sebsbrokentoe

[sebsbrokentoe]

Can you make a blurb focusing on the second baby? I don't know something like her needing a moment with Harry or her getting sick

IN SICKNESS & IN HEALTH

——

"Open your mouth, honey."

You obeyed, and Harry gently slid an oral thermometer under your tongue. When you closed your lips around it, the metal tip provided a coolness that briefly offset the fever blazing through your immune system. Frankly, you didn't need an official temperature check to recognize you were fighting a viral infection, but Harry had insisted every aspect of you be monitored closely. He was currently whisking around the bedroom, ensuring you were being doted on like a princess. In your febrile state, where surreal thoughts flowed freely, you wondered if he'd been a doctor in one of his past lives. Those large, veined hands in skin-tight exam gloves. Manspreading on a swivel stool while listening intently to a patient's concerns. Diligent, respectful touches during routine checkups. Was it deranged to be jealous of the faceless people in your fever-induced fantasy? Maybe. All you knew was that it heated your body even more.

A bout of rigors had roused you in the middle of the night, which left you violently shivering in Harry's embrace. While semi-conscious, you had thought nothing of it. Hours later, after miraculously falling asleep in a cocoon of two thick blankets plus a heated one, you had awoken in a pool of sweat with a fever on the horizon. Now, in the early morning darkness, there was no choice but to try to break it. You had plenty of fluids nearby, comfy pillows for your heavy limbs, and a husband who was at your beck and call. And best of all, the sleep-aid medication you had taken earlier was working wonderfully.

After a silent minute of Harry staring at you sympathetically with his knuckles pressed against your unusually warm forehead, the thermometer beeped. He took it out, and when he read the result, a frown appeared on his lips.

"Am I dying?" you asked hoarsely, your eyelids drooping shut. Every part of you felt weak with exhaustion. The sinus pressure was a sucker punch whenever you moved your head.

"One hundred point seven degrees. Not good." Harry sighed and quickly left the bedroom on a mission to cure your symptoms. You laughed a little, which turned into a wheezy cough. The only real cure was rest and hydration, so you were curious what his magical remedy could consist of.

Distantly, you heard sounds in the kitchen. Cupboards shutting and utensils clinking. Was he making something? Your illness diminished any appetite for breakfast. Granted, it was five in the morning, not the typical time you ate.

The girls were still sleeping, and in the intimate shadows before dawn, when only you and Harry were awake, it felt like the old days. Back when you'd kiss him goodbye in his one-room apartment before he left for work earlier than any man had a right to do. Young, scraping by, and smitten with each other. He'd shown you what infatuation felt like. In those otherwise minor moments, you'd seen glimpses of the promising years ahead. A man who'd be devoted to healing your wounds during every tribulation life presented. A gentle presence, full of pure intentions, tender love, and perceptiveness. And all of it had translated beautifully into marriage and fatherhood.

You drifted off with sweet thoughts prancing around your mind. An hour later, Harry returned. The subtle scent of ginger and garlic lured you back into consciousness. By the foot of the bed, he held a bowl of soup, and you sniffled while sitting up. A dizzying rush of blood pulsed against your skull.

"I want you to eat this and drink an entire glass of water before sleeping," Harry ordered, rounding the bed to your side. He set the bowl on the nightstand, steam wispily wafting up toward the amber lamplight. You decided not to tell him you already indulged in a snooze.

"Copy that, Dr. Styles," you said. Soup for breakfast? Sure, why not?

He met your gaze, unhumored. "I'm serious. The ginger will hopefully soothe your throat. There's lemon juice in it for some vitamin C. Red lentils for a protein boost. Let me know if it isn't savory enough."

You smiled to yourself, knowing he thrived off refining his culinary creations until they were nothing short of excellence. "I'm sure it's perfect. Thank you."

"It might be too hot to eat yet," he said, fluffing the pillow beside you and pulling the comforter further up your legs. "Can I get you anything else? Where's your cold compress?"

"Why are you so worried?" you asked. "You've seen me sick dozens of times."

He placed his hands on his hips, maybe as a way to stop himself from fidgeting. "Doesn't mean I like it. In fact, I hate it."

"It could be worse." You shrugged, thinking of all the times you had held a puke bucket. If you had one thing to feel good about right now, it was that you didn't have food poisoning. Hallelujah.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, the curly ends sticking up among his natural bedhead. "I'm wondering if one of the girls passed it on to you."

"Probably," you murmured. "All kids are germ magnets." Your eldest was currently getting over a cold. No fever, thankfully, just the sniffles and a wet cough that made you wince every time you heard it.

"I should check on them," he said, seeming hesitant to leave you. He gestured to the nightstand. "By the time I get back, I want half that water gone and three spoonfuls of soup in your belly. Okay?"

"Wow, you're a no-nonsense doctor." You picked up the bowl of soup, its warmth spreading across your palms. It smelled deliciously herby. "Mmm, and a very talented chef. Have you ever thought about becoming one?"

Fondly, Harry shook his head with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You're strangely vivacious for a woman bedridden with a fever."

"Maybe I just like it when you dote on me," you said candidly. It was often outwardly shown through his actions, like today when he cooked soup from scratch for you and kept track of your symptoms, but his subtle attentiveness was your favorite. As a husband, it was how he would lead you through a crowded room, his hand tightly grasping yours to ensure you never strayed far. How he would carve out time for conversations together, whether they were ones of reminiscence, ones revolving around the future, or ones of harmless banter. How he would touch you with purpose, making you feel safe, adored, and most of all, like the most important person in the world. In public and at home with no one watching. He had chosen you in this life, and you reaped the benefits of his devotion every day.

"Just fulfilling my marriage vows," Harry replied, grabbing the baby monitor and turning to leave. You smiled, set the soup back in its place, and sunk into the mattress, feeling the strong urge to sleep the day away. It would take too much energy to lift a spoon or glass to your mouth, so you disregarded Harry's sensible advice and closed your eyes against the rising sun.

——

Harry took slow steps down the hallway while typing a note on his phone that reminded him what time he had checked your temperature and the unfortunate result of 100.7 degrees. You'd been right about him witnessing you under the weather on many occasions before—from the flu to hangovers to stomach bugs to pregnancy nausea—but it still pained him to see you weak and lethargic. He was doing everything he could to nurse you back to health as soon as possible.

A sound coming from the baby monitor wedged under his armpit stopped him dead in his tracks. He heard a couple of coos, followed by the buildup to a piercing cry that made his heart drop. They weren't the usual cries that his six-month-old baby girl woke him up with. And considering it was still before six a.m., the time she commonly needed a feeding, something was amiss.

Rushing to her nursery, Harry's mind went to the worst-case scenario. Had she escaped her crib? Was there a chance she had hurt herself? It had been nerve-wracking enough transitioning her from sleeping in a bedside bassinet to her own room. Harry feared not being right next to her during the night, but the positive was that it allowed for a smoother bedtime routine—both girls in their separate rooms, away from noise and other distractions. His mantra to help him sleep at night was, They're safe, they're safe, they're safe.

When Harry reached her crib after turning on the ceiling light, he was relieved to see her still there, looking mostly the same as the last instance he checked on her a few hours ago. This time, though, her face was screwed up as she wailed at full volume. She was communicating a need he wasn't sure of yet, and while he prided himself immensely on being able to translate her cries and swoop in with a remedy within seconds, this one was foreign. It alarmed him.

"What's the matter, my love?" He picked her up, and instantly, the answer became clear. The damp spot on her sheets. Her skin warm and clammy to the touch. Her refusal to breastfeed at her usual schedule yesterday. "Oh, no."

He had hoped the infection wouldn't be contagious and spread to everyone in the family. But, like you'd said, kids attracted germs from just about anywhere and anything.

"Please don't tell me you have a fever," Harry whispered, cupping her head and pacing around the room helplessly. "I can't handle all of my girls being sick."

She continued crying, and Harry pinched his eyes shut as he mentally went through a list of how to reliably bring her fever down. The first step was to take her pajamas off—the precious fleece onesie with snowflakes that he'd bought for the winter season. He set her on the changing table and undid the snap fasteners until she was left in only her diaper. The fever was apparent in the way she was flushed from head to toe.

"Let's ask Mommy what to do," Harry murmured to himself. He didn't want to proceed with any remedies without your consent, so he placed his daughter back in his arms and walked out to the hallway. "We'll make it better, I promise."

Unsurprisingly, you were already halfway to where he was, no doubt having heard her crying lasting longer than normal. You looked dog-tired, but the motherly instinct you possessed always overpowered it. "What's going on?" you rasped.

"I think she might have what you have. She sweat through the sheets and is burning up."

Your expression transformed into guilt as you slumped against the wall. "Great."

Harry came closer, bending to meet your eyes. "Hey," he said softly, "don't blame yourself. It's hard to avoid."

"I know, but... I really tried to be careful." You sighed, stroking his daughter's back. "I washed my hands before I touched her. Bathed her twice a day."

"You did everything right, baby," he assured. "She has a tiny immune system that's still developing, so it doesn't take much to catch a bug."

When you didn't respond, he said, "Let me take care of her. You should be in bed resting. Did you do what I asked?"

"No, I fell asleep," you muttered with a rueful wince.

Harry couldn't bear to be disappointed when you looked so miserable. "It's okay." His baby girl released another cry, and he pivoted to the serious matter at hand. "I was going to take her temperature."

You sniffled and rubbed at your forehead, which was probably aching with pressure. "If her temperature is higher than one hundred, we need to call the doctor. For now, open a window and feed her a bottle. If that doesn't cool her down, let me know and we'll try giving her some Tylenol."

Harry nodded. A part of him knew all of this information by heart, but he always sought your advice in these urgent moments. As the old saying went—mother knows best.

He kissed your cheek while gently squeezing your wrist in gratitude, not caring if he got sick—it was inevitable at this point. "Water and soup, please. Then rest."

"I promise."

Heading to the kitchen with a fussy, feverish baby wriggling in his arms, Harry opened the patio door to let the crisp January breeze in. The first streaks of light were brightening the space little by little. He got to work by taking a bottle of breast milk out of the refrigerator. He took her outside on the porch, positioning her in the crook of his arm to feed. To his relief, she latched onto the nipple and began drinking. She recently learned how to hold the bottle by herself, so Harry used the opportunity to get the ear thermometer from the bathroom.

Back outside, he took her temperature on the wicker patio chair. After a few seconds, it gave him a reading of 99.3, which thankfully meant no doctor visit today. Harry could breathe a little easier as he slowly rocked her in his arms, observing her behavior. The milk seemed to help hydrate her and alleviate her distressed cries. Her skin was still warm, and he felt like natural remedies only worked to a certain degree. He planned to give her a dose of medicine before her next nap. It would cure what he couldn't.

Once the bottle was half empty, Harry stepped back inside and closed the door behind him. He was working up a sweat with all this running around the house, but he enjoyed tending to everyone's needs.

He returned to the bedroom. The sunrise's soft glow shed over your frame curled up under the comforter, and he could see that you were awake. Looking at the nightstand, he smiled when he noticed a good portion of your soup and water gone.

"I think she'll be all right," he said quietly, setting the empty baby bottle on the dresser and sitting beside you on the mattress. His daughter whined, but for now, her shrieks were no more. "Just a low-grade fever. We'll keep an eye on it."

You nodded and whispered, "Thank you for everything."

Harry didn't say anything in response. He didn't have to, because this was what a family did—take care of each other in sickness and in health. And he had vowed to do it for a lifetime.

——

[sebsbrokentoe]

first of all I love your writing style 💔

second: can you make a drabble where Joel comforts reader during her cold or any kind of sickness, maybe even usual stomachache aand then they have soft cute gentle xex, and he whispers praises to her, soothing all of her aches, lyyy

- 🐿️

Awwe thank you for the kind words anon, I’m glad you like my work! Here you go!

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: You try to hide your sickness from Joel because you don’t want to stress him out. It doesn’t work.

Notes: Sick fic, praise kink, soft!dom!joel, sub!reader, sick!reader, reader is in her head a lot, unprotected p in v, reader is very much Joel’s baby, READER IS NOT PREGNANT SHE’S JUST NAUSEOUS

It was normal for you to be reserved. A little quieter than most, a little more soft. Joel knew you better than anybody, and he could tell when you’d slipped into your daydreams, just needing a few moments to drift off within your own head.

But this…this was different.

The day had started off as usual. You and Joel woke up together tangled in blankets, his strong arms holding you close. But the moment you blinked your bleary eyes awake you gave him a swift kiss and mumbled, “M’gonna go shower” before leaving him alone in bed.

Things only got stranger from there. That afternoon Joel was scheduled to leave for a short patrol with Tommy—lately there had been more Clicker sightings, so he and his brother had increased the amount of rotations needed per day. Joel didn’t want to leave you alone when he suspected something was wrong, but it was necessary for him to go if they wanted to keep Jackson a safe haven.

Normally when he was about to leave you’d get all teary-eyed and try to get as many kisses from him as you could before he took off. This time, however, you gave him a short smile and kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

That sent Joel’s suspicion through the roof. He had studied your face, searching for any indication there might be something off. Your eyes were a little droopy, but he also knew that the night before you’d been up late with him reading to you…

“Is everything okay, baby?” he had asked softly.

Something flickered in your eyes and a little v appeared between your brow as it creased in confusion. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know, I’m just a little worried about you.”

At that, you gave him an innocent smile. “I’m just tired, Joel. I’m okay.” You stood on your tiptoes to press your lips to his in a soft peck. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

Against his better judgement, he’d left. But that didn’t stop him from worrying about you all throughout patrol.

You felt absolutely awful.

In the morning you’d woken with quite possibly the worst stomach ache you’d ever experienced. You thought a shower might make you feel better, that your body was just disagreeing with something you’d eaten the day before.

It got worse. It seemed that anything you did made the nausea flare up. All you wanted to do was be Joel’s princess for the day, to whine until he took you in his arms and hushed your cries with sweet words and sweeter kisses.

But he had patrol that day, and you didn’t want him to worry. You weren’t supposed to make him worry, you were supposed to be his good girl. You didn’t want him distracted—you knew he’d been stressed about the increased Clicker sightings and you didn’t want to add more to the burden he was already carrying.

And so you stayed silent about it. You smiled at him and sent him on his way, and finally, finally when you were alone, you snuggled up back in bed.

You were freezing. Even with the thick blankets piled on top of you, you still were shivering, and your stomach ache stayed constant. Even your mind began to fuzz to the point where you didn’t know how long it had been since Joel left. You stopped caring about the need to pretend everything was fine—you just wanted him.

You weren’t in the living room when Joel got back. Normally you’d be there waiting since it was the closest comfy place to the door, so the moment you heard the door open you could run and embrace him in a flurry of kisses.

But you weren’t there.

“Baby?” he called out, shutting the door behind him.

No response.

He frowned and took his shoes off, then shed his thick snow jacket and gloves. Beneath he was just wearing dark-washed jeans and his signature flannel.

In your room, all Joel saw was a lump beneath the thick gray comforter. “Darlin’?” Joel crossed the room and knelt beside the bed. Were you asleep? Did—

“Joel?” Your voice was strained, small. You rolled over and Joel’s stomach sank. Your eyes were hazy, your cheeks slightly flushed. Had you been crying?

“Sweetheart,” he whispered. “What’s wrong?”

He cupped your cheek and your bottom lip quivered for a moment before you burst into tears.

“Oh, baby.” He promptly stood and got into bed with you, pulling you into his arms. You were so much smaller than him, so easy to pick up and hold against him. “I gotcha. Shh,” he soothed.

You cried quietly into his chest as you clung to him while he smoothed back your hair and pressed gentle kisses to your head. His words were soft murmurs.

“It’s okay darlin’, I’m here now. S’alright….deep breaths sweetheart, can you do that for me? Can you—oh, good girl. That’s it, just keep taking deep breaths for me…”

Eventually your sobs quieted, though a tear still fell down your cheek every now and then. After a few more minutes of holding you, Joel spoke again.

“What’s wrong, honey?” he prompted. “Can you tell me what happened?”

You sniffled. “Just….” Your brow creased. “Jus’ don’t feel good.”

Joel hummed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t want you to worry.” Your bottom lip trembled. “I didn’t want—“

“Hey, don’t start again,” he cooed softly, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “You don’t ever have to think that ever again, you hear? I like worrying about you. You’re my baby, ‘s my job to take care of you.”

He saw your reaction to that—lips parting, brows relaxing, eyes going a little doe like.

“You like hearin’ me say that?” he murmured, thumb gently caressing your cheekbone, catching another stray tear. “Like that I take care of you?”

You nodded, eyes big and wide.

Joel kissed your forehead. “You need me to distract you a little bit baby? Make all the bad feelings go away for awhile?”

“Mhmm.” Your little voice was breathless.

Joel chuckled. “Alright honey. You just keep laying there n’ lookin’ pretty—don’t gotta do any of the work.”

Your head had been fuzzy before because of the sickness, but it was nothing compared to now. When Joel talked to you like this, held you like this…it made everything around him grow foggy.

He slid his hand beneath the waistband of your sweatpants and his index finger started to tease your bud over your panties. You squirmed.

“Wigglin’ already baby? I haven’t even done anything yet.” You could hear the smile in Joel’s voice.

His fingers slid past your underwear to dip into your wetness. You whined and tucked your face into the crook of his neck, embarrassed at how slippery you were already.

Joel chuckled and held you tighter. “It’s okay, sweet girl. Nothing wrong with bein’ ready.”

You whimpered as his fingers circled the outside of your entrance. You shook your head at his teasing. “Want your cock,” you whined so sweetly in his ear. “I can take it, promise….just want you to make it all better.”

“Awe baby,” Joel crooned, pressing another kiss to your hair. “Okay. Just give me a sec…”

He shifted to pull down his pants and boxers and toss them to the side. He was already hard against your hip. Laying side-by-side, your chest to his, Joel slid his length past your folds.

Oh….you could have sworn you forgot about your aches and pains right in that moment. He made you feel so full. He was so big, so thick and warm….you could feel him all the way up in your tummy.

Joel let out a sigh that bordered on a groan. “You’re so perfect, sweetheart. So good…”

He started to rock his hips gently and you whimpered, burying your face into his chest.

He chuckled. “So shy, baby. That’s okay, you just sit there…don’t gotta worry about a single thing.”

One of your legs hooked over his hip as his pace sped up and you clung to him the whole way through. You felt so…so…oh, you feel him dragging along your walls so nicely. You were absolute putty in his arms—Joel always made you feel that way, always gave you such big feelings it made you feel too small to hold them all.

“So good, baby,” he cooed. “Such a good girl, taking me so well…just lay there and let me fill you up—oh, you’re so tight around me princess…”

You could feel it then, that big feeling. The one that made you whimper and whine, trying to hide your face more than it already was. “Joel…”

“It’s okay, just let it happen.” His pelvis was rubbing against your bundle of nerves oh so nicely it made you dizzy. “Let me feel you finish on my cock, darlin’, you’re so good for me, so good…”

Every coo and murmur only brought you higher. You let out another high-pitched whine as the feeling started to become too much, too tight too hot too everything, oh you were right there, you…

You cried out as you reached your peak and then fell over the edge. Joel held you the whole way through as you clenched around him and he spilled inside of you, murmuring praises the whole time.

“Good girl, good girl….my pretty baby, you’re doing so well, taking my cock in that pretty pussy of yours….that’s it sweetheart…”

He rocked his hips gently to help bring you down from your high, slowly decreasing his pace until he came to an eventual stop.

He held you in his arms, your body against his. You hummed contentedly and nuzzled at his neck.

Joel smiled. “Feel better, sweet girl?”

“Mmm.”

Joel chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He kissed your forehead. “Why don’t we get in the bath for a bit to clean up, and then I’ll make you some soup? Nothing that will be too harsh on your stomach.”

You blinked drowsily and nodded. “Mhmm. I’d like that.”

Yes, you’d like that very much indeed.

[sebsbrokentoe]

i love gilmore girls because its really cozy and cute and perfect as a comfort show but then every five minutes you just gotta be like wow. every single one of these people is insane and toxic

[sebsbrokentoe]

Favorite toy

18+! MINORS DNI! Smut, fingering, squirting, praises, Bucky being hot.

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

IMAGINE being spread out for Bucky to do whatever he pleases. Your legs dangle over his while he leans relaxed with his back against the couch and holds your back tightly against his firm, t-shirt-covered chest.

While Bucky is fully clothed in sweatpants and a shirt, you’re only wearing one of his big hoodies that fits you like a dress.

So, while Bucky enjoys the movie playing on the television, his fingers play with your wet pussy. Tracing up and down your folds, pinching your clit every now and then. His eyes — of course — not really focused on the television but on you, even though he acts all innocent and sweet, like he would love to watch the movie.

When you squirm, he lets go of you, running his hands over your thighs. “Baby doll, we wanna watch that movie, don’t we? Ya squirming so much, can you even focus on it then?”

Idiot! When you settle back into him, he continues his little game until about halfway through the movie. His cock is painfully pressing against his pants and your back, but he’s not satisfied enough to stop playing with you just yet.

A yelp leaves your lips when he suddenly pushes two of his thick fingers into your entrance. He’s holding your legs spread with his, grinning into your neck. His lips trail along your soft skin, leaving soft kisses and bites all over it.

His mouth feels so sweet and tender while his fingers torment your pussy in the best way possible. The filthy, squelching noise mixed with your whimpers and moans fills the room.

“Good girl, such a good girl. Letting me play with you like a good you is supposed to,” he mumbles, his voice low. Bucky curls his fingers deep inside your cunt, groaning when you grab his thighs tightly to ground yourself. “That’s it… there it is. Your sweet spot, huh?”

Your pussy is clenching hard around his fingers, sucking his fingers back in whenever he pulls them out slightly. It earns you a lot of praise from that filthy mouth of your boyfriend.

“Look at my pussy, being so eager. Sucking my fingers in like your filthy mouth does with my cock all the time,” he says with a hoarse voice, his eyes dark and his lips on your neck no longer soft. He’s tugging with his teeth at your skin, leaving dark hickeys on your skin to remind you who you belong to. “Shouldn’t we reward you for being such a sweet and eager girl, shall we?”

Your nod is barely visible when you throw your head back against his shoulder. His fingers kept the steady rhythm. Suddenly you feel the coolness of his metal fingers on your clit, adding more and more pressure before he circles your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your legs shaking, your back arching when the coil in your stomach tightens until it finally snaps. You're squirting all over his hand — just like he had planned when starting to thrust his digits against your sweet spot.

Bucky uses his metal hand to slap your pussy, causing the liquid to squirt in every direction. Your moans turn into cries when he keeps rubbing your overstimulated pussy.

“Good girl, such a good girl. Look at the mess you just made. Your cum is everywhere, baby doll. But I’m sure you can give me one more,” he praises, plunging another finger into you. You whine, shaking your head, but Bucky knows better. He knows you can give him one more. “Love seeing you squirt for me; can’t even decide if I want to look at your pussy or your face, both so mesmerizing, baby doll.”

So, between more prizes and encouragement to come for him to do exactly that. His name leaves your lips over and over again until he needs to feel you around his thick, leaking cock.

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @pono-pura-vida @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @iris-xoxo-juhu @fckedupandbeautiful @hisredheadedgoddess28 @casa-boiardi @blackhawkfanatic @mrsalexstan @thesarcasmqueen-22 @kandis-mom @peachy-satan00 @armystay89 @queen-honeybee-stories @alexxavicry [add yourself]

[sebsbrokentoe]

#Mood

Gilmore Girls (2000 - 2007) I 2.08

[sebsbrokentoe]

His grey chest hair……

[sebsbrokentoe]

everyday without shame

[sebsbrokentoe]

holy fuck

[sebsbrokentoe]

This two photos are the ones that makes me more feral about him DAMM

[sebsbrokentoe]

[sebsbrokentoe]

Pony

You go to the strip club for a friend's bachelotte party and become flustered by one of the performers.

stripper!logan howlett x fem!reader - smut, steamy, logan is a stripper, cocky logan, slight reader description, no y/n used, strip club, reader is at a friend’s bachelotte party, handjob, fingering, p in v sex, riding, sexual tension, teasing banter, inspired by the song pony by ginuwine

a/n: everyone knows i struggle writing smut but here we are again... Inspired by the song pony…also dedicating this to @she-loves-wolvie. are we surprised, no. she is a genius.

divider credit: @adornedwithlight

This was a mistake—a terrible idea.

You sat rooted to your spot in the front row, your thighs pressing together under the tiny cocktail dress you’d reluctantly chosen for the bachelorette party. The bass of the music thumped through the club, vibrating up through the soles of your heels and into your chest, but it wasn’t the beat that had your pulse racing. No, it was him.

He strode onto the stage as if he owned it, broad shoulders rolling under the sharp cut of a half-open firefighter’s jacket, the dark suspenders tugged low on his hips. His grin was the kind of slow, wicked thing that curled your toes and promised trouble. Even from across the room, you could see the faint sheen of sweat on his chest catching the light, highlighting every hard ridge of muscle.

The heat that swept through you had nothing to do with the club’s packed bodies or the tequila shots still buzzing in your veins. It had everything to do with the way he moved. The man didn’t just dance—he prowled. Each step was deliberate, hips swaying in time with the music, every ripple of his abs purposeful. He dropped to a crouch, rolling his body with a liquid ease that made your breath hitch.

“Holy hell,” you muttered, trying not to stare but failing miserably. Your fingers clenched around the stem of your drink like it might keep you anchored, but your mind was already slipping. All you could think about was how his low-slung pants clung to him—like a second skin—and the dangerous gleam in his eyes when he glanced your way.

Wait.

Your heart stuttered.

He was looking at you.

You tried to convince yourself it was just a coincidence, that his smirk was part of the act, but the weight of his gaze burned through the flashing club lights like a brand. His grin deepened as he leaned back against the fireman’s pole, gripping it with one hand and spinning lazily like he had all the time in the world to tease. The other hand slid down his chest, his fingers brushing over the waistband of his pants before his thumb hooked just under the edge.

The air caught in your throat as his eyes locked on yours, and suddenly, the rest of the club might as well have disappeared. It was just him and you, and the unspoken dare crackling between you like static electricity. He must’ve seen how your breath quickened because his smirk turned downright sinful, and he tilted his head as if silently asking, Are you enjoying the show?

Oh, you were. Too much.

Your cheeks burned as he sauntered closer to the edge of the stage, those lazy hips drawing him near like a magnet. The crowd around you was a blur of cheers and hollers, but all you could focus on was the heat pooling low in your stomach and how your knees pressed tighter together. His fingers trailed along the stage’s edge as he bent forward slightly, giving you an unobstructed view of his abs—and something told you he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“Having fun?” he mouthed, and the words hit you harder than any shout over the music.

You swallowed hard, trying to summon a shred of composure, but all you could manage was a shaky nod.

Big mistake. His smile widened like a predator spotting its prey, and as the song shifted, his movements grew slower, sultrier. His body rolled in time with the sultry beat, every motion designed to drive you wild. By the time he reached for the clasp of the suspenders and snapped them loose, letting them dangle at his sides, you weren’t sure whether you wanted to cheer or melt into the floor.

“This was supposed to be fun,” you muttered, but even you couldn’t deny the truth. Fun didn’t feel like this—like your entire body was a live wire, buzzing with a heat that had you squirming in your seat. He wasn’t just dancing; he was playing with you. And judging by the way his eyes lingered on you longer than anyone else in the crowd, he knew it.

And God help you, you didn’t want him to stop.

Eventually, his turn ended, and another dancer came out, but you barely noticed. The crowd erupted into cheers for the newcomer, but your eyes were glued to the empty stage, and the afterimage of him—of that man—burned into your mind. You let out a shaky breath, pressing your damp palms against your thighs in an attempt to ground yourself.

“You look flustered.”

Kimberly’s voice cut through the thudding bass, and you turned to find her smirking at you, one perfectly arched brow raised in amusement. She didn’t look even slightly affected by the show, her posture relaxed as she sipped her cocktail like she’d been attending strip clubs every Friday night of her life.

“I’m fine,” you lied, straightening your spine and forcing a casual shrug. “It’s just the alcohol.”

Kimberly snorted, clearly not buying it. She tilted her head toward the other girls at the table, who were laughing and shouting at the next dancer. “Right. The alcohol. Sure. You looked like you were about to combust when he looked at you.”

You rolled your eyes, willing the heat rising in your cheeks to go unnoticed. “I’m fine, Kimberly.”

“Uh-huh.” She grinned knowingly and turned back to the group, leaving you to stew in your flustered state.

The air suddenly felt suffocating, the pounding music and the crush of bodies too much to handle. You needed space—or a drink stronger than whatever sad cocktail Kimberly had ordered for you earlier. Pushing back your chair, you muttered something about going to the bar and wove through the crowd, ignoring the pulsing beat of the music and the occasional brush of someone’s shoulder against yours.

By the time you reached the bar, your heart was still hammering in your chest. You pressed your hands against the cool countertop, letting the chill seep into your skin as you sucked in a steadying breath. The bartender caught your eye, and you raised a finger. “Tequila. Straight.”

He nodded, sliding a shot glass toward you in record time. You knocked it back in one swift motion, the liquid burning its way down your throat. It helped. A little. At least now you could convince yourself the heat pooling low in your stomach was from the alcohol and not the way that stranger on stage had looked at you like he wanted to ruin you.

Or maybe you were failing miserably at that.

“Another?” the bartender asked, his tone neutral, and professional.

You were about to nod when you felt it—warmth at your back. Not the impersonal heat of the crowd, but something deliberate, focused. Someone was standing close enough that you could feel the faintest brush of their breath against your neck.

“You seem thirsty,” a low, teasing voice murmured behind you, and your body froze.

The voice was smooth as silk, with the faintest rasp sending a shiver skittering down your spine. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it belonged to. Him.

Your breath hitched, and you turned your head just enough to catch his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He was leaning casually against the counter, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Up close, he was even more devastating. The sharp line of his jaw, the mess of dark hair, the piercing eyes that seemed to see right through you—all of it was unfairly attractive.

“I—uh…” You swallowed, grasping for something, anything coherent to say, but your brain was still lagging behind your body, which had gone hot and traitorously aware of how close he was.

His smirk deepened, and he straightened slightly, his gaze dropping to the empty shot glass in your hand. “Tequila, huh? Bold choice. Does it help?”

“Help with what?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

He chuckled a low sound that you felt more than heard. “With cooling off.”

Your fingers tightened around the glass, and you turned to face him fully, determined to regain some semblance of control. “I’m fine,” you said, your voice firm this time.

“Are you?” His eyes flicked down, taking in the flush creeping up your neck, the way you were still gripping the shot glass like a lifeline. He raised an eyebrow. “Because you don’t look fine.”

Your stomach flipped, a mix of embarrassment and something far more dangerous. “Look, I don’t know who you are—”

“Logan.” He interrupted smoothly, holding out a hand as if this was a perfectly normal introduction and not a moment charged with enough tension to short-circuit your brain.

You stared at his outstretched hand for a moment before shaking it, his fingers warm and slightly rough against yours. “Okay, Logan,” you said, pulling your hand back quickly before your brain decided to do something stupid like notice how good he smelled—like clean sweat and cedar, with a hint of something spicy. “What do you want?”

He leaned in just enough that his voice was low, meant for you and you alone. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you were enjoying the show.”

The teasing edge in his tone sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and you resisted the urge to press your thighs together. “It was… fine,” you said, aiming for casual but landing somewhere closer to breathless.

“Just fine?” His grin widened, and the cocky tilt of his head made you want to throttle him—or kiss him. You weren’t entirely sure which. “Because from where I was standing, you looked like you were having a very good time.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You’ve got a big ego, don’t you?”

“Only when I’m right.” His gaze dropped to your lips for the briefest second before returning to your eyes, and your pulse spiked. “But if I’m wrong, feel free to correct me.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. His proximity, the heat of his body, the sheer audacity of his smirk—it was all too much.

Logan leaned back just enough to let a sliver of air slip between you, though it did nothing to cool the heat crawling up your spine. His lips curved into a lazy, maddening smirk that belonged to a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, his voice low and velvet-smooth, but his eyes stayed locked on yours, sharp and unrelenting.

Your pulse jumped. “No, it’s a no—” you snapped.

“Really?” His grin deepened, and he tilted his head, studying you in a way that made you feel entirely exposed. “Because I could’ve sworn I saw you earlier. Front row. All flustered, mouth slightly parted, thighs rubbing together—”

Your stomach dropped. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me, gorgeous.” He stepped closer again, just enough for his presence to wash over you like a wave. He leaned in, his lips hovering by your ear, and the rasp in his voice was enough to send a shiver racing down your neck. “I could feel it from the stage. How you looked at me—like you couldn’t decide if you wanted to run or let me ruin you.”

Your breath hitched. He wasn’t wrong, and you hated how easily he read you. The heat pooling low in your belly flared again, and you found yourself gripping the edge of the bar for balance.

“Cocky much?” you shot back, hoping the bite in your tone would mask how unsteady you felt.

“Not cocky. Just observant.” Logan’s eyes dipped down your body, slow and deliberate, before meeting yours again. “And right.”

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry despite the tequila you’d just downed. The worst part was how your body betrayed you. The way your skin prickled, how your knees felt weak, the way your chest rose and fell just a little too quickly—he saw all of it, and he was enjoying every second.

“You know,” he murmured, his tone casual but the gleam in his eyes anything but, “if I’m making you this uncomfortable, you could just walk away.”

Your pride flared at the challenge in his voice, and you narrowed your eyes. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

“No?” He leaned in again, his hand brushing the bar beside you as he boxed you in. “Because you’re looking at me like you’re trying to decide if kissing me would be a bad idea.”

Your heart stuttered. “I’m not—”

“Relax, sweetheart,” he interrupted, his lips quirking as he pulled back just enough to watch your reaction. “I’m not saying you should.” He let the moment hang, thick with tension, before his smirk turned devilish. “Just that you could.”

The words hung between you like a dare, and it was suddenly too much—the heat, the proximity, the way he seemed to unravel you with every glance. Your head spun as you tried to think of a retort, but the alcohol and the sheer intensity of him had your brain working at half speed.

And somehow, that was how you ended up letting him lead you toward one of the private rooms tucked at the back of the club.

The hallway was dimly lit, the music from the main floor muffled as Logan’s hand rested lightly on the small of your back, guiding you past closed curtains and cracked open doors. Your heels clicked against the floor, but even that sound was drowned out by the thrum of blood rushing in your ears.

“Where are we going?” you managed, your voice breathy, almost unrecognizable to your own ears.

He glanced over his shoulder, his grin still firmly in place. “Somewhere quieter.”

“That’s not an answer,” you muttered, though your legs betrayed you by continuing to follow him.

“It’s the only one you’re getting,” he shot back with a wink, and damn it, why did that wink have to make your stomach flip?

Finally, he stopped outside a heavy curtain, pulling it aside to reveal a small room bathed in low, crimson light. A single plush armchair sat in the center of the space, plush and wide, clearly designed for what the club had advertised—lap dances. But as the curtain fell closed behind you, the air shifted, crackling with a tension that had nothing to do with performance and everything to do with the two of you.

You hovered by the doorway, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that you were alone with him, your body still humming from the tequila and his proximity. “I don’t… I don’t think this is a good idea,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

Logan turned, his gaze dark and unreadable as he closed the distance between you. His hand came up, fingertips brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, and the simple touch sent a spark racing down your spine.

“No?” he asked softly, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. “Because you came with me anyway.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. He was close again, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, close enough that the scent of him—earthy and spiced—wrapped around you like a drug.

“I think,” he murmured, his other hand skimming the curve of your waist before settling on your hip, “you’re just scared of how much you want this.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears, and you hated—hated—how right he was.

Logan’s gaze stayed locked on you, dark and daring, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was about to deliver another smug remark that would have your blood boiling. Maybe that’s why you did it.

Or maybe it was the way his hand lingered on your hip, his thumb brushing slow, lazy circles against the fabric of your dress. Or the way the air between you was crackling, charged, begging for something to snap.

You didn’t think. You just moved.

Before he could say another word, you grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him toward you, closing the gap in an instant. Your lips crashed against his, and whatever smartass thing he was about to say was swallowed in the kiss.

Logan made a low sound in the back of his throat, startled for only a second before he recovered, his hands sliding to your waist as he pulled you closer. He kissed you like he’d been waiting for it all night, his lips skilled and confident, claiming yours with a fervor that made your head spin.

Your fingers found their way into his hair, tugging at the dark strands just hard enough to draw a sharp inhale from him. He groaned against your lips, and the sound sent a thrill racing through you, lighting up every nerve ending like fireworks.

“Bold move, gorgeous,” he muttered between kisses, his lips curving against yours.

“Shut up,” you breathed, tangling your fingers tighter in his hair and pulling him back into you.

Logan obliged, his mouth slanting against yours with a roughness that matched your own. His hands roamed your sides, fingers grazing the curve of your ribs, the dip of your waist, the small of your back—exploring but never pushing too far. He let you set the pace, and you weren’t about to hold back.

The crimson glow of the room bathed his sharp features as you broke the kiss just long enough to catch your breath, your lips tingling and swollen. Logan’s chest heaved, his pupils blown wide as he looked at you, his smirk now replaced with something darker.

But you weren’t done.

Without giving him time to recover, you shoved at his chest firmly enough to send him stumbling backward into the plush armchair. He sank into it with a grunt, his legs spread wide as he caught himself on the arms of the chair. For once, Logan looked momentarily caught off guard, and the sight of it sent a surge of confidence through you.

“Damn,” he murmured, his lips quirking upward, though his voice was rougher now, the teasing edge tempered by something deeper. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

You ignored him.

Instead, you stepped forward, your hands bracing on the back of the chair as you swung a leg over his lap. His eyes darkened as you straddled him, your knees sinking into the plush cushion on either side of his thighs. You leaned in, close enough that your breath mingled with his, and the predatory gleam in his eyes sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“Still think I’m flustered?” you whispered, your lips brushing the shell of his ear just enough to feel him stiffen beneath you.

Logan’s hands found your hips, gripping them firmly as he leaned back into the chair, his smirk returning, though this time it was edged with heat. “Oh, I know you are,” he rasped. “But I’m not complaining.”

His words sent a spark of frustration—and desire—coursing through you, and you didn’t hesitate before crashing your mouth against his again. This time, it was rougher, hungrier, teeth and tongue clashing in a way that had you both gasping for air.

Logan’s hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer until you were flush against him, his body solid and warm beneath you. You could feel the tension coiled in him, his fingers gripping you like he was barely holding himself back, and the restraint only fueled the fire building inside you.

Your fingers trailed down his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. When you reached the hem, you tugged it upward, your nails grazing his skin in a way that made him hiss against your lips.

“Fuck,” Logan muttered, his voice rough with both surprise and amusement. “You waste no time, huh?”

His smugness was back, written all over the lopsided grin tugging at his swollen lips. That grin—the same one that had both infuriated and ignited you from the second he walked into your orbit—made your stomach flip and your blood burn in equal measure. Now, you weren’t interested in sparring with words. You wanted to make him eat that cocky grin, to wipe it clean off his face until he couldn’t do anything but feel.

“Why would I take it slow?” you shot back, your voice low, almost a purr, as your fingers trailed down his chest. You felt him tense beneath your touch, the muscles of his torso rippling as you worked your way lower, each inch of his body more deliciously solid than the last.

Logan let out a breathy laugh, though it broke halfway through as your hand hovered just over the waistband of his pants. “Damn,” he rasped, his voice dipping lower. “You really aren’t shy, are you?”

You didn’t answer, and you didn’t need to. Words weren’t what either of you needed right now. Instead, you kept your eyes locked on his as you reached for the button of his pants, your fingers working with a confidence you didn’t know you had.

The moment the fabric loosened under your touch, Logan’s breath hitched, his smirk faltering as the heat between you flared, molten and undeniable. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as you tugged the zipper down, the sound almost deafening in the small, crimson-lit room.

“Shit,” he muttered, his head tipping back against the chair, though his gaze flicked back to you quickly as if he couldn’t bear to look away for too long. “You’re gonna kill me, gorgeous.”

“Good,” you murmured, your lips curving into a wicked grin of your own.

With a deliberate slowness that had his entire body tensing beneath you, you slid your hand beneath the fabric, your fingers brushing against heated skin. Logan groaned, low and rough, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as you wrapped your hand around him.

The sound he made was sinful, the kind of sound that sent a shiver racing down your spine and made your pulse pound harder in your ears. His head tipped back again, exposing the sharp line of his jaw, and you couldn’t resist leaning forward to press your lips against it. The scrape of his stubble against your mouth was delicious, and you let your teeth graze his skin lightly, earning another low, guttural groan from him.

His hands slid higher, fingers skimming the bare skin of your thighs, his touch just shy of where you wanted it most. It was infuriating how good he was at this—how he could be falling apart under your touch and still dare to tease you.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his voice a strained mix of pleasure and frustration as you moved your hand, slow and steady, testing what he liked. His hips jerked upward slightly, and his fingers dug into your thighs, his control slipping.

“You talk too much,” you teased, leaning close enough that your breath brushed against his ear.

Logan let out a strangled laugh, his voice raw. “And you’re full of surprises.” His hands flexed against your legs, his thumbs brushing over your inner thighs in a way that made your breath hitch. “Dangerous ones.”

You didn’t respond; you were too focused on how his body reacted to you. His groans deepened, his breaths coming faster, his muscles tensing beneath you. Every sound, every shift, every reaction was a victory, and you could feel his restraint unraveling with each passing second.

“You’re enjoying this,” he rasped, his voice barely audible, his tone between amusement and surrender.

“Obviously,” you replied, your lips grazing the shell of his ear as you spoke.

Logan’s laugh was short and broken, and when he finally tipped his head forward, his gaze met yours. His eyes were dark and blown with desire, his smirk long gone, replaced by something raw and desperate.

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that,” Logan muttered, his voice dark and teasing, just before his hand came down on your ass with a sharp smack. The sting was quick, but the warmth that bloomed in its wake sent a shiver racing through you. Your movements froze, your hand pausing mid-stroke against him, caught off guard by the sudden jolt of sensation.

“Did I say you could stop?” he rasped, his tone low, commanding, and dripping with heat.

The words alone sent a spark surging through you, your stomach tightening as heat pooled low in your core. You bit your lip, trying to stay composed, but the tiniest flicker of hesitation must have shown in your expression.

Because Logan smirked and then his palm met your ass again, harder this time, the sound sharp in the small room.

Your breath hitched, your pulse thundering in your ears as you let out a soft gasp. “Go on,” he said, his voice a rough, gravelly edge that made your thighs press together instinctively. “Don’t stop now.”

Your fingers wrapped around him again, and you began to move, slow and deliberate, testing his control. The low groan that escaped his throat was more than enough encouragement to keep going.

Logan’s hands didn’t stay idle. One of them was still gripping your hip, keeping you steady in his lap, his fingers digging into your skin with just the right amount of pressure. But the other—the other drifted lower, his touch firm but unhurried as it slid along the curve of your thigh.

Your breath caught as his hand moved higher, his fingertips skimming the sensitive skin of your inner thigh before finding the edge of your panties. His movements were teasing, maddeningly slow, as though he had all the time in the world to undo you.

When his fingers finally dipped beneath the fabric, brushing against you, your head fell forward, a strangled moan slipping past your lips.

“Mmm,” Logan murmured, his voice like velvet, his breath hot against your ear. “Already so wet.”

The smugness in his tone should have annoyed you, but instead, it only stoked the fire burning in your core. Your hand tightened around him in retaliation, your grip firm as you stroked him, earning another low, guttural groan that vibrated through his chest and into yours.

“Just like that, pretty girl,” he hissed, his forehead briefly pressing against your shoulder as his fingers moved, slow and deliberate, teasing you in a way that made it impossible to think straight. His thumb brushed against just the right spot, and your hips jerked involuntarily, pressing yourself harder against his hand.

Logan chuckled, low and dark, the sound rumbling against your skin. “Someone’s impatient,” he murmured, his lips brushing the side of your neck.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, too focused on the push and pull of sensation—the way his fingers slid against you, coaxing sounds from you that you couldn’t have held back if you tried. The combination of your movements around him and the way his hand worked you was overwhelming, your body teetering on the edge of losing control entirely.

“You feel so fucking good,” he muttered, his voice thick with restraint, his breathing uneven as your hand continued to move, drawing sharp, broken groans from him.

His other hand slid up your back, tangling in your hair and gently pulling your head back until your eyes met his. Logan’s gaze was molten, his pupils blown wide, his lips parted as he drank you in. “You’re gonna make me lose my mind,” he growled, his tone dripping with hunger.

“Good,” you breathed, your voice shaky but bold as you pressed your forehead against his, letting your lips brush his in a teasing, fleeting touch.

Logan’s fingers pressed deeper, his movements skilled and deliberate, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, dissolving into a whimper as his thumb found just the right spot, circling with maddening precision. Your body arched against him, your breathing ragged and shallow, and you felt like you were teetering on the edge.

“Look at you,” Logan rasped, his voice rough and frayed like he was barely holding himself together. His forehead brushed yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips. “You gonna cum for me?”

The words hit you like a lightning strike, a fresh wave of heat crashing through you. Your stomach clenched, and your thighs trembled, but instead of answering, you tightened your grip around him, stroking him harder, faster, desperate to drive him over the same edge he was so skillfully pushing you toward.

Logan groaned, the sound low and guttural, his hips jerking upward into your hand as his control faltered. His fingers curled inside you, hitting a spot that had your head tipping back, a broken moan spilling from your lips before you could stop it.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his voice a strained growl as his free hand slid up your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. His lips brushed your jaw and then neck, his stubble scraping against your skin in a way that only added to the overwhelming heat pooling low in your stomach.

You tried to hold on, to stay grounded, but the feverish, escalating rhythm between you was too much. His fingers worked you mercilessly, every movement driving you higher, tighter until you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but feel.

“Logan,” you gasped, his name tumbling from your lips, your voice trembling with the weight of it.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your skin, his lips ghosting over your collarbone, his voice rough and dripping with hunger. “Let go for me. I want to feel you.”

The coil in your core snapped, and you came undone, your body clenching around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure tore through you. Your vision blurred, your head tipping forward to bury against his shoulder as a ragged, desperate moan escaped your lips. Logan groaned in response, his hand steadying you, guiding you through it, his fingers still moving as aftershocks rippled through you.

But you weren’t the only one losing control.

Your hand on him didn’t falter, your movements picking up speed even as your body shook in his lap. You could feel him straining against your grip, his breaths coming fast and shallow, each exhale warm against your skin.

“Fuck, you’re gonna—” His words broke off into a strangled groan, his head tipping back against the chair, exposing the strong line of his throat as he unraveled beneath you. His hands tightened on your hips, fingers digging into your skin as his body tensed.

You watched him fall apart, every sound, every shuddering breath sending a fresh thrill racing through you. His lips parted, his jaw clenched, and then he let go, his body jerking beneath yours as his release spilled over your hand, hot and sticky, marking both of you.

The room was filled with nothing but the sound of your mingled breathing, both of you trembling, chests rising and falling in sync as the tension slowly ebbed away.

Logan was the first to break the silence, a low, breathless laugh rumbling in his chest. “Shit,” he muttered, his voice hoarse but laced with amusement. His hands slid up your back, holding you against him as he pressed his forehead to yours. “You don’t play fair, do you?”

You let out a shaky laugh, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your release. But you weren’t done.

“No,” you whispered, your voice still uneven but laced with determination.

Logan’s brows lifted slightly, his lips parting as if to say something, but before he could get a word out, your hands were already moving. You slid your panties to the side again with deliberate ease. Logan’s gaze dropped, his hazel eyes tracking every movement, his chest still rising and falling heavily.

“Wait a second,” he started, his voice a rasp of amusement mixed with surprise.

But you didn’t wait. Instead, you lifted yourself slightly, your hand wrapping around him, positioning him at your entrance. The feel of him, hot and hard against you, sent a fresh wave of heat racing through your body. Your eyes flicked up to meet his, daring him to stop you.

Logan’s smirk faltered, his jaw tightening as he looked up at you, the faintest hint of a challenge lingering in his gaze. “Damn, gorgeous,” he hissed as you began to sink down onto him, slow and deliberate, your walls stretching around him inch by inch. His head tipped back against the chair, his fingers gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. “Take it easy.”

“Why?” you shot back, your voice low and breathy, though your lips curled into a wicked smile. “Can’t handle it?”

That wiped away the last trace of his cocky grin. His hands flexed against your hips, his gaze snapping back to you, sharp and burning with intensity. “Oh, I can handle it,” he growled, his voice rough and edged with need. “The question is, can you?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you pressed your palms against his chest for leverage, your nails grazing over the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt as you sank down fully, taking him to the hilt.

The sound that tore from Logan’s throat was raw, almost guttural, his hips jerking up into you as his head tipped back once again. His control—so cool and smug just moments ago—was starting to crack, and the sight of it sent a surge of satisfaction coursing through you.

You started to move, slow and purposeful at first, testing the rhythm, testing him. Logan’s groans deepened, his fingers sliding down to grip your thighs as his hips bucked slightly in time with your movements.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice barely more than a growl. “You’re killing me.”

You leaned forward, letting your lips brush the shell of his ear as you whispered, “Yeah?”

That single word seemed to undo him further. His grip on your thighs tightened, his hips moving more insistently beneath you, but you weren’t about to let him take control. Not this time.

You straightened up, pressing your hands firmly against his chest to hold him down as you picked up your pace, your movements rougher now, needier. The friction, the heat, the way he filled you—it was all-consuming, overwhelming, and yet you wanted more.

“You feel so good. Just like that,” Logan groaned, his voice strained, his hands sliding back to your hips to guide you even though it was clear you didn’t need the help. 

“You talk too much,” you shot back, a playful edge in your tone even as your breaths came faster, your body tightening, coiling, building toward something inevitable.

Logan let out a breathless laugh, though it quickly dissolved into a moan as you rolled your hips, the movement pulling another low groan from deep in his chest. His head fell forward slightly, his lips grazing your collarbone, your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he muttered, “Yeah but you like it.”

“Maybe,” you whispered, your voice shaky, your pace quickening as you chased that edge, your body burning with the need to prove him wrong.

The tension in your body reached a breaking point, your thighs trembling as the pleasure surged higher and higher. Logan’s hands clutched at you, his breathing harsh, his voice barely audible as he rasped your name like a prayer.

And then you shattered.

The release ripped through you, your walls clenching tightly around him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. Your head tipped back, a broken moan spilling from your lips as your body bucked against his. Logan groaned beneath you, his grip on your hips faltering as he felt you fall apart, his own control slipping further.

His head fell back against the chair, his jaw tight, his lips parted as he let out a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through both of you. His hands clenched at your skin, holding you in place as his hips jerked beneath you, his release hitting hard and fast, his composure completely obliterated.

The room was filled with nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing, the heat of your bodies tangled together as you both came down from the high. Your chest heaved, your hands still pressed against his chest as you steadied yourself, your legs shaking slightly from the effort.

Logan looked up at you then, his face flushed, his eyes dark and dazed. That smug grin of his? Gone. Replaced by something softer like he wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened.

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his in a slow, languid kiss, savoring the way his body relaxed beneath you, the way his hands still rested on your hips like he didn’t want to let you go.

“Guess you were wrong,” you murmured against his lips, your voice soft but dripping with triumph, a smug smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Logan let out a breathless laugh, his chest still heaving beneath your palms. His head rested against the chair, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his skin under the dim red glow of the room. He shook his head slightly, the movement slow and lazy, as if he were still catching his breath. His hands slid up your back in a way that made you shiver, the pressure steady and possessive.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice hoarse and low, roughened by everything you’d just put him through. “But I’m not even mad.”

You smirked at that, your satisfaction blooming at the sight of him—disheveled, flushed, and for once completely stripped of his cocky confidence. His hair was an unruly mess, his lips red and swollen from your kisses. You’d done that to him, and you couldn’t help the rush of pride that followed.

Still, the teasing glint in his eye told you he wasn’t quite ready to give you the last word.

Feeling his weight still beneath you, the lingering heat between your bodies, you pushed against his chest to get up. Your legs were a little shaky, but your resolve was firm.

But Logan’s hands tightened on your hips, holding you in place with an effortless strength that sent a jolt of something thrilling through you. His fingers flexed against your skin to let you know he wasn’t ready to let go.

“Where you going, gorgeous?” he asked, his voice lazy but dripping with heat. His gaze lifted to meet yours, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief despite the exhaustion etched into his features.

“I had my fun,” you replied, tilting your head slightly as you gave him your best smirk.

His brow shot up, a single, questioning arch that made your stomach flip. “You had your fun?”

“Yeah,” you said, shrugging as nonchalantly as you could while straddling him, your hands still braced on his chest. “Mission accomplished. You’re wrecked. I’m satisfied. Seems fair to me.”

Logan chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating beneath your palms. “Satisfied, huh?” he repeated, his tone laced with playful skepticism. “You sure about that?”

Your eyes narrowed slightly at his challenge, but before you could fire back, Logan shifted beneath you, his hands sliding from your hips to the curve of your waist. The movement was slow, deliberate, and far too smooth for someone who should’ve been as wrecked as he looked. His thumbs brushed over the sensitive skin just beneath your ribs, a touch so light it felt like he was testing you.

“Because I don’t think you are,” he murmured, his lips quirking into a faint smirk as his eyes flicked down to where your bodies were still pressed together. “Not really.”

You rolled your eyes, even as your pulse betrayed you, thrumming harder at the weight of his hands on your skin. “I think I know when I’m satisfied, Logan.”

“Do you, though?” he countered, his smirk growing as his gaze climbed back up to yours. “Because if this is you satisfied, gorgeous, I can’t wait to see what you’re like when you’re really having fun.”

You stared at him, your lips parting as his words sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through you. And damn him, he saw it—saw the way your breath hitched, the way your eyes flickered just slightly, betraying the lingering hunger that even you hadn’t realized was still there.

Logan’s grin softened, losing some of its sharpness as his hands slid back down to your hips, holding you there. “Stay,” he said softly, though his tone still had an edge of playfulness. “Unless you’re scared I’ll prove you wrong again.”

You narrowed your eyes, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed the composure you tried to maintain. “Scared?” you scoffed, leaning forward slightly, your hands trailing up his chest. “Not a chance.”

“Good,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, his grip on you tightening slightly. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

“Guess I’ll have to stick around,” you said finally, your voice light but your heart pounding.

Logan grinned, leaning forward just enough to brush his lips against yours. “Damn right, you will.”

[sebsbrokentoe]

“man, what a year” i say as its only been 12 days into january

[sebsbrokentoe]

through every moment | l. norris

summary: 5 times lando comforted you + 1 time you comforted him

wc: 2.2k

helloo lovelies. this admittedly is a very old thing from my docs, but i thought i'd get it out there. i don't write for lando anymore (unless it's a commission), so i hope you enjoy it.

i. stressful day

you had one of those days where nothing seemed to go right— coursework was stressful, your to-do list for the day was never-ending, and you just felt drained. 

when you got home, lando immediately noticed how off you seemed. your shoulders were drooped, the way you lazily carried yourself and the biggest giveaway of it all; the look on your face. you looked done, exhausted. lando hadn’t seen you in such a state in a long time. 

with the stream he had in mind now forgotten, he made his way to you as you still stood near the front door. you lazily kicked off your shoes, threw your jacket on one of the pegs and then turned to be met with lando’s sympathetic gaze.

without a word lando wrapped you in a tight hug, holding you to his chest as his cheek rested on top of your head. a soft smile painted its way onto his face when you melted into his embrace, feeling the weight of the day slowly dissipate.

“we don’t have to talk about it,” he whispered, moving so his lips were brushing your forehead. after placing a gentle kiss on the skin he heard a faint sniffle against him, and felt you slightly shake against him. lando gave you a soft squeeze, his right hand rubbing soothing circles into your back. 

“just relax, i’ve got you.”

ii. anxiety 

you’d been spiraling about your future all night, overthinking every possible outcome. lando knew something was up, because you just weren’t yourself. it was as if a shell of yourself was in front of him, and it worried him. you hadn’t spoken to him about anything, and he didn’t want to force it out of you. he knew you’d talk to him when you were ready. 

and it took a few days, but you did eventually go to lando and talk things out. about how you were feeling with the thought of the future in your mind, every little possibility— good and bad. lando was taken aback at the word spew he was presented with, your thoughts were spilling out faster than you could control, which you yourself didn’t even realise. 

but lando listened patiently, never interrupting you. he let you get it all out, no matter how long it took. when you finally paused, a large sigh escaping your lips, lando reached over to take your hands in his own. he gently stroked the back of them with his thumbs, the roughness of his thumb pad a stark contrast to your softer skin. 

“you don’t have to figure everything out right now,” he started, his voice soft. “you don’t have to have everything figured out right now. you’re already doing amazing and i know whatever happens, you’ll be great.”

you felt yourself tearing up as he spoke, not expecting him to comfort you so well with such few words. lando could see the tears welling up in your eyes and couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped his lips, moving one of his hands to your face as he wiped them away. 

“don’t cry love,” he told you, smile still wide on his face. you shook your head and wiped your eyes as you felt more tears well up. 

“that was so sweet, i’ve never heard you be such a softie,” you sniffled, your own shaky laugh escaping you now. lando dramatically gasped, shoving your shoulder gently as another giggle escaped you. 

lando couldn’t help but smile at the sight of you, heart swelling with pride as he realised he was cheering you up, helping you. his hands moved to your sides and you gasped as his fingers worked against you, causing you to let out a burst of laughter as you tried to kick him off. 

“take that back!”

iii. homesick

being away from home for long stretches of time wasn’t new, it was part of your lifestyle now that you were with lando. just because it was part of your life, didn’t make it any easier to handle. this particular race weekend, the distance was hitting you a lot harder than usual. 

lando noticed how much quieter than usual you were; sitting off to the side, staring at your phone, scrolling through old photos of family. it didn’t take a genius to put together what was wrong with you this weekend. 

sitting down next to you, lando placed his hand on your knee and gave it a gentle squeeze. you gave him a weak smile, shutting your phone off and turning towards him so you could give him your full attention. 

“missing home?” he asked gently, testing the waters to see if you wanted to speak about it. when you didn’t verbally reply— with only a nod in return— he could tell it wasn’t a conversation you were wanting to have. lando gave you a sympathetic smile, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. 

“let’s call your family then,” he suggested, nodding his head towards your phone. you were slightly taken aback, as lando had media duties. it wasn’t exactly something he could miss.  

“but you—” you went to try fight back, but lando cut you off immediately. “i still have time, and who says i don’t miss them too?” he winked at you, making a more genuine smile finding its way onto your face. you nodded, and moved your phone so it was in the middle of you both, letting lando see as you tapped to the facetime icon, and started to ring your family. 

“can’t wait for your mum to tell me i’m her favourite.”

iv. insecurities 

you had been feeling off lately, doubting yourself in small ways, but the small things started to build up and it was all weighing on you. you usually managed to talk yourself down from it, realising it was simply overthinking. but this time was different. 

after one particularly rough night with battling your insecurities, you decided to go to lando about it. you confessed to him that you didn’t feel great about yourself lately, lots of little things nagging away at you. 

it scared you how quiet lando was, still and unmoving. it only made you feel worse. but before you could start to overthink about that too, lando’s hands made their way up to your face, cupping your cheeks softly. he let his thumbs brush over your cheeks momentarily before speaking. 

“i don’t want to hear you saying that about yourself,” he told you sternly, and you immediately grimaced and felt bad for bringing it up to him. it was stupid of you, really. 

“sorry, i shouldn’t have mentioned it. i—” you started to apologise, trying to stop the subject but lando pinched your cheek making you yelp. you frowned at him, refocusing your attention on him when you saw his raised brow. 

“no, i’m glad you did. but i don’t want to hear you talking down on yourself like that,” he explained, reassuring you. lando leaned into place a soft kiss on your lips, before pulling back. “you’re my pretty girl, aren’t you?” he asked, smirking as he saw you flush. 

“lando, stop,” you whined, but couldn’t help but kiss him back when he leaned in again. the kiss was longer this time, more passionate than chaste. you let out a small noise when his tongue grazed your bottom lip, pulling on it as he pulled away. he looked into your eyes, and you felt yourself swallowing thickly as you recognised the look that was clouded within his gaze. 

moving his hands off of you, he swiftly moved to pick you up, hands holding you by your ass as he walked you both towards your shared bedroom. your head rapidly switched between the direction you were walking in, and lando’s gave. you gasped when you realised where he was taking you, and the stupid smirk was still on his face. 

dropping you onto the bed, lando had his knees at either side of you, looking down at you as you lay below him. his hands trailed your body and you felt yourself growing more flustered as his touch continued. whining his name you tried to move his hands. 

“no no, let me show my sweet girl how pretty she is.”

v. when you were sick

you had caught a nasty flu from the last trip you and lando were on, which had left you bedridden when you arrived back home. you weren’t too bothered, you knew it would clear up soon enough. lando on the other hand was a different story. you had told him not to worry, that you’d be fine. but lando refused to leave your side, making sure to tend to any and all of your needs. 

it was a week off racing, which worked in his favour for staying with you at all costs. you made sure he was still following his routine, not allowing him to break it because you were ill. when his schedule was free though, he was in bed right next to you, making sure you were okay. 

he brought you warm soup, made sure you were warm enough, and sat with you through every episode of your comfort show that you were now rewatching, hoping it would raise your spirits. 

at one point, as one of the episodes played the intro, you groggily apologised to lando for being so out of it. lando shook his head though, disregarding your apology as one of his hands moved to the stray hairs around your face, gently brushing them away. 

“no apology needed, you’re sick. i don’t expect you to be as alert as you usually are,” he reassured you, leaning into kiss your forehead. your skin was hot, it slightly worried him but he tried to brush off thought, seeing as you told him too many times to count that he shouldn’t be worried. 

you leaned your head against his shoulder, whining about how disgusting you felt when you were sick, and how annoyed you were you couldn’t kiss him on the lips. lando chuckled at the latter, but gave you a small nudge at the first thing you said. he told you he always found you stunning, even if you had major bedhead and a bright red face. it was your turn to give lando a nudge back. 

“i’m being nice! i told you, you’re always my pretty girl.”

+1 when lando needed you

lando had just finished a race, where nothing seemed to go right. an early collision, some strategy mishaps which lead to him not even hitting the points despite all his effort, due to the damage the car has taken. he usually tried to brush off bad races with a witty comment or a joke to the people around him, trying to keep the spirits up a little. but today, you could see the frustration and disappoint evident in his eyes, and the slump in his posture when nobody had their eyes on him. 

you decided to wait for him in his drivers room, allowing him to have his own space before he had to get his post-race duties done. as soon as he had done everything that was required, he practically bolted for his drivers room. 

lando was staring at the floor as he walked into his room, slamming the door shut rougher than usual. looking up he saw you standing with your arms open for him, and he took a couple of slow steps over before he allowed himself to melt into your arms, holding you against him so tightly— as if you’d disappear otherwise. 

you rubbed his back softly, placing your chin on his chest as you looked up to him. you give him a look, one that encouraged him to talk. lando sighed, his voice low and defeated as he spoke up. “today was a fucking failure, i just— i can’t stop thinking about it. thinking about what i should’ve done differently.”

you gave lando a sympathetic look as you leaned up, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “you shouldn’t be dwelling on it, nothing can change now,” you started, your hands moving to his chest as you rubbed slow circles into it.  “it’s just one race, lan. you’ll bounce back, you always do.”

he sighed, leaning his forehead against your own as he shut his eyes. the tension still lingered in his body, but it was starting to slowly ease, now he had you with him. once he opened his eyes to look at you again, you spoke up. 

“you don’t have to be perfect all the time,” you whispered, one of your hands moving up to his hair; playing with his messy curls. “you’re allowed to have bad days, too. i’m here, no matter what.”

a small smile appeared on lando’s face at your reassuring words, his hands resting on your waist as he pulled your body right against his own. “thank you,” he finally spoke up, his eyes meeting yours with a look of vulnerability he rarely showed. “i love you,” he murmured quietly, staring at you expectantly.. desperately. 

“i love you too, so much.”

[sebsbrokentoe]

Hello lovely <3

Can I please request a Joel miller x reader oneshot where the reader had a really bad run in with infected on a patrol and then when Joel comes home to find her all panicked he comforts her, gets her cleaned up and into bed .etc. ??

Thank you🥰

𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

contains non-explicit nudity

Pairing Joel Miller x Female Reader

Summary After a brush with death while on patrol, Joel assures you and himself that you're still here as you wind down for the night [outbreak, fluff, 3.3k]

A/N Thank you so much for this amazing request, anon! This is my first fic of 2025, and I appreciate your patience as I took a little break to transition into the new year. I’ve decided to make this fic a part of the From Here On Out universe. I hope you guys enjoy! 

∘°∘♡∘°∘

Chatter and swells of laughter rest at a minimum amid the Tipsy Bison. Only half the usual Friday night patrons have trickled in so far, peppered around the establishment with drinks in hand. The air is thick with the scent of sharp spirits and stale beer. String lights cast everything in a dim, warm glow. 

Beneath the clunk of Joel’s booted footsteps, the floor is sticky. A few nods are directed his way as he saunters towards the bar, which he returns with a tip of his cowboy hat. In the ten months since he arrived in Jackson, he’d built up a reputation for himself. One that was revered and feared all the same. Fading into the background wasn’t an option anymore. 

If folks still didn’t know his name, they undoubtedly recognized him when he walked into the room. That easy, measured stride. Those brows oftentimes furrowed in thought. Those dark, knowing eyes that were humble enough to know he had a lot more to learn. 

The older man wiping down the counter tosses the rag over his shoulder as Joel approaches. Old stains are splotched down the front of his white shirt. But he’s happy to see Joel. A quiet, jazzy piano melody flows from the billard room. 

“Howdy Clyde,” Joel drawls as he sits. A few barstools down, a pair of friends talk over beer. “You hiding Duke Ellington back there?” 

The man snorts with a shake of his head. “Good ol’ Dennis. Does this a few times a year,” he says. “Comes in, drinks, plays like it’s paying.” 

Joel gazes through the archway to where a couple people shoot pool. Dennis and the piano are just within sight.

“He ain’t too shabby,” Joel says. 

“Not at all,” Clyde agrees. “‘scuse me for a second.” 

Joel listens to the piano as Clyde goes to refill beers. 

He knows you’d appreciate Dennis’ playing. You were drawn to live music like a moth to a flame. Joel realizes then that he misses you. It’s a peculiar feeling that always seems to compound by the end of the day after being apart. You patrolled together when you could, but he’d been on the roster to volunteer at the community stables today. 

It was good, honest work. Peaceful too. There was no need to be on guard, and he didn’t have to talk to anyone unless someone was particularly keen on striking up a conversation. Being with the animals did a lot more for him than he’d ever expressed out loud. 

Back in front of Joel, Clyde braces his thick weathered hands on the counter, “So how’s Alamo? Came bearing good news for me, I hope.” An attentive furrow has formed between his bushy brows. 

Alamo, Cldye’s Stallion, was recovering from what the veterinarians diagnosed as a mild case of the flu. 

“He’s doing much better,” Joel assures. “Got him to eat and drink more than yesterday. He let me lead him around the corral for a couple laps.” 

Clyde’s eyes are grateful. “Thank God. I don’t know how you do it, man.” Joel smiles at the man’s relief.  “What can I get you?” He quirks his thumb to the wall of bottles behind himself. 

There’s a decent selection. Moonshine, applejack, mead—whiskey, which always sounds particularly good these days. 

Joel purses his lips in brief consideration before saying, “I’m okay tonight. Gotta get home to my lady.” 

Clyde hums in understanding. “Smart man,” he says. “I’ll catch you later.”

Outside, it’s cold enough for Joel to see the frost of his breath. People bundled in coats, hats, and scarves mill around because, despite the chill, it’s just another evening in Jackson. Snow still covers the ground from last week’s snowfall, and more is due any day now. The sky is white with promise as the last of the sun’s light lingers near the horizon amid dustings of pink. 

The community center buzzes with life as he passes by. A few people talk outside, and multiple heads can be seen through the windows. Just as he’s about to avert his gaze and continue on his way, his brother bursts through the doors. 

Tommy lifts his hand to signal him to wait even though Joel doesn’t intend to keep walking away. Relief is etched all across his face. 

“There you are,” he claps his gloved hand onto Joel’s shoulder. “You’re a hard man to find when you wanna be.” The slightly frazzled tone of his voice contrasts the casualness of his words. 

Worry stirs within Joel as he meets his brother’s gaze. “Hey. What going on?” 

Tommy wets his lips as he considers how to phrase the news. “Before you freak out, everybody’s alright,” he starts. “Just a bit shaken up.” 

Joel swallows the lump in his throat. He already knows it’s about you. He wishes he were wrong, but wishing never changed what his gut already knew was cemented in time. 

“Your girl and her patrol partner had a run in with some Clicker’s earlier this evening while they were out,” Tommy continues, and Joel’s jaw tricks. “No bites, thank God. And they managed to take ‘em all down.” 

An avalanche of guilty, frustrated, and relieved thoughts crash onto Joel all at once. Tommy loosely follows after him as he takes a few composing steps away to run a hand down his beard. Heat has risen in his face to the point where it almost doesn’t feel cold anymore. He can hear his heart in his ears.

“Where is she?” Joel finally asks. It almost sounds like there’s a small ball of cotton stuck in his throat. 

“At your place with Ellie. Her uncle Nate dropped by too,” he says. “She was askin’ for you, and I told ‘em you were on the way.”

It’s days like this that make Joel wish you hadn’t rejoined the patrolling rotation. With or without him. 

He’s is about to walk away, when Tommy adds, “She handled herself mighty fine out there. Both of  ‘em did.” 

•••

Death was no stranger to anyone in Jackson, but you’d never stared so directly into the face of a being that embodied such a definite, unyielding sense of finality. Never seen fungal decay so intimately that it made your skin crawl from the inside out. 

There had been four Clickers earlier that evening. Three taken out by your partner, Langdon, and the final one by you after tumbling to the ground. 

In your struggle, chunks of snow had crept into your jacket and dusted across your face. The bitter chill hardly registered from the moment your back hit the ground. Neither did the sound of your pistol firing as the hulking, distorted figure begin to crawl overtop of you. All you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat like a heavy tribal drum in your ears. Endure, survive, endure, survive. 

Only after Langdon drug you from beneath the limp Clicker, and hauled you to your feet, did you realize you were releasing frantic sob-like whines with every exhale. 

The entire scene won’t stop playing in your head. Electricity still hums beneath your skin. 

“Joel should be here soon,” Ellie assures again, in part for herself. 

He was always better in situations like these. Always knew what to say because he’d lived these same horrors himself, not a handful of times like she had, but countless since 2003. When it came to providing comfort, she always felt as though she was blindly grasping for the next right thing to say or do. 

But you were grateful to have her here all the same. If nothing else, she knew how to sit and be present. And after being asked to share an account of what happened by countless members of the patrol board, being with her as you wait for Joel is the peace you need. 

When you notice the worried way she’s chewing on her lower lip, you reach out for the glass of water she’d sat on the coffee table for you. You take one shaky sip and realize you’re a lot thirstier than you though you were. You drain it in a few big gulps. Ellie straightens up with a sense of having something right. 

“I’ll go get some more,” she says, taking the cup from you. 

Creaks arise on the porch soon after she heads to the kitchen. Then comes the faint jingling of keys. Joel pushes through the front door with a concerned furrow between his brows. It smooths when his eyes fall on you sitting in the living room. 

You look as small as you feel.

Aside from the absence of the sparkle that usually shone in your eyes, you seem as alright as you can be. Which is a much better than the image he’d conjured up in his head, despite Tommy insisting you’d made it back in one piece. 

“Hey,” he greets, carefully, like he’s talking to animal seconds away from curling in on itself. Like that’s all the bass he can muster into his voice.

“Hi,” you murmur, eyes tracking him as he shrugs off his leather jacket and hangs it up. His hair is curled at his ears and a little disheveled when he takes his hat off. 

The floor creaks under his footsteps as he walks to occupy Ellie’s former place. Without uttering a single word, he wraps his strong arms around you and pulls you into his chest.

You press your nose into his shirt like there’s no other place it belongs. He smells faintly of sweat, but mostly of the outdoors. Like air and earth. Breath and constance. Life. So warm, you forget all about the chill that has crept into the room. 

Ellie’s relieved to walk back in to the sight of Joel sitting with you. Your eyes have fluttered closed, so you only hear the sound of the refilled glass being set on the table. Joel meets the girl’s gaze with an appreciative nod. Thanks, kid. You did good. 

“I’m supposed to volunteer at craft night, but I can stay,” she offers. 

You peek up from Joel’s chest. “It’s okay.” 

“Are you sure?” She asks, and you nod. 

“Thank you,” you say honestly. 

“I’ll make you something cool,” she promises. 

When the door clicks shut behind her, silence settles between you and Joel as you rest in his arms. You focus on the rise and fall of his chest, the faint, steady beating of his heart. It says he’s here, you’re here. 

Even with your body cradled in his arms, the thought of losing you haunts his consciousness. Makes tension root through his shoulders, until he takes one long inhale and lets it out. As if shedding the remnants of fear, and dispelling it from his being. 

You can feel him letting his anxiety go, only for it to manifest as guilt within your own chest. 

“We were being careful,” you say, then swallow because the next words are harder to get out,  “They—they came out of nowhere.” 

Apology plagues your tone, and he knows he’s the reason why.  

On more than one occasion, perhaps to his own fault, Joel expressed that he’d rather you not patrol. There were countless volunteer opportunities around the commune, but after meeting him, you expressed your desire to start going out again. 

For the first couple months, you were only ever partnered with Joel because he insisted. It became something you did together, getting to protect the people you love and absorb the beauty of Jackson beyond the commune limits. 

Slowly, he came around to the idea of you being partnered with different people as he picked up other volunteer work.  

Now that you’d had your first close call, you can’t help but consider the possibility that Joel had seen a certain weakness within you all along. Maybe you aren't as vigilant as you thought, or a skilled shooter, or truly capable of holding your own. If it had been Joel, the Clickers probably wouldn’t even of made it within a thirty yard radius before they were shot down—

“Sweetheart? Hey, look at me,” he pulls away so he knows he has your attention. Except, he hasn’t exactly pieced together what he wants to say. 

After releasing a breath, he meets your gaze with an apologetic look of his own. 

“I know you were careful.” His tone is warm with sincerity. “You ain’t gotta justify anything to me.” When you don’t say anything, he keeps talking, “I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.” His dark eyes are earnest, hopeful as they flit across your face. 

You nod, and he wants to believe you’ve let his words sink in. 

“There ain’t a single person in this commune who knows what’s gonna happen when they step outside those gates,” he says. “Best thing anyone can be is prepared, and that’s exactly what you were out there today.”

Joel’s not expecting a response, but he can tell he’s finally gotten through. 

He takes your hand in his and presses soft kisses over your knuckles. After letting go, he eases off the couch to kneel at your feet. You admire the slight hunch of his shoulders as he moves to untie your boots, the delicate way he handles the laces as if they’re somehow a fragile extension of you. 

When he’s done, you angle your feet to make it easier for him to pull the boots off. Even then, he doesn’t stand up. He stays on his knees so you’re eye to eye. 

“How’s a shower sound?” He gently squeezes your knee and waits to follow your lead. 

It’s an illusion of control he’s offering for your sake. Really, it’s all him. After everything today, all you want to do is let go. Follow someone you know you can trust. Someone who always knows how to lead the way.

•••

Joel gets the shower started and, before long, both of you have stripped to your undergarments. He watches as you begin to pull your sports bra over your head, and helps you on the tail end because the strong elastic won’t set you free. 

You don’t meet his gaze again until after you’ve stepped out of your panties. Joel’s eyes rove over you with a quiet, fond attentiveness, and you realize he’s looking for bruises or any sign you’re in pain. 

“I’m okay,” you manage a small smile. 

“Okay,” he says, then runs a hand through his hair as if he still hasn’t quite accepted that you are. His bicep flexes as he does. The expanse of his chest is broad, dusted with dark hair. 

“I promise.” 

Finally, he nods like he believes you. “Go ahead and get in. See you shivering.” The bathroom hasn’t quite warmed up yet, and the window is drafty. Joel makes a mental note to get it resealed. 

You waist no time doing just that. A deep hum escapes you as the water meets your skin. 

From behind the curtain, you can make out the outline of Joel’s figure as he pushes his boxers down his legs. Over the sound of the running water, you can just barely hear him gathering your clothes to go put them in the hamper. 

When he joins you, there’s a gentleness to the way he lathers your body with soap. A diligence. The steam lifting around you carries the light, earthy scent of lemon balm. You let him run the bath sponge along your arms as the warm spray of the shower patters onto your back. 

When he’s done, you wrap your arms around him so the front of your bodies are pressed together. Without pause, he graces the sponge across your shoulderblades before gliding it down your back. He continues all the way down the curve of your backside. You pucker your lips against the front of his shoulder in a pert kiss. He kisses your forehead in return. 

It’s a miracle your legs have held you up thus far. If you were to let yourself go limp, a small part of you likes to believe you’d somehow float. That’s how relaxed you feel. But you have half a mind not to test the theory. The thought makes you chuckle, and Joel peeks down at you with a budding smile of his own. 

“What?” he asks lightly, but you shake your head and close your eyes. “Don’t fall asleep on me.” 

“‘M’not,” you murmur. 

Joel hums in feigned disbelief.  “That doesn’t sound very convincing.” He puts a hand on your hip in a silent request for you to turn around. 

When you do, he snakes an arm around your waist. Behind you, he’s a promise. All muscle, warmth, and wet skin. He runs the sponge over your breasts before dipping down to gently run along the undersides.

Your eyes flutter closed again, just as he presses his soft lips to the pulse beating beneath your ear. The shiver that tumbles down your spine makes you lean back into him, and he’s right there holding you up, getting you clean, weaving you so surely into the fabric of the present. 

He lets you do the same for him. Allows himself to relish the gentleness of your touch. 

Touching his forehead to yours, his voice is thick as he whispers, “Glad you’re okay.” 

The two of you stay in the shower long after you’re clean. 

Until the water runs cold. 

•••

The mattress dips as Joel crawls into his side of the bed. Per your request, candles burn on both of your nightstands, bright enough to provide a glow to see each other’s faces. His warmth is behind you before long, chest to your back as he drapes an arm over your waist.  It’s a reminder that he’ll never let go. 

The room is quiet aside from your breaths and the occasional creaks of the walls. You rest a hand over Joel’s to run your thumb over his skin and along the bumps of his knuckles. 

“I’m terrible,” you say all of a sudden. Joel shifts behind you, prepared to counter even without the full context, but you you continue, “I never asked about your day.”

Joel gives you a squeeze. “Probably would’ve bored you to half to death anyways.” 

A small smile buds on your face. “Half alive is better than nothing,” you say. 

A chuckle rumbles through his chest, vibrating straight into you. You’d wage wars to hear that sound. Cross oceans to reach it again. Joel feels you shake with a small laugh of your own, and it further solidifies that you’re going to be alright. 

“Let’s see,” he decides to humor you after a brief moment of silence. You turn around in his arms and touch your feet to his beneath the sheets.

“Everything went well at the stables,” he says. “Alamo's doing a lot better. Stopped by the Tipsy Bison to tell Clyde on my way home.” You can here the tiredness in his voice, making it gruffer. 

“Aww, really?” 

Joel hums and places a hand on your hip. He draws smalls circles with his thumb. 

“He’s such a beautiful horse,” you think aloud. His coat is as black as the night. 

“I’m starting to notice a pattern,” you slip your hand beneath the hem of Joel’s shirt to splay over his side.

“What might that be?” he asks. 

“You making everything better. People, animals...” 

Joel huffs an amused breath through his nose, but doesn’t say anything. Maybe not everything, but he sure as hell knows he’ll never stop showing up. 

You scoot closer to him and allow your lips to find his amid the candlelight. Slow and steady like you’ve got forever. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. I promise I see them all. 

Check out the From Here On Out Masterlist for more of this reader and Joel.

GENERAL MASTERLIST

[sebsbrokentoe]

Hi 🤗 Fluff request! A lazy Sunday in the life of Harry and the reader. Everyone knows Harry Styles, the superstar, but if people could see how Harry and the reader spend a day at home, they would not only love him even more but truly see that Harry is a homebody who loves to spend time with his loved ones.

hiii!! i LOVE a fluff request thank you so much <33 hope this is okay!

word count - ~1.2k

🍯*💛*🍯*💛*🍯*💛*🍯*💛*🍯*💛*🍯*💛* 🍯

The headline read: Harry Styles - Hate To Love Him

Often the tabloids were cruel, but no one had yet published an article with all the reasons not to like Harry - until last night.

Harry had caught sight of the headline whilst you’d been watching a movie together on the sofa. Instead of hiding it and how he felt about it from you, he instantly showed it to you.

The night had ended with soft tears from Harry and a whole lot of loving from you.

You watched Harry sleep.

You two had ended up sleeping on the sofa, having not bothered to move when you were already both so comfortable.

Harry had drawn a blanket over your bodies and your body heats had done the rest. You were snuggled against Harry’s chest with your legs entangled with his. Your body rose as he breathed in - the rhythmic motion enough to lull you back to sleep.

His bare chest smelt so comforting with the remanence of his cologne still sticking to him.

Your finger drew soft shapes against the outlines of his tattoos, watching his chest breathe in and out. It was comforting knowing he was sleeping peacefully, especially after such a horrible evening.

It was cruel that people created up bullshit narratives just so they can earn their pay-check. Why bring others down so much? Didn’t they feel the slightest bit of guilt?

“Harry.” You whispered.

The sun was shining through the curtains telling you it was way past the point of waking up.

Sometimes you both needed a morning in like this though. Some extra time to share between you both. Harry always needed a little extra love after having a rough time with the tabloids. They got him so down that sometimes he couldn’t see a positive way out. Luckily with you the darkness always seemed a little lighter.

“Mm.” Harry made a noise, sounding really gravely as he awoke.

You could tell he was rousing as his arm tightened around your waist, his fingers splaying out over the skin of your back.

“Harry, love.” You cooed.

“Mhm.” He acknowledged you with no words.

“Good morning.”

“Mhm.”

“Can’t find your words this morning, handsome?” You teased, sneaking your hand from his chest and up to his cheek. You brushed some of his floppy curls out of his eyes and cupped your cheek over his morning stubble.

Harry’s eyes opened then, peering down his body to find your face. His triple chin made you smirk as he looked at you.

He flopped his head back down when he had taken in his surroundings, his arm still holding you close.

“How are you feeling?” You asked.

“Eh.” He grumbled, his morning voice turning you on slightly. What? He sounded too good in a morning not to love on it.

“If only I spoke caveman.” You sighed in jest.

Harry’s chest rapidly moved up and down then as he chuckled.

It felt good to see him smile. Extra bonus points because you were the one that put that smile there.

You untangled yourself from his chest, your hair no doubt looking a mess, and pushed yourself up so you could see Harry better. Not that his chest was an unwanted sight, but you wanted to look at him now to really gauge how he’s feeling.

“No.” Harry whined, his arm clamping around you. He must’ve thought you were leaving him, but that was honestly the last thought on your mind.

You fell down on him slightly, his face burrowing in the comfort of your neck. Harry always said that was his safe place, because he could be physically close to you as well as feeling close to you.

“Ahh so you do know words.”

“Piss off.” He mumbled into your neck, breathing in a deeper breath as you assumed he was trying to smell you. He often claimed you were the best smell in the world - whatever that meant.

You let him stay hidden in your neck.

It allowed you to play with his hair - twisting curls around your fingers.

“Want to do anything today?”

“Like…?”

“I don’t know. Cinema? Walk in the park? Ooh - I need to go buy some more milk, we used it all when we made cookies the other night.”

“Can we go to the shop by Harrow Park?” He asked.

You comfortingly scratched the back of his neck the way he liked. Your nails weren’t even that long, but Harry just loved the feeling. It was something he’d never felt close enough with previous partners to let them do, so it of course made it all the more special for you to do.

“Yeah, sure. We can pop in to Jake’s on the way. He still has our casserole dish.”

“Why’d you give him that?” Harry grumbled - yes he was clearly in a grotty mood today, but you liked being the one to coax him out of it.

“That’s what friends do, H.”

“I bought you that dish.”

“And sharing is caring. Don’t be such a grump.”

“M’sorry.” He sighed, leaving the comfort of your neck to look at you.

His head laid down on the pillow, some of his curls fanning on the pillow beneath him.

You held yourself up so you could perch just above him, allowing you to still caress his neck whilst being held up by his arm.

“You look tired, m’love.” You said.

Harry kept his eyes on yours and you could see the pools of sadness in them from last night. Each time someone said something bad about him, it chipped a little bit away from his soul. It was your job to remind him that he was better than them - that he was stronger than he thought and to not let them win.

“I slept well.” He admitted.

“So did I.” You smiled.

“Couch sleeps are always better than the bed.”

“Yeah?”

“Whenever I’m closest to you, that’s when I sleep best.” He nodded.

“Me too.” You smiled, leaning down to give him the softest of kisses. Sometimes you couldn’t believe you were lucky enough to have him this way.

You pulled back with much regret, but you also loved seeing the dazed look on his face whenever he kissed you. His cheeks always reddened slightly, eyes crinkled with a smile and his nose slightly scrunched.

He clearly didn’t want you parting from him though, because his hand cupped the back of your neck and quickly pulled you back to him for a heartier kiss. He used his hand to pull you fully into him, allowing him to move and kiss you the way he wanted.

He pulled you away slightly, but left you close enough so your noses were softly touching.

“I love you.” He said.

“That’s nice to know.” You dismissed him, trying to lean back down to kiss him but he was quick to stop you.

“Hey, say it back.”

“You know I do.”

“Do what?” He raised an eyebrow in mischief.

You rolled your tongue across your teeth and pretend to look unimpressed, but in reality having him joke around like this was a good thing - it meant he was slowly getting over last nights torment and bringing himself back to the light.

He would argue you that you were the sole reason for that, but he doesn’t give himself enough credit.

You were proud of him for slowly allowing himself to get over those horrible tabloids, which is why you rewarded him.

“I love you too.”

“You do?”

“Pretty sure.” You giggled.

“Mm, I’m pretty sure too.”

[sebsbrokentoe]

🫶🏽

[sebsbrokentoe]

god his salt n pepper beard, the drink, his hands. ive said it before and ill say it again: OLDER DAD BF VIBES!