest swelled with warmth.

Truth be told, Joel didn’t know how he had managed to defy the odds—how he, of all people, had managed to make his way into that sweet, innocent, beautiful little heart of yours, but somehow he did, and he would not take this responsibility lightly.

He brushed your lips with his and promised, “Gonna be waitin’ right here, okay?”

“Okay.” Inhaling deeply, you willed yourself to let go of his hand and took a step back. You then started up the porch steps on wobbling legs. When you made it to the top, you glanced over your shoulder at Joel, who gave you a subtle nod of encouragement. Exhaling slowly, you reached for the knob with trembling fingers and turned it, opening the door. You stepped inside, your heart dropping into your stomach when you saw your father sitting there at the foot of the staircase, as if he’d been waiting for you. He had been waiting for you. Fully dressed, he sat on the second to last step with both hands folded on his bible in his lap, a rosary clutched between them. “Papa?”

He said nothing. Instead, he silently observed you—his eyes glazed over the men’s jacket and the short dress you wore underneath it, the disheveled, loose hair and kiss swollen lips. Your holy cross nowhere to be seen.

“Papa.” You swallowed harshly and shifted your weight anxiously from the heel of one boot to the other. “We, um—we really need to have a talk.”

He peered around you, catching a brief glimpse of the man standing outside, waiting for you at the foot of the porch.

He cleared his throat, lightly. “Yes, child. I suppose that we do.”

Nodding tightly, you turned around and slowly closed the door. Joel’s words rang in your mind over and over, giving you the push of strength you knew you would need.

I’ve got you.

divider credit goes to @saradika 🤍

[millerscoffee]

Hello!! 🤍 I was wondering if you could write something where Joel is the reader’s college professor, and then Prof. Miller INSISTS that reader comes over to his home for tutoring assistance, (because of failed tests or bad essays), and then finally coaxes her into letting him have his way with her.

hi nonnie! here it is! i hope you enjoy 💖

extra credit

6.2k | joel miller x afab!reader (professor!joel au)

rating: 18+ MDNI

warning: professor!joel au, age gap (joel is 46, reader is 21), soft!dom joel, pining, consensual sex, pet names (darlin', doll, baby), oral (f receiving), face riding, fingering, piv (unprotected, wrap it folks), squirting, joel spitting over the reader's ass for 0.5 seconds (OOPS IDK???), a pretty dress with easy access, hints of after care, spoiler: honestly prof. miller could've told reader to just do the paper in a different format but – that's the point 🤭

When you picked your major, English was a necessary credit needed to achieve your goals.  It wasn’t your strong suit, but you weren’t one to quit just because you were bad at it.  So far you were coasting through, getting a mix of good and bad grades in your English Lit class when the last essay before finals was presented.

Among the crowd in Professor Miller’s lecture hall, you typically sat in the front.  He hands out papers, hovering by your desk.  Giving you a look of disapproval, he places the grade face down.  You peel the pages in anticipation, a sense of dread falling over you when you scan the big, red mark of failings.  “Shit,” you say to yourself.  That was it.  That was the grade that was the defining factor of whether or not you had to retake this course.  You use the side of your hand to wipe sneaky tears in falling.  You failed.  Doing your best to keep it together, you’re not sure you even heard the rest of the lecture from the possibilities running through your mind.  What were you to do?  How would you recover?

Class was over before you knew it.  The sounds of bags zipping and feet stepping, you stayed seated until you were able to look over to Professor Miller.  Dressed in black slacks, a brown button-up with leather shoes.  His hair was slick, the slightest bit of salt and pepper patched at his sideburns.  He looked like he had it all figured out, and that struck a nerve.  A feeling of jealousy that he knew what he was doing, and you obviously did not.

Professor Miller calls your name when the class is emptied, and you sniffle, standing up to straighten your skirt.  Your manicured nails pick up your essay as you walk over in an attempt to hand it to him.  “I guess you want this back,” you hold your full bottom lip between your teeth.

“Did you read the material?”  Professor Miller inquires, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.  His voice is so dark and honied in comparison to his scowl.  Proving not to judge a book by its cover.  The irony.

“Well, I did, but… I struggle with this stuff.  Predicates and imagery?  I’d rather be learning about biology.  But I need this course, you know.  And I…,” you swallow hard.  God, the last thing you want is to embarrass yourself in front of your teacher.  He doesn’t know you, out of the hundreds of people he teaches – how could he possibly even remember your name?

“Hey,”  Professor Miller takes his glasses off, putting them on the table.  He looks as concerned as you are over it and crosses his arms.  Keeps his distance.  “It happens, you know.  There are things we can do to accommodate.  You’re very bright, I’d hate to see you fail.  You have options.  I can’t let you rewrite the paper, but I could tutor you for your final.  Another option is getting a student tutor, but it’s rare.  You know the workload of this university.  Not a lot of people are willing to sacrifice their precious time.”

“And you are?”  You look up at him with grateful, bright eyes and he loves it.  The praise just from your stare alone is cause for him to clear his throat.

“Listen, for someone like you, I believe it is important to help.  You just need a little more time understanding what you’re doing, is all.  I’m not in my office for the rest of the weekend, though.  You’d have to come by my house…,”  he watches those pretty eyes widen again, and that makes a smirk fall over his greying features, “if that’s okay, of course.  If it’s not, we could work something else out.”

You think about it.  You’ve never had a teacher invite you over, much less someone who looked the way he did.  Though, that was neither here nor there.  His lips formed words you couldn’t even pay attention half the time in hearing.  Maybe that was part of the reason why you were failing in the first place.  But you needed to pass, and if he could help you – and was so kind enough to do it in the first place, you should jump at the first opportunity.

“Okay.  Is there a particular time you’d like me to be there?”

“Are you busy tonight?”

What the fuck. That makes your heart race.  Tonight?  Tonight?!  Ton–

“Tonight… tonight is good.”  How did you even form the words?

“Perfect,” he started, bending down to write his address on a sticky note – his cologne wafts in your direction, and you clamp your legs shut reflexively.  “Here’s my address.  7 o’clock.”

“Seven.  Okay… thank you, Professor Miller.”

“Please, call me Joel.”  His teeth gleamed in a smile, and his personality shined through it.

A personality you didn’t get to see too often from your position behind a desk.

Shit.

---

According to your phone, he didn’t live very far from campus, and you were able to walk to his house without breaking too much of a sweat.  You decided on a black dress, although it was a casual one, that paired nicely with your sneakers.  It had buttons down the front with a relaxed collar.  Your bag slung over your shoulder when you knocked on his door, a nervousness fluttering in your stomach.  It was such a weird thing, meeting your professor in his home.  Much less having him request you call him by his first name.

Your knees all but buckled when you saw him on the other side of the door.

He looks… young in his jeans.  His t-shirt stretched over the broadness of his shoulders, but it’s still loose enough that it doesn’t look ill-fitted.  His stomach, soft at the bottom.  You flash him a smile, but internally you’re reeling over how casual he looks.  You’d never seen him like this, not even during those school meetings that were informal.

“Hey, you,” he’s bright, too.  Charismatic as he invites you into his home.  Takes your bag, lets you take your shoes off until you’re in your socks.  His words hit your stomach, how easy it is for him to talk to you like you’re the brightest sunflower.  What’d you even do to deserve it?

“Hi, Prof– uh, Joel,” you titter, taking in the curated decor of his home.  It was sophisticated, yet a little cheesy at the same time.  His alumni cover his walls and a mix of pictures.  Some with a couple of young girls you assumed were his children.  He has children, you swallow.

“Wasn’t too hard to find this place, right?  When I moved here, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t too far – not much of a mornin’ person,” Joel laughs and you do, too.  Fuck, this feels so easy.  But it’s nothing – it’s nothing.

What you don’t pick up on right away is his open body language.  He places your bag on his couch and you follow him like a puppy – he likes that.  You look so soft under the sienna hue of his lights, your hair falling into place naturally.  Plump and ripe for the taking.  Of course, he meant it when he said he’d tutor you, but the air got thick the moment the door was shut behind the two of you.  What were you doing to him?

Joel’s large frame walks over to his bar cart, turning on his heel to face you, “Interested?”

“Huh?” You blink and he laughs again at your deer caught in the headlights expression.  You’re cute.

“Do you drink?”

“Oh, uh… water would be nice.”

“Water it is,” Joel’s pleasant, gesturing his hand for you to follow him.  And you do – that puppy he was coming to know, right to his kitchen.  You study the marble countertops, the farmhouse style kitchen sink.

“So, tutoring,” he starts, taking a glass from the cupboard, he fills it with filtered water before handing it to you – you thank him with a nod, “I was thinking we could look at your paper, and then go over how to fix things in the future?”  When you take the water from him, your fingers graze.  The first sign of contact, your head continues to nod unthinkingly, but all that scorches your mind is how his skin feels.

“That sounds good,” you overcompensate, shoving the ideas from your mind.  He was your teacher, and it was easy to get back into the mode of why you were here.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change much, still the same grin with hooded eyes and wrinkles at his forehead.  The two lines between his brow.  “Alright, well I have it on the coffee table.  Let’s get settled on the couch, and we’ll get started, okay?”

So you agree.  You take your glass of water and follow him back to the couch where everything was set up – your paper, his laptop.  All of the correction marks in your face as you sit down.  You take another sip of water before placing it down on the coaster.  You dread it, you really do.  Going over your failures?  You scrunch your nose up to yourself, but Joel notices when you’re both settled on the cushions.

“You know, Voltaire said, ‘perfect is the enemy of good’,”  Joel bends his knee on the couch, thigh pressing into the cushion to turn to you and it causes the couch to shift.  The quote makes you giggle a little to yourself, and you shake your head.  “What?” His eyebrow quirks in curiosity.

“Voltaire also popularised the story of Newton’s apple, doesn’t make it true.”

“Huh…,” Joel trailed off, keeping his eye on you – his tongue skating over his bottom lip in thought.  You were so quick all he could really do was laugh, and that made your shoulders relax.  Makes you feel more in control and comfortable to laugh at yourself.  “You got an answer for everything?”

“Not everything.  See this,” you pick up your paper, thumbing over the ink of corrections the man on the couch made and you shrug, “I don’t really understand why this got marked wrong.”  Joel’s gaze flashes over your mouth when your teeth press into the plushness of your bottom lip – he should be given some damn award for having so much self control around you.

“Wrong format.  This citation works for your research papers, right?”  He nods with you before leaning in closer, that damn cologne coming back in full force just like earlier in the day.  You all but freeze when his warm touch graces you again – this time, fingers tracing over where you’re holding the paper.  “Oh,” your voice is soft, a bit of disappointment pangs at your ribs.  You were so busy you didn’t even realise that was the majority of the issues you had.

“So… it’s not really what I wrote, it’s how I wrote it?  You asked if I read the material?”

“Exactly.  If you read the syllabus, you’d see the required format.  Listen, there are some ways for extra credit, I do think this is salvageable.”

You suddenly feel silly.

You did all that work, Professor Miller was kind enough to let you into his home, and it was all for some redundant formatting.  An open palm curls over your chin as you look at the paper in deep contemplation.

“I really fucked up,” you say, hushed in the space.

“You didn’t fuck anything up,” you manage an exhale of amusement at the sound of your teacher curse.  You shift your gaze to look at him.  The curls at the nape of his neck, the way his t-shirt dropped enough so you could see his neck, his chest.  The freckles that splayed over his aged skin.  “You just needed someone to tell you what to do.”

That was the loaded statement.  And a pointed one, it seems.  Someone to tell you what to do.  And Joel wanted to be that person?  Your eyebrows raise for a flash, thumbing over the paper.

“That would be too easy,” you scratch at your neck idly before going for the glass of water, sipping in contemplation. “...I mean, I should’ve known better.”

Joel takes the glass from you, offering himself a sip of your water and it stuns you speechless, doing your best not to convey it.  Maybe he did that just because this was his house.  That must’ve been it.  He was comfortable, but goddamn – the eye contact he gave you when he swallowed the liquid.

It felt intentional.

He watches your features, vague as they were, in what to do next.  He honestly wasn’t so sure what he was doing either.  What?  I know how to give you extra credit, sweetheart.  Too forward, too boastful, too… cheap.  You deserved better than that.  He saw you in class, how hard you were on yourself.  He talked to your other teachers, how well you were doing in your other classes.  He felt for you.  And he was a bit lost in your eyes.  You were all too pretty, too brilliant to be dimmed down to a fuck for extra credit.  Joel could see that.  He wasn’t even sure what he was thinking, you had him distracted.  You threw him off without even trying.  The plight within him grew stronger as he handed back the glass.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Joel straightens up, his hand cups over your forearm in a way that’s understanding, but also makes goosebumps rise.  You look down to see where you connect and he pulls away slightly.  “Sorry, I–,” “No, it’s okay,” you agree, “It’s okay.  You’re right.”

“It’s just, I see hundreds of bright, beautiful young people every year, but none of them have stood out to me like you.”  He can’t believe the words that are coming out of his mouth.  The candor, the nerve.  A filthy old man, that’s all he was in the eyes of someone as sweet and innocent as you were.  Even if you happened to be experienced – god, what was he thinking?!

Joel clears his throat, shifting a bit in his seat, but he sees the way your lips part, but your eyes don’t show an ounce of shock or distain.  They look soft, and… willing.  You know that is because the pull at your core feels too strong to think of anything else.  You look down at his left hand, making sure you’re not dreaming.  He’s not married?  You’d casually look at his hands from time to time during class and ignored the ache it gave you, but this?  So close?  Backed by the glow of his house?  It was so different from the boys you were used to.  In their dorms or disgusting apartments.  It smelled as nice as it looked.  You realise you’re not speaking, but the way you lean into him says more than you really ever could.

“I don’t know what to say,” shyly, you touch your knuckles to your cheek, “you should teach the guys that go here how to chat with someone.”

It’s a mutter, but not to yourself.  You drink one more mouthful of what you were offered before putting it back on the coaster.  Honestly, any distraction was welcome to defer from the ever-present density in the room.

“Those guys don’t know what they’re talkin’ about anyway.  I know I didn’t at that age.”

There.  The topic right in front of both of your faces.

“How old at you, anyway?”  You inquire, thumb mindlessly circling over your knee.  Joel tracks it, licking over his lips as he answers.  “Forty-six.  You?”

“Twenty-one.”

Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck.

There’s this standstill, as if you’re both in the air together looking at each other in slow motion.  How will this land?  What are you both even doing here like this?

“I’m sure your boyfriend takes good care of you,” Joel’s eyes, round and bright brown, get lost in yours – the way your breath hitches, the shift of your thighs on his sofa.  He wondered what you tasted like, what sounds you make when these boys who don’t know what they’re doing with their tongue attempt to eat you out.  Do you fake it?  Do you give it to them straight?  Neither of you had a drink from that bar cart in the corner of the room, but somehow you’ve become closer – and more intoxicated.

“Don’t have one,” you respond softly, orbs flickering to the set of plush lips that grow more red the longer you let the tension build, “what about you?  N-no partner?”

Your attempt in confidence wavering the longer he stares at you.  It’s like staring back into the sun and you have your brows knit together until the tug of muscle makes your forehead hurt – smoothing them apart with the twitch of muscle fibers.

“No partner,” Joel’s hand settles on your thigh and you can’t hold it back; you gasp.  But you do something he doesn’t anticipate, or well, you don’t do something: you don’t pull away.

How did you two get to the topic, anyhow?

How did you end up straddling his lap, for that matter?

It’s within six eager seconds that his hand, hot and rough, touches your soft skin, and you – green, you – fervent, throw all inhibitions aside and lunge.  It’s more fluid than you realise, and his hands (both now) grip the backs of your bare thighs and you whimper at the sensation of him squeezing you.  Your wetness against your cotton panties grows from the kneading alone.  No, absolutely not, the boys back in the dorms didn’t know how to do this.

It takes an even shorter time for your mouths to meet.  He’s first to kiss, and he tastes like coffee and his dinner, and the faintness of a cigarette – maybe early in the day?  You couldn’t tell, your head was swimming too deep in now to come back from.

And although his calloused fingers roll patterns into your soft skin, he’s just as willing.  Just as desireful and you can feel it beg to be set free at the seam of his jeans.  His tongue skirts against yours, hips rolling up the second yours tempt to roll down; causing you both to moan in each other’s mouths.

It gets feverish after that.  All teeth, tongue, bite.

You don’t want to stop, you don’t want to take a moment to breathe because fuck, that could stop things.  That could make him realise what is happening.

But that only is another item to your list of naivety.

Because Joel, he’s ready.  His masculine arms wrap around your frame to lift you up just enough so he can get out of his fucking jeans that he now regrets wearing.  Shoulda been wearin’ sweats, but it’s effortless… eventually.  He hurriedly pushes the thick fabric down until they hit at his thighs and you’re pushed down onto his boxers that – holy fucking shit – leave nothing to the imagination.  “Joel, J-,” you pant between kisses, fingernails digging into the base of his neck, he pauses.  Pulls away, gets a good look at your face.

“Y’want this?” And goddamn, you can’t see yourself, but you imagine you look just as fucked out as he does.  On the cusp of every little fantasy he’s had about you from the moment you sat down behind that desk.

“I want this,” you repeat.  You weren’t sure exactly when the nerves subsided, maybe because all of the blood is now rushed at the apex of your thighs, but you mean it.

You want this.  You want Professor Miller.

“You got me,” his breath dances over your lips before guiding you back a bit, “here… I’m going to lie back, I want you to– I’ll show you.”  Your lips quirk up at the fact he’s so flushed he can’t even finish his sentence.

But that soon turns to you flushing when you realise his request.  “I – what?”

“No?”  Joel sits up on his elbows, looking over to you and you’re worried you’ve killed the mood.  It’s just, straddling his face?  Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“I’ve never done that… What if it’s bad?”  His eyes, reassuring, but a deep shade of black now beckons you.

“Darlin’, I think you’ll be a natural.  But I can teach you, if that’s what you want.”

You swallow, straddling his knees somewhere at the bottom of the couch and you think about it.

Joel, on the other hand, was living in a fantasy of teaching you things in and out of school.  Showing you how to make yourself feel good on his mouth – make you forget all about the essay that caused you grief today.  He leans over, pushing it under the couch out of view for good measure.

“Okay,” you agree, though nerves still flood you.  “Okay, you wanna take your panties off?”  You lick your lips at that, biting back another whimper that brought you to this predicament in the first place.  And you did – you wanted nothing more than to slip your underwear off and give into your pleasures.  His voice was deep, graveled with the prospect of him fucking you senseless on his couch and who were you to deny him that?

Who were you to deny yourself that, more importantly.

“Yeah,” doing as you say, you slip off your lace-trimmed undies and abandon them somewhere on your Professor’s floor.  “Fuck,” you mutter.  This was naughty.

“Already so good for me,” you weren’t even sure that Joel’s voice could get deeper, or more inviting, but it does.  You bite your lip and oblige when he pats his chest.  Going over to him, you straddle just above his broad shoulders, and he’s almost out of view with him like this – somehow making it easier to just feel what he could do to you.

Joel on the other hand?  All he can do is see the outline of your glistening core from the shadowed tent you’ve made of your dress and his groans are muffled slightly from the fabric, “Fuckin’ Christ,” he wants to devour you, but he takes his time instead.

Peppers kisses along your thighs that make you claw the armrest, causes you shiver at the contact and you can’t believe this is happening.  “J-Joel,” you hesitate, but his hands are wrapped around your hips now, fingers digging into the breadth of your ass.

“Sit.”  Joel commands.

Oh, fuck.

You’re almost certain you’ll break skin at your lips from biting down so hard, but you do as you’re told.  Anchoring down, it’s subtle at first – the brushing of his facial hair against your folds, his chin prying you apart.  Then, it’s incredibly palpable.  His lips are the first thing you feel as they press and kiss over your middle and as you shudder it only makes your muscles sink deeper on him.  You’re the first to moan, and then Joel, and his mouth is open when he invites you inside it.

“Oh, my god,” thighs shaking, Joel flattens his tongue under the hood of your clit, a body part you were certain hadn’t been touched by anyone else but yourself.  There was no time to compare, the white hot pleasure coursed through your veins and he took his time with it, too.  Made sure he was teasing you, his tongue dipping inside your entrance, as sloppy as it felt.  “Hmmn,” you can’t speak, forearms resting on the armrest now as your head hangs between your shoulders and his fingers make pliable work of your asscheeks.  Pushing you down, using your hips to move back and forth against his mouth – like he’s using you while you use him.

The air is thick under your dress, sticky and humid, as Joel swirls this tip of his devilish tongue in the most astonishing circles you’ve ever experienced, and you know it’s because he has more experience than you do.  Has so much to teach you, if you let him.  Your mouth hangs open as you try to inhale, but it’s just too much.  Especially with the way he thumbs into your stomach, then your pubic bone – lifting it just slightly to expose your clit to him.  An angle, not even you have found yourself.

It almost feels like too much.  It’s intentional, the way his tongue flicks over that bundle of nerves right at the top of your cunt.  Delicious, deliberate.  Two fingers greet your entrance and it startles you, the way he’s rubbing your hole with his two fingers in slow circles before pressing them where you want them most.

“Tell me you want it,” you hear, muffled and fucked, and you shiver at the slightest bit of lack of contact.

“I want it, I want your fingers – please!”

And that seems to send him over the edge of how much he’s willing to hold back because he’s exactly where he was.  Mouth on your clit, but fingers skillfully pressing inside of you and you don’t know how long you’ll last.  Not with the pads of his fingers tapping in the perfect tempo against the ridged spot inside you.

That’s when a weird sensation comes over you.  A pressure, you felt like you had to pee and your insides pulled in more trying to keep it all contained.  “I–,” you start, but it happens so suddenly.  Your orgasm rushes through you, convulsing and almost falling over the edge of the couch, you dig your fingernails into the upholstery.  Your eyes roll back, and fuck, so are your hips.  Unable to stop yourself using Joel’s mouth to keep you exactly right there.  Pleasure pricks your skin, it feels like every cell is ignited – but you jump when you feel a rush of fluid come out of you.  The pressure rebounding out, then rippling pleasure back inside you.  Joel fucks you with his tongue and fingers until he feels you calm down.

“W-what, what… did I do?” You pant, and Joel is groaning, too.  He lifts your hips to get lungfuls of oxygen, so dizzy on you and you notice how soaked his pair of fingers feel on your skin.  Sits you down on his chest and you can see his face finally.  Can see his mouth parting, gasping as his eyes are hooded and so gone.  Curls stick to his forehead, his shirt a dampened colour at the collar.  You blush heavily, embarrassed because you aren’t even sure what that was.  Did he hate that, was that weird?

“C’mere,” he growls with gritted teeth and sits up, the tables turning instantly.  Joel’s stripping his shirt off, kicking every last bit of the bottom half he had on to be abandoned on the floor.  His fingers remove the buttons, but he can’t really get them – those fingers too big for the buttons.  “Here,” you whisper, an intense feeling of lust falling over any self-conscious self talk you had.  You undo the top of your dress one button at a time until your breasts are released from your bra – you moan when he has no problem spilling your tits from the satin, nipples in stiff peaks from your orgasm.  And everything else.

“You know what you did?”  Joel asks, taking both of your nipples between his fingers from each hand.  You moan, lifting your hips and he bites his lip when he sees your cunt front under your dress.  “What was it?”  You ask, curiously.  Innocently.

“You squirted f’me, baby,” he slurs, thumbing over your clit now as he gets a good look at you and he’s drunk on you.  His cock throbbing against your thigh, he taps it against your skin before realising what he needed.

 “Fuck,” Joel mutters and you can tell by the tone it’s not just at your appearance.  “What is it?”  You inquire, eyebrows knit.

“Gotta get a condom,” you hear him mutter, getting onto one foot and you stop him.  “No.  No.  I want to feel you.  It’s okay, I don’t get pregnant–” well that sentence isn’t exactly how you mean for it to come out, but your mind is mush, your body feels boneless underneath him, and he chuckles at that.  At how gone your brain is.  Here he was, thinking he was the only one.  “Okay, okay, darlin’.  I believe ya.”

And really, maybe he should be using more discretion.  But he can’t get the feeling of you out of his head.  You were everywhere.  His mouth, his glistening chest and beard.  He takes you by the hips then, sitting back to flip you on your hands and knees with your help and you moan at the sensation.  Joel looks down at you, groaning of your ass in the air, pushing back for his cock.  “Such a needy little thing, now,”  it’s as if someone else is talking.  This isn’t the Professor Miller you know.  This man has layers and you’re first in line to know exactly what that entails.

Joel takes the base of his cock, bobbing it as it throbs alive in his hand and runs through your slick with the head of it.  “So fucking wet.  Beginning to think you’ve been wanting this for as long as I have.”

You bite a whine and he can see the back of your head nodding as you crane your neck back enough to make eye contact, but his eyes fall down to your ass pressing eagerly on his cock.  Doing your best to press him inside yourself.

“Go ahead,” he slaps his cock on your folds and you mewl at the wet sounds coming from it.  “Take my cock.”

And take, you do.  Joel holds it out for you, keeps it steady and you push back slow on his cock.  Clenching around the head and he growls at that.  “You dirty thing.  This how you fuck all your teachers?”  It burns your skin, pushing your face into your arm and you shake your head.

“Words.” He warns.

“Just you!  Just you, Joel!”

“Just me,” he parrots, hissing when you shift back and you both twitch and groan when you take him to the hilt of you.  It was so thick, stretching you out until you felt split apart from him.  “Just me, show me then.  Show me how you fuck me.”

You bite into your arm then, choking on a sob as you push your ass back over and over.  Your cunt taking him deep like this, it almost feels like too much and not enough at once.  Torturously slow against the spongy spot again

 It felt so amazing taking him yourself, but it was like an itch you couldn’t scratch on your own.  The tapping of his balls against your clit was too far apart in tempo, his cock speared inside you at a pace that didn’t have quite the same leverage as Joel did behind you.

His hands busied themselves on your ass, peeling the muscle apart – pressing his digits to leave bruises and just when you think it’s too much to take, he gives you something else.  His spit falling from his lips right to the velvet of your asshole.  You shudder and flutter around him when it falls to where you’re connected.  Your fingertips grip the other armrest now, cheek resting atop of your hand and you can’t do it yourself anymore.  “Fuck me, Joel!  Professor Miller, please!”

“Shit – you know where to push, don’t you?”  Joel’s wide hands slide up your sides, keeping them locked in place as he pulls your hips to him at first.  Using your whole lower body, your head hands doing your best to keep yourself up but you’re so close when he uses you like this.  When he picks up the pace and you let your head fall on his throw pillow – your screams of desire are targeted into the plush cushion.

Joel is bound up in amazement behind you.  How you feel around him, your gorgeous figure in front of him as he gives you every bit of power he can now.  His hips hammering into you, but with the right amount of speed – not too fast, not too slow.  The sound of his balls slapping against your clit is faster now, and the difference is what you focus on.  The way it sounds.  Joel feels you tighten, pulse around his own pulse and he has to say something to you.  Has to talk you through it, even if he’s not sure you’ll like it.

“So fuckin’ good for me,” he drapes his body over your back, huffing into your ear as the controlled weight of him pushes your ass down just enough to make your thighs shake.  You are soaked, sticky against his abdomen, between your thighs.  Over your own stomach.  You move your face so you can feel his skin closer against your.  His lips staying on your cheekbone, he grunts and nods.

“That’s it, fuckin’ take it.  I know you can take it.  Those shaky fuckin’ thighs better hold on.”

You feel yourself coil and he is quick to sooth over your hips with his palms.

“Relax, baby.  That’s it, that’s good, darlin’.  Shh, easy.  Do you feel that heat?”

You nod hopelessly, the buildup was so strong you couldn’t do anything but curl your fingers into fists and whimper repeatedly.

“Give into that heat.  Come for me, I know you can be so good for me.  Good for – fuck – fuck.  Good for my cock,” Joel groaning in your ear makes you flutter uncontrollably, and he wastes no time in wrapping his arm around your front, rolling quick circles at the split of your cunt, right at your clit.  “Milkin’ my fuckin’ cock like that, don’t stop.  Don’t fuckin’ stop,” he grits, and you’re gasping.

Clawing at the pillow, head craning up and back as you come.  Mouth gaped, Joel takes advantage – pouring his tongue into it, swirling and drinking you while his cock bottoms into you repeatedly until he can’t take it anymore.  You feel too good.  Perfect, even.

“Joel!” Your whine is high, as your wet folds take his merciless shoves.  “You feel so good, youfeelsogood!”  Your lip quivers, jerking in aftershocks that feel a lot like multiple orgasms.  You aren’t even sure how you feel, but he knows he has to pull out.  So he tells you, rough and pained against your ear.  He doesn’t want to any more than you do.  But as soon as he does, that reward feels just as sweet.

He exhales roughly through his nose, a popping sound filling the room when he pulls out.  Not even needing to touch himself to spill himself over the small of your back.

“Fuck,” he’s out of breath, grunting, and doing his best not to collide into you.  You’re still, the nape of your neck dews with sweat and you can feel it stick to your dress instantly.

“Stay there,” Joel pulls away, and you sit up on your elbows now that you’re fully flat and study his frame walk into the kitchen.

The back of him is just as irresistible as the front.

You hum hungrily at the landscape of his back.  But you do as you say, you don’t move a muscle.  When he comes back, you take note of the splotches of his chest, his neck red and sheened with sweat, too.  He’s just as disheveled.  The paper towel he comes back with is rough against your lower back, but tickles more than anything else.

Makes you wriggle and laugh.

“What did I say?”  He threatens, but his voice is much more smoother and tender.  More playful.  More like what you’re used to.

“Tickles!”

“You must endure it if you know what’s good for you.”  he’s finished enough for you to roll over.  You pull your tits back into your bra with another low laugh, but to yourself at how exposed and a mess you’re sure you look on your professor’s couch.

“I think I like that threat.”

“No more,” and that makes your heart drop.  He must be able to see the disappointed look on your face, so he rephrases his sentence in an instant.  “No more tonight.”

“Maybe I should be teaching you the importance of ambiguity.”

“Next lesson.”

Your heart soars just as fast as it dropped.

---

While you slip on your sneakers, you turn your heel to him – bag in tow.  “Listen, I don’t want this to be why I passed.”

“It’s not – it won’t be,”  Joel chews up the space between you – his hand pressing against the doorframe that your delicate hand adorns at the knob, fully dressed himself, now.  “You will pass by your own volition.  I meant it – you are bright.  You won’t let anybody take that from you, will you?” You knew that wasn’t a question as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but you still swayed your head ‘no’.

“Not even me.”  He whispers, pressing his lips to your forehead before dropping his arm – allowing you to leave.  And that’s exactly what he’ll let you believe.

“Especially not you.”  You smile, leaning up to kiss his lips – your flavour lingers over his facial hair and tongue.  Your panties in his pocket.

“Goodnight, Professor Miller.”

“Goodnight, doll.”

taglist: @cool-iguana – comment to be added!

[razrbladekiss]

MAPLE HAZEL | Masterlist

SUMMARY: he’s grumpy, and you’ve got enough happiness for the pair of you. you visit joel’s little coffee shop every morning, and he can’t deny that he enjoys the monotony of life with you the other side of his counter.

PAIRING: no outbreak!joel miller x afab!reader

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI, 18+ CONTENT (eventually). heavily inspired by the lorelai gilmore / luke danes dynamic. plenty of fluffy moments. plenty of lowkey angst, but nothing too dramatic. it’s lighthearted, and reader is dead set on enriching joel’s life every way she can. there’ll be eventual smut. the usual sorta shit, so i’ll tag it when necessary.

🍁 part one

🍁 part two

🍁 part three

[seven-supernovas]

𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐆𝐲𝐦𝐫𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐜'𝐬

sfw+ nsfw hc's

cw: gymrat!ellie, afab!r, nsfw content, mentions of food/diet(very short tho), mentions of macros and protein(very short tho)

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────────��─ ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

sfw

gymrat!Ellie who forces you to come with her to almost every session no matter the time of day because she wants you to stay healthy.

gymrat!Ellie who is really into boxing and will unintentionally keep you up all night when she's punching her bag outside on your shared apartment balcony.

gymrat!Ellie who rarely listens to anything at the gym because she's almost always with you but during those rare occasions where she's alone, especially at night will plop on her headphones and will only strictly listen rock and alt music.

gymrat!Ellie to further specify she's a big fan of Radiohead but when she's feeling more pumped she'll throw in some of your favorite songs.

gymrat!Ellie who doesn't maintain a strict diet but does now the macros and proteins of everything she eats.

gymrat!Ellie who unreasonably enjoys cookie and cream flavored protein powder. Like too the point where she got a Costco membership specifically to buy if from her favorite brand in bulk.

gymrat!Ellie who slightly injured her arm and was ordered by her doctor to relax for a couple of weeks but decided she could still do legs.

gymrat!Ellie whose gym attire is always old baggy tops and sweats. the shirts close to ripping a hole or already have one. To that all she says is "Who am I trying to impress, its only the gym."

gymrat!Ellie who only buys brand name gym clothes/items if she needs a specific thing or if you want to match with her.

gymrat!Ellie who states that contrary to popular belief that ON's and ASICS aren't as nearly comfortable as her tried and true grey converse's.

gymrat!Ellie who enjoys getting smoothies from a spot near your gym. Somehow she aways ends up drinking half your drink because she says "Your's always taste better than mines".

nsfw

gymrat!Ellie who very much loves using her strength in the bedroom. Boxing you in. Using partial of her body weight on you. Gripping your body. You name it, if it has anything to do with using the strength she's earned in the gym she's with it.

gymrat!Ellie who realized a year into taking the gym seriously that she can pick you up easily and now teases you with it.

gymrat!Ellie who can't choose if legs or arms is her favorite day because with strong arms she can easily lock you in and hold you up when she's eating you out. But with legs she can lock your face in when you're eating her out. Choices choices.

gymrat!Ellie who's favorite part of gym days with you are when you two shower together at home. A simple shower always turning into a two hour minimum sexfest.

gymrat!Ellie who is almost always waking around your shared apartment half or even fully naked. She just wants to show off her progress, what's the harm. She even encourages you to do the same. But you both know it's simply so the two of you have easier access to one another.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

original masterlist

more Ellie hc's

tlou masterlist

[millerskitty]

Running If You Call My Name

❥ dbf!joel / f!reader x joel miller

❥ (18+) nsfw

❥ reader insert

❥ medium burn, no outbreak au. some timelines are changed to fit the story.

dividers by @/saradika !

summary: you are a twenty five year old woman who lives with your father in austin, tx. you’ve been good friends with the millers for years, but in the past few months you’ve begun to see joel in a new light and it’s disrupting your life.

warnings: brief mention of parent loss, grief, loneliness and sexual harassment (by an inconsequential coworker) (pls let me know if i forgot anything — this is my first fic)

word count: 1.7k

masterlist

Chapter 1

That summer had been a scorcher. It was routine to shimmy out of your business casual and throw on a tank top and shorts each day after work. You let your hair down from its clip and let it fall naturally.

It was Friday evening and your father was out grilling in the back. Corn on the cob, fajitas and sausage were on the grill, making the air smokey and delicious. You knew there would be a big bowl of potato salad in the fridge and deviled eggs on the shelf above it. You stepped out of the glass sliding door to join the chef.

“How was work, doll?” Your father asked, sliding up his sunglasses to greet you.

You approached him for a big bear hug. He was damp with sweat from the hard work of grilling in the heat. “Hey Pop. Work was work.” You said, going over to a pool chair and reclining it so you could get some sun. “Are the Millers coming over?

“‘Course, Joel’s taking Sarah to pick out some gear for her softball camp. She leaves tomorrow.”

“Oh cool, and how was your day off?” You lathered some sun screen on your arms, chest, and stomach. The smell of chlorine coming off the pool was met with the barbecue smell. It was a nostalgic combination, reminding you of the two and a half decade’s worth of memories made in your backyard.

“All good, changed the oil on the truck, decided to grill for Sarah’s last day at home.”

The Millers usually came over when Pop was grilling. You wished you’d made a cake for Sarah’s last night in town.

“I made her some of that pink salad she loves.” He seemed to read your mind.

You lied back, closing your eyes and clearing your thoughts for half an hour. Your peace was interrupted by the sound of cicadas buzzing louder to compete with the sound of a truck pulling into your driveway. Joel and Sarah must have come straight over from shopping instead of walking down the street to your home from theirs. There was a flutter in your stomach when you’d heard Pop answer the front door and greet them, Joel’s booming voice asking where you were.

It was only a few moments before you’d heard the glass sliding door open and Sarah popped over to you.

“Hey Bug.” You said, looking up at her with a smile.

“Oh we’re sunbathing, huh? Let me get changed, be right back.” She said, turning on her heel with her backpack over her shoulder.

You loved that girl to death, she’d been in your life for the past decade. Ever since she and Joel had moved down the street, they’d become a part of your life. Joel and Pop hit it off when Joel had noticed Pop trying to fix a gutter on his own.

Pop was cursing up a storm when he’d failed to secure the gutter and it all toppled down. Joel had been outside sitting on the tailgate of his pickup truck that evening when he’d seen Pop and jogged over to help. It had taken him a fraction of the time to get it right. Pop was impressed and slightly embarrassed, but he thanked Joel with a cold beer and the rest was history.

Life had become less lonely with the Millers around. Before they’d moved down the street it was mostly just you and Pop. Your mother passed away when you were just a toddler. She was sick and it almost killed Pop when he couldn’t do anything to save her. After a few years overshadowed by grief he’d turned his life around and became everything you needed from a mother and a father.

You were fifteen when you’d started to babysit six year old Sarah for Joel. Now ten years later, at twenty-five and sixteen you were very much bonded. You’d been there for Sarah when she’d come out as a lesbian. It took Joel by surprise, but he embraced his daughter and her choices.

You felt a pang of guilt as she took her spot beside you by the pool. Your friend would probably get the ick if you’d mentioned that you maybe, sort of, kind of had a crush on Joel. Your fathers sat beside the grill, just out of earshot, nursing two cold beers and chatting. You had to fight the urge to look back at Joel. The opportunity to get up and cross paths with him would come when the food was ready.

The truth was you’d inadvertently developed a crush on Joel Miller. It felt sort of twisted, he was twelve years your senior, almost forty years old. Not exactly old enough to be your father, but still a noticeable age gap nonetheless.

You’d asked him for guitar lessons last Winter and he obliged. He took you to a music store and you picked out an acoustic guitar. He was excited to pass down the skill to at least one other person. Sarah was never interested, what she really cared about was competing in sports. You’d gone over to their home on weekends and practiced, Joel moved your fingers patiently back to their position when you’d messed up. His large, callused hands landed and held the strings down with ease. He’d tried to make you commit to developing your own calluses to improve your skill.

By the end of Winter you’d learned how to play a handful of songs, mostly dad rock that Joel loved and knew by heart. He would smile so bright when you’d finally get it right. You did everything in your power to get him to flash his teeth and celebrate your little victories.

“That’s it, Darlin, those fingers ain't just for clickin’ and clackin’ on a keyboard now.” He’d chuckled.

You had been drunk on his praise and your shared laughter one evening when you leapt up from your seat and onto Joel's lap, throwing your arms around his neck. His arms wrapped around your waist and you pulled your head back, coming face to face with him. His breath was warm on your lips and you swore there was something in his eyes. It flashed and faded as quickly as it had appeared.

You both dropped the embrace and Joel cleared his throat, helping you pack up for the night. Tears of embarrassment stung your eyes as you silently gathered your things and went home without another word.

You knew in that moment that you were well and truly fucked. As it would happen, you couldn’t stop thinking about Joel from that moment on. You tried to temper your feelings. You mostly doubted that he’d felt what you felt in that moment. The spark, the fear and the desire to cross the line. But the gleam in his eye, the way he almost leaned forward then hesitated replayed in your mind.

You’d stopped responding to the guys you were matched with on dating apps. You’d lost interest in anyone other than Joel. You’d imagined all the ways that evening could have gone. He could have become upset that you’d crossed his boundaries, but he didn’t. He could have closed the gap between you and pressed his lips to yours, but he didn’t. And you hadn’t spoken of that incident since it happened, two seasons ago.

“Can you two go in and grab the potato salad and eggs from the fridge?” Pop had asked you and Joel, tearing you away from your thoughts.

“Yeah, no problem.” Joel said, opening the sliding door and motioning for you to head in first.

Your skin prickled when you sensed his eyes skating over your body from behind as you opened the fridge.

“Pop made pink salad for Sarah,” you said, grabbing the bowl of potato salad and turning to face Joel.

“She’s gonna go nuts.” He said grinning, “How’ve you been, kid?”

“Not a kid, Joel.” You huffed. “I’m a quarter of a century old.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He took the deviled eggs from the shelf in the fridge and followed you out to the back.

~

After the barbecue, Pop had made a run to the gas station for more beer and Joel made his way to the kitchen to help you clean up while Sarah took a dip in the pool.

“How’s Angel treating you?” Joel asked, drying off the wet dishes from the rack.

“She’s good, but I’ve been neglecting her a bit lately.” You said, speaking of your six string acoustic guitar. An image of that moment in Joel’s garage flashed through your mind and you blushed.

“That’s a shame, what’s been keeping you too busy to play?” He knew where your dishes belonged, putting them away in the cabinets and drawers as he spoke.

“Work, mostly. This guy at the office has been bugging me to go out on a date with him, it’s borderline sexual harassment.” You huffed, wiping down the inside of the sink.

“Well that’s just not right. You should tell the boss.” Joel said, his voice stern.

“He’s the boss’s nephew.” You turned and saw Joel’s jaw clenched. Your stomach flipped. You hadn’t meant to strike a nerve.

“Shouldn’t matter, he's a punk. What’s his name?”

“Easy, cowboy.” You said, stepping closer to him. “Nothing’s gonna happen, he’s just overly confident.”

“Tell him your friend Joel wants to talk.” This time he was grinning, drying off a glass bowl. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the tanned skin on his muscular arms.

You were staring until you heard the screen door pop open, then the front door creaked open as Pop appeared just in time for you and Joel to put some space between the two of you. You finished wiping down the counter and Joel rejoined your dad in the backyard.

You poked your head out the door and called out, “Pop don’t forget we’re going to go get my car fixed in the morning.”

“Shit, babe, I’m sorry I forgot. I have a work thing in Odessa, I'm gonna be out all weekend.” He said sympathetically. “You’re a big girl, you can go by yourself.”

“I’m not afraid of going alone, silly. I’m afraid that they’re gonna overcharge me cause’ I don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“I’ll take her, I won’t let that happen.” Joel said, pressing a bottle of Budweiser to his lips.

“See, no one would dare bullshit our Joel, here.” Pop grinned. He was giddy and buzzed.

“Alright, nine-thirty sound good to you?” You asked, trying not to sound excited.

“Sure. I’ll pick you up.”

Chapter 2

[watermelonshine]

ellie williams x loser!reader part 2 nsfw mdni

part 1 here

content : you went to tutor her but fucking hell she's high and hot and you both are alone in a room. (cw : 🍃 used, reader is an awkward sub, profanities, pound town in ✂️ city lesgo, she does the knee thing yep, horny wlw, reader is a virgin you really think her ass got laid before ????)

tags babies : @rbnvrnxoxo @velvetinkbym @hyperbabes @ur-sick-and-married @wtvm0m0 @evieutft @ferxanda @deafeninggalaxycheesecake @machetegirl109 @chuutu @livvietalks @eriiwaiii2 @usuck @m4c113 @eddiesdrummergf

You made your way towards Ellie's house. Even though you asked Ellie for her address at the cafeteria, you already knew the route of her house . It was purely accidental, you had to go to your aunt's house after school and you noticed the stoner group walking the same path. You kept your distance and got to know that Ellie lived only a block away from your aunt. So if anything happened that you didn't like, you could just go to your aunt's. Ellie didn't specify any timing so you assumed 6pm would be a good enough time, not too soon and not too late. As you got closer to the front door of her house, you heard laughs of multiple people.

Huh...

You knocked on the door and waited. And waited. And wai- what the fuck. You knocked on the door again. And again. And then finally the door opened and gosh that was one strong smell. Ellie looked at you confused with her bloodshot eyes, was she high? You scratched the back of your neck while trying to come up with words. You didn't know about weed but she definitely was looking smoking hot. She had a grey wife pleaser on which showed off her lean muscles with some loose pants. You put in some effort into how you dressed up coming to her house, with a white full sleeved shirt underneath a baggy tshirt and some baggy pants. You were trying to redeem yourself from the fit you wore to school that day.

"I didn't know you smoked pot. You're kinda late for the session."

Don't say...

"I'm here for the tutoring session? You didn't specify any time." It was literally only few hours ago, how the fuck did she forget that?

She narrowed her eyes, as if trying to remember and then- "Oh...right." there it was. She looked behind her when someone called her name. "Ellie, who is it?", Jesse screamed. Ellie opened the door wider for you and you stepped in, standing awkwardly infront the living room where Dina and the others sat with a bong and joints laid out on the table.

"Anime porn girl wanna get baked?"

"Guys continue with your shit, we'll be back down in an hour. I need to pass history." Ellie announced as she grabbed your wrist and dragged you upstairs. She was struggling to walk properly, she tripped a couple of times thanks to her very heightened coordination skills.

She locked the door behind her when you both got into the room. You looked around her room that had a lot of personality, her sketches pinned all over the walls, some band posters— was that Green Day?, and there in the corner of the room laid a guitar. Ellie looked at you observing her room and chuckled, "Already impressed by me? Trust me I don't suck all that much."

Suck something else- focus.

You sat down on her table that anything but books, and rubbed your hands against your pants. Ellie plopped down next to you and stared at you. No, she stared towards you.

"A-are you sure you can study right now...? I can come again any other time you know?" You nervously asked, that girl was most likely in a different planet. History was a subject boring to many, you were sure Ellie was a part of that bunch. So when Ellie quirked a brow up, you were second guessing yourself.

"You are doubting my ability?" She asked leaning forward and placing her elbows on the table. "Think I'm too stoned to figure out ancient civilization-" , she inched in closer, "Or to notice how you've been biting your lips everytime you looked at me-"

Fuck you didn't notice that.

"-or how you're rubbing your thighs against each other right now?"

Wasn't she an observant bastard.

You were literally shaking. From embarrassment or from being turned the fuck on? One could only guess. She picked up her hand and brought it to your cheeks, cupping it with her thumb caressing the apple of your cheek and you audibly gasped.

She's touching you she's touching you oh my goodness-

"You're trembling like a leaf sweet thing, someone might assume you're the high one here. Did you get high before coming here mhm?" She titled her head while asking.

"N-no."

"You don't need drugs to get high you know? There's other ways of getting high."

What...

"But you must be familiar with it already."

You looked at her dumbfounded while she simply let out a chuckle. She got up, went towards her bag across the room and pulled out a boo- wait a minute.

Your face felt like it was on fire when you saw the cover of the book Ellie was flipping through. You immediately turned your head away from her, how did she get hold of it? She placed the book on the table with a thud, grabbed your chin with her long fingers and brought your face near to hers.

"You're one nasty girl huh?"

"E-ellie-"

She was leaving behind kisses all over your neck, with your shirts thrown to the ground.

Hoky fuck shit hell fuck shit shit oh-

Ellie was a beast, those kisses are surely gonna leave behind marks. While she was making sure she sucked the skin out off you, her knees were dangerously close to your very bothered area. It took everything in you to just not rub yourself against her thighs. You were so flushed that you couldn't even look at her in the eyes.

Ellie noticed how you were holding yourself back, not wanting to embarrass yourself more than you did. She could see it in your face what you wanted and she wanted to let you know that she wanted it too. So she gave it to you.

She pressed her knees against your hot core and that was it for you.

You let out a pathetically loud moans that you tried to cut off by putting your hands on your mouth, shit you hoped the people downstairs didn't hear it.

The brown haired girl that had her hands roaming all over your body? She had never been so turned on before.

"Fuck baby, you're hot."

You weren't sure how Ellie had so much stamina while being high a kite in the sky but goodness she was making sure you were up there with her when she grinded her crotch over yours.

"That feels good right? Never had a girl over you ever huh? Ever seen this in those- fuck- p-porno comics you read?" She said as her clit brushed against yours.

You could only nod mindlessly when Ellie's hands were on your hips and groped your tits. The friction was intoxicating, and you were pussy drunk. Each hip roll had you gripping her bedsheets and biting your lips so that you didn't let out a moan like earlier. Ellie brought her lips next to your ears and said, "Let it out sweet thing, I wanna hear it."

...they already have a terrible impression of you, might as well go all the way.

You were a loud, whining mess and she loved every second of it. You were so close to tears because you never experienced the real deal before. You have seen plenty on your incognito tab and your fingers have been your best friend, but to experience it in real life? Heaven, you were in heaven.

Your slick was all over your and her thighs and the bedsheets were drenched, but Ellie did not let that hold her back. You were panting, gasping and crying while she kept going on, kissing your tears that dripped down your face, kissing your neck and your tits. Her mouth all over you while her pulsing clit rutting against yours had you bucking your hips and letting out wanton moans.

"You're near right? Don't hold yourself back, come on."

That was all it took for you to arch your back and let out a loud moan and you were damn sure everyone and their grandma heard it. Ellie followed soon after as her hips twitched against yours. She buried her head in your neck as she panted from hitting her high. Her body was limped on top of yours as you both just took a while to catch your breath.

You did it. You had your first time and it was with Ellie fucking Williams.

"Oh how was your history session?"

Dina asked as the both of you walked into the living room. She had a very fuckass expression on her face which gave it away, they know what happened. Ellie simply grabbed your hand and made you sit between legs as she picked up a joint and lit it up.

"Do you know how loud history is?"

"Oh fuck me-" you were rolling your eyes when Ellie cut you off.

"I did, didn't I?"

... You handed her that opportunity to her on a silver platter.

note : fanart belongs to @nramv, was I mean for making y'all wait for a week for this? I'm sorry but my fuckass phone DELETED this draft so I had to rewrite it again and also my country is on the verge of a war??? idk weird times but have your scissor city dose I hope I did justice 🍒 now stop shouting at me to update 💔 do let me know if you liked it, it would mean a lot to me !

[honeyedmiller]

Dawn’s First Light | Joel Miller

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+, minors dni

warnings: jackson!joel, super fucking soft!Joel, sickeningly sweet fluff, joel is philosophical for .2 seconds in this, smut (f oral receiving, unprotected piv), praise, a whole lotta softness, sweet pet names, no use of y/n.

word count: 1.6k

synopsis: joel tells you he loves you for the first time.

a/n: i literally whipped this up so quick after i reblogged the post that had a quote from jean-paul sartre’s no exit. hope you enjoy.

divider by @saradika-graphics

Soft. 

Soft was the first thing you felt as you woke up, then, rough. 

Coarse hairs dragged across the velvety skin of your thighs. Your eyes slowly fluttered open and you squinted, your pupils slowly welcoming the winter morning sun shining through the curtains of your shared bedroom. 

A hot tongue licked at your skin, up up up until it met your already sopping core. You gasped softly, relishing in the feeling of your boyfriend waking you up in the most delicious way possible. 

Early on in your relationship, you both agreed that getting awoken in such a way would be no problem whatsoever. 

Joel was meticulous with his tongue, the strong muscle taking its time as he worked it through your folds and into your entrance, then back up to circle your clit. His plush lips latched onto your swollen bud, and you cried out his name in pleasure. 

You moved the comforter down that he was buried under until you uncovered his head, nestled perfectly between your thighs as he lapped away at your slick core. You bit your lip as you stared down at him, blunt nails digging into the soft of your flesh as he took his time with you. 

Every sense in your body was heightened, spine tingling as you felt the slow pull of an impending orgasm. Joel’s eyes flicked open, gaze trailing up your bare body until his eyes locked onto your face. 

Your jaw was slack, pupils blown wide and eyebrows threaded together. He offered a small smirk as he kept working you, loving the way you writhed underneath his expert tongue. 

Your hand slid down to intertwine your fingers with his soft locks of thick, graying hair. He moaned into you as you pushed his face closer to your aching, pulsing core, grinding your hips up to match the rhythm of his tongue. 

He releases one of your thighs and moves his fingers up, detaching his mouth from you as he slides his thick digits through your glistening folds. 

“Mornin’ baby,” He breaths, a smirk stretched onto his slick-coated lips. You moan softly as he easily slides a finger into you, burying it down to the first knuckle. “Taste so goddamn good, darlin’. Sweeter ‘n honey.” He’s nearly breathless and his words are slurred with sleep. He kisses your thigh and slowly adds a second finger into you. 

“Joel,” You’re a whimpering mess, and he fucking loves it. 

“Tell me what y’want, baby. Tell me n’ I’ll give it to you.” 

“You,” You gasp, grinding your hips into his hand desperately. “I want you.” 

“I’m yours.” He whispers, leaning down again to suckle on your pulsating clit, pumping his fingers in and out of you at a delectable pace. He curls his fingers up, hitting that sweet spot inside you that had you squelching and moaning and fucking crying. You were a mess under him, trying so hard to catch your breath as that warmth that bloomed within you shot up your spine. 

Reality crashed down around you as your orgasm washed over your entire being, hips stuttering from his tongue cleaning up everything you gave him. 

“So perfect.” He says, kissing your thighs before trailing his slick lips up your body, licking your sternum before placing chaste kisses on both of your breasts. 

You tug on his hair gently as he flicks his tongue over your skin, wrapping his mouth around your nipple for a few seconds before moving to the other. He releases you from his mouth before he kisses your neck, biting down on your pulse point ever so slightly before kissing your jaw, your forehead, your nose, and finally—your lips. 

“My sweet girl,” He breathes, forehead resting against yours. “Did you sleep well?” He asks, cradling your cheek in his large hand. You nod and smile up at him, bringing him down for another kiss. 

“I did. What a nice way to wake up, too.” You giggle, and he smiles before kissing your nose. 

“My favorite way to wake you up, besides the multiple kisses.” 

Joel Miller normally wasn’t a soft man. It’s you who made him this way, just for you. It’s you who only got to see this loving, caring side of him. 

You, who’d charmed him with your wit and sense of humor and your pure tenderness. He had come into Jackson only a few weeks after your arrival, so you both navigated this life—this safe, luxurious bite at the cherry—together. 

He’d easily taken a liking to you. It started off with sitting with each other in the mess hall for meals, then he’d walk you to work when he could, and then it turned into him confessing his feelings for you after he’d had a tough patrol one spring day. 

From then on, the two of you seemed nearly inseparable. Jackson was a safe grounding—a haven—for many, if not all residents here. 

Joel was yours. 

Joel’s lips on your forehead drew your attention back to him, and you offered a soft grin as your nails trailed down his thick torso. You reached the tuft hair above his cock, hard and leaking pre come. Your lips curled into a saccharine smile, giving his silky flesh a few tugs before swiping your thumb over his slit. You brought your thumb into your mouth and sucked on it, humming at the salty taste of Joel. 

“Need you, baby.” His voice is strained, and you move your hand back down to slide his heavy cock through your folds to coat him with your slick. 

“I’m yours.” You repeat his words, and he kisses your forehead once more as he pushes into you. He sits up, hands grabbing your hips. He circles his thumbs into your warm skin, pushing and pulling himself in and out of you at a languid pace. 

You grasp onto his thick thighs, always needing to be touching him in some way. 

“Feel so goddamn good, baby. My sweet girl. Takin’ me so well, honey—shit. That’s it.” Joel murmurs his words, eyebrows pinching together as you rut your hips up to meet his every thrust. The friction of his coarse hair at the base of his cock on your clit is otherworldly, eyes rolling back at the sensation of pure bliss. 

Joel’s pace picked up, maneuvering himself so he was hovering over you. He gripped onto your ankles and tossed them over his shoulders, gripping onto your flesh for dear life. He kissed the inside of your lower calf, grunting and puffing air as he moved his hips expertly. 

“Joel, fuckfuckfuck, please don’t stop.” You cry as he pistons into you at that perfect angle—the one that has you seeing the whole goddamn galaxy. 

“My perfect girl. You’re so beautiful. So, so beautiful. I—fuck,” Joel groans, moving a thumb down to swipe over your sensitive clit, making you gasp loudly. 

The sensation is almost too much, but it’s a welcoming devastation of bliss that ripples through you when that heat shoots through your body once more. 

“Can feel you—shit, yeah—I can feel you sweetheart. Let go. I got you.” Joel’s desperate voice reverberates off of the bedroom walls, trying his damndest to hold off on his own release until you come first. 

Just as he’d thought, it wasn’t far off at all. You cried his name repeatedly as the euphoric feeling overtook your body. 

JoelJoelJoel. 

Everything about him was all-consuming as you convulsed around his cock. A string of curses spilled out around his clenched teeth and through his lips, pulling out of you as thick spurts of his come landed on your stomach. 

He puffed air into your leg, kissing it one more time before looking down at you. Gorgeous: fucked out, glossy eyes and a smile that could end wars. 

He knew. Right then, he knew. 

He loves you. 

He has to tell you. 

He gently set your shaky legs down onto the bed, getting up to retrieve a wet washcloth to clean you up. Once the warm washcloth was carelessly tossed onto the floor somewhere, he climbed back into bed with you and slung his arm around you so you could cuddle into him. He carefully pulled the comforter up again, covering your bodies. 

Your hand played with the fingers of his hand that was slung over your shoulder, an unforgettable serenity wrapped around the two of you in that moment. 

“Much more likely you’ll hurt me,” Joel starts, voice gruff, “Still what does it matter? If I’ve got to suffer—” He pauses, bringing your free hand up to his lips to lay a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “It may as well be at your hands, your pretty hands.” 

“Sartre.” You say softly. He nods. 

“I love you. I love you so much that it fucking hurts. I—I couldn’t imagine living this life without you, anymore. You’re my person.” His voice is a whisper. 

Your eyes fill with tears, and you look up at him. He has a hopeful look in his eyes, and you saw that familiar thing flash within them. You never knew what that thing was, until now. 

Love. 

This man loved you. 

Just as you loved him. 

“I love you too, Joel. There’s no one else on this damned planet that I’d rather be with than you.” 

He kisses you tenderly, and you pull away with a whisper to your lips. 

“There may be more beautiful times, but this one is ours.” You quote to him, rubbing your nose against his gently. 

“Sartre.” He says. You nod. 

You kiss him once more, dawn’s first light now a shining beacon of pure hope… and love. 

tags: @party-hearses ; @ilovepedro ; @nostalxgic ; @cool-iguana ; @punkshort ; @undrthelights ; @pascalpvnk ; @joelsgreys ; @amanitacowboy ; @pamasaur ; @bastardmandennis ; @tinygarbage ; @javierpena-inatacvest ; @mrsmando

(if you’d like to be added or removed from the taglist, please let me know!)