#and tommys so soft ‘are you okay?’

[hyperfocusthusly]

[mariatesstruther]

okay but a version of events in which tommy takes ellie to the fireflies, but NEITHER of them come back. and maria joel have to work together to get them back

[meep-meep-richie]

You know what i probably love the most about BuckTommy; that the fandom is finally agreeing on a relationship Buck or Eddie is having. You know mostly their relationships were thrashed (which was for good reason i agree) but i love how welcomed BuckTommy is by the fandom (which they deserve) 😭❤️

[pedroscurls]

let me show you (one-shot)

summary: joel comes home and shows you (and mainly himself) that age is nothing but a number.

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader content warnings: EXPLICIT CONTENT (18+ ONLY MDNI), established relationship, age gap (joel's in his 50s, reader's 30), unprotected p in v (be safe folks!), oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, mating press (i feel like this is joel's go-to), doggystyle, cowgirl, multiple creampies (oops), light manhandling, light marking, no use of y/n. word count: 5.5k a/n: so happy to take part at @yxtkiwiyxt's other "never have i ever" challenge for her one year writing anniversary!!! congrats on one year, kiwi - you're such a talented writer that it's so crazy to me that you've only been writing one year! can't wait to see what other stories you create - you got a lifelong fan in me and i'll read everything and everything you write 🫶. i chose joel miller and got the prompt: never have i ever had sex more than 3 times in one night. this is just complete filth, so please heed the warnings and most of all, enjoy <3

The entire drive home, Joel is seething. Hands gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles turn white. Jaw clenching so hard that he’s sure he’ll end up cracking a tooth or two. He isn’t even sure why he’s so angry, why some other man’s words have such an effect on him. 

“Aren’t you old enough to be her father?” 

The frustration radiates through his entire body, tense and tight. The age gap had been something he was wary of in the beginning, but you had always been the one to reassure him that age didn’t matter to you. He tries to hold onto what you would tell him—how safe he makes you feel, the way being in his arms brings you comfort. 

“Aren’t you old enough to be her father?” 

He had fired that man the moment it left his lips. Tommy had to hold Joel back, and could see the way his older brother’s eyes darkened with rage. His personal life was off limits. You were off limits. After firing him, Tommy had convinced Joel to go home, that he needed the rest of the day to just cool off. 

And now, as he pulls into the driveway, Joel can’t help but hear those man’s words echo in his mind. 

“Aren’t you old enough to be her father?” 

He climbs out of his truck and storms inside. He knows you’re already home, knows that you’re probably deep in papers that need grading, knows that you’re going to be surprised to see him home so early… 

But Joel is determined—he’s suddenly on a mission to prove to himself that age is nothing but a number. 

He drops his keys in the bowl near the door, kicks off his boots and walks upstairs to your office. The door is slightly ajar and he gently kicks it open with his foot. You look up at him and the look of surprise flashes across your face before a large grin lines your lips. 

“You’re home,” you set your pen down and stand up from your chair. “Everything okay at work?” 

Joel just grunts in response, takes three large strides in your direction before he’s standing in front of you. “Need you,” he growls, his hand coming up to brush your hair away from your face and past your shoulder. He leans in, presses a soft kiss on your jawline and down the side of your neck. 

“Joel,” you whimper, moving your hands to rest on his hips. “Baby, hold on—What happened?” 

“Nothin’,” he mumbles, teeth grazing your pulse point. He hears you let out a whimper and it only fuels him further. Only he could pull those sounds out of you. Age gap, be damned. 

You try to push him away to figure out what’s truly going on, but he just wraps his arms around your frame and pulls you flush against him. Joel turns you so you’re leaning against the edge of your desk, your hands moving to his broad chest. 

“Joel—”

He pulls back and looks into your eyes. You can visibly see that there’s something bothering him. His gaze is dark, brows slightly furrowed, eyes narrowed, and jaw clenched. “Think you can stop grading for one afternoon, baby?” 

“Can you first tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothin’ goin’ on,” he lies, hoisting you up onto the edge of your desk. Joel immediately moves your legs apart as he steps in to stand between them. Slowly, his hands move along your thighs, gaze moving along your frame. There’s a hunger in his eyes, clear determination that you can’t put your finger on. 

“You’re lying. You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” 

Joel grunts and moves a hand to your cheek, thumb brushing lightly along your soft skin. “Just wanted to get home to be with my girl, that a bad thing?” 

“Not at all,” you answer. “But something’s clearly bothering you and—”

“Ain’t nothin’ botherin’ me, darlin’,” he interrupts. “Now, can you stop talkin’ so I can kiss you, hm?” 

“Me talking never stopped you before–”

Joel grunts in reply and leans in to press his lips firmly against your own. Immediately, your hands card through his hair, gasping when you feel the urgency of the kiss. His hands roam your body, already sliding them underneath your shirt. The way his lips move against yours—hurried and desperate—catches you off guard and you’re finding it incredibly difficult to keep up. You part your lips, slowly trying to pull away from him to truly get to the root cause for his sudden behavior, but he doesn’t let you. 

Instead, his large hands grip your hips, tug you to the edge of your desk so that his jean-covered bulge presses firmly to your already throbbing core. Joel’s lips move effortlessly against your own, tongue darting out to flick against your own. You whimper against him and he growls in response, pulling back only slightly to nibble on your lower lip—this action alone causes your legs to wrap around his waist and pull him even further into you. 

“Joel,” you mumble breathlessly, gently tugging on his hair to pull back from him. You’re breathing heavy, lips swollen, eyes dark when you finally look at him. 

“Gonna spend the rest of night showing you how much I love you,” he promises, rolling his hips against you. 

“Baby,” you moan out quietly. “You always show me how much you love me.”

“Hm,” he answers. “Not enough. Never enough.” 

“Are you sure you’re okay? Nothing happened at work?” 

Joel shakes his head once. “No, now can we stop talkin’ about work?” 

You nod and slowly move away from the desk to stand in front of him. You take his hand, play with his fingers before lacing them together with your own. “So, just me and you tonight?” 

Joel nods, “just me and you, baby.” He stares at you for a moment and all of a sudden, the man’s words from earlier comes back—serving as a reminder of why he had been upset in the first place. 

He releases your hand and tosses you over his shoulder. Joel hears you let out a quiet gasp of surprise, but he begins making his way out of your office and down the hall to the bedroom. It doesn’t take him long, but he can feel the strain in the center of his jeans when your hands begin to roam his body. 

Once inside the room, he tosses you onto the mattress. You prop yourself up on your forearms, but Joel—once again—tugs you to the edge of the bed. He wastes no time in hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and pulling them down your legs with your panties, tossing the articles of clothing carelessly to the side. 

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself. He parts your legs and licks his lips eagerly, your sex glistening with your own arousal. 

Joel reaches down to undo his belt, followed by his zipper and button on his jeans. He pushes them down his legs, kicks them off to the side, and reaches for the ends of his shirt to lift over his head. Now clad in only his boxer briefs, Joel watches you remove your shirt as well, lying back on your forearms once you’re completely bare and naked for him. 

He reaches down and squeezes the length of himself, hardening even further at his touch. Joel leans over you, hand pressed on the mattress near your head as his free hand comes to settle between your legs. His fingers begin to make quick work, gathering your arousal on his fingertips as he teases your opening. 

“Always this wet for me, aren’t ya?” He whispers, leaning down so that his lips hover near your ear. Joel hears you let out a gasp when he slides in the tip of his middle finger—your walls welcoming him almost immediately. 

“J—Joel,” you moan, eyes fluttering. Joel slides his middle finger further into your depths, down to his knuckle, before he pulls it out completely. His entire digit is glistening and he brings it up to his lips, licking and sucking your arousal off his finger. 

“Christ,” he groans. “Can never get enough of you.” Then, Joel settles onto his knees in between your legs. He presses soft and light kisses on your inner thigh, gently nipping along the way. Though, once his lips hover near where you need him the most, he lets out the most animalistic growl you’ve ever heard. 

You sit up on your forearms, eyes glazing over and beginning to flutter when you feel him lick a stripe along the length of your sex. He keeps his eyes solely focused on you, one hand moving up your body to push you to lie back down. 

“Just relax,” he whispers. “I got you, baby. Always got you.” 

You finally fall onto your back when his lips move towards your clit, tongue flicking against you repeatedly. Your hands move to his hair immediately, pulling and tugging as he applies more pressure. 

Joel knows he could do this for the rest of his life if he could. He ruts against the mattress—your sweet taste only fueling him further. He grunts against you when you pull and tug on his hair and he can feel your arousal drip down his chin. He moves his hands to your legs, holding them apart as he pulls back to look down at you. 

“Look at you,” he says with a low groan. “Lyin’ there lookin’ so pretty.” Joel doesn’t let you get a word in because he leans back down, grips your thighs, and moves his lips to your sex. 

Your back arches—the burn of his beard scratching against your inner thighs, the way his tongue expertly moves in and out of you. A loud moan escapes your lips when you feel his thumb slowly begin to rub circles into your clit. You know you’re close, can feel the pressure building and building. When your eyes lock with Joel’s, you see the corners of his lips lift—the man is fucking grinning. 

He pulls away, but before you can whine in protest, he slides two fingers past your folds. Your hands move from his hair to the sheets, gripping it tightly as you feel him expertly begin to move his fingers in and out of your depths. You’re so wet, the sounds of his fingers squelching with each thrust into you mixes in with your moans. Joel knows—he always knows when you’re close. 

As he pumps his fingers in and out of you, Joel leans down and latches his lips around your clit. It’s just what you need to be pushed over the edge. 

Your back arches in the air, legs attempting to close and squeeze around his head—unintentionally—as your body trembles with pleasure. He slows his movements, pulling back and away from you. His fingers easily slide out of you—your arousal already staining the sheets of the mattress. 

You’re breathing heavily when you finally look in his direction. You can see your arousal glistening on his chin, over his beard. You watch him push his boxers down, his manhood springing at attention. Clearing your throat, you slowly turn on to your abdomen as he stands upright. Before he could even say anything, you reach out and wrap your hands gently around the base of his length.

You glance up at him—there’s just something in the way he’s standing above you that causes a shiver to run through you. He reaches down, gently pushes your hair away from your face, thumb brushing against your jawline. 

“So pretty, baby,” he whispers. His eyes flutter for a moment when you slowly begin to stroke the base of his manhood. When you lean forward to wrap your lips around his tip, Joel moves his hand from your cheek to the back of your head as a low groan escapes his lips. 

You hum in approval, feeling his hand slowly push your head down against him. You get the hint—moving one hand from his base to rest on his hip as you take more of him into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around him as your other hand strokes what your mouth can’t take. 

When you glance up at him, Joel’s head is tilted back—neck outstretched, veins more prominent, broad chest heaving up and down, and his lower lip pulled between his teeth. He always looked so beautiful like this. 

Suddenly, you feel his fingers curl into your hair and pull you away from his slickened length—it glistens with your saliva. 

You whine in protest, trying to lean forward to wrap your lips back around his throbbing manhood, but he clicks his tongue and holds you away from him. 

“Not gonna last if you keep that up,” he admits honestly. “And tonight, I want you as many times as I can.” 

“Joel,” you bite your lower lip, hands moving up his chest. “Once is enough and—”

He shakes his head and pushes you onto your back. His strong arm wraps around your waist and slides you further up onto the mattress as he settles himself between your legs. Joel stares into your eyes and with his free hand, grasps his length to run his tip along the length of your sex. He gathers your arousal around his tip, growling lowly to himself as he notches himself at your entrance. 

“Not tonight it isn’t,” he finally answers, pushing fully into you in one long and deep stroke. Joel groans when your walls envelope him—warm, wet, tight. He always loves it when he thrusts into you for the first time because it serves as a reminder of how perfectly you were made for him. He sees the way your face contorts into pleasure—mouth slightly agape and brows furrowed with a quiet whimper escaping your lips; he finds it so cute how you always try to hold back your sounds of pleasure. 

“J—Joel,” you moan, hands moving to come up to rest on his broad shoulders. 

Something in him snaps and there’s a primal urge that courses through his veins as he stares down at you. Joel takes your hands from his shoulders, gently placing a soft kiss on your knuckles, before he grabs your legs and places them over his shoulders instead. At the new position, he feels himself slide further into your depths and it only urges him further. He pushes into you, his own hands resting at either side of you as he pulls out to his tip only to thrust back into you. 

You’re folded in half—body beginning to tremble already as he picks up the pace in his thrusts. You had a very healthy sex life with Joel, but this time… this time it feels so different. It feels like he’s on a mission to prove something to himself. 

The sound of his skin smacking against yours echo the walls of the bedroom, your moans increasingly becoming louder and louder. Your hands move to his lower abdomen in an attempt to push him away because you feel the pressure creep up once more. He growls in response and grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head. 

“Close huh, baby?,” he growls.

“Joel, p—please,” you whimper, toes curling. You can’t move—hands pressed into the mattress, legs thrown over his shoulders, and his entire body pressing into you. It’s by far the most intimate position you’ve ever experienced and the way he’s slamming into you pushes you over the edge. 

“Joel!” You moan loudly, walls already clenching around him as your body trembles once another orgasm takes over your entire frame. 

“Fuck,” Joel groans, releasing your wrists to rest his own large hands on your hips. His own thrusts begin to falter as he feels his release begin to creep up quickly. He tries to think of something else, tries to make this last longer, but the way you’re tightening around him just pushes him over. 

He slams into you once, twice, three times before he releases into you. Joel lets out a guttural groan, the hands on your hips tightening its grip as he slowly rolls his hips into you. Slowly, Joel moves your legs from his shoulders to instead wrap around his waist loosely and he looks down between your bodies to see his spend trickling out of you once he pulls out. 

You’re breathing heavily, staring up at him with a dazed look on your face. You gently reach up to touch his cheek, feel him lean into the pit of your palm as he stares deeply into your eyes. “Where did that come from?”

Joel shrugs and gently pecks your lips. “Just wanted you, baby.” Slowly, he pulls away from you and stands from the bed to grab a wet and warm towel to wipe his release from between your legs. He watches you shiver against his touch, eyes fluttering when the towel brushes against your most sensitive areas and he smirks. 

“Joel,” you whimper. 

“Sorry,” he grins proudly. Once you’re cleaned up, he sets the towel in the laundry basket and then falls back onto the bed with you. You lie on your side and he comes up behind you, arm draped over your midsection as he brings you flush against him. He peppers light kisses along the back of your bare shoulder. “Love you,” he whispers. 

“I love you too,” you tilt your head back against his shoulder and shut your eyes. “Made me tired,” you whisper, voice trailing off. “Didn’t even have dinner yet.”

He chuckles and shuts his eyes, holding you close. “How about we take a short nap and then I’ll feed you, hm? That sound like a plan?”

“Yes,” you reply with a small smile, turning your head just enough to press a soft kiss onto his cheek. “Maybe you should come home early more often,” you giggle.

Joel’s jaw tightens as the man’s words echo in his mind again. He doesn’t reply—just holds you closer to him and feels you relax in his embrace. 

Joel awakes almost an hour later—you’re still leaning back against him and his arm is still wrapped around you from behind. He can hear your quiet breathing, takes a peek in your direction to see you peacefully asleep. He feels you shift back against him and he’s suddenly aware of the lack of clothing that you both are wearing. 

His mind drifts momentarily, remembering the events that unfolded just an hour ago. He can still feel the anger bubbling within him, can still hear that man’s voice echo in his mind.

“Aren’t you old enough to be her father?” 

His arm remains draped over your waist and his large hand soon encompasses your breast, thumb brushing against your nipple. He hears you let out a quiet moan and Joel can feel his lower half begin to stir. He’s surprised that after an hour, he can feel himself getting hard all over again.

Slowly, Joel presses himself firmly against you from behind and moves his lips along the side of your neck. As he begins to pepper light kisses on your skin, his hand begins to massage your breast into the pit of his palm. He hears your breathing quicken and quietly—in that sweet voice of yours—you say his name. 

“Joel,” you whimper. 

“Shh,” he whispers, teeth grazing your earlobe. Joel releases his hold on you and gently moves you to lie on your abdomen. He quickly moves to hover above you, his legs placed on either side of you. His large hands move to your backside, spreading your cheeks apart as he lets out a low growl at the sight of you. “Can’t get enough of you,” Joel growls. 

He grasps his hardening length, tugs on it twice before he presses his tip into your slit. Slowly, Joel pushes his hips forward—you’re already so wet and gripping the head of manhood as he pushes himself further into you. 

Your hand reaches back for him, trying to press against his lower abdomen to stop him from pushing any further. You’re already so sensitive—walls quivering as he grabs both your wrists to hold against your lower back. With one stroke, Joel fills you to the brim and he feels you begin to squirm against him.

“Joel!” you exclaim, eyes falling shut as you press your forehead against the mattress. He feels so much bigger like this and when he pulls his hips back—your walls sliding along his length—only to slide back into you, it causes a loud moan to escape your lips. 

“H—-how?” you mumble, feeling his hand release your wrists only to grip your hips, pulling you to prop yourself up on all fours. 

Joel doesn’t reply, the man’s words echoing in his mind with each thrust.

“Aren’t you old enough to be her father?” — thrust.

“Aren’t you old enough to be her father?” — thrust.

“Aren’t you old enough to be her father?” — thrust.

Your hands grip the sheets so tight because Joel’s never been this rough before. With each thrust, Joel’s jaw tightens. He grips the back of your neck and pushes you face down onto the mattress as he slams into you repeatedly from behind. His skin slaps against your own and you can feel the tight grip he has around your hips—knowing that there’s going to be bruises there later. 

“J—Joel!” you moan into the mattress, pushing back against him as you feel yourself begin to reach yet another orgasm. Your walls begin to tremble, can feel a rush of wetness between your legs and the pleasure racking through your entire body. 

“Fuck,” he finally moans—your walls tightening around his length in a tight grip. Joel leans over you, hand moving from the back of your neck to grab a fistful of your hair to lift your head off the mattress. He breathes heavily into your ear as his thrusts begin to falter. “Come for me,” he demands, thrusting into you that your body jerks forward. 

“I—I can’t,” you whimper. Your entire body is on fire and you’re so close to the edge, but you’re holding back… and Joel knows because his eyes narrow at your words and he leans down to gently bite down on the side of your neck.

“I said,” he groans, delivering yet another hard thrust. “Come for me.” 

With his free hand, Joel reaches down and begins to circle your clit. It’s just the right amount of pressure for you to reach your peak. Your toes curl and your eyes shut tight as a loud moan escapes your lips. Joel smirks proudly, releasing his hold on your hair as he grips your hip instead. 

Joel delivers one, two, three thrusts before he releases into you. His eyes fall shut, head tilted back as he tries to catch his breath, slowing his thrusts as your walls continue to milk every last drop. When he finally pulls out, Joel opens his eyes to watch his release slowly drip out of you and onto your inner thighs. 

He bites his lower lip and falls back onto the bed next to you, lying on his back as he glances over at you. 

“Well,” you whisper, looking over at him. “That was something.”

“I wasn’t too rough, was I?” he asks with soft eyes—his big, brown, puppy eyes staring at you with concern now that his mind is clear. 

“Would you hate me if I said it wasn’t enough?” you tease, leaning over to peck his lips. “You promised me food and instead…”

“You were just so…” Joel bites his lower lip, his gaze raking over your frame with lust-filled eyes. “Inviting.” 

“Maybe I should sleep naked more often,” you grin, standing up from the bed to walk towards the bathroom to clean yourself up. 

“If you do that, ain’t nothin’ gonna get done,” he chuckles. Joel stands up as well, walking after you as he wraps his arms around you from behind. “What does my girl want to eat?” 

“Can you order a pizza?” you smile, wiping his release from between your legs. You toss the tissue into the trash and then lean back against him, head resting against his chest. 

“Of course, baby,” he smiles, turning his head to kiss your temple. 

You take note of the marks on your hips and the darkening spot on the side of your neck. You bite your lower lip and slowly turn in Joel’s arms, staring up at him as your arms wrap around his neck. “Gonna have these marks on me for a few days at least.”

Joel arches a brow, eyes glancing down at the mark on your neck before his gaze lowers to your hips. He blushes and rests his forehead against your own. “Sorry, baby.” 

“Don’t be,” you smile, hands playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I like it.”

“Yeah?” he asks, small smile lining his lips. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m all yours, so let’s let the entire world know,” you tease. 

“Naughty,” Joel chuckles. 

“Only for you.”

Joel growls, hand moving to grasp your backside. “I like the sound of that.” 

“Mmm,” you smile. “I don’t think I can go another round,” you say honestly. “I’m sensitive all over and I’m hungry.”

Joel leans in, pecks your lips lightly as he pulls away slowly. “Maybe you just need some food because I am determined to have you one more time before we call it a night.”

“One more time?” you ask, eyes widening. “We’ve already had sex twice in the last hour or so and—”

“Then we’ll eat dinner and I’ll have you again,” Joel interrupts with a grin. “Don’t put anythin’ on. I’ll have pizza delivered.”

“You want me to walk around like this?” 

“Yes,” Joel growls. 

“Yes, sir,” you smile innocently. 

About thirty minutes later, you and Joel are in the kitchen with an opened box of pizza. He’s dressed only in a pair of boxers, but you’re completely naked—just like he said you should be. You’re sitting on the edge of the kitchen island with a slice of pizza in hand, humming contentedly as you take a bite. 

“Good?” Joel asks with a grin, his own slice of pizza in his hand. 

“Very,” you smile, finishing your first slice of pizza in record time. You see Joel arch a brow and you just roll your eyes playfully. “I gained an appetite.”

Joel chuckles to himself and moves to stand between your legs. “You did, huh? Why’s that?” 

“I came like three times already, baby,” you tell him, reaching for another slice of pizza. “I really don’t think I can do any more than that. I’m already—My body’s just so sensitive.” 

“Oh?” he asks, eyes looking at you from top to bottom. He moves his hands to your thighs and gently spreads them apart, looking between your legs to see your sex glistening. “How come you’re wet then, hm?” 

“Joel…” you whisper, setting the slice of pizza down as you wipe your hands with a paper towel. “I’m just—I’m always wet whenever I’m around you.”

“That so?” 

You nod, feeling his finger run along the length of your sex, gathering your arousal. You let out a quiet whimper, a shiver running down your body at the sensation. “Joel, baby…” 

“Always so ready for me, ain’t you?”

You nod, biting your lower lip. “Joel,” you repeat. “I—If we have sex one more time, I won’t last long and—”

“Shh,” he interrupts. “Let me just take care of you, baby.” Joel lifts you off the counter and sets you down onto your feet. He leads you to the couch in the living room where he takes a seat and shimmies out of his boxers, kicking them carelessly off to the side. He can already feel himself getting hard as he grasps his length and begins to stroke himself to full mast. “Come on, baby,” he urges, pointing to his lap with his chin. 

You nod and straddle his lap as your hands move to his shoulders. You slowly lower your hips to feel the tip of his manhood brush against you. Gasping, you lift your hips and stare into his eyes. Joel’s gaze darkens and he moves a hand to your hip, gripping it tightly as he pushes you onto him. Your walls—so wet—encompasses him tightly and he tilts his head back against the couch, a low groan escaping his lips. 

Joel feels so deep like this and you begin to roll your hips forward and backward. The hair at his base brushes against your clit and your body begins to tremble already. Your hips move so slowly because that’s all you can take right now, but Joel… It’s not enough for him. Even with your fingernails digging into his shoulders, gripping it so tight, Joel needs more. 

He moves his hands underneath you and lifts you slightly off his lap—just enough to give him space to begin thrusting upwards. Joel growls to himself as he looks up at you, your breasts bouncing as he thrusts upwards. 

“Joel!” you moan loudly, wrapping your arms around him as you press your front against him—holding onto him tightly. “Baby, please…”

“You feel so good around me, baby,” Joel whispers into your hair, eyes falling shut. “Always so wet for me, always so tight… Fuck, you were made for me.”

“J—Joel,” you whimper, feeling his hands move to your hips instead as you roll your hips against his own. You keep your tight hold onto him, gasping quietly as you feel your walls begin to tremble yet again. 

“Yes,” he groans, arms wrapping around your waist to guide you forward and backward on his lap. Joel knows he won’t be able to last either—he’s surprised that he was even able to recover so quickly in the span of two hours to do this three times. 

“Love seein’ you like this,” he says quietly, feeling your arms unwrap itself around his shoulders. Joel feels your hands move to rest on his shoulders as you ride him like your life depended on it. “Fuckin’ beautiful,” he grins, eyes scanning your face before his gaze lowers to your naked frame. 

“Joel, baby… I—” 

“I know,” he whispers. “Let go for me, darlin’. I got you.”

“Fuck!” you moan, head tilting back as you move your hips forward and backward quickly. Your body shakes with pleasure as the tightness builds and builds until you can no longer take it. You collapse into Joel, breathing heavily. 

Joel groans to himself as he grips your hips, guiding you along his length as he chases his own release. It doesn’t take long because when you whisper his name, he feels the tightness in the pit of his stomach break until he releases into you for the final time that night. 

Joel rests his forehead against your own, feeling himself soften while still inside of you and he makes no move in lifting you off his lap. Even as he feels his seed trickle down to the hair at his base, Joel keeps you seated on his lap, strong arms embracing you. 

“Thank god it’s the weekend tomorrow,” you whisper with a quiet giggle. 

“Why’s that?” he asks with a small smile. 

“Because I’m sure that I’d have trouble walking,” you answer. 

“You’re good for my ego,” he chuckles. 

“Where did all of that come from?” you ask honestly. 

Joel shrugs, staring into your eyes. “Nowhere.” 

“You’re lying.”

He sighs and finally asks, “Does our age gap bother you?” 

“What?” 

“I’m old enough to be your father–”

“I don’t care,” you interrupt him. “Our age gap means nothing to me…” 

“But it should, shouldn’t it?” 

“A bit too late for that, don’t you think?” You shake your head, lifting your left hand in the air and taking his left hand in your other one, showcasing both of your wedding rings. “We’re married now, baby. We’ve had this conversation before.”

“Some– Some asshole made a comment and it just got to me,” Joel sighs. 

“Did this happen at work?”

“Yeah,” he answers truthfully. “Fired him and Tommy had to stop me from doin’ somethin’ stupid and I just—” he sighs. 

“Well, you just proved that age is nothing but a number, Joel. We had sex three times in the last two hours… And I’ve never had sex more than three times in one night so…”

Joel lets a small smile line his lips. “Never, huh?” 

You shake your head. “You’d be the first.” 

“And your last,” Joel finishes. “I’m sorry it got me,” he sighs. “I don’t usually care what other people have to say about our relationship, but for some reason… This just got to me.”

“If our gap bothered me, I wouldn’t have married you,” you say quietly, hands coming up to gently brush his hair away from his face. “I love you. All of you.” 

“Even if I’m some old man?”

“An old man wouldn’t have been able to do what we just did,” you smile. 

He chuckles and gently pecks your lips. “Love you so much, darlin’.” 

“I love you too, Joel.” Slowly, you stand from his lap with a quiet whimper as you extend a hand out for him. “What do you say we take a shower and then spend the rest of the night cuddling?”

Joel smiles lovingly in your direction and stands from the couch, taking your hand. “That sounds like a great way to end the night, baby.” 

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Me, You, and Baby, Too

Summary: You and Joel have always wanted kids, but didn't want to rush into having them until you both were ready. After a surprise at his job, Joel realizes there's nothing more he wants to do than put a baby in you as soon as he gets home.

Pairing: Husband!Joel Miller x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 4.1K

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (it's baby making time, so hush), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, big ole fat and nasty breeding kink (.... don't look at me it's bad), creampie, cum play, talks of starting a family, calling Joel "Daddy" (in the sense you want to have his babies, but also 🤷🏼‍♀️), Sweet soft Joel who loves his wife and would give her the universe if he could, honestly with just the way Joel is talking about makin' babies, I think I'm pregnant

A/N: It's that time of the month where Madeline ovulates and writes feral breeding kink smut!!! 🤪 Okay I am so nervous to post this because I have never written for Joel before and I'm worried it's trash with a capital T, but after re-watching TLOU, I need 2003 Joel Miller carnally, so here we are. This is also inspired by @mrsmando post about 2003 Joel Miller constantly keeping you barefoot and pregnant because it made me unwell, and no lies were told. (thanks for ruining my life mimi) 🤠 ANYWHO I hope you guys like it, and if not, I'll shut up and go back to writing Javi and Frankie and pretend like this didn't happen

There were a lot of stereotypical answers that you expected from your husband when you asked him how his day at work had been:  

“Good.” 

“Fine.” 

“Long.” 

“My knees are killin’ me.” 

“Tommy did somethin’ fuckin’ stupid again.” 

“Better now that I’m home with you.” 

So when Joel arrived home today after a new job he had started with Tommy on a bathroom renovation, there were few things that could have prepared you for the response your husband had when you asked him how his day had gone. 

“Hey, honey. How was your day today?” You smiled, watching Joel stroll in through your front door, kicking off his work boots at the entryway, beginning to put away his things before strolling into the kitchen to greet you. 

“Pretty good." He paused, leaning in for a quick kiss before making his way over to the closet before speaking again. "Saw a real cute baby today.” 

You could practically feel your heart skip a beat as you looked up from the vegetables you had been cutting up for dinner, tightening the grip you had around your knife to make sure you didn’t drop it in shock. 

Out of all the things for Joel to bring up on the first day at a new job, a cute baby had been at the top of the list.

Not floor plans. 

Not timelines for the project.

Not something stupid that Tommy did. 

Not even what he had done today on the job. 

The top news that Joel Miller had to report back to you about his day was the sighting of a cute baby. 

You and Joel had always agreed that you’d wanted kids, and your husband had been not only adamant, but genuinely excited at the prospect of becoming a dad. But only being a little less than a year into your marriage, the two of you had decided you didn’t want to rush into anything, and when the time felt right, you’d both know it. 

But one by one, as your friends began to announce their pregnancies, baby showers, and pictures of their adorable newborns, you couldn’t help but deny the baby fever starting to burn hotter and hotter inside you with every passing day. 

You’d brought it up in passing a few times with Joel, talking about your friends who had kids, or a cute mom and her children you saw walking around in your neighborhood, and while he had always had a positive response to what you had to say, you just had a feeling that now just wasn’t the time for the two of you yet, and that was okay.  

But here you were, standing in your kitchen, jaw practically scraping the ground at the notion that your husband had dropped just about the least subtle hint ever that babies weren’t just at the forefront of your mind- they were on his, too. 

“Awh, really?” You asked, shaking your head to snap out of your shocked state, returning back to dice the onion you had been working on before Joel could turn around to see you after finishing hanging up his things in the closet, trying to subtly coax more information out of him. 

“Yeah.” He smiled, joining you in the kitchen, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you closer to his chest for a soft kiss to greet you, “The family we’re startin’ the bathroom reno for just moved in. Had their first baby a few months ago and just hadn’t had time to work on fixin’ things.” 

“So they’re already putting the baby to work with you and Tommy?” You teased, raising an eyebrow at Joel playfully, giving him a quick peck back on the lips as he laughed at your sass. 

“Cheap labor.” Joel shrugged back, playing into the joke, “Nah, she woke up from her nap while Tommy and I were runnin’ through some measurements so her mom brought her out for the last lil bit we were there. She was damn cute, too. Just smilin’ and laughin’ at everything.” 

You were glad Joel’s arm was still wrapped around your hip, because you were convinced if it wasn’t, you were about to melt to the floor into a puddle, watching how soft and sweet Joel was talking about a cute, smiling baby. 

“Well a cute baby definitely sounds like a very nice perk of being on the job.” You smirked, trying to play it cool enough to keep your heart from bursting out of your chest. 

“Yeah.” Joel replied softly, quietly pausing for a moment, watching the gears turning in his brain, carefully calculating his words before he spoke. 

“You okay?” You asked, looking up at Joel, knowing your husband well enough that he had something on his mind he was trying to work up the confidence to spit out. 

Joel looked back down at you, big brown eyes locking with yours as his grip around your waist tightened ever so slightly, tongue swiping against his plush bottom lip as he took a long, deep breath in and slow exhale out.  

“Honey, what is it?” You asked again, now slightly concerned with how nervous your husband looked in his stoic silence, reaching up to gently wrap your fingers around his arm, thumb stroking his skin. 

“I want one.” 

You froze, worried that your heart may have actually stopped as you looked at Joel, making sure that you had really just heard what he had said. 

“W-what?” 

“I want one. A baby. I- I know it’s been a while since we’ve talked about it, but I’ve been thinkin’ about it a lot, and seein’ that baby today, it just- shit, I just couldn’t stop picturin’ what it would be like to have one of our own I guess.” 

If you weren’t a puddle before, you sure as fuck were now.  

An overwhelming sensation of nerves and excitement began thrumming through your veins, your heart beat pounding in your ears as your face grew warm and a smile started to spread between your cheeks. You were almost certain you had to be dreaming, asking again to make sure that someone needed to come and wake you up and send you back to reality. 

“Joel… Really?” 

“Yeah, really. Nothin’ I want more. I know I ain’t gonna even be close to the perfect dad, but I know you’ll be sucha good mom, and I’ll be damned if I don’t want some tiny lil versions of us runnin’ around. Couldn’t think of anything that would make me happier than that. Like I said, I know that we ain’t talked about in a while, and if ya aren’t ready yet that’s okay but I-” 

Before Joel could even finish the rest of his thought, you were pressing up to plant your lips to his with passionate intensity, hands roaming up his chest before cupping his jaw and the scratchy stubble of his cheeks while your stomach flipped with arousal and want, already feeling a damp patch beginning to pool in the cotton of your underwear. 

You pulled away, kisses traveling along his jawline and up his neck until you were nipping at his ear, the hot breath of your words whispering against his skin. 

“You wanna make a baby, Joel Miller?” 

“Fuck-” Joel groaned, reaching his other arm around you grab at your ass, pulling you in tight enough to feel the bulge beginning to grow under the denim of his worn jeans, pressing against your thigh.

“‘Cause there’s nothing that I want more than to make you a daddy.” You smirked, looking up to watch Joel’s eyes darken with lust, jaw going slack as a low groan rumbled in his chest, his once half hard cock now fully erect and straining against his zipper, trying to keep from giggling watching your husband try to string together any sort of thoughts to speak. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ-” He moaned, running his hand over his face to try and regain his composure to keep from busting right then and there. “You- fuck, you sure, baby?” 

“Mhmmmm. Don’t think I’ve ever been so sure of anything in my whole life. So sure,” you paused, softly pressing your lips to his between words, “that I think we should go make one right now.” 

Your adamant confirmation was all it took to set off something almost animalistic in Joel, crashing his lips back into yours in a messy clash of tongues and teeth, gripping his hands under your thighs to hoist you up around his hips and lock your legs behind the small of his back. Without ever letting your mouths part, Joel was already halfway to the bedroom before you had even realized it, playfully giggling at how frantically he was carrying you down the hallway, your bodies bumping against the walls and door frames, too focused on desperate and needy kisses for any sort of spatial awareness. 

Finally reaching your bed, Joel carefully laid you down, letting your back fall into the mattress, leaving your lower half to hang off the edge before your husband was on his knees, settling himself between your parted thighs. 

You sat up on your elbows, watching as Joel tightened his grip around the meat of your legs, peppering kisses up the inside of each across your soft skin before coming face to face with your core, planting another soft kiss there before letting his fingers ghost over your heat, still covered by your jeans. 

He rapidly worked at the button of your pants, shuffling them down off your hips to reveal your underwear, now absolutely soaked with arousal from the prospect alone of Joel knocking you up and carrying his baby. 

“Jesus Christ, baby girl, look at ‘cha.” Joel tutted, admiring how the cotton of your underwear clung to the outline of your cunt, sticking to the puffy and swollen lips of your pussy from how wet you were. “Haven’t even touched ya yet. This all for me, darlin’?” 

Just as you began to try and answer, Joel took one of his fingers, barely dragging it over the damp fabric before beginning to rub soft circles over your covered clit, eliciting a pathetic whimper from you at the electric sensation.  

“F-fuck- It’s all for you, b-baby.” You stammered, moaning even louder as a second finger joined the first, pressing more pressure into you sensitive nub as he nudged each of your legs to drape over his shoulders, his free hand tugging at the waistband of your underwear, making you instinctually lift your hips as he yanked them off your legs to crumple in a messy pile with your pants. 

“Prettiest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever seen.” Joel mewled, running his fingers up and down through the weeping seams of your folds, toying with your entrance while draping his arm across your hips to hold your squirming lower half in place. “Wants me to fuck her full of me and fill her up so bad, huh?” 

“P-please, Joel. Want you to fill me up so badly.” You whimpered, staring down at your husband, a devilish grin spread across his face, licking his lips as his eyes darted back and forth between your blissed out face and the glistening mess between your thighs. 

“I will sweetheart, promise. Gotta taste you first though, baby. Gotta make sure you’re nice n’ready for me. ‘Cause once we start, I ain’t lettin’ you outta this bed ‘till I knock you up.” 

With that, Joel was diving between your legs, lapping you up in long and firm strokes, pressing against your clit in the way he knew would make you fall apart under his tongue. While he would have loved to have spend hours just like this, making you writhe under his touch, drinking up your arousal like a wandering man parched in the heat of the desert, Joel had one thing on his mind, and one thing only- 

To get you pregnant.   

Joel began to intensify the pace of his tongue, swirling and sucking around your clit as two of his thick fingers pushed into your heat, sliding in and out of your entrance with ease from how wet and worked up you were. Curling his fingers ever so slightly, you cried out as Joel bumped against your g-spot, pushing against the soft, spongy spot as his tongue worked its magic. 

You could feel the arousal shooting through your veins, heat beginning to bloom in your stomach as Joel fucked you with his fingers and mouth, shooting your hand down to grab fistfulls of his thick, brown hair to brace yourself for your impending orgasm. 

“J-Joel, oh fuck- Fuck, baby, I’m c-close. Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.” You whined, pussy beginning to flutter around Joel’s fingers, the tightening only egging him on further to get you to cross the finish line. 

With just a little more pressure of his tongue, Joel could feel your cunt clamping down around his digits, watching the pleasure shoot through your body as you came, your orgasm crashing through you like a tsunami. 

As you reached your high, Joel drank up your arousal, not faltering in his pace, too focused on your pretty cries of his name being chanted like a prayer to do anything but keep going and making you feel good. 

Truth be told, Joel had gotten so lost between your thighs, the only thing stopping him was the tensing feeling between his, so pussy drunk and determined to fuck you full of him that he was worried he was about to cum too if he didn’t stop. 

Pulling off you, Joel frantically stood up, racing to undo his belt and jeans, yanking them down his legs in tandem with his boxers as his cock slapped against his stomach, precum already pearling from his tip, desperate to be inside of you. His shirt quickly followed his pants, ripping it over his head as his broad body caged yours under him, helping you to scoot back on the bed until your head hit the pillows, trailing kisses up and down your body the whole way. 

As Joel kissed and nipped at your skin, you quickly shuffled off your top and bra, leaving you bare beneath him, moaning as his tongue flicked against each of your newly exposed pebbled nipples, grouping your breast and kneading the soft flesh in his palms. 

Even though you had just came, you could already feel your cunt starting to clench around nothing, desperate to feel Joel inside of you, to stretch you out with his thick cock and fuck you until you couldn’t think straight. But with the way your chest was heaving and breath shaking from your orgasm, you could barely muster out the words you wanted. 

“J-Joel, p-please, baby. P-please.” 

You snaked your hand between your bodies to reach for Joel’s cock, wrapping your fingers around his length and swiping your thumb over his leaking tip, a low groan rumbling in his chest as you stroked him, trying to guide him to slide between your legs and ease your ache. 

Lowering his hips, you moved your hand and let his replace it, Joel pumping himself a few times before guiding his tip between your folds, collecting your slick to coat his cock, using every last ounce of self-control he had as his eyes locked with yours, wanting to see your face as he pushed inside you. 

“Please, what, darlin’?” Joel teased, knowing damn well what you were begging for. 

“Need to feel you, Joel. Need you to put a baby in me.” You moaned, reaching up to grab his face, your palm rubbing against his stubble as your fingers tugged on the curls at the nape of his neck. 

With one more pump, Joel lined himself up with your entrance, sliding into your heat, the sweet stretch and sting of his length making the breath hitch in the back of your throat, filling you up inch by inch until he bottomed out inside you with his tip just kissing your cervix. 

Joel couldn’t help but smirk as he watched your mouth fall open, parted lips letting a soft moan escape while your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head at the newfound sensation, giving you another moment to adjust before he began to slowly roll his hips, dragging his cock in and out of your core. 

“Christ, baby girl, so wet and tight. Like this pussy was made just for me. Made for me to fuck ya full of me until it’s got no choice but to fuckin’ take.” Joel groaned, reaching down to grab your thighs, pinning your knees to your chest, stretching you open to take Joel even deeper, practically feeling him in your stomach with the position he had you in. 

“Joel, oh my god- fuck, you feel so good. Fuck, baby. Want you to fill me up so bad.” You whimpered, Joel now beginning to pick up his pace as he thrust in and out of you, continually punching in that perfect spot over and over again, leaving your brain bordering on short circuiting. 

Joel’s fingertips dug deeper into the flesh of your thighs, pushing your legs down just far enough to be chest to chest with you, the sweat dampened curls of his forehead brushing against yours as your mouths met in an electric kiss, catching each other’s muffled moans with each snap of Joel’s hips. 

“Yeah, sweetheart? Want me to fill you up? Fuck a baby into you? Let everyone see what a pretty momma you are, carryin’ our kid?” Joel grunted, picturing you, months from now, belly round and tits swollen, pregnant with your baby, wondering how many you’d let him give you, because fuck, he’d keep knocking you up until he had nothing left to give. 

Each push and pull of your bodies against each other felt more and more electric, an undeniable coil tightening in your stomach with the way Joel was pounding into you and the hairs at the base of his cock were brushing against your clit, already feeling yourself beginning to teeter on the brink of pleasure once again. 

“Yes, fuck, fuck- yes, Joel. I wanna have your baby. Want you to knock me up so I can make you a daddy. Please, baby, please.” You were all but sobbing at this point, your fingers digging into the tan and sweat sheened skin of Joel’s broad shoulders, overwhelmed by the lewd combinations of Joel’s heavy pants in your ear and wet squelching of your pussy as his pelvis flushed against yours repeatedly. 

Joel could feel you beginning to tighten around him, pussy sucking him in with its warmth and wetness, ready to clamp around his cock and milk him for all he was worth. 

“That’s it, darlin’, I know you’re close. Gotta cum for me first though, baby girl. Gotta feel ya soak me before I stuff ya so full of me, I swear t’god, you’ll be drippin’ outta me for days. So fuckin’ full that I’ll get you pregnant right now.” Joel groaned through gritted teeth, leaning back to reach and grab your leg, wrapping it around the small of his back before you lifted your other to join it, locking your ankles to keep him as close to you as possible. 

“Joel, oh my god, fuck baby, fuck, I’m gonna- fuckfuckfuck-” 

Suddenly, your orgasm was rushing through every inch of you, crying out as the pleasure hit you like a freight train, choking Joel’s cock with your pussy, unable to do anything but relish in the white hot bliss that had you nearly floating out of your own body. 

While Joel would have kept fucking you until the sun went down, the truth was he was relieved to feel you cum, spending every second since your agreement in the kitchen trying to keep from finishing until he was balls deep inside you and you were soaking his cock as you reached your high. The realization that now was his chance to make good on his promise, to fill you up and fuck a baby into you, ignited something primal, feral, in him, pounding into you at a punishing pace as he could feel himself teetering on the brink of collapse right with you. 

“That’s my girl. That’s it, cum all over my cock, baby. Shit, I’m gonna cum too, fuck- gonna fill this tight lil pussy up so goddamn much, give you a baby, make you a momma, oh fuck!” 

With one final stutter of his hips, Joel let out a strangled moan, flushing his hips against yours as he milked himself of every last drop, painting your warm, wet walls with hot ropes of his spend, making sure nothing went to waste. 

He couldn’t help but but press even further into you, plugging you with his length and fucking his cum as deep as he could into your cunt to make sure it took, collapsing on top of you with his cock still buried in your heat, letting your chests heave together in sync as you both caught your breath. 

Joel was convinced he had never cum so much in his entire life, afraid that if he pulled out, that somehow he’d have more left to give, and sure as fuck wasn’t going to risk letting anything coming out of him end up not inside of you. 

Well, not until your muffled grunt rumbled beneath him. 

 “Joel, baby, I love you but you’re kinda squishing me.” You huffed, giggling to yourself as you watched your husband come-to in real time out of his post-orgasmic state, immediately offering a half muttered apology as he rolled off you, sitting back on his knees to admire the shiny and slick mess between your legs. 

“Fuck me…” Joel murmured to himself, eyes wide as he stared at your pussy- wet, puffy and soaking with your arousal, bringing his fingers to your spent hole as he watched a dribble of his cum begin to leak out. Gently scooping it up, he collected everything he could, pressing it back into your cunt before pulling his hand out. Crawling up the bed to lay next to you, Joel wrapped you up in his arms as the little spoon, peppering ticklish kisses over your back and shoulders, making you burst into laughter. 

“Joel, stop! That tickles!” You squealed, squirming in his grasp, trying to defend yourself from his unrelenting attack of soft, plush lips and scratchy beard dancing across your skin. 

“Don’t laugh so damn hard, or all my hard work’s ‘bout to come out!” Joel teased, giving you a playful nudge, pulling you in even closer. 

“Stop making me laugh, then! Plus, I think you came enough to put quadruplets inside of me, so I think we’ll be okay.” You snorted, Joel joining in on the laughter. 

“Baby, I don’t think I’ve ever came that hard in my whole goddamn life.” Joel sighed, shrugging as you rolled your head up to look at him and that stupid goofy grin he got whenever he couldn’t contain his excitement about something. “God, I love you.” 

“I love you too, Joel.” 

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, Joel slowly bringing his arm to rest across your stomach, thumb slowly tracing careful circles on your skin. 

“You’re gonna make such a good mom. I’m the luckiest man alive that you wanna have a family with me. Still not really sure what I ever did to deserve it.” 

“Joel! You’re gonna make me cry! And this is before pregnancy hormones, ya jerk.” You tried to laugh, choking back the tears welling in your eyes. 

“Yeah, what a jerk, your husband tellin’ you how much he loves you.” He teased back, planting a long kiss on your temple, before pressing another one to your lips. Another wave of soft silence followed, watching Joel’s face scrunch in a calculated concentration. “How big of a crib you think I gotta make? I don’t know ‘bout a rockin’ chair, but a crib can’t be that hard. I gotta measure the guest room tomorrow.” 

“Honey, I don’t even know if I’m pregnant yet, you don’t need to have a crib built tomorrow.” You teased, laughing at Joel, despite the fact his mind was already thinking about a baby room and accessories had you melting. 

“Sweetheart, what did I say earlier? I ain’t lettin’ you outta this bed ‘till we know there’s a baby in there.” He smirked, nodding at his hand still splayed across your stomach, “So you better get comfortable, ‘cause if it’s up to me, there ain’t a chance in hell we’re gettin’ anything but a positive pregnancy test at the end of this month, and we'll sure need that crib nine months from now. Never hurts to get a head start."

Tag List: (Sorry if I tagged you and you don't wanna be tagged, just let me know!!)

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper r @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[drgnflyteabox]

ghost x fem!reader

simon finds a reason to live // stalking, depression, disassociation, simons past child abuse, body horror imagery, you're a single mom, minor sexism-kindaish

Simon's humanity is an external thing, amorphous and disconnected. He might've had a tether as a child, a distinct human softness necessary for survival, but it's since been deadened.

It's not so much a lack as it is a shrinkage. Empathy, emotional intelligence, they come natural at first but terrorize someone, neglect them? They'll turn black and rot as any limb without oxygen.

His father is long dead, he knows this, has read the obituary (full of lies) and pissed on his grave (twice).

And yet his father has the power to strike lightening through the only soft part of him left on any given day, at any given time, at any given place–

His father lives in the way that his heart nearly stops at the shop when the child beside him knocks down a full display of four cheese tomato sauce, glass and red slop crashing to the floor.

Run.

He freezes but his eyes snap to the sound, startlingly loud, mind racing and yet thinking of nothing at all as he feels the fear of god race through him.

Dad's gonna fucking kill you, Tommy laughs raucously.

Simon's never really blamed Tommy, but his voice echoes in his head sometimes too. It does again now, dad's got two tickets for the weekend.

The child takes two steps back, shocked at themselves and the mess and the loud loud sound that has quieted the rest of the store.

He thinks of all the ways he'll step in when the father rounds the corner. Then it's you and his breath goes thin.

"Awe, honey," you say softly. Kindly.

"Oops," the kid says, not a trace of fear in their face.

"Did'ja knock these over, Bram?" you crouch down, careful of the glass, and gently move the boy to the side, "that's okay. Do you remember what we do when we break a glass?"

Simon is still frozen– dumfounded, really. Your patience throws him off.

Fucking moron, his father screams in his head, useless! before he hurts Simon so bad the memory loops and loops, restarting just to torture him.

Fucking moron, fucking moron, useless, fucking moron–

And then you smile sheepishly up at him, eyes crinkling in the corners, and that soft human part of him eternally drifting sticks back to his skin and spreads like a rash.

They don't make you pay for any of the jars, nor do they make you clean up the mess. Still, you crouch again beside your son and explain to him again what to do when he breaks a glass.

Make sure you have shoes on. Don't use your bare hands. Call a grownup.

He's addicted to the sound of your voice. The softness of it, how gently you make sure to speak so that the message is taken in without any kind of fear.

Simon follows your car like the sound of your voice is the warm smell of pie on the windowsill and he's Mickey Mouse floating after it.

Awe, honey, loops through his head. Awe, honey. Awe, honey.

He doesn't make himself known just yet. All he does is note down your address for the next time he's on leave, tells John he's met someone and she's a sweetheart.

When he's back on leave he watches you struggle, and it tears at the new growth of softness.

You work, dropping Bram at school and then spending the day at the office. Then, when Bram is asleep and you've cleaned the house, you open your laptop back up and work a second job.

That just won't do. It takes everything in him not to kick your door down at the weak spot and have you whisper in his ear for a living.

Not yet. Not yet. He tries to loop that, but all he can hear is your sweet voice pleading with the electricity company and it becomes harder and harder.

Please, you say through the bug, I just need four more days. Then I get my paycheck.

Simon thinks about putting his hands around the answering voice's neck when they deny you–

But that's a bandaid solution.

It'll be better to eliminate the problem altogether.

Not the piling bills on your kitchen table that you tuck away when the child goes to school, nor the boss who shouts at you 'til he's red in the face.

No, he'll eliminate the real problem. The way he's seen John do, the way he's seen Gaz take example.

He'll be the man in your life, soon.

[chronicowboy]

Eddie calls him about ten minutes after he finishes unpacking. And Buck doesn't—panic. He doesn't! He has no reason to panic. Tommy doesn't know a damn thing about him and Eddie. And Maddie, well. She doesn't know anything either. Not this.

Nobody but him and Eddie—and Chris—understand what they are to each other, and that's okay. Buck made his peace with that long ago. Long before he even knew he liked guys. Which. Not that that matters or has any sway on his perception of his and Eddie's relation—friendship. They're just BuckandEddie. Doesn't need to be any more than that. Just his best friend.

All this to say: when Eddie calls, he doesn't panic. He takes a very respectable three deep breaths, tries not to grimace at the leather squeaking under his ass and hits the green button with a hand that absolutely isn't shaking.

Because he's not panicking. He's happy. He's so happy. He gets to talk to Eddie. For the first time since he left. Why would he be panicking? Because of some stupid assumptions from an insecure ex? Sure, right. Like he'd ever let that touch him and Eddie.

Competition, he thinks, like Tommy ever could have competed with Eddie Diaz.

"H-hey, E-eddie." Buck isn't sure why he stumbles over Eddie's name. He's had enough practice over the past few days. Said it enough times in his life that it should be able to slip out seamlessly every damn time.

"Hey, Buck." And there's Eddie sounding sure and confident and a little tired and warm and soft and so much like his best friend. Buck aches. "Just finished unpacking. Told myself I couldn't call until I was done. Incentive, y'know?"

And Buck grins. Grins so big his face hurts and he forgets all about the stupid leather couch underneath him. He imagines the two of them unpacking at the exact same moment, finishing in the same breath, still in sync even 800 miles apart. And then the second part of it hits him. Calling Buck his reward for menial, mind-numbing labour. The idea of hearing Buck's voice getting him through all the organising and reorganising and rereorganising. Fuck, he misses him.

"I, uh, I-I actually just unfinished packing too," Buck replies. A beat too late maybe. Doesn't matter. Eddie huffs a laugh, nothing matters but that.

"No shit. Should've known it'd take us a while to shake off the synchronicity." And Eddie's voice is so warm, so fond, it soothes the ache of the inevitable loss of their bond. That special tie between them that never let them stray too far soon to be severed. And then, like Eddie can hear him, "still a team even two states apart, huh?"

"Always a team," Buck replies, too soon this time probably. Doesn't matter. Not when he can hear Eddie's smile.

"How's the house treating you?" he asks, words shaped into something beautiful by the curve of Eddie's lips. But still, Buck's heart drops right out of his ass.

How does he answer that?

I missed you so much I couldn't sleep here without you. I didn't unpack because the house still feels like yours. The house still feels like yours because I wish it was. Yours. I couldn't sleep because you weren't snoring down the hallway. And the one night I did sleep here I had to fuck my ex as a distraction just to try and forget that you should be the one in that bedroom.

But he can't say any of that. He can't.

"Uhhhhhh." He blinks. Has forgotten every word in the English language.

"Buck?" Eddie's smile is gone.

"Why'd you stop talking to Tommy when we broke up?"

Silence. Fuck.

"He broke your heart, Buck," Eddie says slowly, evenly, too controlled. Hiding something. "Why the hell would I talk to him?"

"B-because. You guys were friends before me and him got together."

Eddie's straight. Tommy scoffs. Friends.

"And I promised to have your back five years before I even knew he existed," Eddie replies simply. "There was no competition there, Buck."

Oh. Oh, shit.

"How, um, how did you find out about that anyway?" Eddie asks when Buck's silence stretches on too long. "Not that it was a secret or anything. I just... I didn't tell you because I didn't think it mattered. And I know you didn't call Tommy, so..."

"No, n-no, I didn't call him." And he didn't is the thing. Didn't call him to apologise like he said he would to Maddie. Just. Let it lay.

"What aren't you telling me, Buck?" Eddie sighs. Buck misses his fucking sighs.

"Ravi called him. Well, found him. At the bar. And brought him over."

"Jesus Christ." And Buck can see him clear as day, bridge of his nose pinched between his thumb and forefinger. "Remind me to send Ravi a strongly worded e-mail on how to be your partner."

Buck kind of really wants to read that fucking email.

"We slept together," Buck blurts out.

Silence. Fuck.

"You and Ravi...?"

"No." Buck barks out a laugh. A startled sound. "No, not Ravi."

"Okay, okay, good," Eddie breathes out. "Because that would not be one of the points of the e-mail." Buck snorts again. Sobers instantly. Gets a sharp little pang in the pit of his stomach. No reason. "So. Tommy."

"Yeah." Buck ducks his head. "Tommy."

"Did you..." Eddie struggles with something for a moment, and Buck finds himself sitting up straighter, bracing for whatever comes next. "I mean, did you... When you... y'know, did you go to his or-or... yours?"

Buck bluescreens. Blacks out maybe. What the fuck?

"Um, y-yours or, no, mine. M-mine. It was closer. To the bar. And I—" And he what? What? What is it lurking in the shadows of his brain, slipping through his fingers like sand every time he thinks he's close enough to hold?

"Okay." Eddie says it like he's taking a punch.

"Is-is that, I mean, th-that's okay, right?"

"Well, I don't know if I'd classify sleeping with your ex as okay." Eddie makes some sort of noise. Half anguished and half furious. "Where the hell does he get off—" your bedroom, Buck thinks deliriously "—hooking up with the guy who's heart he broke?"

"He didn't break my heart, Eddie." Says it. Realises it's true.

"Oh, yeah, sure."

"He was scared I was gonna break his, remember?"

"Dumb," Eddie says succinctly. Buck snorts.

"I'm not getting back together with him or anything. It was just a one time thing. You don't have to worry about me showing up on your doorstep to brood again."

Silence. Again. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

"I think I'd be okay with it, if it brought you to my door," Eddie whispers.

Tears sting in Buck's eyes. He presses the bottom of his phone into his forehead until it begins to hurt. Clears his throat.

"How's the fixer-upper?"

Best friends. Nothing more. Nothing less. But.

[joelsdagger]

only then, i am good || one shot

joel miller x f!reader

masterlist || ao3 || follow @joelsdaggerupdates for notifs!!

pairing: daddy jackson!joel x f!reader summary: you have a bad day in which it makes you question your worth. only joel can make you see the truth. warnings: jackson era [well into the tlou2 timeline but nothing bad happens], implied age gap [i warn you, joel is old old], angst [in the form of internal turmoil], feelings of guilt/burdening, established relationship, dd/lg dynamics, soft daddy dom!joel, daddy kink, praise kink, size kink, finger sucking, pet names galore [baby, sweetheart, little girl, angel] size kink, reader is hella needy, reader has pubic hair bc i said so, smidgen of cockwarming, just the tip mention, dubcon*, dacryphilia, unprotected piv, nipple play, belly bulge, creampie, joel is reader’s personal weighted blanket, fluff, aftercare. *reader is not in the right headspace to properly consent to piv but she’s a-okay with it! word count: 3.8k

a/n: i’ve been to emotional (and physical) hell and back (are we back? who knows) these last few weeks and it had me yearning for daddy jackson!joel. so this is what this is. it’s a tad different from my typical style of writing and it’s not betaed and very very loosely proofread (barely looked thru it while in the waiting room lol), so it’s probably shit but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless xx

You should’ve double-checked the lock. Triple-checked it. As always. Hand to God, it slipped your mind. You were tired. Achy and sleepy, and you just wanted to go home. Back to Joel. Curl your spent body into the thick, burly warmth of his and let him cradle you until the whole day wipes itself from memory. 

You’ve been asking them for more responsibilities — a more serious role within Jackson, for months. After today, you’re sure they’ll never take you seriously. Never see you as one of them. They’re so much older and wiser — experienced. And you…well, you are not.

They never fuck up. Never make mistakes that would risk losing an important asset to this safe haven. And today you have. You fucked up. You don’t know how you forgot. It’s been your only job here, the only thing they let you have, and still — you messed it up. 

You forgot to lock the stall door to the stable for one of the horses. And not only did the horse escape but now the town is technically down one patrolman. You have completely thrown off the patrolling schedule, one that was meticulously crafted and has been in place long before you arrived in Jackson. It very rarely changed. 

You offered to lend a hand, practically begged them to send you out with the rest of the search party. But Maria, Tommy, and Joel all told you to go home while they sent a group (of which included Joel and Tommy themselves) outside the gates, well past dusk, to go looking for him. You felt entirely useless.

Begrudgingly, you scurried home, a beaten puppy in need of licking one’s wounds. Feeling the weight of the day and the frustration that has accumulated over months suddenly seeping into your bones, and you just…broke. You crawled into bed, alone in the dark, and you cried for hours, your mind spiraled, turning over the mistake you made, again and again and again. 

When it stops and the wracking sobs slow into shuddery hiccups, it’s only because you hear heavy footsteps in the hallway. Slow. Tired. But steady — sure. And that nauseating sensation in the pit of your stomach returns as the footsteps grow closer and closer. 

The door creaks open slowly, pale yellow light from the hallway spills through the crack, your puffy eyes squint and flutter against the sudden light, shape of him vague in your blurry vision, but you know it’s him: tall frame, broad shoulders, pale skin, and dark features.  

Joel. 

You curl your body tighter, making yourself as small as possible. Close your eyes, and bury your tear-stained face back into the damp royal blue of his linens, the piney scent of him everywhere: his pillows, his sheets, his mattress, clouding your mind. You hear his footsteps as he rounds the bed, feel him reach over and switch on the lamp beside you. He grunts, his joints creak as you feel his weight sinking the edge of the bed, settling himself down in the ‘c’ shape your body had formed.

“We found him. Fella was out by Hidden Pines,” voice soft, almost cautious. 

You nod silently, but you don’t look at him, not wanting to embarrass yourself even more, not wanting him to see how pathetic you look after spending hours upon hours sobbing into the pillows over a mistake you made.  

A heavy hand cups your knee over the sheets, thumb stroking bone through the fabric there. 

“It wasn’t your fault, baby.” He says, surely.

But you don’t really believe him. 

You sniffle and tilt your face away from the tear-soaked pillows just enough so he can hear you. “Yes, it was. I was the last one in there. It’s my job to take the horses back and settle them in for the night. My job to make sure they stay in the stables. It’s been my job, my only job all this time, and I can’t even do that right,” you ramble, voice breaking, bottom lip wobbling, fat tears pricking your red eyes once again. 

“No. You listen here,” he says sternly, feeling his body turn beside you, bed covers bunching up around your knees. “You did lock it, but the latch was loose, honey. Tommy and I tried ‘em. They’re due for a fixin’ n’ we should’ve been checkin’ ‘em, but that’s my job, not yours. This wasn’t on you, darlin’. You hear me?”

You avoid his eye and stay furled on the bed. Silence swells between you, and you fiddle with a stray thread in his sheets.

“He wasn’t supposed to take off like that, but he’s a younger horse,” he shrugs, and a sigh falls from his lips. “It happens. Whoever was mannin’ the wall tonight should’ve seen him. Many things were at play, baby. It wasn’t your fault.” He says in a matter-of-fact tone.

Your head snaps over your shoulder in a fury. “I could’ve helped fix it. I could’ve made it right,” you bite, shaky voice laced with venom. You don’t mean for it to sound so harsh, but it manages to stifle the sob that threatens to claw up your throat. And for a second, the irritation in your voice doesn’t rattle you until you notice Joel’s shoulders tense, and you regret it immediately. 

A whirlpool of emotions swirls in your belly. A weird noise squeaks out from your lips as you try to fruitlessly blink away the sleep and salt in your eyes. You don’t want to cry in front of him. You bury your face into the pillow again, trying to muffle the sob-like groan as you cringe away from Joel, ashamed. 

His hand drifts up your thigh, broad palm splayed across your flesh, his touch unwavering. “Sweetheart, the only reason I told you to stay here s’because it ain’t safe out there. The amount of infected may be less this time o’year but the cold…” He trails off, his grip tightening around the meat of your thigh unconsciously, “makes people meaner,” his voice grows unsteady at the thought. 

You shiver, and you suspect he feels it. He clears his throat, and tender fingers brush the strands of hair out of your face, then they trail down, and you feel the cold roughness of his skin against the warm softness of yours as his calloused hand cups your jaw, tilting it to face him, forcing you to meet his eyes. 

Your eyes pinch shut, and the dam breaks. You can’t bear to look at him. Your heart sits heavy in your chest, feeling the guilt creeping back in at his touch. His hands, usually warm, are now icy cold, and all you can think about is how you are the cause of it. He had been out in the cold longer than he needed to be because of you. You and he both know his worn bones can’t handle it, and yet, he went out there in the dead of winter as nightfall cloaked over Jackson to right your wrong, and it makes you feel terrible. 

“Baby. Look at me,” he whispers softly.

You do, and through bleary eyes you meet his weary gaze. His lips are downturned into a frown, and with a twist in his brows, that worry line in the middle of his forehead materializes. You hate being the cause of it. Your heart plops to your stomach, your throat goes thick, something rising at the base of it. 

“What do you need, sweetheart? Tell me,” he implores, his voice stern but soft, eyes shifting back and forth between yours — dark amber irises so warm, pleading.  

Teach me to be good. “Just you, daddy – just need you,” you blubber, your voice innocent and small. Weak. 

He knows exactly what you mean. You have been together long enough that he reads you like an open book. You watch as he wordlessly toes off his boots with a thud. Watch as he moves to stand to unbuckle his belt, dropping it to the floor with a soft clink, his jeans, jacket, and flannel following shortly after. Watch as he shifts onto the bed, bones crackling as he lowers himself and presses his broad form into you, his knees popping as they coax yours open. Watch as one of his hands drifts south between your bodies to grip the thick root of his cock while the other bunches up your nightgown to your navel, revealing your unobstructed cunt to him.  

You whimper when the leaky head of his cock notches at the already slippery entrance of your cunt. He glides the wide cockhead between your folds, up and down, up and down, while the warmth of his breath fans across your face when his lips part to murmur, just the tip tonight, baby, s’not a good idea for you to take all o’me right now, alright? 

You nod numbly. You don’t care how much he gives you — you just need to feel him. Need him to fix you. Need him to make the hurt you feel inside go away. Need him to search for the good. Maybe it’s there, buried deep in a place only he can find. 

His hands find yours, pins them firmly above your head, and with his dark gaze holding yours, he very gently pushes his tip inside your tight, wet hole. His mouth pops open in a deep groan, and you catch it with a soft gasp of your own. 

“There you go. S’that feel better, pretty baby?” He murmurs, his jaw ticks, brows twitch.  

You nod desperately, your wide, glassy eyes going hooded. Your thighs tense around him, causing a little more of his cock to push inside, making you whimper and squirm beneath him.  

“Good. Now just listen to my voice. Just focus on me, right here,” he grunts haggardly, voice so low and commanding. And that alone makes your brain go fuzzy. 

You try to focus all your energy on his voice and the heavy weight of him on top of you and the fat tip of his cock stretching your too little hole open, but suddenly, he pulls out, and you almost whine at his absence.

But Joel doesn’t give you enough time. 

Your body moves up the bed with a jolt, gasping when his hips push forward with more force, filling your cunt with the head of his cock, and then some more, only to slip out of you again immediately after. He’s toying with you, and he’s doing so because he knows you really need this. 

He slips his cockhead gently back inside you, and you whine at the soft squelch your slicken pussy makes. The two of you revel in the lewd, wet sounds that ricochet through the room, all while never breaking eye contact. 

“My little girl just needed me to fuck all the bad thoughts away, hm?” he breathes, his nose brushes against yours.

“Mmhm,” you sigh, cunt flittering around him. 

“Needed me to stretch out her sweet little hole and make everything better, s’that it?” 

You nod frantically, moaning breathlessly. 

Joel growls. “Say yes, daddy,” he commands you softly, his fingers squeezing yours.

“Y—ye—yes, d–daddy.” Your words come out broken in between the slow rolls of his hips, but by the smirk that tugs on his lips, you know he’s proud of you anyway. 

“Good girl,” he praises, his touch featherlight as his fingers push the stray strands of hair away from your forehead, and the scruff of his chin tickles your nose as he lays an open-mouthed kiss between your furrowed brows.  

“But daddy—” you start to protest, scrunching your nose. 

Joel harrumphs as he pulls back. All of his features pull into a stern look, and to stop you, the pad of his roughened thumb sweeps across your cheek and sinks between your parted lips. 

“Na-uh. No fightin’ with daddy,” he presses gently. 

By instinct, your lips close around his digit, sucking it into your mouth and swirling your tongue around the thick of it, tasting the salty, woodsy flavor of him, and it only feeds the foggy haze in your mind more. 

Spit pools at the corner of your lips. His thumb moves in and out of your mouth, matching the rhythm of his thrusts as he fucks his cockhead in and out of your hole. Your mind begins to blur, but there’s still a storm stirring in your swollen eyes, and Joel, as always, can see it. 

“Alright, this ain’t workin’,” he sighs exasperatedly. 

And you think he’s utterly fed up with you not obeying him. He unsticks his body from yours, and your eyes search his face — the lines beside his eyes, the hairs in his brows, the muscles around his lips — trying to decode the emotion that flits across his features. Though, as expected, it’s near impossible to read him. Joel may have been able to crack you open, and although the years he has spent in Jackson have managed to soften him up — tiny cracks in his stony exterior over time — he remains inscrutable. 

For a moment, you think he’s going to scold you. Tell you you’re no good for him anymore. You wouldn’t blame him. You can’t seem to do anything right. Maybe he thought he wanted to take you apart, bit by careful bit. But what if he peered through the gap and saw something he didn’t like? What if he had a change of heart — now that he stepped back and assessed the damage? What if the severity of it was too much to mend? Burden too heavy to carry. He doesn’t deserve that. He deserves someone good. Someone not in need of fixing. Someone unbroken. 

But Joel surprises you. His hand retracts from your face, and instead wraps his arm around your middle, maneuvering you onto his thighs so you're straddling him. His free hand fists the hem of your nightgown, and in one swift motion, tugs the fabric over your head and tosses it aside to join his pile of clothes on the floor. His heavy hands find your waist once again, and with the head of his cock still buried deep in between your legs, he sits up and back against the headboard, grunting a low, alright, c'mere, as he takes you with him with ease.

You cling to him like a koala, body putty and pliant as he brings your weak arms to wrap around his neck. And then, a firm hand moves to cradle the back of your neck, lets you nuzzle your wet face into the dip in his shoulder, and breathe in the comfort of his scent while his other traverses the line of your spine.

Slow but steady, Joel bucks his hips up, up, up, until the entirety of his thick length works its way into the slick slide of your cunt. Your soft thatch of curls meets his, softly grazes your clit, and you writhe in his arms, sniffle, and whimper brokenly against his shoulder, but sure, gentle hands pull you into his chest tighter. You feel the strong drum of his heart against yours, thrumming against each other: ga-gung, ga-gung, ga-gung, pace quickening, like they're trying to catch up, trying to sync. Your body melts into his. Skin to skin, heart to heart, heat of your cunt to the heat of his cock; and then suddenly, two become one.

“Shh, shhh, I know, baby, I know. You got it,” he whispers, as he begins to rock you back and forth, back and forth, lulling you gently back into the haze, and everything finally fades away. 

He presses a kiss right behind your ear. “Therrrre we go, just take it, good girl,” he murmurs as a heavy hand pets your hair. And whether he’s talking about his cock or his praise, you obey regardless. Your cunt sucks the heat of his cock in deep. Let him fuck himself into you; let his warmth smolder you until your cunt ignites. Let it roar and burn and spread through your system like wildfire. Let him make you good.

The tips of his fingers move through your hair in small ministrations, gently scratching away at your skull. “Daddy—s–so big—” you whimper, your fingers pulling the hair at the nape of his neck, tears welling up in your eyes as something low in your belly begins to churn. 

“Shhh, angel, it’s okay. I know, s’a lot,” he soothes, feeling his deep voice reverberate against your chest. Your cunt contracts at his praise, and the steady pace of his hips falters briefly; he groans deeply when he feels his tip choked tight within your walls, “you’re doin’ so good for me, sweetheart, so good.”  

He continues his shallow thrusts while he rocks you in his arms. There’s a low static buzz in your ears, but you can still hear the perverse chant that manages to fall from your lips — one that grows louder with every roll of his hips, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy. And in turn, he murmurs incessant blabbers of, you’re okay, angel, daddy’s here, daddy’s gotcha, into your hair, punctuating every one of his words with a soft kiss to your temple and a slow buck of his hips.  

The tip of his cock nudges that soft ridge deep inside you, and he feels your cunt flutter around him. “You gonna come for me, angel, hm? You gonna be a real good girl for daddy and let me feel this drippy little pussy come all over me?” He coos.  

“Uh-huh,” you murmur. 

Deft fingers curl around the back of your neck, and with the slightest of pressure, he squeezes once, gently instructing you to use your words. A silent command. 

“Y-yes, daddy, I prom–I promise, I wanna be good. I wanna be good,” you mewl.

His nose drags along the side of your face, down, down, down, until his heated lips meet your pulse point. “Go on, baby, let go n’ get daddy all messy. Show daddy how good of a girl you are,” he rambles, his voice a low vibration, goosebumps prickling in its wake.

With your tight cunt full and impaled on his cock, your clit throbs, eager for more friction. You rut your hips against his, humping him like a dog in heat as you rub your puffy pearl against the graying curls there, smearing him in your slick just as he insisted.   

And within seconds, your body constricts, navel pulls taut, and then something fiery in your belly erupts. Your body begins to tremble as stars burst behind your eyelids, liquid heat turns your mind and body molten, melting away completely with the force of your release.

“Daaaddy,” you cry, lips quivering. Your muscles go lax, and your body slumps in his hold, feeling the last of your energy leaving you. Your head lulls back, and his hand slides up the base of your neck in time to catch it in his massive palm.

He clutches you tight, marveling at your fucked-out form in his arms while babbling praises of,  ohhh–that’s it, that’s it, good job, baby, such a good fuckin’ girl— daddy’s so proud of you, as warm tears roll down your face. And it only spurs him on. 

His languid strokes speed up, your body jolts above him violently, weeping cunt fluttering repeatedly around him. Your mouth falls open, wanton moans escape past your parted lips as he fucks you harder. “Christ, that’s it, that’s my girl. Look at you, perfect little thing,” he pants, coaxing you through your orgasm. 

His eyes drop quickly to watch the bounce of your tits, nipples peaked and gleaming with beads of sweat. He dips his head to one sticky breast, and with a flick of his hot tongue, he laps up the salt on your skin. 

It elicits a sharp gasp from you, your chewed fingernails desperately trying to claw at him, your body arching against his mouth, and you feel him grin against the curve of your breast. His mouth drifts, wraps his whiskered lips around your other swollen nipple, tongue swirls the pointed bud, teasing you with a graze of his teeth across the wet peak before nipping it, tugging the stiffened point ever so slightly between his teeth.  

“Daddy–oh!” You choke on a moan, and your spent pussy clenches around him so tight, your cunt is almost forcing him out. His hips buck into you harder in response, his thrusts growing more erratic as he seeks his own release. 

Joel hisses, mouth releasing your tit with a wet pop, “sweet Jesus, m’gonna give it to you real good, baby—like you deserve, fuck—”

He's cut off by the strangled groan that rips through his chest, his back arches off the headboard, and you feel him twitch. His grasp on your enervated form tightens, and then a blazing heat spreads inside you. His sweaty forehead falls to your dampened chest, the swell of your breasts cushioning the drop of his head, his body convulsing as he pumps upwards into your core. Cock pulsing and spasming within your walls as he continues to spill inside you, your belly swelling and set to burst full of his seed.  

Joel slumps back against the headboard, his arms loosen, but they don’t release you, just holds you there on top of him as he presses hasty kisses and whispers shaky sweet nothings into your hair while his hot seed dribbles out around his length, turning the hair at the root of his cock into a pool of sticky milky white.  

You don’t know if it’s minutes or hours that pass by as you stay limp in his lap, breathing in the sweat and sex on his skin as you snuggle back into his neck, the heat a low simmer. But when he runs a warm, wet rag between your legs and uses the same one to wipe your mixed wet off of his shaft before he tucks you in with a peck to your lips, the tip of your nose, a long kiss to your forehead, and lays himself on top of you with the full weight of him, pulling the comforter up to trap the heat of your bodies between you, sore cunt plugged with his softened cock once more, you know that he makes you feel whole. Not ruined or broken. Not stupid or useless or helpless. And in truth, it's all you’ve ever known with him.

As you slip gently into the waiting black, small fingers that draw circles into his silver curls come to a slow, you think you hear a quiet sigh — feel his lips lazily form around the words against your tacky skin — something of, you are good, angel tucked away into the valley between your naked breasts like a secret. And you think you believe him, and for now, that’s enough for you.

[baronessvonglitter]

Sweet Summer Peach

dbf!Joel Miller x f!Reader | wc: 3.7K

Summary: when your dad's best friend Joel catches you with his younger brother Tommy, it sets off a spark of jealousy that can only be tamed by showing you how a real man treats a woman.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, big ol' girthy age gap (reader is between 18-21, Joel is in his 50s, Tommy is in his 40s), Tommy is a womanizer and Joel's just trying to save you from him while also getting a little of you for himself, innocence kink, first time/loss of virginity, fingering, dry humping, truck sex on a hot day in July, unprotected p in v sex (not stated whether reader is on birth control but we'll assume she is), creampie, come eating, praise and pet names (angel, darlin', baby from Joel; sugar, sweetheart from Tommy) definitely a daddy kink as you've known Joel your whole life and he's like a second father to you, once again your dad is clueless as to what's going on, reader is also Sarah's best friend but she is only mentioned not seen. Reader has hair that Joel can pull and wears a bikini and a sundress. No use of y/n.

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

"Why don't you ditch that silly little wine cooler and let me give you a taste of somethin' else, sugar?" Tommy Miller's voice is sinful in your ear. "Somethin' a little stronger."

It's over a hundred degrees outside, with no comfort in the shade. The Millers are hosting their annual Fourth of July barbecue, and plenty of people are over, eating, drinking, chatting, swimming in the brand new pool. You've known Tommy and his older brother Joel for years, the latter your dad's best and oldest friend. You and Sarah, Joel's daughter, have been best friends as long as you can remember, being the same age and living just across the street from each other. Joel himself has always been like a second father to you, having watched you grow up. He took you and Sarah to ball games, to the zoo, on fishing expeditions, helped with homework, practically helped raise you. Sarah was his Baby, and you were his Angel.

Tommy, on the other hand, hasn't seen you in years. But he definitely likes the woman you've grown to be.

He's been making eyes at you all afternoon, not-so-subtle glances your way, obviously enticed by your new, revealing bikini. You're garnering a lot of attention from people today, just as you'd expected when you bought it. Your dad would sure have some comments to make on how underdressed you are, but he's not here, working until the evening, and you're taking advantage of your freedom.

Tommy awaits your answer, and with your drink gathering condensation in your hand, you tell him, "Okay," with a soft smile.

He takes your hand, fingers weaving around yours. "Let's dip into the house for a few minutes," he murmurs, eyes gleaming with mischief. Taking a quick look around you notice Joel's eyes on you, his gaze unreadable but you can sense he's on the verge of moving to stop you. But the sight of his glare only serves to stoke the fire of your excitement. It's highly likely he does not like watching Tommy lead you away to privacy.

"Where are you takin' me?" you ask, a giggle bubbling in your throat as you leave your drink behind. He's guiding you to the side entrance of the house, down the hall and to a small den. The blast of the AC hits you with sweet relief and you nearly sigh with satisfaction.

"Away from all the heat," he says, gently pushing you to the wall.

"Tommy," you giggle, half anxious, half excited.

His hands go immediately to your hips, his grip warm and firm as he pulls you close. A low, primal growl rumbles through his chest and he leans in, his nose brushing against your neck. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I got ya." His breath his hot against your skin, his teeth graze your throat, sending a shiver of want down your spine.

"You like that, sugar?" he whispers, his hands exploring your soft thighs, caressing upwards until they brush against the fabric of your bikini.

"More.." your voice comes out in a whimper.

Tommy's eyes gleam with pleasure at your desperate plea. "Greedy girl." His fingers find their way beneath your bikini bottom, gliding across your folds, grinning when you begin to grow even more wet under his touch. He teases without pushing inside, wanting to see you grow absolutely uninhibited with need. "What's the matter, sweetheart?" he teases.

"Not.. used to bein' touched like this," you tell him, brow furrowed in concentration of desire.

"Mm. I can tell." His touch is gentle and insistent, seeking out the spots that make your knees buckle. "You only ever had your own fingers in ya? That it?" He drinks in your sounds of pleasure as you nod at his question. He traces over your clit, watching your hips jerk. "There ya go.." he coaxes, lips on your neck as he continues touching and teasing you. "You like that, huh? Like how I'm touchin' ya?" His fingers circle your clit until you feel yourself grow tighter and tighter, soon to unwind..

"Yes.. yes.. oh my god, oh my god," you moan, and when you open your eyes Joel is there, watching both of you. He looks pissed. You shriek as you meet his searing gaze.

"Get your fuckin' hands off her," he growls menacingly.

Your blood freezes and you're vaguely aware of Tommy's fingers slipping away as he moves from you. Then as you realize your state of dress you try to fix your disheveled bikini, a feeble attempt to cover yourself. "Joel.. I'm sorry," you whisper.

Joel's eyes stay locked on you, a possessive rage smoldering in his black depths. He steps towards you, his movements deliberate and calculated, like a predator stalking its prey. "Sorry?" he mocks. "What the fuck are you doin' in here with my little brother's hands all over ya?"

"I.. I wasn't thinking." It's the truth. For once you'd let your hormones think for you.

His expression hardens. "You weren't thinkin'? That's all you have to say?" His gaze flicks to Tommy, the simmering anger still present in his eyes. "You. Get out," he commands, his voice sharp and authoritative.

Tommy hesitates briefly, all former bravado gone in the presence of his older brother's ire, and leave you and Joel alone.

You feel ashamed, scared, still dizzy with desire if you're honest, the ache Tommy created in you still lingering. "Joel, I'm sorry.. you won't tell my dad, will you?"

Joel's gaze is intense. "You're damn right I won't. Your daddy would rip my brother limb from limb if he found out what just happened." He steps closer to you, his eyes roaming your body, taking in your scantily clad appearance. "But you and I, darlin', we need to clear some things up."

"Like what?" you ask in a small voice, expecting the worst.

"First: I don't want you alone with Tommy ever again. Am I understood?" His voice drops to a low growl. "Second: I'm not done with you, angel. You're comin' with me."

Despite knowing you're in trouble already, you're recalcitrant. "You can't tell me what to do! I'm not a child anymore!"

Joel's eyes flash with anger, and before you can react, his hand quickly clamps around your wrist, his grip firm but not painful. "You're actin' like a child, darlin'. Now you can either come with me quietly, or you can put up a fight and I'll carry you outta here. Your choice."

For some reason the thought of him carrying you out sends a jolt straight to your center. But you relent. "Fine," you growl back. Joel hands you your sundress and you put it on, not caring to ask why he had it in his possession while you were in here with Tommy.

"Good girl," he mutters, leading you to his truck outside. He opens the door for you, the gentlemanly gesture a stark difference from his earlier demeanor. As you get in, Joel climbs into the driver's seat, his large frame filling the small space.

"Where are we goin'?" you ask as he starts up the engine and drives away with you.

He doesn't turn to look at you as he drives, his grip on the steering wheel white-knuckled and tense. "Somewhere we can talk, darlin'," he says gruffly. "Somewhere my meddlin' brother can't get his hands on ya."

You blush with shame as you think of what Joel saw you doing with Tommy, even though it was mostly innocent. "You don't see me as your little angel no more. do you?"

Joel's gaze flicks to you for a moment, his expression showing disappointment. "You stopped bein' an angel the moment you let my brother touch ya."

He pulls his pickup into a dirt parking lot, the location surrounded by trees and secluded from prying eyes.

"Better him than someone I don't know," you say lamely, looking around the deserted area.

"That's a low bar, angel," Joel mutters, voice thick with restraint. "You're not the only one who's noticed ya, darlin'. Hell, the whole damn town's been watchin' ya grow up."

"Tommy's the one who approached me. It wasn't my fault."

"Of course. He'd be blind not to want ya," he mutters darkly. "But you're not the first girl he's had his eye on, baby, and you ain't gonna be the last either."

It stings, but you try not to let it show. "I'm not tryna marry him, we were just havin' fun."

Joel scoffs, his eyes betraying his jealousy. "Fun, huh? Is that what you call it? You have no idea what my brother is like. He's no good for you. You're too young, too innocent, too damn pure."

"Evidently I'm no longer pure by your standards," you shoot back, arms crossed. "A girl can't enjoy herself without bein' a slut, right?"

His jaw clenches. "That's not what I meant. You're not just some toy for my brother to play with and toss aside. You don't know what he could do to you."

You remember Tommy's gentle, sure touch, the way his fingers glided over your most secret parts. "I got a sense of what he could do to me," you can't resist goading Joel. "And it felt so good.."

Joel looks like he's trying to swallow glass. "I bet he made you feel things you've never felt before, didn't he?"

"Almost.. not quite.." Blush fills your face.

"You mean he didn't make you come."

To have it put so bluntly makes you blush all over again. "No.. he didn't."

Joel wets his lips. "I bet it drove you crazy, havin' him touch you like that and not bein' able to finish.. must've driven you wild, huh?"

This is crazy. This conversation is crazy. This whole thing is crazy! It's like you're a kid again and Joel's trying to explain the birds and the bees because your own father doesn't want to.

"Yeah," you answer softly. "It's like an ache that won't go away."

His gaze darkens, drinking in the image of you all desperate, unable to get what you want. "And you're still achin', aren't ya, darlin'?" His voice is low, husky, intimate.

You feel small under his gaze, like a piece of meat being dangled before a hungry lion, like Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf. "Yes," comes your whispered reply.

Joel leans close, his large hands reaching out to cup your face. "Tell me what you want, angel."

He's giving you a choice, unlike Tommy who did what he wanted to do. Joel is giving you a choice.. "Make this ache go away for me.. please.."

His desire burns fiercely as he hears the plea in your voice. "You sure that's what you want, baby? Because once you let me in, there ain't no goin' back." His hands slide down to caress your neck, his touch both possessive and gentle.

You whimper. Once you let me in.. You're a fool not to think he means anything else. "I'm sure," you whisper, keeping your gaze on his dark eyes.

It sounds like a dare, like a threat, as he says, "All right, darlin'. You asked for it," and grabs hold of your waist, pulling you onto his lap so you're straddling him. You let out an involuntary gasp. His hands slide down from your waist to grab handfuls of your round ass, squeezing and kneading your cheeks firmly. "I've had a mind to do this for a long damn while," he growls. "You've been fillin' out lately, and those tight little shorts you wear 'round my house ain't doin' nothin' but teasin' my cock."

All your breath leaves you, the way he's grabbing you sends waves of heat and longing throughout your body.

His eyes burn as he feels your reaction to his touch. "You like that, baby?" he continues to grab and squeeze. "I've had to look at those tight little shorts of yours every time you come over.. always showin' off that perfect peach. Even now, this lil' sundress ain't barely coverin' anything." He kneads your cheeks again, giving them a light slap each.

You gasp at the sweet little stings, and each insistent knead of his hands on your ass pushes you forward onto his hard-on that tents his jeans. "That's it, angel. Ride my lap, just like that," he grunts. Your palms are planted on his shoulders, fingers gripping tightly as you grind yourself against him. Your heart is liable to shoot out of your chest but he feels so damn good, and so dangerous. "Like this?" you ask.

"Yeah, just like that, baby." Joel looks up at you, the mask of his authority slipping just a little as he watches you. "You feel that? That's what this pretty lil' ass does to me." Another quick little slap on your butt.

"Mm hmm," you reply, too caught up in the feeling to give a proper reply. "Oh my, I'm makin' such a mess on you," you whisper, noticing the wet spot on his jeans where you've been grinding on him without a care.

"Don't worry about me, darlin'. That's what I want." His voice is thick with desire and need. "I want you all wet and messy for me."

Jesus, the man knows just what to say.. "Joel," you whine. "You said you'd make the ache go away but you only made it worse.."

He quirks a brow. "That so? Well then I better do somethin' about that." One hand snakes its way between your bodies, his fingers easily finding your pussy through the thin material of your bikini bottom. You bite your lip as a curse word leaves your mouth, your head tilted back as he finds you wet and wanting. His fingers glide easily through your folds. "You're soaked, angel." He presses a kiss against your neck, grazing his teeth upon your skin as his fingers finally enter you, pressing into your sweet, welcoming warmth.

Brows furrowed, you start moving against his touch, sighing darkly as you feel his gentle love bite. "It's all.. for you," you sigh.

"I know it is, darlin'. Always has been." As his fingers rock inside you his thumb rubs small circles against your clit.

You ride his fingers, your breath shaking, gasping at the sweet intrusion. "Joel.. don't stop.. don't stop, I'm gonna come!"

"Go on, angel," he gruffs out. "Come for me.."

He holds you tight as you come undone on his lap, your pussy walls contracting around his fingers. "That's it.. good girl.." he praises. He withdraws them gently, shiny and covered in your thick, stringy slick. In a haze of pleasure you watch as he brings them to his lips, licking them clean. "You taste even better than I dreamed."

"Let me taste," you whisper, grabbing him for a kiss and swirling your tongue against his, tasting the remnants of your fulfillment. Your heart leaps as he goes to unbuckle his belt, and your body pulsates with unbridled need that overshadows all other thoughts.

"I need to be inside ya, darlin'."

"Yes.. please," you beg shamelessly.

"Lift up, angel," he whispers, pulling his jeans and boxers down halfway as you give him room. His cock springs up from his nest of dark brown wiry curls: a perfect, slightly curving length, thick and veiny, reaching up past his belly button, his precum already dribbling from the tip. His balls are heavy and full, lifting slightly as he pulls on himself, getting him primed for you. "You ready for me, baby?" he asks, voice low and thick with desire.

"Yes," you nod eagerly.

With your bikini bottom pushed to the side, he puts you over him again and starts to press into you. A deep, guttural groan rumbles from his chest as he firmly holds your hips. You gasp at the surrealness of the moment, straddling him in the driver's seat of the truck he taught you how to drive in just a couple short years ago. You whimper his name as you take a little of him at a time.

He claims your lips in a deep kiss, tongue delving into your mouth as he slowly sinks deeper inside you. Just when you think it's impossible to fit all of him, his kiss eases the way and you sink further down. "God," you sigh.

"You're doin' so good, baby. You feel so damn good around me," he soothes, completely. He starts to lift you up, to go slow and steady as already you're dripping onto him, your juices flowing down his shaft and drenching his pubes. You spread your thighs wider, feeling every inch of him inside you, a pleasure and yet a small pain. "Let me feel you like this for a little bit," you tell him, sheathing him with care.

"Whatever you want, darlin'. It's all yours," he mutters, leaning his forehead against yours, trying to still his heart, trying to catch his god damn breath.

"All mine," you whisper back, your breath tickling his ear. "My first.." You kiss him again and let your tongue tease his.

"Damn right," he growls. "And I'm gonna make sure you remember it forever. You're gonna feel me for days.." With that he starts to move, slowly, generating the friction your unsatisfied body so craves. "Grind yourself on me, just like that," he whispers, pulling the front of your sundress down to reveal your bikini top, and peels that back to expose your breasts, your nipples like pert raspberries. He palms them roughly before tasting each one, swirling his tongue around one bud while pinching the other.

You squirm in his lap, moving up and down his shaft, coating him with your cream. "You're so fucking deep," you moan, cupping his head as he feasts on your tits.

"There ya go.. take all of me. Lemme fill ya up," he grunts. His body tenses under yours as you speed up, mesmerized as your tits bounce up and down right in front of him. "That's it.. ah, such a good girl for me. How much more ya want? How much can ya handle?"

"I want.. fuck!.. I want more," you moan. "Fuck me, Joel!"

At your command he thrusts up, deep and rough, pulling your hair back so he can watch your body, gleaming with sweat, pulsate with pleasure as he taps into your primal need. The truck windows are fogged up as the vehicle gently bounces with your movements. His long, thick fingers leave marks on your hips and your ass cheeks.

He pistons up into you relentlessly, the sound of skin slapping on skin echoing in the truck, along with his grunts and the heavenly crescendo of your sweet moans. He keeps up the rigorous pace and you're on the edge, about to topple over into bliss. "Come on, baby," he urges you. "Yeah, that's it.. come for me.."

Only a few more fierce, upward thrusts and you come, with him nestled in up to the hilt so that every inch of him can feel you quake with pleasure. Your pussy flutters and convulses around him as you rear your head back, basking in the sublime pleasure. Joel follows soon after, unable to resist as he comes deep inside you. You give a little gasp at the warm bursts of his release, unlocking something primal in you. "Give me every drop," you whisper.

"It's all yours, darlin'," he hisses, holding onto you as he pumps stream after stream of his thick white cum within you.

Your eyes meet as he finally stills, slumping back down in his seat, still holding you close so you can feel the thundering beat of one another's hearts. "God.. you filled me up," you say in amazement, feeling him drip out of you already though he hasn't made a move to disengage from you yet.

"Imma fill you up any damn time you want," he rumbles. "Even if I gotta sneak into your room at night. Your daddy ain't gonna know a thing."

You bite your lip, realizing he's not kidding, he's not giving promises he doesn't mean to keep. "He'd probably kill you if he knew what we just did."

Joel's eyes burn with a determination that scares you a little. "Well he ain't gonna ever know. I got ways of keepin' things quiet." He gazes at you and his eyes soften, as if he's looking upon the most beautiful and innocent thing in all the world. "I always knew I wanted ya, ever since you turned into such a sweet little treat."

His phone rings and he groans when he realizes it's your father. He puts a hand over your mouth even though you wouldn't dare let on that you're with him, and makes the conversation as quick as possible before hanging up. "We better go, darlin'. Your daddy's waitin', wonderin' where you are," he says casually, as if he hadn't just had a conversation with your dad while balls-deep inside you.

You lift yourself off him wincing a little at the soreness between your thighs. The remnants of Joel's sticky seed start to trickle down your leg. He runs his thumb along your inner thigh, gathering his cum and brings it to your lips. You suck the salty fluid off his thumb. "I'm not wasting any of it," you tell him, licking your lips as you swallow.

"God damn," he mutters hotly. "You're killin' me, angel," he says, helping you arrange your clothes so you're decent again.

"Not anymore.. you just turned this angel into a devil.."

"Hey pumpkin, where ya been?" your dad greets you as you get out of Joel's truck in his driveway. Walking is a little painful as you're still sore, but you try to act natural.

"Beer run," Joel answers for you, holding up a twelve-pack of Corona Extra.

"Joel took me on a ride," you can't help saying, "It was fun." His cum is still collecting in your swimsuit bottom. "Hey Daddy, Sarah asked me to spend the night with her, so I'll be here all night. Is that okay with you, Joel?" You suppress a smirk as you address both the men.

Joel's heart rate spikes and his imagination runs wild in the quick span of a moment before he says, "Of course it is. You're always welcome here."

And later, when the Fourth of July fireworks cast their multi-colored lights on the black horizon, no one notices as you and Joel sneak away together, the booms overhead concealing your noises of gratification.

dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑

[suzdin]

Home Is Wherever I’m With You

Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: After the tragic loss of your father and home, you find yourself at the mercy of a cold, detached stranger who holds your fate in his hands during a violent snowstorm.

Notes: okay fair warning, I started writing this when I was feeling extremely low, and finished it several weeks later when I was doing better, so if it seems disjointed and sloppily thrown together, that’s why! But I swear there’s a happy ending!

Warnings: ANGST!!! I cannot stress the amount of angst. Suicidal thoughts and ideation, especially at the beginning. Alcohol consumption. Main character deaths; all of them. Lots of depression and poor mental health, mostly with Joel. Angsty!Joel, asshole!Joel, soft!Joel, semi-dom!Joel, protective!Joel, masturbation (m), oral (f receiving), face riding, unprotected p in v, creampie, biting/marking, pregnancy heavily hinted at, more angst

Word Count: 7,100+

dividers provided by: @saradika-graphics ❣️

Tags: @ohheypedrito @kateispunk @kellybelly1978 @berryispunk @chronically-ghosted @morallyinept @natdeandar @guelyury @daddy-dins-girl

Joel crouches in front of the old cast iron stove, his knees groaning in protest as he stokes the embers within using an extra scrap of wood.

He doesn’t know why he’s going through the trouble. It isn’t like he’ll be around much longer. Maybe he just wants to feel warmth one last time before he does it. And this time, he won’t miss.

He’ll be cold soon enough anyway.

He gets the fire breathing again, closing the hatch and settling back into the old leather recliner in the corner, worn and cracking with age, much like himself.

He palms the neck on a bottle of bourbon, taking a hefty swig and wiping his lips with the back of his hand, his face crinkling in rumination as he watches the flames dance behind slats of iron.

Sarah. Tess. Tommy. And then Ellie. He had failed each and every one of them; those he claimed to love, who he vowed to keep safe. He had let them down. He had let himself down.

He takes another pull on the bottle and sets it down heavily on the table next to him, replacing it with his Smith & Wesson, heavy digits curling around the grip.

He traces the scar on his temple with the point of his index finger, feeling the faint indentation in the flesh; a constant reminder of yet another failure.

He lowers his hand back to the revolver, finger circling the trigger guard, dark eyes downcast as he attempts to summon the strength to do what he needs to do. Again.

His hand tremors as he lifts the gun and presses the cold barrel to his temple, thumb cocking the hammer back with a hollow metallic clunk that resonates through his skull and soul.

“C’mon, Joel. Get yourself fucking together for once.”

His eyes close, nose scrunched in a deep scowl.

Just do it, Joel. Pull the fucking trigger.

The ball of his index finger curves around the bend of the trigger, twitching with indecision when the back door to the cabin abruptly flies open, temporarily snapping him out of his psychosis.

It’s just the wind. That’s all it is. A gust of wind from the incoming snowstorm.

He doesn’t move from his space on the recliner. The cold won’t matter in a few seconds anyway. He lifts the barrel to his temple again, aligning it just right…

The back door clicks shut. It wasn’t slammed, like the wind would have done had it been the culprit. It very audibly clicked. Like someone or something shut it themselves.

Immediately following the click, he hears the unmistakable scrape of boots on wood, the revolver lowering from offensive to defensive position.

No sooner do you get the door closed that you notice a faint flicker of light from the adjoining room, your heart beginning to thrum like a jackhammer in your chest. From the outside, in your weary state, the dilapidated old cabin looked abandoned as far as you could tell, realizing too late that it isn’t.

But now you’ve stumbled into someone’s den, and they could very well be armed and aiming to shoot. They could even be cannibals for all you know.

You could leave. You could just leave and pretend this never happened. But you haven’t seen any other shelters for miles… and the storm was only going to get worse.

“Who’s there?” a gruff male voice calls out from the other room, breaking through the stifling silence. You go stock still on instinct, your hackles bristled along your spine.

When you’re able to gather your bearings, you respond with your name, your vocal cords numb and strained from the cold.

“I mean no harm. I just need a place to sleep out of the storm. I promise to leave at first light,” you quickly add.

Joel stiffens when he hears a woman’s voice, his finger still circling the trigger guard as it had only moments before when the gun was trained on himself.

“Are you armed?”

“Just a small pistol and a jack knife. And I’m out of ammo,” you call back truthfully.

Everything is quiet for a moment aside from the crackle of flame and the howl of wind that rattles the windows and bends the outer wood. The silence between you and the unseen man feels like it stretches on for ages.

“Approach the door with your hands raised. An’ when I say, slide the gun and knife over to me.”

“Alright,” you reply quietly, approaching the ajar door in front of you, hands already skyward, kicking the door the rest of the way open with the toe of your boot.

You step forward two paces into the room, the scent of alcohol stinging your nostrils, your gaze settling on a haggard looking man in the furthest corner from you. His hair is wild and askew, eyes sunken in like a corpse, recognizing the hopeless glint behind them; no doubt a reflection of your own. A large pistol is clutched in his meaty fist, cocked and aimed.

“Gun first. Then the knife,” Joel says, his brow angled downward in a dark line, shading the even darker set of eyes.

You keep one hand in the air as the other reaches into the band of your jeans, removing the pistol and sliding it to him, stilling as it hits his boot.

He picks it up, discharging the clip to find that it is indeed empty, as you had claimed. He sets it next to the bourbon.

You slide the knife next, an average, run of the mill jack knife with a four inch blade. He inspects it, noticing a few remnants of blood still tarnishing the steel.

“Who’d you kill with this?”

“I used it to skin hares and squirrels.”

His face pinches with confusion, tilting his head at you like a dog hearing an unknown sound for the first time.

“Y’skinned hares and squirrels with a jack knife?” he questions doubtfully.

“It’s all I had,” you explain.

Joel eyes you warily. You’re definitely not dressed or equipped for this kind of weather. The only thing that seems to be keeping you warm is a thin hoodie, a regular set of jeans, and a pair of boots soaked through with snow.

He sighs. He isn’t going to kill himself with you here. He may not be the nicest or most caring man in the world, but he isn’t about to traumatize you. He’ll wait until you leave. You said you’d leave at first light.

In the meantime, he has to deal with someone being in his space, which he doesn’t exactly want to do, especially in his last hours. But he isn’t about sending you to your death, either. You probably have more to live for than he does.

“Here,” he says, kicking an old wicker chair toward you. “Your feet’re soaked. Take off your boots and warm your feet ‘fore you get frostbite.”

You lower your arms and take a cautious step forward, and then another, slowly sinking into the flimsy and rotten chair, bending to unlace and remove your boots.

You try to wiggle your toes but they won’t move, at least not yet. Joel watches with a scrutinizing glare, his hand still on the Smith & Wesson in his lap.

“What’s your name?” you ask him, pushing your boots aside.

“Ain’t important.”

You cast him a look but don’t press, scooting your sore and frozen feet closer to the stove, feeling yourself starting to slowly defrost.

You thank him for letting you stay.

He ignores your gratitude, dark browns drifting over your frame.

“Where’d you come from?” he asks.

“Ain’t important,” you counter, casting him another glance.

He leans forward, planting his elbows on his knees, pinning you with a deep scowl.

“I’m the one with the gun,” he chides in a deep timbre, his tone brooking no room for protest. “Guns,” he quickly amends.

Your eyes lock with his momentarily, assessing his conviction before deciding not to test it.

“A settlement near Billings.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

He leans back, his gaze unmoving, letting out a breath through his nose.

“An’ exactly what prompted you to run out into a snowstorm with just a hoodie and no supplies?” he asks.

You flinch as if he’d just backhanded you, averting your gaze. If you were looking, you might notice his face softening, if only just a hair.

“Raiders came into our settlement. My father… he gave me the pistol and distracted them while I snuck under a gap in the fence. I didn’t have time to grab anything else,” you tell him.

“And your dad?” Joel asks delicately.

“Didn’t make it out,” you reply grimly, your body beginning to tremor, a combination of repressed emotion and your muscles beginning to thaw.

Joel falls silent, absorbing your words as truth. He can’t find a reason that you would lie about something like that.

“I’m sorry,” he sympathizes, his voice gentling.

You bring your knees to your chest, your chin resting between them, arms wrapped around your shins.

“Thank you,” you say again, your voice hardly above a whisper.

——

Your eyes snap open, realizing you must have drifted off at some point, finding yourself curled into a fetal position directly in front of the dying fire.

A blanket you’re sure wasn’t there before is wrapped around your frame. You’ve no idea where it came from, it’s a bit scratchy and smells funky, but what matters is it’s warm, subconsciously pulling it tighter around your shoulders when you feel a chilled breeze brush over you through the cracks in the wall.

“Mornin’,” Joel hums softly above you.

“Morning,” you echo, shifting as your eyes scan the room, the cabin just as dark and cloaked in shadow as when you arrived. You’re unsure how he knows what time of day it is, but you decide not to question it.

He’s in almost the exact position in the old recliner as the previous evening, his hand unmoving from the revolver still in his lap. You can’t help but wonder if he had any rest at all, not sure if him watching you sleep should be comforting or disconcerting.

You sit up with a stretch, your joints crackling like twigs as you work out the aches of not only having traveled this far on foot, but also sleeping on a hard wooden floor all night.

Better than freezing to death, you decide.

You scoot until your back is flush with the wall, leaning against it as you silently study Joel.

“Thank you for the blanket—“ you begin, but he quickly cuts you off with a hard glare, nudging your dried out boots to you with his foot.

“Boots’re dry. It’s morning. ‘bout time for you to leave,” he says, his voice low and rough.

It dawns on you that it’s still dark because the storm hasn’t lessened at all, banks of snow clogging the windows and doors, blocking out what little available sunlight there is.

Your brow knits together and you cast him a wary glance, bottom lip trembling.

“But it… it’s…”

“The deal was first light, darlin’, and I’ve given you plenty more than that.”

“Please… just… a few more hours? Until the storm dies down some?” you plead, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes, preemptively threatening to freeze your eyelids together.

He’s silent and contemplative for what you feel is longer than necessary, a muscle fluttering in his jaw.

He knows he should send you away, even if it means a certain death. He can’t have you here, swimming in his grief, prolonging the inevitable.

The other option, of course, is to shoot you and then himself, a swift and merciful death that you deserve far more than he does. His fist tightens around the butt of the revolver, an action that does not go unnoticed by you.

“No,” he says plainly.

“Please, I’ll do anything,” you say, your voice cracking with emotion and desperation, shifting to your knees as you shuffle a few inches closer to his chair. He did give you a blanket, so there is a human being in there somewhere. “I can’t—“

“I can barely take care of myself, much less another person. Ain’t nothing you can offer me, nothing to barter with—“

“I’ll let you keep my gun and knife. Please. Just a few more hours…”

His jaw ticks again. Your odds are already low as is, but liberating you of your only means of defense, your only means of perhaps obtaining a meal, if only a meager squirrel or hare, would completely diminish any shred of a chance you have left.

He could give you his one and only jacket. Not that he’s going to need it after you leave, anyway.

“No,” he says again, more sternly than before.

His gaze is unmoving from yours, the slow, steady circling of his pointer finger on the edge of the trigger guard doing little to settle your nerves, the conflict apparent behind his dark eyes.

You know you don’t have much to offer. You’re not great at hunting. You’d exhausted your entire clip on what barely qualifies as a meal, leaving you with very little sustenance once the bullet had almost completely obliterated any viable meat.

You can’t fight or shoot worth a damn, either. Your father had tried to teach you in vain, his frustration with you growing to a fever pitch over the years, but it had never been your forte.

Because you never thought you’d have to live without him.

You can scout. Gather. Keep the cabin up, replace rotting boards and rusting nails, keep it clean and tidy. But not in this weather, and not for a few months yet.

So you default to the last thing you know how to do well. The only thing you know without a shadow of a doubt you’re good at, if any of the men at your settlement had anything to say about it before they perished.

You inch closer, your tired knees scraping against the dirty, splintered wood, hands trembling as you hesitantly reach toward his parted knees.

He anticipates more begging and pleading. Maybe a sob story or two.

What he doesn’t expect is for your hands to grab his belt, the meat of your palm ghosting over his crotch as you fumble to undo the worn rungs of leather.

His cock twitches instinctively and he can’t recall the last time a woman touched him like this. Made him feel anything but dead inside.

He moves with a sudden swiftness that surprises and startles both of you, the hand not currently on the revolver grabbing hold of your wrist like a striking serpent, his grip biting into your delicate bones so roughly you realize how effortless it would be for him to snap your wrist, should he feel so inclined.

He rises to his feet, dragging you with him and giving you a hard, reprimanding shake, teeth bared inches from your face.

It occurs to you seeing him fully upright like this just how tall, how imposing he is; worn, threadbare flannel stretched to its limits across broad shoulders and thick biceps.

“Christ, woman, the hell is wrong with you? What kind of man do you take me for?” he growls, a subtle twang piping up in his voice, his clenched fist releasing your wrist with a minor shove. You stumble backwards, catching yourself on the wall.

His nostrils flare, drawing in a deep, steadying breath, his eyes slipping shut as he tempers his simmering anger… and something else he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

“Fuck,” he grunts, eyes slowly opening again, rough digits carding through his graying curls. “If it means that much to you… you stay until the snow stops, an’ not a second later,” he nearly spits in your face. “Got it?”

When you easily nod in agreement, he stalks out of the room with a huff, every heavy footfall vibrating beneath your feet, slamming the door shut between you, leaving you standing there in the middle of the room, alone and unsure what to feel.

—

Joel goes into the now defunct bathroom, the traditional porcelain toilet that was maybe brand new decades ago currently unusable, the water in the tank and plumbing frozen solid, the pipes under the earth most likely cracked and warped.

He drops trow and leans forward with the flat of one palm against the wall, the other hand gripping himself.

He lets out a shaky breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding in, pissing into the cistern he had dug under the cabin two summers ago, a task only made more difficult by the partial erection he now has thanks to your — albeit brief — touch a few moments ago.

“Fuck, Joel,” he sighs as he empties his bladder, his cock only growing stiffer in his hand as he imagines how good your lips would have felt wrapped around him, what kind of pretty sounds you would have made for him.

“Fuck,” he grits again, cramming his painfully hard erection into his jeans when he’s done.

—

Hours turn to days, days to weeks, weeks to months — “until the snow melts an’ not a day later” — spring not far around the corner, the sun growing brighter and hotter in the sky with each passing day.

Joel’s suicidal ideations were still an ever present plague on his brain, though he kept that part of himself tucked neatly away, as he did most things that were personal and private. He never spoke of Sarah, Ellie, anyone. Never talked about his life before Outbreak.

In turn, you never talked about yours either, aside from what you’d told him the first night, too frightened that you might scare him away simply by opening up, by trying to stitch together what little relationship you had with one another.

The more time you spent with him, the more of a burden you began to feel. It didn’t matter how much you helped out, even if you kept a respectful distance between you, especially when he seemed extra bristly or in his head that day. He was always skulking about, his face pinched in indignation in what you were certain was unspoken hatred for you and your existence.

It was early morning and you were at the edge of the valley, the spot near the treeline that was choked with underbrush, gathering pathetically small handfuls of wild strawberries and huckleberries that were just beginning to fruit. Definitely not enough to have much impact on your aching bellies, but it could be supplemental to whatever protein Joel could scrounge up, which hadn’t been much as of late.

You wipe a fresh layer of sweat from your brow despite the air still being bitterly cold, collecting what meager pittance of berries you can, sucking in a breath of air as you steeled your nerves to head back to the cabin.

—

Joel’s door is still closed when you return. Not surprising, considering how early you’d gotten up that morning, Joel likely still exhausted and aching from the ineffectual hunting trip the previous day.

You place the berries into a bowl on the counter, your fingers curling into the peeling linoleum as you stare out the window that overlooks the southern end of the valley, sun cresting through the twisted and gnarled branches of still-bare trees.

You’ve been milling around the idea of leaving for weeks now. You’ve come close to doing so several times, knowing it would make Joel happy to not have you on his mind or in his space anymore.

Your hand hovers near the hunting rifle slanted against the wall, ultimately deciding against it as you tuck your pistol and knife into your pants, tossing half of the berries into a bag and shrugging on the jacket Joel had found for you on a hunting trip.

You take a final glance at his door before sucking in another sharp breath, opening and closing the back door for what you assume to be the last time.

—

Joel hears you return only to leave again a few minutes later. He thinks little of it, something you do frequently throughout the day when foraging or inspecting snares.

He wishes he could express his gratitude to you, thank you for how much you help out. How much you’ve improved his life just by being here. It kills him to see how you shrink away every time he enters the room, but he understands why. He hasn’t given you a reason not to.

Once he’s sure you’re out of earshot, he resumes pumping himself, hips bucking into his fist seconds before spurting hot ribbons of come onto his lower abdomen, eyes rolling back in his skull, your name a curse on his tongue as he imagines your mouth working him over in place of his fist.

As much as he’s wanted to touch you, sink himself into you every night, he’s been too afraid. Afraid to even speak to you, afraid of becoming attached only to lose you, like he’s lost all the others.

—

When you don’t return by mid day, he begins to worry.

He tries not to. He tries to tell himself maybe you decided to forage a little longer than usual, or maybe you’re at the river searching for freshwater clams since the weather is slowly beginning to warm.

Still, he can’t shake the feeling that something is off. That something is wrong.

He finds the bowl of fresh berries on the counter, evident that you had been foraging at least part of the day. But it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t good enough for him.

When you don’t return by nightfall, he knows without a shadow of a doubt that something is wrong.

This isn’t you.

—

Two days pass and you realize just how badly you fucked up.

The berries barely made a dent in your hunger and the only other food you managed to find were a few wild mushrooms that you’re pretty sure weren’t the edible kind, if the half gallon of resulting vomit an hour later was any sort of indication.

You fucked up. You fucked up royally and you miss the cabin. You miss the warm stove and the bed Joel made for you close to the fire. You miss how he always kept you fed and protected, even if you’re certain he hates you.

You miss Joel. You miss his grunts, you miss the way his face pinches when he glowers. You miss what he looks like when he chews, almost like he’s angry at his food somehow. You miss his smell when he comes home covered in grime and sweat from a full day of hunting.

Dusk has fallen on your second day without food or water, your bones feeling like powder and your muscles like jelly. You’re exhausted, head pounding with a combination of fatigue and hunger as you take shelter from the wind in a small outcropping of rocks, wishing he was here with you.

You’ll go back tomorrow, you decide.

—

Joel watches the sun sink behind the horizon of trees, cloaking the surrounding forest in near darkness.

He knows he should stop to rest for the night. Like you, he left in a rush without grabbing much in way of supplies or sustenance, but had been lucky to graze a buck that he was passively tracking while searching for you. He’ll likely find it soon.

He periodically came across fresh deer imprints in the earth, clean tracks slowly changing to drag marks, indicating the buck was either dead or close to death.

But you were constantly at the forefront of his mind. You were his focus. His reason to keep going. His reason for continuing to live.

And when he finds a perfect indentation of your left boot moments before the sun lowers completely from the sky, he knows he can’t afford to stop now.

—

It’s still dark when you wake up, your eyes coming into focus along the faint edges of what you can see, which isn’t much. Some rocks. Some trees.

You shift, rolling to your opposite side to go back to sleep, tucking your hands under your cheek as a makeshift pillow. A breeze blows over you, made stronger by the funnel of rocks, and you shiver, pulling your jacket tighter.

Snap.

Your eyes fly open again, immediately jumping to your haunches as you palm the pistol next to you.

You train your ears toward the source of the sound, somewhere in the trees, listening intently, your mind on shuffle with all the possibilities of what it could be.

It didn’t sound large enough to be a bear. A puma, perhaps, one who didn’t seem to be hunting you, hopefully, due to how loud the sound was.

Infected? A slim possibility. Rare up here, but not unheard of, which left you with the most likely option: it was human.

You attempt to still your breath, your fist white knuckled around the butt of the gun. It’s too dark to see anything, and all you hear is the soft whistle of the wind.

—

Joel registers the sound of you shifting from somewhere up the incline above him, limbs turning to stone as his mind cycles through all the same scenarios as you.

He lost your tracks halfway through the night, finding himself going in circles, so it’s quite possible it’s not you he’s just stumbled upon.

He slowly removes the rifle from his shoulder, lifting it to half mast in case whomever he’s stumbled across is hostile… or infected.

“I’m armed!” he calls out, lifting the rifle to a defensive position with the butt pressed to his shoulder. “I have no beef with you if you have none with me,” he adds.

You swear your heart stops, tears suddenly stinging your eyes with salt.

“J-Joel?” you whimper, almost imperceptible, but it’s just loud enough.

Joel can only react, unthinking, responding on muscle memory alone as he somehow manages to traverse the steep, rocky incline in seconds without eating it.

You jump upright to your feet, despite how weak you are, and before your brain even has a chance to tell your legs to move, you’re struck by a wall of muscle, thick arms coiling around you and pulling you against his chest.

“Thank god, thank god,” Joel sobs into your hair as he drags you down to the ground with him, his voice softer than you can ever remember, the wetness of his tears soaking through your shirt. “I thought I’d lost you…” he whispers, his voice wavering.

He inhales your scent deeply, his hold on you nearly painful, but you don’t mind, your face against his chest as your own tears start to fall.

—

“I’m sorry,” Joel murmurs softly as you’re walking back the following day, glancing over at you, dark brown eyes gently regarding your side profile in the early morning light. “I’m sorry I made you feel like I don’t care. I just…”

“I know,” you respond, pausing to collect your breath and your thoughts. “I know why you did it. I’m sorry I doubted you. I’m sorry I scared you…”

“Hey,” he says, gently cupping your jaw as he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze, calloused thumb tracing your jawbone, pausing at your bottom lip. “S’okay.”

Your lips pucker, impervious to stop yourself from planting a small kiss to the pad of his thumb as it brushes your lip.

He lets out a low breath, his hand snaking around to the nape of your neck, fingers lacing through your hair as he tugs you closer, lips crashing against yours in a passionate, heated kiss that flows trembling from him with every fiber of withheld emotion and desire.

—

You arrive at the cabin half a day later, impressed but not surprised by how swiftly Joel was able to navigate both of you back safely.

He even successfully locates the downed buck, stiff with rigor mortis and cold, half chewed by a pack of wolves that scatter with a single rifle shot fired over their heads, the large animal now dragging listlessly behind Joel as you finally break through the barrier of trees encasing the valley where the cabin resides.

Smoke still curls from the chimney, fire long gone but embers undoubtedly still hot, and you find yourself smiling. With relief, with anticipation.

You’re exhausted, famished and dirty. Yet you still assist Joel in stringing up what’s left of the buck to the outside of the cabin until he can properly butcher it, feeling obligated to do so after everything that’s happened, despite his protests.

Once the task is complete, you retire to the warmth and comfort of the cabin, curled against his chest, feeling at home for the first time in months.

His fingers idly trace the bow of your spine, both of you falling into a fast sleep for what feels like days on end.

—

“I was so goddamn stupid,” Joel growls softly as his lips chart a path down your soft inner thighs, finding himself grinding his hips into the mattress for relief. “So goddamn stupid an’ bullheaded, an’ I almost lost you for it.”

Your spine arcs instinctually when his breath ghosts tauntingly close to your soaked folds, your fists finding his graying locks with a tug.

“Joel, stop talking and make it up to me,” you whine, earning a disapproving glance from between your legs, but there’s an undercurrent of playfulness behind his eyes.

“Make it up to you, huh?” he purrs, separating your folds and inhaling your natural scent. “By tastin’ this perfect little pussy?”

“Yes,” you whine again, writhing like a worm cooking under the sun in his grasp, your fingers tightening in his hair.

“Uh uh,” he scolds, moving further away from where you’re desperate for him. “Ask nicely.”

His lip curves almost imperceptibly into a sly smirk, his gaze growing a shade darker.

“Please, Joel,” you amend, still wiggling, almost involuntary at this point, his fingers digging into your hips as he pins you against the bed.

“Please what?”

“Please, I need to feel your mouth on my pussy,” you whimper.

His nostrils flare, smirk growing just enough for you to realize you weren’t just seeing things.

He doesn’t waste another second as he dives in with a low, reverberative growl and begins feasting on you like a man starved, his meaty forearm barred across your hip to hold you in place so he can eat you out properly.

His tongue parts your folds, licking a broad stripe up your seam with a groan as he tastes your essence for the first time, moving back down to your opening to tongue fuck you, the ridge of his nose grinding deliciously against your throbbing clit.

You tug harder against his strands with a moan, helping to guide him where you need him most.

Joel grunts your name into your core, eyes locking with yours over your mound, and it takes everything in you not to fall apart right then and there.

He abruptly pulls his mouth from you, making you whine in protest, another smirk notching the corner of his lips as he rolls onto his back, rigid cock swaying slightly with the motion of his hips.

“Get on my face, baby, I need to get deeper,” he says, grabbing your wrist and gesturing you closer.

You don’t even have to give it another thought, scrambling over him, folded knees planted on either side of his head.

He yanks you down abruptly to his waiting and eager mouth before you’re halfway settled, tongue curling into your wet heat with a deep groan that vibrates straight through you.

His fingers dig into the meat of your ass, directing your movements, grinding you against his face as he continues to feast on you like you’re nothing less of a five star meal.

Your hands furl the edge of the headboard, spine arching, and it doesn’t take much longer in this position to be sent over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you like a bolt of lightning, Joel’s name a sacred prayer on your tongue as everything inside of you completely uncoils.

He keeps you there long enough to let you ride out your high, tongue still laving at your spasming walls until it’s too much for you to handle.

You shift off of him, his facial hair glistening with evidence of your release as he pulls you down into a rough, needy kiss, letting you taste yourself, flipping you over and pinning you beneath him, arms caged around your head as he grinds his hardness against you.

“You have no idea how many times I jerked off thinking about you like this,” Joel confesses, nipping at your jaw, then your bottom lip. “How you would feel. How you would taste.” He kisses down to your collarbone, his teeth gently grazing.

“And you have no idea how many times I touched myself thinking about you,” you confess in reply, Joel’s head lifting to meet your eyes at your admission. “I had to bite my lip every night to keep from moaning your name...”

“Fuck…” he growls, settling his pelvis between your thighs, pushing your legs further apart, lifting one to prop against his shoulder.

“You make me feel things I haven’t felt in years,” he rumbles, giving himself a few firm pumps before notching himself at your entrance. “Y’want me to go fast or slow, darlin’?”

A warmth spreads through your chest at the simple act of him asking, knowing it isn’t just mindless sex to him, that he actually cares, if that wasn’t already obvious from how enthusiastically he just ate you out.

“Slow, then hard and fast,” you tell him, earning another deep rumble as he starts to push himself inside of you, fat head stretching your walls.

“Christ, you’re perfect,” he says softly as he steadily gains ground, his hips shuddering with restraint once he bottoms out, sheathing himself fully. “Fuck, darlin’, you’re strangling me,” he grunts. “I don’t know how long I can last...”

The pain of withholding in his voice is palpable.

“Joel, you just made me come super hard,” you tell him. “Don’t hold yourself back just for me.”

His bottom lip juts out and quivers with the thin veil of control he still has, fingertips digging into your hips, crescent moon shapes left behind in your skin.

“Y’sure?” he asks, internal conflict evident in his voice as he rolls his hips half a thrust forward. “‘cause soon as I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back…”

“I’m sure,” you reassure him, letting him hear the conviction in your voice.

He takes in a steadying breath and gently gyrates his hips forward once, twice, his head tilting down to watch the way he disappears inside of you.

It must be the way you’re taking him so well — or maybe it’s the months of not allowing himself to touch you — the thin thread of restraint suddenly fraying after the initial soft, testing thrusts, a barely audible ‘fuck’ escaping his lips seconds before he begins railing into you with everything a man of his age has to give… which is a lot.

Joel’s hand is on your calf, holding your leg flush to his chest, the other on your hip in a bruising hold, watching the way your body sways in rhythm with his motions, teeth bared in concentration.

“Darlin’… I’m… I… where do you want it?” he pants, the question almost sounding pained.

You know you should make him pull out and finish on your stomach. Contraceptives are a rare luxury these days and you’d always made your previous boyfriends pull out. But you can’t stop yourself, the permission spilling from your lips thoughtlessly.

“In… inside…” you whimper in desperation and Joel doesn’t even think to question it.

He collapses on top of you, his hips sputtering and shaking, a deep, guttural snarl sounding from his chest as he spills into you, filling you to the brim with hot jets of spend.

Despite not coming a second time, the sensation of him shooting inside of you still feels good, his warmth filling every crevice it can reach inside of you.

He buries his face against your neck, gingerly taking some of your flesh between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to leave a faint impression.

His hips gradually slow and still, your name a reverent curse on his tongue.

“Christ,” he pants, wrapping you snugly in his burly arms. “Christ, darlin’.”

—

Spring finally reaches the valley, replenishing the land with color and sunlight, allowing you and Joel to wander out further and further every day.

He tells you he wants to find something nicer than the cabin. Somewhere larger, more permanent, even though you’ve told him time and again that you’d prefer to stay.

And you do, for a spell.

That is until you find your body growing more sensitive than usual. Until you find it increasingly difficult to keep some of your meals down, trying to convince Joel it’s nothing, that it’s just a summer cold, when you both know it’s not.

Joel dotes on you, burdens himself over you, knowing exactly what it is without wanting to say it. All the signs are there, almost textbook, unable to keep his memories from drifting back to the days before Sarah was born, how her mother’s symptoms were damn near identical.

He doesn’t dare tell you how scared he is, how much this terrifies him all the the way to his bone marrow, but you know. You see it in his gaze when he looks at you, feel it in his touch when he pulls you against him at night.

—

You’re on a scouting run one warm summer day, Joel hardly more than two feet from you at any given moment, so many unspoken words and feelings still hanging in the air between you.

He reaches for your arm to steady you when your feet slide on a patch of loose rocks, his palm instinctively moving to protect your stomach. You’re almost sure he wasn’t even aware he did it.

“Joel,” you say, placing your hand over his. “I’m alright.”

His brow furrows, silence speaking louder than any words he could say.

He’s reverted into his headspace again, more quiet these last few days than he has been. And it worries you. You hate that he bottles everything up, but you know that confrontation could make him shut down even more.

You begin walking again, his hand absently resting on the small of your back, and you continue down the path in stagnant silence.

Suddenly, Joel stops, eyes squinting to confirm what he’s seeing is real.

A neighborhood.

—

The neighborhood would have been considered a new development before the world went to shit, most of the lots bare and choked with two decades worth of weeds, some houses half built and some finished but likely vacant at the time.

There are only a few that look to have been potentially occupied before everything, three larger homes next to one another in a cul-de-sac at the end of unmanaged, cracked pavement.

There’s not much of interest in the first few homes you inspect, watching the way Joel silently scrutinizes everything as a potential future dwelling, not a single corner left unchecked, his latent instincts as a contractor still well ingrained in him despite the expanse of time.

By mid day, you’re both sweating profusely, Joel moreso than you since he isn’t letting you do much, forcing you to put food and water in your body, brooking no argument when he gives you his ration as well.

He knows you should head back soon before you’re out too late, but there’s still one house left to search and he doesn’t want to make the trip a second time if it isn’t worth the trouble.

The largest house, a two story spruce green craftsman with gray trim, his heart aching with nostalgia at how much it reminds him of his former home in Austin.

You start the same route as with the other houses; from the top, room by room, working your way down, your anxiety growing the lower the sun dips in the sky, knowing you only have a couple hours at best before it’s too late to leave.

The main floors scoured, you follow Joel to the basement, your hands on his shoulders for stability as you slowly work your way down the creaking stairs, your eyes adjusting to the shadows the deeper you travel.

When you’ve reached the bottom, Joel pulls out his flashlight, hitting it against his palm a few times before it flickers to life, the thin beam of light reflecting off the freshly disturbed dust.

You cover your nose and mouth with your shirt to keep out some of the flying particles, watching as Joel stumbles upon a stack of neatly piled and labeled storage totes in the furthest corner from the stairs, adrenaline beginning to course through him like a drug as he reads the faded sharpie scrawled on the sides.

“‘Canned goods and preserves’,” Joel says quietly, his voice higher in pitch than usual, more hopeful. There’s at least four totes labeled canned goods that you can see, possibly more, dates ranging from anywhere from late 2000 to summer of 2003.

He moves slightly to the right, his body tremoring as he examines the next set of totes.

Multiple totes labeled MREs, dated around the same range as the canned goods. He rips the top off of a few of them open to confirm that his eyes aren’t deceiving him, that this isn’t a cruel dream, nearly doubling over when he sees just how real it is.

“Joel?” you ask, concerned, stepping nearer to him when you see him trembling and clutching his chest. “Baby ..?”

He suddenly turns and throws his arms around you, and it dawns on you that he’s crying, he’s crying and trembling, eyes full of happy tears.

“A fucking prepper. A fucking prepper just saved our lives,” he whimpers into your hair, squeezing you against him, and all he can think in that moment is thank fuck for those crazy assholes. Thank fuck for people like Bill.

—

In the weeks that follow, you and Joel clean and repair the house — Joel doing most of the work, per his insistence — but it’s in surprisingly good shape despite its age and lack of upkeep, and even with just the two of you, it doesn’t take as long as you’d expected.

You can’t help but miss the cabin, the natural beauty of the valley. But Joel was right to move you. It’s safer here, more insulated from weather, more space to grow. And perhaps, one day, the cabin can be someone else’s salvation, as it had been for you.

Another night falls on one of the final lingering days of summer, barely able to see the shine of Joel’s eyes in the dim light as he climbs over you, parting your legs with his knee, rumbling low in his chest as he peppers kisses and bites down the column of your neck.

[wheneverfeasible]

Bullshit (part 2/3)

Continuation “fix it” of this ficlet where Steve changed himself to try to earn Eddie’s love.

Steve missed his polos.

He missed his light wash jeans, his music, watching his favorite movies, he even missed his stupid plaid walls.

Eddie had laughed at them the first time he’d been in Steve’s room, back before they’d even started dating. Technically they were still there, they were just covered up with posters of bands Steve only knew about because his boyfriend liked them. Eddie had teasingly gifted him a Black Sabbath one back when they had just been friends to give his room more “personality” instead of his mostly undecorated room, which…okay, fair, because Steve had admittedly not done much of it himself just because he couldn’t be bothered.

(And he did, actually, kind of like the poster because it was their own little inside joke. It made him smile when he saw it, even to this day, even if he thought he could still taste the damned demobat sometimes.)

It wasn’t like he really knew much of who he was to begin with. He still had the bowling pin he and Tommy had stolen from the bowling lane their sophomore year (Steve’s idea, though only to impress his friend), and the picture of the car he had bought on a whim because Tommy had said he wanted a car just like it. Any other knickknack had either been gifted or purchased for a similar intent.

Now, that car picture was collecting dust in his closet, replaced by the Black Sabbath poster that Eddie had pinned to the wall slightly askew for ‘aesthetics,’ though it being slightly off-center and at an angle made Steve a little itchy. Soon, however, other posters soon followed, some given to him by Eddie and some he purchased himself after learning what bands Eddie liked, with a large Dio one taking up space by his bed.

Flyers of Corroded Coffin shows or other band merch dotted around the room as well, which he didn’t really mind because he liked supporting his boyfriend, though the clutter and disorganization slightly bothered him. Eddie had grinned at the sight however and called him a ‘real boy now’ for looking like the room of a young man and not a ‘30-something corporate stooge,’ so that would have to be fine too.

But he still missed his room looking like his room, instead of a replica of Eddie’s. It made Eddie feel more comfortable however, so he tried not to think about how it wasn’t his aesthetic at all, because he could learn to like it. He could change for the better. He could be what Eddie wanted. He could be good enough.

Which was why he was confused, staring at the garment box on the kitchen table where he’d been circling car ads in the classifieds, trying to find something cooler than his bimmer. Eddie had come over with a wide grin, sliding a box he recognized from one of the department stores he used to shop at before dating Eddie.

Eddie had proffered it with a flourish, grinning expectantly, practically vibrating with anticipation as Steve had carefully lifted the lid and moved the tissue paper aside to reveal the piece of clothing inside. A polo shirt in a soft, buttery sort of yellow with thick vertical white stripes running vertical over it.

Steve looked up at Eddie with a furrowed brow. “I…you got me a polo?” he questioned, confused and also concerned, knowing the department store was definitely outside of Eddie’s usual price range.

“Yeah!” Eddie confirmed happily, moving to sit in the chair next to Steve, looking down at the soft material Steve had yet to pull from the box. “The check from the gig came through, and I remember you looking at this shirt a couple weeks ago. I’ve been waiting to be buy it ever since.”

Steve blinked at that. He hadn’t known Eddie had caught him admiring the shirt in the window while he and Eddie had been walking around downtown. He felt a flair of panic at the thought, annoyed at himself for slipping up, for reminding Eddie that he was a stupid preppy rich kid. Eddie didn’t look upset though, or at least…he hadn’t. Now his eyes were darting over Steve’s expression with growing worry, chewing on his lower lip.

“Is that…is that all right? Was it a different one you wanted? I-I still have the receipt, we can return it and get the one you wanted,” Eddie rushed to say.

“No,” Steve quickly said, his fingers of one hand tightening slightly on the box while his other reached out of their own accord to slightly touch the shirt within. “I…Eddie,” he breathed, not knowing what else to say, what this meant. Why would Eddie buy him something like this? “You shouldn’t waste your hard earned money on…something like this.” Shouldn’t waste your money on me, he wanted to say. “It’s your first paying gig.”

Eddie shook his head quickly, an almost embarrassed smile curling his lips with a slight blush. “I wanted to, Stevie. You always buy me things, I wanted to return the favor. You’ve been so supportive of me and I wanted to…I don’t know. Thank you.” He glanced down at the polo with a soft expression, though he did frown a little too afterwards. “I haven’t seen you wear your polos in a really long time,” he murmured quietly.

Steve tensed at Eddie’s words. Of course he hadn’t. Polos weren’t cool. Polos weren’t good enough for Eddie. It was why he was so confused at this gift. He didn’t understand why Eddie would buy him something that wasn’t metal. That wasn’t suitable for his boyfriend.

“I know that you’re experimenting with your style and all, and I won’t deny you’re hot as fuck in these,” Eddie grinned, moving to pinch the loose sleeve of Steve’s tee between his fingers. It was from some band he didn’t actually know before he’d bought the shirt, something called Leatherwolf, though he had bought their tape as well so that he could pretend to be a fan and know some of their songs. “But you look hot in your polos too. I miss them.”

Steve sat up straighter at that, his eyebrows flying up in surprise. Eddie…liked his polos? “Aren’t the polos…kind of lame?” he asked carefully.

Eddie snorted, smiling as he leaned in to press a kiss to Steve’s neck, causing a startled smile to erupt over Steve’s own lips as he squirmed at the slight tickle of Eddie’s lips and hair. “There’s nothing lame about you, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured, voice roughened with his tease. He pulled back though, a touch of his worry on his expression again. “Do you like it?”

Of course Steve liked it. He loved it. It was exactly the one he had been looking at before, even though he’d tried to hide it, which meant that Eddie really had noticed it and really had been waiting to buy it for him. With his first paycheck from Corroded Coffin’s first real paying gig.

There had been the fear that Eddie’s involvement with the band would limit their options, that no one would want to listen to a band that had a member who was suspected of grisly murders. Eddie had been prepared to step down, to let the others move on without him, had offered it even though Jeff and the others had vehemently opposed the idea. They’d said that Corroded Coffin wouldn’t exist without Eddie and if he wasn’t part of it then they didn’t want to do it anymore.

In a surprise twist that probably shouldn’t have been all that surprising, Eddie’s infamy had actually helped the band. The news of his believed guilt and then later innocence and injury from the actual killer that he had tried to stop had spread even beyond Hawkins, drawing a crowd for their nights performing at The Hideout who began to see more patrons than ever before.

Then they’d been invited to participate in a Battle of the Bands, which they hadn’t won but they’d placed second, and the random shows they’d throw themselves at the quarry or wherever else saw larger crowds than usual, even the one they threw to celebrate Gareth graduating, and they’d even been asked to play at the fair, though it was a free gig.

Then, most recently, someone had approached them after one of their shows and asked to hire them for an event in Indianapolis. A paying event in Indianapolis. With it was the promise of possible future paying gigs as their fanbase grew and spread. There was even talk of a possible scout being at the gig.

Dustin had joked that maybe ‘86 hadn’t been his year, but ‘88 could be, though Eddie had just grinned and denied it, saying that ‘86 had been his year after all. He hadn’t said why, but he gave Steve a secretive smile and reached out to tangle their fingers together.

Steve felt a flare of warmth beneath his skin as he stared down at the polo again, hesitating before giving a brief nod. Eddie’s previously nervous smile bloomed into a joyous one, and he leaned in quickly to plant a smacking kiss to Steve’s cheek. Steve rolled his eyes but couldn’t prevent his own smile from growing on his lips.

“Thank you, baby,” Steve murmured, sliding a hand over Eddie’s neck to draw him in for a slow kiss. He didn’t know what it meant still, Eddie buying him a polo of all things, but it made him more determined than ever to be good enough for his boyfriend.

When they pulled back, Eddie soft with happiness, Steve made the decision. He needed to go all in if he was to keep Eddie happy. He drew in a deep breath and moved to take Eddie’s hand, his finger lightly tracing one of the scars there.

“I was thinking of growing out my hair. Maybe even dying it. Or maybe shaving i—”

“Don’t you dare!” Eddie interrupted, expression and tone absolutely scandalized as he squeezed Steve’s hand. Steve jumped slightly at the sudden explosion, blinking wide eyes at Eddie, causing the other to flush slightly in embarrassment. “I mean. You can, obviously, if you really want to, it’s your hair after all, but…” Eddie let out a small whine of protest as his gaze moved up to take in Steve’s hair.

Steve self-consciously reached up with his free hand to pass his fingers through his hair, which wasn’t quite as voluminous as he used to style it, but was still the last real testament of his former style. His former personality. The bullshit one.

“I mean,” Steve hedged, glancing away with a small roll of a shoulder in an aborted shrug. “It’s not exactly metal is it?” He looked back at Eddie with a slightly strained smile, rolling his eyes as though in commiseration. “I don’t want to embarrass you by making people think you have a prep for a boyfriend,” he laughed.

Eddie’s expression changed immediately as he stilled almost unnaturally, falling into a blank neutrality, even his eyes shuttering as he slowly pulled his hand from Steve’s grip. The response caused Steve to start panicking, worrying he’d messed up in some way, that he reminded Eddie of all the ways that he was lacking.

Steve opened his mouth to start apologizing, ready to apologize for anything, but Eddie held up his hand palm out to stop him, causing Steve’s mouth to shut with a soft click of teeth.

Eddie’s gaze dropped from Steve as his brows slowly began to furrow, a calculating expression settling over him as his eyes fell to the soft yellow polo still in the box. His lips twisted into a frown. After several excruciating moments, his eyes moved towards Steve’s shirt, an even more pinched look settling over his expression.

“Who are you wearing?” Eddie asked, his voice low and slow.

Steve glanced down at his shirt, the panic in him spiking, before realizing that this was a test. He had to prove to Eddie that he could like metal too (he didn’t, not really, though he could appreciate some of it) and wouldn’t be an embarrassment. He could do this.

“Leatherwolf,” he answered, thankful that he had done his job well enough to answer this pop quiz. He straightened his spine and pulled up the information he memorized with a slightly relieved smile. He could do this. “They’re from California. They were founded in, um, 1981.”

“What’s your favorite song of theirs?” Eddie asked, and there was something slightly off in his tone, but Steve couldn’t place it, not when he was frantically trying to recall the titles of the songs he’d made himself remember.

“Um. Cry Out?” he hesitantly asked more than answered, which caused Eddie’s lips to press into a thin line. He felt his breath catch at the obvious displeasure on Eddie’s face, wondering if he’d answered wrong. Was that a bad song? “O-or no, um, not that one. Uh. I like…um. I like…Magic Eye?” Fuck no, that wasn’t right. “Magical Eyes, I mean,” he corrected himself hastily.

Eddie’s eyes slowly dragged over Steve, his lips compressing again into a thin line as he drew in his own deep breath through flared nostrils. “Fuck,” he muttered, obviously not meant for Steve but it caused Steve to panic anyways as Eddie looked away, his brow furrowing in thought as his gaze settled on the newspaper on the table and the circled ads there.

“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologized, though he wasn’t certain what he had done wrong this time. Maybe Eddie didn’t like that band?

“Steve…” Eddie heaved a heavy sigh, rubbing his hand over his face before he looked over at Steve again. “I had thought you were just…trying things out. Experimenting. Lord knows your folks never let you be your own person,” he muttered before waving a hand as though to swat that thought away. “I didn’t realize you were actually trying to change.”

Why did Eddie sound so appalled by that? Wasn’t that a good thing? He was willing to fundamentally change who he was just for Eddie, to become someone deserving of Eddie, who fit in Eddie’s life. Didn’t Eddie want Steve in his life?

“Why are you upset about me changing?” Steve huffed, his worry turning into annoyance in his tone. “I thought that was a good thing. Not being the douchebag I used to be.” He scowled, crossing his arms with a roll of his eyes to cover his unease.

Eddie just looked at him in that way that made it seem like he was seeing inside Steve, which normally Steve liked because no one ever actually saw him, but now it just made him uncomfortable. Like he had done something wrong. He was just trying to be a good boyfriend, however. Besides, it’s not like he had come up with the plan on his own.

Everyone always talked about how different he and Eddie were. Always pointed out how preppy he was, made fun of Eddie for falling for a jock, had even asked at the start when they first came out publicly to their friends who was blackmailing whom into the relationship. Steve knew he had to change. They were too fundamentally different. It was the only way to keep Eddie.

Except Eddie didn’t look like he was going to be kept. He had started slowly shaking his head, pulling back, his eyes skittering over Steve again but in a way that said he wasn’t liking what he was saying. Steve’s panic spiked again.

“Eddie. This is good. I’m willing to change for you, that’s how much I love you,” Steve breathed, reaching out to grab Eddie’s hand with desperation. “I listen to your music now, and I play Dungeons and Dragons, and I don’t even talk about basketball around you anymore. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy. Don’t you see? Isn’t that all that matters?”

Eddie’s lips turned down into a sharp frown. A shuddering breath left him before he all but yanked his hand from Steve’s, his dark eyes turning even darker as he pulled away from Steve and said those damning words:

“But I’m not happy, Steve.”

Steve felt all the air leave his lungs, felt all the blood first rush to his head and then drain out of him, felt his mouth and tongue and throat shrivel into dryness as his eyes widened in horror. Eddie was shaking his head, stumbling out of his chair and back, an unreadable expression on his face as he distanced himself from Steve and this revelation.

“This wasn’t what I wanted, Steve. This doesn’t make me happy.” Eddie’s took another step back when Steve stumbled from his own chair, putting the table between them. “I…I need to go. I need to think.”

Steve knew with certainty that if he let Eddie leave now, that this thing between them would never be the same. His heart clenched in his chest painfully, and he felt his eyes sting with encroaching tears. “Eddie, please…” he begged, his words cracking.

Eddie only shook his head, sending his hair arcing around him, before straightening his spine. “This isn’t you. I don’t want this to be you. I love you Steve, but this version of you? The one that I created—” This time it was Eddie’s voice that cracked.

Clearing his throat, Eddie backed away. “No. No, this isn’t what I wanted. I’m sorry, Steve, but I need to go. I need to think. I can’t be here right now. I’m sorry.”

And with that, Eddie spun on his heels and all but ran towards the door, escaping from Steve’s incompetence, his unworthiness, his undesirability while Steve could only stand there in frozen horror, the tears he couldn’t hold back any longer slowly dripping down his cheeks.

Because he knew. He knew this would happen. He knew that no matter what he did, he would never be good enough. He knew that Eddie would leave him one day. Knew that he would never be able to keep the one he loved.

Knew that he, like his love, would always be complete and utter bullshit.

-

Part 3

-

tag list: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump

[guiltyasdave]

home

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

word count: ~1.1k

summary: A slice of life about Joel living in Jackson and living happily ever after. It's real in my head okay.

tags/warnings: post outbreak, jackson!joel, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, baking, very fluffy fluff, joel's pov

a/n: he's fine, i'm fine, we're all fine! nothing bad happened! episode 2? i don't know her :)

thank you @sizzlingcloudmentality for putting this idea into my head and writing fluff with me <3 shoutout to the raspberry rolls that i made for our easter brunch two days ago that very much did not rise and inspired this story lol

dividers by @saradika-graphics who is amazing <3

full masterlist here / follow @guiltyasdavenotifs and turn on notifications for fic updates!

When Joel gets home from patrol, he spots you through the kitchen window that faces the front yard. He waves at you and watches you look up at the movement. Your face lights up, and he can’t help but smile to himself as he kicks his boots off before stepping over the threshold. 

“Hey, babe!” you call out. Your back is turned to him when he steps closer, both your hands hidden in a large mixing bowl. 

Leaning against the doorframe, he clears his throat and lifts the small bouquet of wildflowers that he knew would make you happy. The smile that spreads across your face is worth Tommy’s sniggering remarks about how soft he’s become, how tame. It’s worth the pinching muscles in his back from crouching down to pick them. 

“For me?” Your voice is sweeter than the warm summer’s day outside, sweeter than the scent of the flowers in his grasp. One of your cheeks is streaked with a pink-ish cream, and dough covers your hands up to your wrists. 

“Of course,” he murmurs, closing in and pressing his lips to your cheek, kissing the cream off your skin. “Hi, darling.” 

You giggle, watching as he fills a glass with water and places the flowers on the windowsill, purposefully leaning into you and trapping you between the kitchen counter and his chest. 

“Patrol go okay?” 

Humming a yes, he practically watches as the tension eases from your shoulders. He doesn’t like that you worry about him. 

“What are you making?” he asks, licking the traces of sugar and raspberry off his lips. “Tastes good.”

“Raspberry rolls.” Your brow furrows a little, your bottom lip jutting out when you glance into the bowl. It’s adorable. “At least that’s the plan. I’m not sure if the yeast is working.” 

“Looks alright to me,” he shrugs and you huff, swatting at him and leaving a floury handprint on his t-shirt. 

“That’s because you know nothing about baking. Go wash up, old man,” you grin, pecking his lips before you turn back towards the dough.

Grumbling under his breath just to make you giggle again, he makes for the stairs, before you call back to him. “Hey, Joel?”

“Yeah?” 

“Thank you for the flowers.” 

“You’re welcome, darling.” 

Tommy’s right. So fucking soft. Can’t say that it bothers him. 

As the water from the showerhead rains down on him, he wonders how he ended up here.Twenty-five years into an apocalypse, and somehow he managed to come home bringing flowers to a woman who’s baking in his kitchen. 

It’s so domestic, so normal. He’s never been much of a baker, or a cook for that matter, but whenever you can get your hands on enough supplies, the scent of baked goods floats through the house. The house that, by some miracle, you chose to live in with him. Something he never knew he wanted, until now. 

The stairs creak on his way back downstairs. His hair is dripping into his collar, the strands longer than they’ve been in years, but you refuse to cut them. Pouting about how handsome he looks like this whenever he brings it up. He doesn’t know about that, but he can’t deny how nice it is when you run your hands through the locks, gently tugging his face closer.  

He has gotten so soft, so so soft. Can’t say that he doesn’t like it, actually.

In the kitchen, he finds you mumbling to yourself, staring down a ball of dough like it offended you personally. Your hair has become dotted with flour while he was gone. 

“It’s not cooperating?” he asks, trying hard not to chuckle at the exasperated sigh you let out. 

“No,” comes your disgruntled answer. “It’s not rising, look at it!” 

He wraps his arms around you, stopping your pacing. Afternoon sunlight is spilling through the window, illuminating your face, reflecting off the specks of color in your eyes.

Joel can’t help it, he has to kiss you, really kiss you. His lips find yours, soft under his touch. His tongue gently coaxes them to part, eliciting a soft sigh from you when it slips into your mouth. Your taste is sweet, drawing him in, too tempting to ever resist. Melting into his touch, wanting him just as much. He could stay, just like this, forever. 

Still, he eventually pulls away, grinning when your lips follow his, unwilling to stop. He presses another kiss to the corner of your mouth, then caresses your cheek. 

“It’s gonna be delicious, I promise.” Another kiss, on the other side this time. Full of glee when it makes you smile. “Everything you make is.” 

“I suppose…” you say softly, shy at the praise. “Help me?”

You never need his help, never actually let him do anything, but you like having him there with you. Dutifully, he takes his place behind you at the counter, his chin resting on your shoulder, watching you work. When you knead the dough and roll it out, his fingers come to rest over yours. He can’t imagine that it makes the whole thing easier at all, but it makes you laugh, your body vibrating against his, and what more could he want, really? 

“Want another taste?” you ask when you spread the raspberry cream. An affirmative is hummed against your neck and he smiles at the goosebumps forming there in reaction. You dip a finger into the pink sweetness and lift it to his lips. Closing them around the digit and swirling his tongue to get every drop, he gets rewarded with another giggle. 

“Very good,” he whispers into your ear, watching more goosebumps spread over your skin. 

Despite your frustrated huffs, he watches you cut perfect pieces and place them in the baking pan. While he’s doing the dishes, you’re crouched on the floor and squinting into the oven, chewing on your lip. The scent of sugar, dough and fruits, warm and freshly baked, starts wafting through the kitchen. This is what home feels like now, Joel thinks. 

“Look! I think it’s rising,” you exclaim, your voice eager with excitement. 

He leans down beside you, trying to see what you see. He doesn’t, but he kisses the crown of your head anyway, mumbling told you into your hair. 

Later, when the slowly setting sun paints the sky in hues of pink and orange, you’re both out on the porch, sinking your teeth into the pastries. You’ve tucked yourself into his side, your warmth seeping into his skin where his arm is wrapped around you. 

“‘S perfect,” he manages through a mouthful of sweetness, loving how your face lights up. 

Yes, he has become soft. But that’s okay, because he’s at home here. With you.

thank you so much for reading!! <3 i feel kinda silly and needy writing this, but i feel like the interaction with fanfics has gotten worse again, so please: if you enjoyed this, it would absolutely make my day if you told me. it really means so much and keeps fanfic writers going. i dreamed this up for myself, but putting it into (i hope) somewhat decent writing because i thought others might enjoy it too takes a lot of time and effort and it's really fucking nice to get some acknowledgment for that.

[alchemistc]

8x15 coda

"I should - maybe I should go," Tommy says, because Eddie has been a silent presence at Evan's side since he pulled up in his Uber and Tommy feels ... superfluous. They've been leaning against various kitchen counters for the better part of an hour now - Evan the only one to break the silence with choked laughter and a "Remember when -?" or "This was before you, Eddie - after you, Tommy, but -."

They've dwindled off into silence now, though. The ache in Tommy's chest is growing, has been since the moment Bobby Nash sealed that door shut behind him before Evan could do anything to stop him. He'd felt a little helpless, in that moment - had seen it with just enough time before Evan to reach for a comm that wasn't there, to try to warn Evan, or ask Bobby what the hell he was doing. Not that it would have mattered, either way.

That's the worst of it. That for Bobby, it had been inevitable. That while Tommy was flipping off the Chief Pilot and stealing another bird, while he and Evan took the military on a wild goose chase, while Athena suited up to save Chimney... Bobby was already dead. How long had he known? Evan's tried to explain it but not enough for Tommy to put it all together.

"No." Tommy's attention snaps to Evan. To the firm set of his jaw and the fire in his eyes. Tommy can feel Eddie's gaze darting between them, but he'd be hard pressed to actually see it, considering Evan's expression has him caught up like a tractor beam. "Crazy concept, here, Tommy, but - but how about you just stay, this time?"

Tommy flinches.

Evan deflates.

Eddie scrambles out of the kitchen, and Tommy can vaguely hear keys rattling in the next room, the door opening. Shutting.

"That's not what I meant."

Tommy bites his lip. Squares his shoulders, and actually physically shakes out his arms so he doesn't fold them over his chest, even though it feels like leaving a target over his heart. "Yes, it is what you meant."

Evan swallows. When he rolls his jaw his nose flares, eyes going watery.

"I want you to stay."

Yeah, that one hits it's mark. Fucking bullseye.

"Evan, I don't - you're going through a hell of a time, right now, and it would -." He clears his throat. Forces himself to hold Evan's gaze. "Grief and loss are a horrible reason to -."

"Oh that's bullshit, Tommy."

He has a particular tone to his voice when he's actually calling someone out in a non-flirty way. Tommy hates it. Feels like he's under a fucking microscope. For all he'd done to hide away the soft underbelly, Evan's had a hand on it for months, now.

Evan takes a single, measured step closer.

Tommy tries to imagine there's super glue on the bottom of his shoes.

"Bobby's dead, and we're just - we're just gonna sit on this until I'm done grieving? That's never gonna happen, Tommy! I will sit in this for the rest of my life. I will feel him like a missing organ. But Bobby - Bobby would want me to live, okay? So this is me, living. Asking you to - to tell me if you wanna try that with me."

He has lungs, he's pretty sure. A working diaphragm. The innate sense to suck in air and blow out CO².

"He liked you, you know?" Evan continues, like he hasn't just hit Tommy with the force of a tank gun. "I never said, because I was stupid, and - and afraid that what I was feeling was gonna be too much for you. He told me you were good people. That you were good for me." Evan swipes angrily at his waterline. "We never even - but he - he knew, okay? He knew that you made me feel - and he knew that we were -."

Tommy hasn't had the heart to tell him that he'd stood in that silent tent and watched Bobby say goodbye. Hasn't had the heart to admit that he couldn't tear his eyes away long enough to turn off that monitor while Bobby made his peace. He doesn't feel like he deserves to know any of it. Even if he'd broken half a dozen laws for them, he's not a part. Never really has been. Never let them pull him in.

"I can - I can do this without you, Tommy."

It sounds like it hurts to say. Hurts to hear it, so that tracks.

"I can hold it together, and I can try my damndest to keep the people Bobby loved above water. I can do that, Tommy, and I can do it alone." A single step closer. A bridge Tommy could step onto, as well, if he were inclined to. "I don't want to. I want - the people I care about with me. I want Maddie and Chim and Eddie and Hen at my back. And I want you right there next to me. Like you were when we met. Like you were that night, when I needed you and you didn't even question it. That's the life I want, Tommy. It's the life I promised Bobby I'd have. What do you want?"

And that's the $64,000 question, isn't it?

Tommy isn't actually sure he's ever had a panic attack, but whatever his body is doing right now is a little concerning. His tongue is dry and yet somehow heavy. His face is hot. His arms feel heavy, solid, an immovable weight against his sides. When he blows out a breath, it comes out in staccato rhythm.

"I want to be the reason you don't have to do this shit alone," he admits, and with that sentiment in mind he doesn't blink away the tears, doesn't shift away. Just holds Evan's gaze and tries to convince his brain it doesn't need to actively think about breathing. The effort it takes to unstick a single heel from the floor is astronomical, but he does that, too, and then the other one. "I do want to stay."

Evan blinks. When Tommy steps closer, his throat works through a painful looking swallow. "We have to talk about our shit," he says. "And you can't just go running off every time -."

"Evan," Tommy interrupts, and watches his eyes flare with annoyance. "That was a really good speech, and I really want to kiss you about it."

It forces a laugh out of him, choked and bleary-eyed. "I'm so snotty," he whines, as Tommy winds a hand around his wrist, tugs him closer. "Eddie might come back."

"That might actually be helpful, for me," Tommy reminds him, just to watch him scowl. "You think a little runny nose is gonna turn me off? You once jacked me off while reciting an article about snail mucus."

"You're the freak in that scenario, Tommy, you came so fast I didn't even get to finish."

"I want to hear a thousand more irrelevant facts while you've got your fingers in my ass, Evan."

"My speech was way less horny," Evan complains, before he leans in to capture Tommy's lip between his teeth.

[pandapetals]

sunlight & sawdust

epilogue

previous chapter

summary: For two years, Joel Miller has done nothing but scowl at you from across the room, barely tolerating your warmth, your kindness, and your ever-present sunshine. And for two years, you’ve told yourself his gruffness doesn’t bother you—that his clipped words and cold stares don’t matter.But then, out of nowhere, he offers to fix the damaged floor in your flower shop.For free.Suddenly, the man who could barely stand to look at you is showing up every day, fixing things that don’t need fixing, sharing quiet lunches, and—most shocking of all—getting along with Ellie, your daughter, who has never warmed up to anyone as quickly as she has to him.

pairing: joel miller x fem!single mom reader - no outbreak/au

content warnings: slight reader description, no y/n used, grumpy joel, grumpy x sunshine trope, ellie is reader's daughter, reader is a single mom, tommy being a meddler, reader is friends with tommy, au setting in Austin, joel is a carpenter, reader owns a flower shop, fluff, angst, and eventual smut, joel is bad at feelings, sarah mentioned

a/n: divider by @saradika-graphics. Alright, well. I’m crying because this is the end. I am so grateful for all the love and support.

Two months later…

Life had settled into something easy, something Joel never thought he’d have again.

It was in the small moments that snuck up on him when he wasn’t looking.

Stopping by your flower shop on his lunch breaks—not because he needed anything, but just to see you. To sit with you, sharing sandwiches wrapped in paper, listening to you talk about your day while he worked through a cup of coffee. Sometimes, Ellie would be there, her little feet swinging from the counter as she carefully arranged flowers, pausing only to ask Joel if dinosaurs would’ve liked flowers, too.

Joel never had an answer, but Ellie would always supply one, giggling as she made up some wild story about T-Rexes sniffing roses.

Most evenings, he’d end up at your place, easing into the rhythm of your life like he’d always been there.

Ellie had a habit of finding him the second he walked through the door, dragging him to the couch with a book already in hand.

She had favorites, of course—books about dinosaurs or space. Joel had read them all a dozen times over, but every time she looked up at him, wide-eyed, hanging onto every word, he’d start from the beginning like it was brand new.

More often than not, she’d fall asleep right there, tucked into his side, small fingers curled into his shirt. And every time, without fail, you’d appear in the doorway, arms crossed, a soft smile on your face.

"You spoil her, you know," you’d tease in a whisper, watching as he carefully shifted, lifting Ellie into his arms and carrying her to bed.

Joel would smirk, brushing a piece of hair from Ellie’s face as she settled into her pillow. "Ain’t spoilin’ her if she deserves it."

Then, it would be just the two of you, curling up in bed, his body solid and warm against yours.

You had a habit of playing with his hair, running soft fingers over his skin, and tracing patterns over his chest until his breath evened out. Then, he drifted to sleep with you safely tucked against him.

Sometimes, he’d wake in the middle of the night, feeling the gentle weight of your arm draped over him, the steady rise and fall of your breath.

Sometimes, that old familiar ache crept in—the guilt, the shadow of before. The thought was that maybe he didn’t deserve this, but then, he’d see you in the morning light, hair messy, eyes soft with sleep as you handed him a cup of coffee with a knowing smile.

Or he’d hear Ellie giggling as she ran through the house, telling him some nonsense story, looking at him like she’d known him her whole life.

And that ache, that gnawing feeling—it was replaced by something else.

By the echo of Sarah’s voice in the back of his mind.

It’s okay, Dad. You deserve to be happy.

So Joel believed it.

He hadn’t planned on letting himself have this. Hadn’t planned on getting too close, but then there was you and Ellie. You both ran to him without hesitation, seeking comfort, trusting him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. You had opened your life up to him, let him in, given him a place to belong again, and Joel couldn’t shut himself off.

Not when you had been so unwaveringly open with him. Not when Ellie beamed at him like he hung the damn moon, curling up at his side like it was the safest place in the world. Not when you looked at him like he mattered.

One night, as you lay together in bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting golden light across the room, you had turned to him, voice barely above a whisper.

“I was scared.”

Joel had frowned, shifting to face you fully, his hand instinctively reaching for yours.

You blinked quickly, your lashes wet, a sad smile tugging at your lips. "When I first had Ellie. When it was just me, I was terrified of being a single mom. Of screwing her up. Of not being enough."

Joel felt his chest tighten, his heart ache at the raw honesty in your voice.

You swallowed, your fingers gripping his a little tighter. “I never thought I’d have this. Have you.”

Joel exhaled sharply, his grip on you firm but gentle, grounding. The vulnerability in your eyes and the quiet confession of fear wrecked him because he knew that feeling.

He knew what it was to worry that you weren’t enough.

He reached for you, pulling you against him and holding you close. His lips pressed a slow, lingering kiss on your forehead.

"I got you, sweetheart," he murmured against your skin. "You ain't gotta be scared anymore."

Your breath hitched, and Joel felt the way you melted into him and trusted him to hold not just your body but your heart.

His arms tightened around you like some part of him knew he needed to hold on, like if he let go, you might slip right through his fingers.

You exhaled softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "It’s like we were made for each other."

Joel went still. The words wrecked him. More than when you’d first told him you loved him. More than anything else you’d ever said. Because you meant it.

His hand kept moving against your back, slow, steady circles, grounding himself as the weight of that realization settled deep in his chest.

He needed you. Ellie. This life and the thought of ever losing it. His heart clenched, a sharp, quiet panic threading through his ribs.

It scared him—more than he’d ever admit.

Then you shifted against him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck and letting out a small, contented sigh. Your fingers traced absent-minded shapes against his chest, warm and familiar, like you belonged there, like you always had.

Suddenly, the fear didn’t seem so big.

Joel let out a slow breath, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there.

"Yeah, sweetheart," he murmured, voice rough with tenderness. “We were.”

____________

You had been with Joel for a few months, though it felt like forever. Life had a way of slipping into place so naturally, so effortlessly, with him that you barely remembered what it had been like before.

Everything was simple.

It was not always easy—because nothing with Joel came easy—but simple in the way that mattered. The way he made space for you in his life. The way you fit into it, like you had always belonged there.

But Joel still had his moments.

The nights he’d go quiet, his eyes distant, walls creeping back up before he realized he was doing it. Old habits were hard to break.

You knew that. So you didn’t push. Didn’t demand. Didn’t pry open the doors, he wasn’t ready to unlock. You just waited.

And slowly, he let you in.

You had been to Joel’s house a handful of times, but you had never stayed the night. Not because you didn’t want to, but because it was easier for Joel to stay at your place.

That was where Ellie’s books were stacked in a crooked pile by the couch, where her favorite stuffed giraffe sat waiting for her on her pillow.

That was where she felt safe, and Joel would never take that from her.

However, tonight was different.

Your mother had come into town and, much to your surprise, offered to watch Ellie for the night. You had hesitated at first—because as much as you wanted a night alone with Joel, it was hard to leave Ellie behind—but the opportunity was too good to pass up.

So here you were, standing on Joel’s front porch, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and his favorite western film in the other.

His brows lifted when he opened the door, amusement flickering in his deep brown eyes.

“Darlin’,” he drawled, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Ain’t I supposed to be spoilin’ you?”

You gave him a pointed look before brushing past him into the house. “Don’t start, handsome. My mom’s in town, and I wanted to see you.”

You paused just long enough to let the words settle before adding something softer and more honest. “I missed you.”

Joel shut the door behind you, following you into the living room with slow, deliberate steps. “We just saw each other yesterday,” he teased, though there was a warmth in his voice, in the way his lips quirked up like he liked hearing it.

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, his arms wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you flush against him. His body was warm, solid, and when he dipped his head, his lips skimmed the edge of your jaw.

“Missed me that much, huh?”

You exhaled a laugh, tilting your head slightly to give him better access. “You really wanna act like you didn’t miss me, too?”

Joel huffed, his breath hot against your skin. “Didn’t say that.”

“Mm-hmm.” You smirked, glancing at him over your shoulder. “Just admit it, Miller. You were lonely without me.”

Joel turned you in his arms, his eyes darkening just a bit as he studied you. “That's what you wanna hear?”

Your heart fluttered.

His hands slid lower, settling on the small of your back as he leaned in. His voice dropped to a slow, rough whisper. “Yeah, I missed you, too.”

"I figured so," you murmured, your fingers trailing along the bridge of his nose, then down to his jaw, memorizing every rough edge and smooth plane.

Joel's eyes fluttered closed momentarily, his expression softening under your touch. But when he opened them again, something knowing was in them, like he could already tell where your thoughts were headed.

"Sweetheart," he said, voice low, a hint of a warning in it. "Don't start all that."

You grinned, tilting your head as your fingers slid into his hair, nails grazing lightly against his scalp. "Start what?"

Joel huffed, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. "You know what."

Feigning innocence, you pressed closer, standing on your toes to brush your lips against his. "I just missed you, that’s all."

Joel let out a low chuckle, his hands tightening at your waist for a fleeting second like he was tempted—before he pulled back, shaking his head.

“Darlin’, if you wanna eat sometime tonight, we should start cookin’ before you go distractin’ me with those lips.”

You groaned dramatically, letting your forehead fall against his chest. “Ugh, Joel, c’mon. I came over here with whiskey and a movie, and you’re making me wait?”

His chest rumbled with laughter. “Ain’t makin’ you do nothin’.”

You lifted your head, narrowing your eyes at him playfully. “Fine,” you relented, sighing like it was the biggest inconvenience in the world. “We’ll cook first. Then you can make it up to me.”

Joel chuckled, brushing a kiss against your forehead before stepping back and nodding toward the kitchen. “Atta girl. Now, you gonna help me, or you just gonna sit back and look pretty?”

You shot him a grin. “Can’t I do both?”

He shook his head, smirking as he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the kitchen.

____________

The movie dragged on. It was a slow, dusty western that Joel was entirely absorbed in, but you? Not so much.

Your attention drifted, first to his lack of home decor—plain walls, minimal furniture, everything practical, nothing decorative. The most personal thing in the whole place was a coffee ring stain on his side table.

Then your focus shifted to something far more interesting. Him.

God, he was handsome even though he didn’t seem to think so. Even though he always scoffed whenever you told him. That dark brown hair, the streaks of silver at his temples. The firm curve of his jaw, the way his broad shoulders stretched against his worn-out t-shirt. And his eyes—those eyes—warm and deep, like aged whiskey, catching the flickering glow of the TV.

“You’re starin’, darlin’,” Joel muttered, not looking away from the screen.

You smirked, shifting closer to him on the couch, pulling your legs up to curl beside you. “Maybe I just like what I see.”

He let out a low grunt, still watching the screen. “Movie’s on, sweetheart.”

“I noticed,” you teased, resting your chin on his shoulder, deliberately pressing closer so he could feel your warmth against him. “But this is so boring.”

Joel exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Boring? This is a classic.”

“Hate to break it to you, handsome, but it’s just a bunch of cowboys staring at each other dramatically.”

“That’s called tension.”

“That’s called bad pacing,” you countered, letting your lips brush against his neck, just enough to make his breath hitch. “Know what’s not boring, though?”

Joel turned his head slightly, finally meeting your gaze. His eyes were darker now, his jaw tense like he was fighting the pull of you. “What’s that?”

You swung a leg over his lap, straddling him with a playful smirk. “This.”

Joel let out a slow, controlled exhale, his hands automatically finding your hips. “Now, darlin’, I thought we were watchin’ a movie.”

Your fingers toyed with the collar of his shirt, dragging along the exposed skin of his chest. “I changed my mind.”

Joel swallowed hard, his grip tightening just a little. “That right?”

You leaned in, lips barely brushing his, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Mhm. I think we should find something else to do.”

Joel’s smirk deepened as he traced his thumbs slowly over your hips. “You know, sweetheart, you’re makin’ me think you only came over here to get laid.”

You smiled against his lips, your fingers skimming up the nape of his neck, toying with the curls there. “Maybe I did,” you murmured, teasingly kissing his jaw. “Can you blame me?”

Joel sucked in a slow breath through his nose, his grip tightening.

“Don’t tell me you’re not into it,” you continued, shifting slightly in his lap, feeling the proof that he definitely was. “Because I can just—” You started to move off him, feigning innocence.

Joel didn’t let you get far. His hands clamped down on your hips, keeping you firmly in place. “Oh, no you don’t,” he rasped, voice dropping to that low, rough drawl that sent shivers down your spine. “I’m just tryin’ to be a gentleman, honey. But if I had it my way, you wouldn’t have made it through the door without me takin’ you on the floor.”

Heat flared in your stomach; your thighs squeezed around him. “That so?”

Joel tilted his head, his lips ghosting over yours, teasing, torturously slow. “Mhm. Think about it, darlin’. Door barely closed behind you, and I’d have you up against it—” His hands slid lower, gripping the backs of your thighs, pressing you closer until there was no space left between you. “Dress bunched up, legs wrapped around me—”

A quiet gasp slipped from your lips as he rolled his hips up into yours, slow but firm, dragging friction exactly where you needed it.

“Or maybe the couch,” he continued, voice like gravel, his mouth skimming along your jaw, down your throat. “Could’ve had you right here, ride me slow while that goddamn movie plays in the background.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders. “Joel.”

He hummed in satisfaction at your voice's breathlessness and how you were already unraveling just from his words.

He leaned back slightly, dragging his lips just out of reach, the hint of a smirk still playing at them.

“Still wanna tease me about my movies, darlin’?”

You grinned, brushing your nose against Joel’s, your lips barely grazing his. “I’ll always tease, handsome.”

Joel huffed out a low chuckle, shaking his head, but his hands told a different story—gripping your ass with a firm squeeze that had you gasping. A squeal of surprise slipped from you before he swallowed it with a kiss, deep and possessive.

“Maybe I oughta teach you some damn manners,” he murmured against your lips, voice thick with amusement but there was a roughness beneath it, a promise.

A delicious shiver ran down your spine. His words sent a spark straight between your thighs.

“Wait—” You barely had time to catch your breath before Joel’s hands gripped your hips, flipping you effortlessly onto your back. You landed against the couch with a soft thud, blinking up at him, breathless, dazed.

He didn’t waste a second. His mouth was on you before you could form another word, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking gently at the sensitive skin just below your ear.

“Still feel like teasin’?” he drawled, voice rough as his lips traveled lower, over the neckline of your dress.

You exhaled sharply, arching into him. “Maybe,” you whispered, just to push his buttons.

Joel groaned, shaking his head like you were impossible, but the way his hands started working your dress higher, gathering the fabric in deliberate strokes, told you he was more than happy to take on the challenge.

He pushed the material up past your thighs, his fingers tracing feather-light over the tops of your stockings, before dipping lower, to where you were already warm and aching for him.

A pleased hum rumbled in his chest as he hooked his fingers under the band of your underwear, dragging them down inch by agonizing inch. “Damn, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling his knuckles along the inside of your thigh. “Already so wet for me?”

Heat flared in your cheeks, but you refused to look away, to let the weight of his gaze fluster you. “Told you I missed you,” you teased, voice barely above a whisper.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, something dark flickering behind his eyes, before he leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Then let me make up for lost time.”

With a swift tug, Joel pulled your underwear down your legs and tossed them behind him, not giving a damn where they landed. His rough hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wide, exposing every slick inch of you to his hungry gaze.

A deep groan rumbled in his chest, his dark eyes locked onto you like you were the only thing that mattered. He dragged his bottom lip between his teeth, his breath heavy and uneven. “Look at you,” he muttered, voice thick with want. “So damn pretty, honey.”

The warmth of his breath against your bare skin sent a shiver rippling through you. Your head fell back against the couch, anticipation building so fast it made you dizzy.

“Joel,” you whined, lifting your hips slightly, searching for friction, for relief. “Please.”

He hummed in amusement, his hands pressing firmly against your thighs to hold you still. “Always so needy for me, huh?” He leaned in, his nose grazing your inner thigh, his lips brushing featherlight over your skin, making you squirm. “You don’t gotta beg, sweetheart. I’ll always give you what you need.”

Then, finally, his mouth was on you.

A sharp gasp tore from your lips as he wrapped them around your clit, sucking gently, teasing you with deliberate flicks of his tongue. A strangled moan followed, your fingers flying to his hair, tangling in the thick strands as heat coiled tight in your belly.

Joel groaned against you, the sound vibrating through every inch of your body. He licked into you, slow at first, savoring every little twitch, every desperate noise that spilled from your lips.

“Fuck,” he murmured between strokes of his tongue, voice rough, wrecked. “Tastes so goddamn sweet.”

Your body arched, chasing more, needing more, but Joel kept you pinned, entirely at his mercy. “Patience, darlin’,” he drawled, his fingers digging into your thighs. “Ain’t lettin’ you go till I’ve had my fill.”

Your moans filled the dimly lit room, each one sweeter than the last as your fingers twisted in Joel’s hair, tugging desperately. You knew he loved this—loved tasting you, loved wrecking you with nothing but his mouth and hands until you were trembling beneath him.

His tongue dragged slow and purposeful over your clit before he sealed his lips around it, sucking just hard enough to make your whole body jolt. A broken cry left your throat, your hips lifting, but Joel’s hands pressed you right back down, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“That’s it, honey,” he rasped against you, the heat of his breath making you shudder. “Take it. Let me hear you.”

He slipped two thick fingers inside you, the stretch making your breath hitch, your walls clenching around him. He worked you open, pumping them slow, curling just right, his lips never leaving your clit.

Your back arched off the couch, your thighs trembling around his head. “Oh, yes—fuck, Joel.”

He groaned at the way you said his name, the deep vibration shooting straight through you. His free hand slid up your stomach, splaying against your hip, holding you steady as he sped up, fucking you with his fingers while his tongue teased mercilessly.

You tugged harder at his hair, your legs threatening to snap shut around his head, but Joel only growled, his grip tightening. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere, sweetheart,” he muttered, voice thick with hunger. “Not till I feel you come all over my tongue.”

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body shaking beneath Joel as he lapped up every drop of your release. You gasped, a sharp cry escaping as your walls pulsed around his fingers, pleasure rolling through you in waves. But Joel didn’t stop.

He groaned into you, the sound low and rough, his tongue still flicking against your clit, his fingers still thrusting deep. Your body twitched, overstimulated, but he held you down, keeping you spread open for him.

“Joel—fuck, I—” You whimpered, tugging at his hair, trying to pull him away.

His grip on your thighs only tightened. “Just one more, gorgeous,” he murmured, the heat of his breath making you shudder. “Be a good girl for me.”

A helpless moan slipped from your lips as his fingers curled just right inside you, dragging against that perfect spot. He knew your body too well now—knew exactly how to push you past your limits. He flattened his tongue against your clit, sucking softly before flicking it just how you liked, coaxing you right back up to the edge.

Your breath hitched. Your thighs trembled. That unbearable pressure coiled in your belly all over again, impossibly fast.

“That’s it,” Joel rasped, voice dripping with pride as he felt your walls clench around his fingers. “Knew you had another one in you.”

A sharp cry tore from your throat as pleasure hit you again, your back arching off the couch. Your fingers twisted tighter in his hair, your whole body tensing before you shattered, your second orgasm ripping through you just as fiercely as the first.

Joel groaned against you, drinking in your pleasure like a man starved, only pulling away when you whimpered, your body spent and trembling beneath him.

He pressed slow, lazy kisses to the inside of your thigh, his voice thick with satisfaction. “There you go. That’s my good girl.”

You sighed, boneless against the couch, a lazy, satisfied smile curling on your lips. “God, I don’t see how you’re so skilled.”

Joel smirked, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb before licking it clean. “God’s got nothin’ to do with it, sweetheart.”

You huffed a laugh, rolling your eyes as you swatted at his bicep. “Smartass.”

Joel caught your wrist before you could pull away, his grip firm but warm. “Mm, that's the thanks I get?” He leaned in, brushing his lips over yours, teasing but not quite kissing you yet. “Ain’t exactly fair, considerin’ I just had you fallin’ apart for me twice.”

Heat flushed through you again, but you refused to let him have the upper hand. You ran your fingers down his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath, the way his muscles tensed slightly under your touch. “Guess I’ll just have to return the favor, then,” you murmured, tilting your head, eyes flicking up to his with a challenge.

Joel’s smirk faltered briefly, his pupils darkening as he exhaled through his nose. “Now, darlin’, I was fixin’ to let you rest for a minute.”

You traced lazy circles over his stomach, slipping lower. “Who said I needed a break?”

His jaw ticked, his grip on your wrist tightening for a moment before he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You really are somethin’ else.”

“And you love it,” you quipped, grinning.

Joel sighed, feigning exasperation, but his smile gave him away. “Yeah, I do.” Then, in one swift move, he had you pinned beneath him again, his mouth finally capturing yours in a slow, deep kiss. “Now, how ‘bout you put that smart mouth to good use, huh?”

____________

The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting soft golden streaks across the bed. Joel slept soundly beside you, his arm draped over your waist, his breath slow and deep against your shoulder. He wasn’t a morning person—you had learned that early on. It took at least two cups of coffee and a solid ten minutes of grumbling before he was fully functional.

You smiled, taking a quiet moment just to admire him—the crease between his brows even in sleep, the way his lips were slightly parted, the warmth of his arm that, even now, instinctively tightened around you when you shifted.

Carefully, you eased out from under his arm, moving slowly so as not to wake him. You reached for the first thing you could find—Joel’s shirt from the night before—and slipped it on, the fabric draping over you like a second skin. Your underwear was kicked somewhere near the bed, so you stepped into them before padding out of the room, deciding you’d make him coffee. Maybe breakfast, if he had anything besides whiskey and canned soup in his pantry.

As you passed down the hall, one door caught your attention. It was cracked open just slightly.

Joel’s woodworking room.

He had shown it to you once in passing, never making a big deal, just a brief mention that he liked to carve. But you had seen how his hands lingered over his work and his voice softened when he spoke about it.

Pushing the door open a little more, you stepped inside. The scent of sawdust and varnish filled the space, and in the morning light, you could see the careful work he had put into the small figures on his workbench. Tiny animals, wooden stars, even a couple of intricate, half-finished pieces you couldn’t quite identify.

Your fingers traced over one of them, a small giraffe.

Ellie loved giraffes. A warm ache spread through your chest. Joel would never say it out loud, but he had made this for her.

As you glanced around, your eyes landed on a small set of drawers tucked into the corner of the room. You hesitated before pulling one open, half-expecting to find spare tools or scraps of wood. Instead, your breath hitched.

Photographs.

Some were newer—pictures of Ellie, a couple of you, and her at the shop that you hadn’t even known Joel had taken. But beneath those, slightly worn and curling at the edges, were older photos.

Sarah.

Your fingers hovered over one of the pictures, Joel grinning beside a teenage girl with warm brown eyes and the biggest smile. Another of her sitting on his shoulders, arms stretched out like she was flying. There was one of just her alone, a birthday cake in front of her, candles mid-flicker as she beamed at the camera.

Your chest tightened.

You had heard stories of Sarah and knew she had been Joel’s entire world before everything fell apart. He didn’t talk about her often, and you never pushed. But seeing these now—this quiet, tucked-away part of his life—made something in your throat tighten.

Your fingers traced over the edges of the photographs one last time before carefully placing them back, your heart still tight in your chest. But just as you started to close the drawer, something else caught your eye.

Ellie’s drawing.

The crayon-streaked paper stood out amongst the neatly stacked items, its colors vibrant against the worn wood. You picked it up gently, recognizing Ellie’s messy handwriting scrawled in the corner: “Thank you, Mr. Joel.”

A smile tugged at your lips.

The drawing was from months ago—before you and Joel had even started dating, back when he had stubbornly insisted on helping you fix the broken floorboards in your shop. You had protested, of course, but he had just grumbled something about "not lettin’ you break your damn neck" and got to work.

Joel had kept this?

Your chest ached at the thought. Ellie’s version of him was a near-perfect representation—the slightly messy hair, the ever-present green flannel, the scowl that somehow still held warmth.

You placed the drawing down carefully, but your gaze landed on something else beneath it as you did.

A book. No, the journal you had given Joel for his birthday.

You had thought it was a terrible gift at the time. The man was a walking barricade of emotions, locked up so tight it was a miracle he ever let anything slip through. He had been opening up more since you started dating, but you had never expected him actually to use the journal.

Your fingers hesitated over the leather cover, your pulse quickening.

This was private. You were already pushing boundaries by being here and going through things that Joel probably didn’t even realize you were seeing. You should put it back and walk away.

And yet…

Your hands moved before your mind could catch up.

The journal flipped open somewhere in the middle, and your breath caught in your throat—something pink, delicate, pressed between the pages.

A tulip.

Your tulip.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you carefully picked up the journal, running your fingers over the petals. It had been months, so long that you had almost forgotten. You had worn the flower in your hair that day at the diner. Ellie had insisted on it, and you had forgotten about it.

Joel had noticed.

He had always noticed.

Even back then—before the first kiss, before the quiet nights curled up in bed together, before you realized you loved him—Joel had already cared.

More than you had ever known.

You swallowed hard, pressing the flower gently back into place, closing the journal with the same care as if it were something sacred.

Softly, you closed the drawer, momentarily pressing your hand against the wood before leaving downstairs. The house was still, the early morning light filtering through the windows in golden slants. You moved on autopilot, filling the coffee pot, as the rich scent slowly filled the kitchen. You leaned against the counter, your mind still stuck on the quiet revelations from Joel’s woodworking room.

He had always cared.

Even before you had realized it and fallen so hopelessly in love with him, he had already been there—watching, noticing, keeping little pieces of you tucked away like treasures.

The thought sent a deep warmth through your chest.

When you reentered the bedroom, Joel stirred lightly, his arm stretching across the sheets, blindly reaching for you. His brows furrowed when his hand met nothing but empty space.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you crawled back into bed, pressing against his warmth. A contented hum rumbled deep in his chest as he instinctively wrapped his arms around you, his grip tightening like he wouldn’t let you slip away again.

“Where’d you go?” His voice was thick with sleep, low and gravelly, the sound curling in your stomach.

You ran your fingers through his hair, kissing his forehead softly. “Just making sure you had coffee.”

A small grunt left him, but you caught how his lips twitched at the corners.

“Mm. You’re too good to me, darlin’.”

Your heart swelled—partly at his words, but mainly at the overwhelming realization that this man had always been yours, even before you knew it.

You curled closer, pressing a lingering kiss to his temple. “I love you so damn much,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath.

Joel’s eyes fluttered open at that, deep brown meeting yours, hazy with sleep but sharp with something knowing. “I love you, too, sweetheart.” His voice was soft, certain, and unwavering. He studied you momentarily, his thumb stroking absent-minded circles against your hip. “What’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours?”

You shook your head, tracing his jawline with your fingertip. “I mean it,” you murmured, voice heavier now. “I love you.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, his expression shifting into something impossibly tender. He reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before letting his palm rest against your cheek.

“I know you do,” he said softly. “Just like I love you.”

You swallowed against the lump forming in your throat. He looked at you like you had given him something sacred, like you were something sacred.

Joel let out a small huff, shifting so he was propped up on one elbow. “Y’know…” He hesitated for a beat, a little smirk playing at his lips. “Been meanin’ to show you somethin’.”

You arched a brow, curiosity flickering in your chest. “Oh?”

Joel nodded toward the window, rubbing a slow hand down your back. “Out in the backyard. Was waitin’ for ‘em to bloom first, but… guess I could give you an early look.”

Your brows furrowed, but you allowed him to pull you from the bed, watching as he slipped his arms into his flannel before guiding you downstairs and out the back door.

The morning air was crisp, the soft hum of birds filling the quiet as Joel led you across the yard, right to a small patch of freshly turned soil near the fence.

Tulips.

Your breath hitched as you crouched down, fingertips hovering over the delicate petals just beginning to bloom—the same soft pink as the one you wore in your hair that day so many months ago.

You turned back to Joel, your heart lodged somewhere in your throat. He stood there, hands in his pockets, watching you with a quiet anticipation, like he wasn’t sure what you’d say.

“You grew these for me?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

Joel shifted slightly on his feet, giving a slight nod. “Figured you got enough flowers at the shop,” he muttered. “But, uh… wanted you to have some here too.”

Emotion swelled in your chest so fast it nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.

You surged forward, throwing your arms around him, burying your face against his shoulder. Joel stumbled back a step before his arms wrapped around you, holding you just as tightly.

“Joel,” you choked out.

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured against your hair. “I know.”

And he did.

He had always known.

[daryltwdixon]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5 | Part 5 | Part 6

Summary: A quiet ultrasound appointment brings everything into focus. And for a moment, it almost feels like the three of you might actually be okay.

|| fluff, pregnancy, soft/domestic joel & tommy, mentions of gender/sex || notes: can't believe im celebrating 2k followers :') I wanted to give you guys something short and sweet to say thank you for everything!!!!

Walking into the softly lit exam room at the back of the OBGYN office, you felt like you were floating. 

You were going to find out the sex of your baby today—your baby. Maybe even start talking names. And somehow, impossibly, you had the two most important men in your life at your side.

Once you were seated on the reclined exam chair, the paper crinkling beneath you, a nurse stepped in with a clipboard in hand. She paused in the doorway, blinking between Joel and Tommy like she was trying to work out a puzzle she hadn’t been trained for.

“And… you’re the father?” she asked, eyes landing on Joel.

Tommy cleared his throat, raising his hand slightly. “That’d be me.”

Her gaze flicked between them, then back to Joel. “And you are...?”

Joel didn’t miss a beat. “Here for support,” he said simply, voice even, stepping back a half pace like he was used to deferring.

You reached your hands out to both of them—instinctively, without thinking—and Tommy stepped in first, his hand sweeping across your shoulders and giving them a reassuring squeeze. Joel hesitated for a heartbeat, then joined by your side, his large, calloused hand slipping into yours.

Warm. Steady. Yours.

The nurse gave a slightly awkward smile and nodded as she dimmed the lights. “Alright. Let’s take a look.”

You lifted your shirt, baring your small but visible bump, and flinched slightly when the cold gel met your skin. Joel’s fingers curled tighter around yours, his jaw ticking just slightly as he watched the nurse work.

Then came the sound—quiet at first, then clear and steady.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

The heartbeat filled the room. You let out a shaky breath, your other hand reaching blindly toward Tommy’s. He took it instantly, his thumb brushing slow strokes across your knuckles.

“Everything is looking really good here,” the nurse said, her voice gentle as she adjusted the wand slightly. Her hand lifted to the screen, pointing to the shifting contrast of black and white, the little form in the middle of it all resting quietly.

“There’s the spine,” she murmured, tracing along a curved shape. “And here—those are the legs… that little flicker right there, that’s the heartbeat.” She paused, smiling as the sound filled the room. “Strong and steady. Just like we want.”

On the screen, the blurry shape of your baby came into view.

Your baby.

You looked at Tommy first, his eyes fixed on the screen, lips parted like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. The awe on his face was soft and open, reverent in a way that made your heart squeeze. But when you turned your head to Joel, expecting him to be wearing that same expression—expecting him to be watching the monitor—what you found instead was his gaze locked on you.

He wasn’t looking at the screen. He wasn’t focused on the gel on your stomach or the heartbeat echoing through the room. He was looking at you like he’d never seen anything more important. And it wasn’t lust. It wasn’t confusion. It wasn’t the hardened edge he so often used to keep the world at arm’s length. It was undeniable, quiet, devastating—pouring out of him in a way that made your chest tighten and your throat go dry. You could feel it before you understood it, feel the way something in him had cracked open and let the truth pour through.

He looked at you like he’d been holding his breath for months and was finally allowed to exhale. Like this, being here, being next to you, hearing the heartbeat of the baby he helped create, was more than he ever thought he’d be allowed to have.

The nurse’s voice cut softly through the silence, her tone gentle.

“Would you like to know the sex?”

You all turned to look at her, and you smiled widely, “Yes,” you breathed. 

There was a beat—quiet and suspended—before she gave a small smile and angled the wand, fingers adjusting a few dials on the machine.

“Well,” she said lightly, eyes flicking to the screen, “Looks to me like you’re going to have a bouncing baby boy,” and she looked at you with a smile.

Your hand flew to your mouth, moisture prickling at the edges of your vision as you continued to stare at the screen. You felt Tommy’s grip tighten on your shoulder, and when you turned to look at him again, he was grinning—eyes shining, lips pressed together like he was trying hard to keep it together.

“A boy,” he echoed, the words catching in his throat. His forehead dropped against yours, and you both laughed—soft, wet, breathless. “That’s our boy.”

Joel’s hand was still holding yours, steady as a heartbeat, but when you looked up at him again, he wasn’t smiling. Not yet. He was staring at the monitor like it was something sacred, like he’d just been told something he’d never expected to be allowed to want. Then he looked down at you.

And then he smiled.

It wasn’t big. It wasn’t flashy. But it was real—soft at the corners, eyes crinkling just barely as his thumb brushed over the back of your hand.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

Because it was all there in that look. This is ours. This matters. I’m in this.

I love you.

And you knew, in that exact moment, that no matter how complicated this had started—no matter how much more there was to untangle—this boy, this heartbeat, this moment… it belonged to all three of you.

If walking into the appointment had felt like floating, walking out was something else entirely—like moving through a dream you never wanted to wake up from. You couldn’t stop smiling, the world around you dulled and glowing, your mind lost in the echo of a heartbeat and the shape of a baby boy on a screen.

The three of you moved together in that haze, stepping out into the chilly sunlight of the parking lot. When you paused in front of Tommy’s truck, you looked between them again—two men who had once stood on opposite sides of this impossible situation, and now stood beside you like they belonged there.

Tommy’s face had gone still, his mouth set, brows slightly furrowed. He stared at Joel with something unreadable in his eyes—something tight and raw.

Joel looked back, quieter than usual, like he didn’t quite know what to say now that the moment had passed. So instead of saying anything, he leaned into you, kissing your cheek to say farewell, his scruff brushing your skin. You returned it softly, your lips grazing his jaw, your hand squeezing the warm muscle of his arm.

But when you pulled back, Tommy hadn’t moved.

His gaze was still locked on Joel, his jaw clenched like something inside him was fighting to come out.

And then—without a word—he stepped forward and pulled his brother into a hug.

Joel stiffened for half a second, caught off guard, but then he melted into it, his hand coming up to clasp the back of Tommy’s shoulder, gripping tight.

“Thank you,” Tommy said, voice low and rough, the words barely audible against Joel’s shoulder.

Joel didn’t answer. He just held on tighter. You stood there, silent, your heart thudding softly in your chest, watching two men who rarely spoke the truth when it came to their feelings finally let the silence carry it for them.

When they pulled apart after a few more stretched moments, it wasn’t with any big, sweeping gestures or lingering emotion. They just stepped back, like the hug had done what it needed to do. Joel kept his hands on Tommy’s shoulders for a second longer, gave him one last squeeze, and then let go, clearing his throat like it had caught him off guard. 

His face schooled back to that familiar guarded stillness, but something softer lingered in his eyes as he looked between you both. 

“You guys get home safe,” he said, voice low and rough but steady, as if it was the only thing that made sense to say. Then, a beat later, with a nod that felt heavier than it should’ve: “I’ll see you Sunday for dinner.”

Tommy gave a quiet nod in return, murmured, “Yeah…yeah, see you then,” and just like that, it was over. No drawn-out goodbyes. No emotional unpacking. Just two brothers, both different than they’d been, both still trying, still here. And somewhere in the quiet between them, something had started to mend. Not fixed. Not perfect. But real.

There wasn’t a name for what the three of you were. No label that fit cleanly. It wasn’t a love triangle, it wasn’t polyamory in the traditional sense. It could hardly be called an open relationship. So after many, many conversations—some over coffee in the morning, others over late-night whiskey or wine-stained lips—you came to call it a V. You were the hinge. The axis. The woman in the middle of it all. Two men on either side, tethered to you in different ways. One who had stood by you through everything, who put a ring on your finger and loved you quietly, consistently, through every storm. And one who burned hot like the sun, who may have showed up late but looked at you like gravity itself answered to you.

So you built something. Carefully. A set of boundaries that helped you breathe, that helped them stay.

There would be no sex with Joel in your house. That was a line drawn hard and fast—out of respect, out of necessity, out of knowing how fast lines blurred once it was crossed. Intimacy with Joel happened elsewhere: in his home when Sarah wasn’t there, or, your personal favorite, steamy hookups in the cab of his truck.

Your marriage came first. Not because Joel didn’t matter, but because Tommy had to matter most. He was your emotional home. The legal foundation, yes—but more than that, the heart of this entire thing. Joel was the fire. Tommy was the hearth. And if things felt uneven, if the scales tipped too far toward danger or desire, Tommy was allowed to speak up, to reset the balance.

There would be no more secrets. No more cold silences, no more backdoor hookups, no more shit talking through gritted teeth like any of you didn’t know exactly what was happening. The days of pretending to be fine, of swallowing jealousy or doubt or guilt until it festered—those were over. If someone felt left out, they said so. If something wasn’t working, it got talked about right away. You owed each other that much now. It didn’t mean it was easy. It didn’t mean you always got it right. But it meant no one was left guessing. No more spirals. No more lies dressed up as compromise. Just the hard, necessary work of being honest. Every time.

It wasn’t perfect, and maybe it never would be. But you had love. You had them. And together, you had a son on the way.

And that was everything.

taglist: @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @alidiggory92 @pinkylouise @izzy698 @doblasftcisco @devotedlypaleluminary @elsplayground @puduvallee @victoriaholland @legoemma @leenieweenie12 @possiblyafangirl @alitaar @mads198-9 @emmaoc10 @auteurdelabre @the-last-twin-of-krypton @lilasskicker2 @levislegislation @flowercrowns-goodvibes

[cl0udy3]

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄

ellie williams x dina's sister!reader fluff, some angst occasionally i think, slow burn wc: 9616 a/n: first time writing something this long, i had a friend beta read but she didn't see the whole thing so it might need some work near the end but hope its okay for now :D (also this is the first part of the acts, i'll be working on the next one soon, a little busy with class) ✩ pt2 | pt3

She was new.

Not new-new–Ellie had been in Jackson for over a year by the time you really met her--but still new enough that people said her name with a little weight behind it. Joel's girl. The one who came in from the Fireflies. The one who survived.

You'd seen her around. Heard rumors. And honestly? You thought she looked like kind of a dick.

Always glaring. Always muttering. Always pulling her sleeves over her hands like she didn't want to touch the world.

You didn't plan on talking to her.

It just sort of... happened.

You were coming back from a short patrol loop near the creek, boots soaked and mood worse, and you passed by the stables where Ellie sat crouched behind one of the sheds. Knife in one hand. Dead rabbit in the other. Her sleeves were pushed to her elbows, red with blood. Her fingers weren't steady.

You almost kept walking. You probably should've kept walking.

But something about the way she kept slicing and reslicing the same patch of skin made you stop.

"You're gonna ruin the meat," you said.

She froze. Looked up. She had this wild, cornered-animal lookin er eye--like she'd been alone for a long time and didn't like being seen.

"What?"

You pointed. "You're cutting it wrong. Want me to show you?"

Ellie blinked at you like you'd just offered to skin her instead. Then, slowly, she held out the knife.

You stepped forward, knelt down next to her, and slid the blade down cleanly, quick and practiced. You didn't look at her, but you felt her watching.

"You always sneak up on people like that?" she muttered.

You smirked. "You always ruin perfectly good rabbits?"

And then she laughed. Just a huff. Barely there. But it cracked through something all the same.

You handed the knife back. "I'm Y/N."

She hesitated. "Ellie."

"Yeah, I know."

Of course you did. Everyone knew Ellie.

You didn't expect to see her again.

And then, a week later, you were assigned to patrol with her.

She was always with Joel. Or sketching on his front porch. Or slipping through the front gate with blood on her knuckles and a scowl that dared anyone to ask. You'd just seen her around enough to recognize the shape of her, the short temper, the thousand-yard stare she got when she thought no one was looking.

But you didn't speak much after the stables. Not until the morning you were both assigned to patrol.

The day was bleak, but a normal, snowy day in Jackson. 

Maria handed you your slip, eyes already moving to the next person in line. "West loop. You're with Ellie."

You hesitated.

Ellie didn't.

She glanced at you--brief, unreadable--and said, "Cool," like it didn't matter. Like you were just any other name on a page.

You followed her out to the stables in silence. She moved quick, didn't wait up, didn't look back to check if you were behind her. It didn't offend you. You weren't sure she was even capable of small talk.

You saddled your horse quietly. She did the same. Neither of you spoke until you were past the gates and the trees swallowed up the sky.

The snow was light that morning, soft enough to let the horses keep pace without slipping. You didn't say anything for the first twenty minutes. Figured she'd appreciate the quiet.

Then she said, suddenly, like she couldn't help herself. "So. You new, or just quiet?"

You blinked. "I've been here. Just not loud."

Ellie glanced over, eyebrow raised. "You on patrol before?"

"Yeah. Mostly with Tommy or Nora. Sometimes Jesse."

"Damn," she said. "They  really threw me a wild card."

You snorted. "You're not exactly subtle either, y'know."

She didn't answer, but you caught the smirk pulling at her mouth before she turned her head. The first thread of something loosening between you.

The next time either of you spoke, it was after spotting a limping fox slipping between the trees.

"Front left leg," you whispered, pointing. "Injured. Look how it leans."

Ellie followed your gesture. "You got good eyes."

You shrugged. "I get bored easy."

"Bored enough to track limping foxes?"

You glanced at her. "Better than staring at your back the whole ride."

Her laugh was quick and surprised. "Okay. You're kind of funny."

"Only kind of?"

"Don't get cocky."

You didn't say it, but your chest felt warmer all of a sudden. Like something was working its way open. Like maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

Later, when you stopped to check a half collapsed shed for signs of infested, she waved you back with one hand and went in first. Cleared the corners like she'd done it a thousand times. You stepped in after, the air inside stale and cold, and sat on a crate while she double-checked the trapdoor.

"Clear," she said, and plopped down beside you, close enough for your knee to knock. 

Neither of you moved to fix it.

You pulled a half-crushed protein bar from your coat and offered her half. She look at it like it might explode. "That thing's probably older than I am."

"It's either this or whatever weird jerky Maria gave me this morning."

Ellie took it. Ate it. Looked like she regretted every bite.

"You're right," she said. "That was awful."

You smiled. "And yet you still ate it."

"I'm not wasteful."

"Mm. Brave."

She laughed again, this time quieter. The sound stayed with you.

After a while, the cold started to settle in deeper, and neither of you said anything. You just sat there, shoulder to shoulder, breath visible in the air between you.

She looked down at your hands, then her own. "You always this calm out here?"

You shrugged. "I like quiet."

She tilted her head. "That's rare."

You glanced over. "You don't?"

"I do," she said, after a beat. "I just never get to have it with anyone else."

Something tightened in your throat, but you didn't let it show. Just nodded.

"Get we're both a little rare, then."

She looked at you a second too long. Then stood. "C'mon. Still got two markers to check."

The rest of the ride back, the silence felt different. Like a thread had been tugged, something delicate but present, stretching between you with every word you didn't say.

When you got to the gate, she slowed her horse beside yours and said, "You did alright."

You raised a brow. "High praise."

"I mean it."

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then, "You're not bad yourself."

She nodded. Looked like she wanted to say something else. Didn't.

As you left your horse in the stables again, you watched her walk away, hands in her pockets, shoulders hunched against the wind.

You didn't know what any of it meant. 

But you knew you wanted to ride with her again.

And thanks to some miracle, it wasn't the last time they paired you.

You weren't sure who requested it--if anyone did--but it kept happening. Quiet little loops on the outskirts. Traps. Check-ins. One infected, two at the most. Not much conversation at first, just her voice cutting through the silence when it mattered. "Right side." "Stay back." "You okay?"

Eventually, the silences weren't so sharp. They softened. Turned into something like... habit.

A week passed. Then two.

A third patrol ended later than planned. Snow came down heavy, faster than expected, and by the time you made it back, the sky was nearly black and your hands were numb through your gloves. You didn't go straight home. Neither did she.

Ellie sat with you on the back steps of the weapon shed, both of you still half-geared up. Her knife lay across her lap. You were eating something cold and miserable from your pocket, she was chewing a toothpick she'd found god-knows-where.

"You ever think about leaving?" you asked, after a long stretch of nothing.

She didn't look at you.

"Like... just walking past the perimeter. Seeing what's out there."

Another beat.

"Yeah," she said eventually. "All the time."

You nodded. "But you stay."

She shrugged. "Don't know if I'm supposed to."

"What do you mean?"

Ellie finally looked at you then, eyes darker than usual in the low light. There was something strange in her face. Not sad, not angry. Just tired. Hollow in a way you hadn't noticed before. 

"Sometimes I think I should've died a long time ago."

The words landed like a gut punch. Not dramatic. Not loud. Just matter-of-fact. Like she'd said it before. Like she believed it.

You didn't know what to say.

She was still looking at you, watching for something--maybe judgement, maybe fear--but you just sat there with her. Let the silence stretch.

"Why?" you asked, careful.

She pulled the toothpick from her mouth, rolled it between her fingers.

"Just feels like... I keep walking away from shit other people don't get to."

You swallowed, throat dry. "Maybe that's not a bad thing."

Ellie didn't answer. Just turned her head toward the dark tree line, like she could see past it. Past Jackson. Past all of it.

"Survivor's guilt," you said, quieter. "That's what they call it."

She laughed, but it was a small sound. "That's a dumb name."

"Most things are."

You nudged her knee with yours. She didn't pull away.

After a while, she asked, "Do you ever feel like that?"

You looked down at your hands.

"Not in the same way," you admitted. "But... yeah. Sometimes."

She nodded. Didn't press.

You sat there until the cold soaked through your coats and your bones started to ache. She stood first, offered you a hand, pulled you up without a word.

That night, when you got home, your fingers still tingled where they'd brushed hers.

***

After another quiet patrol, you followed each other to the kitchen for dinner. You don't ask her to sit with you. But she does.

Slides her tray across from yours in the cafeteria and grumbles about the soup like she's always been there. You both eat in silence, your knees occasionally brushing under the table neither of you pulling away.

When you stand to leave, she follows. Doesn't ask. Doesn't even glance up--just tugs her jacket on like it's a habit.

Outside, the sky's streaked with purples and gold, bleeding into the snowy mountains. The air smells like wet bark, like winter giving up.

Ellie kicks a half frozen pile of slush. It splashes your boot.

You side-eye her.

"Oops," she says.

You continue to walk in silence after that, boots squelching in the softening snow. She keeps her hands buried in her pockets, head tilted like she's listening to something you can't hear.

At one point, her shoulder bumps yours--not hard, just enough to make you look. She doesn't apologize. You don't say anything.

The silence is weightless. Safe.

Right before the path splits, she slows.

"Tomorrow?" she asks, voice low.

You nod, almost without thinking. "Tomorrow."

She turns towards Joel's place. You watch her walk for a few steps, like maybe you forgot to say something.

But there's time.

You tell yourself there's always time.

That night, you set your alarm earlier than usual.

You don't know why. You just want to see what her face looks like when she tastes the worst coffee ever made.

The next morning, you find her barely conscious, slouching against the mess hall wall like she spent all night fighting off a bear. Her hoodie's half-on, eyes half-open.

You hand her the mug wordlessly. She takes it like a reflex. 

"What is this?" she croaks.

"Liquid motivation."

She sips. And then freezes. Then winces. "You trying to kill me?"

"It's artisanal," you say, straight-faced. "Crafted with love and desperation."

She glares at you like you've insulted her ancestors. "This tastes like betrayal."

You raise an eyebrow. "Drink it or go back to bed."

She sighs, dramatic as hell, but drinks it. Grimaces the entire time. When the mug's empty, she slams it on the table like it's personally wronged her.

"I'm telling Maria."

"You're welcome."

She rolls her eyes. But when she walks off, she mutters over her shoulder, "Next time I expect a real gift."

You don't forget that.

Two days later, she finds you behind the library, elbows deep in stubborn, frostbitten roots. You're trying to make something out of frozen soil and leftover hope. It isn't going well.

She crouches beside you, not saying anything first.

"Gardening now?" she says eventually.

"You glance at her. "Killing time."

She digs into her pocket and pulls out something small and purple, wilted but not dead. She brushes it off gently and holds it up to you like an offering.

"It reminded me of you."

You blink. "Because I'm beautiful and radiant?"

She gives you a look. "Because you're stubborn. And you grow in places you shouldn't."

You snort. "Wow. Romantic."

She shrugs like she's done her part and stands.

You watch her goes, flower still in your gloved hand, heart thudding for reasons you don't name. 

That night, you press it in your notebook. The petals stain the page.

After that, she starts showing up more.

You try to write it off at first. Jackson's not that big. People cross paths.

But then she's on your patrol shifts. Leaning against fences during training. Sitting in the market like she's waiting for someone--and she always leaves when you do.

One afternoon, you catch her watching you spar with Jesse. She doesn't blink when you spot her. Doesn't look away.

You wipe sweat off your forehead and walk past her without a word. She falls into step beside you like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You following me?" you ask, half-teasing.

She shrugs. "You're just everywhere."

You don't say anything. Neither does she. But later, when she isn't around, you notice.

It's a week later, late afternoon, when you find Ellie again. 

She's sitting with her back against the barn wall, sketchbook in her lap, pencil smudged against her fingers. Her brows are furrowed, jaw slack, totally focused. The sun hits the side of her face in patches through the warped wooden slats, making her hair look redder than usual, like something burning low and slow.

You don't say anything at first. You just watch her.

Then she notices you.

"What," she mutters, barely looking up, "do I have something on my face?"

"No," you say, smirking. "Just surprised to see you doing something that looks... meditative."

She sticks her tongue out at you and goes back to her sketch. "I meditate all the time."

"Bullshit."

Ellie shrugs. "Fine. But drawing is kind of like meditating. Except when it pisses me off."

You inch closer and tilt your head to peek over her shoulder. "What is it?"

She hesitates for half a second before letting you look.

It's... a tree. Something about is it ethereal. She had somehow managed to capture the essence of the real thing in her drawing. You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but it was somehow her.

You stare at it for a long moment. "It's beautiful."

She stiffens. Just slightly. Then shrugs again, like the compliment doesn't mean anything, even though it does.

"Thanks," she says. "You do anything like this?"

You blink. "Like drawing?"

"Yeah. Art. Hobbies. Fun shit."

You pause. "I garden sometimes."

Ellie turns to look at you. "That's it? Gardening?"

"I like it."

"Yeah, so do old people."

You glare. "Thanks."

"I mean, come on. You're telling me you've got nothing else in there?" She gestures vaguely to your head. "No secret skill? No tragic backstory? No like... knife-throwing championship title?"

You hesitate. Then sigh.

"I write."

She perks up. "Like what?"

"Just... stuff."

"Stuff?"

You give her a look. "Poetry."

There's a pause. Not a long one. But just long enough for you to regret saying it.

Then Ellie raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah, okay. Laugh."

"I'm not laughing," she says. And she isn't. She's smirking a little, but it's more... curious than mocking. "That's actually kind of cool."

"It's stupid."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Feels personal. And I haven't written anything good in a long time."

Ellie leans back, the corner of her mouth twitching. "You got any of it still?"

You shake your head. "No."

She raises both brows now. "No?"

"I mean... yes. But I'm not showing you."

"Why not?"

"Because you'd make fun of me."

"I just said I wouldn't."

"You lie."

She grins. "Constantly. But not about this."

You look at her then. Really look. She's sitting there, sun in her hair, dirt on her knees, pencil still tucked between her fingers--and she's listening. Not just asking. Not just humoring you.

You're not used to that.

"I don't know," you say finally. "It's dumb."

Ellie opens her mouth like she's going to argue--but doesn't. She just shrugs and flicks her pencil against the paper a few times.

"Whatever. I'm still gonna bully you about it later."

"I'd expect nothing less."

You stay there a while long, talking about nothing, the kind of nothing that fills your chest like it's everything. And when the light starts to dim and your stomach growls and she makes some shitty joke about eating tree bark if the cafeteria runs out of food again, you walk with her. Shoulder to shoulder. Quiet.

That night, you stare at a blank page for twenty minutes before writing a single word. 

And once you start, you can't stop.

You write about the way Ellie walks--fast like she's got somewhere to be, slow when she's next to you. You write about the way she talks, like every word is a dare, like silence is something she hasn't figure out how to live with yet. You write about the way her laugh hits you in the gut, sharp and sudden and rare.

And then, quieter--you write:

I have never wanted to be a place until I met you Now I want to be the ground you rest your boots on.  The window you stare out of. The air that makes you stay.

It's not perfect, or polished, or even good. But it's true.

The next morning, you fold the page three times and slip it into your jacket pocket. Find her near the greenhouse where she always ends up when she thinks no one's watching. She's sitting cross-legged in the dirt, a pencil tucket behind one ear, her sleeves rolled up like spring isn't still pretending to be winter.

You hand her the folded paper without a word.

She doesn't ask what it is. Just unfolds it slowly, her eyes scanning each line, mouth moving just slightly. Reading it out loud in her head.

She doesn't say anything for a long moment. Then she folds it again--smaller this time--and tucks it into her jacket pocket, right over her chest.

"You should write more," she says. 

And you do. 

Because now you have a reason.

***

The next day, she’s gone.

Not in a dramatic way—no patrol assignment, no emergency, no blood trail leading into the trees. Just… gone. No Ellie at breakfast. No Ellie in the usual hallway corner with her boots half-laced and a sarcastic comment on her tongue. Not even a glimpse of her jacket disappearing around a corner.

You tell yourself it’s not a big deal.

She probably overslept. Or went out early. Or just needed space, like she sometimes does—quiet days where she holes up with her sketchbook or disappears into the woods with a bow and a scowl.

But still.

You feel it.

You feel it in the way your steps fall too loud on the gravel.

In the way your breakfast feels longer.

In the way you start listening for a voice that doesn’t come.

You keep catching yourself turning, expecting to find her slouched against a doorway or perched on a fence like a cat, arms crossed, that smug glint in her eye. And every time you don’t see her, something unsettles a little deeper in your ribs.

It’s not until late—near sundown, the sky fading soft orange and bruised lavender—that you notice the shape in your coat pocket. Something light. Hard. Small.

You stop walking.

Reach in.

It’s a cassette tape.

Old. Beat up. The label on the front half-peeled, the ink faded like it’s been thumbed over a dozen times. Someone’s handwriting still clings to it—smudged and slightly tilted.

The Cranberries – Everybody Else Is Doing It, So Why Can’t We?

No note.

No explanation.

Just the music.

You turn it over in your hand, wondering when she even could’ve slipped it in there. Maybe the night before. Maybe at dinner. Maybe while you were talking about something else, your hands too close together on the table, your eyes everywhere but on her.

You don’t even remember telling her you liked The Cranberries.

Maybe you didn’t.

Maybe she just knew.

You ask around quietly until you can borrow an old Walkman from Joel—told him you needed to check on some inventory tapes. He looked skeptical but didn’t press. Just handed it over with a grunt and a warning to rewind it when you’re done.

And then you go. Not far—just behind the greenhouse, where the sun spills in crooked beams through the broken glass and the air smells like mint and tomato vines and damp earth. No one really goes there unless it’s planting season.

It’s quiet.

You sit in the dirt.

You press play.

The first track starts—slow, a little dreamy, a little sad in that way that doesn’t ask for pity. Just wants to be felt.

Your chest aches before the chorus even hits.

By the second song, you’re not blinking as much as you should be.

The third track plays like it knows your name. Like someone cracked your ribs open just enough to slide it in there, leave it humming behind your heart.

It’s dumb. You know that.

It’s just a tape.

Just music.

But this—this is the closest thing to a love letter either of you have ever given. Or maybe received.

And just as the next song clicks in, you hear it:

Boots in the dirt.

Your pulse stutters.

You don’t turn around.

You don’t breathe.

The steps stop behind you.

Then—quietly—Ellie sits down beside you, close enough that the edges of your sleeves catch when the wind shifts. She doesn’t say anything.

You don’t either. Not right away.

The music keeps playing. The Walkman hums gently in your lap. You can feel her, there beside you, like static in your bones.

“This is a weird way to flirt,” you murmur, still staring ahead.

Ellie scoffs under her breath. “I’m not flirting.”

You glance sideways, trying not to smile. “You gave me sad girl music.”

“You said you liked sad girls with guitars.”

A pause.

You’re not sure why you say it, only that it tumbles out before you can stop it.

“I like you.”

It’s not loud. Not dramatic. Just honest.

Ellie blinks. The faintest hitch in her breath. Then she looks away, out toward the greenhouse, lips pressed together like she’s trying not to bite them.

It happens maybe a week later.

You’d just finished helping unload some supplies, arms aching and smelling like old wood and diesel. She found you near the mess hall, hair frizzed from the wind, dirt smudged across her cheek.

“Wanna ditch?” she said, half a smirk on her face, like she already knew your answer.

So you did. Followed her across the back fences, up the rusted fire escape of the old building by the east wall—one of the quietest spots in Jackson. No guards. No foot traffic. Just peeling brick and a half-collapsed roof where the stars come out clearer than anywhere else.

The climb up to the roof wasn’t exactly safe—half-rotted boards, rusted metal rungs, one narrow ledge that made your stomach drop when you looked down. But Ellie had done it before, and when she offered her hand without saying a word, you took it without thinking.

The air up there was colder, sharper. Windy. You pulled your coat tighter and tucked your chin down as you stepped out onto the flat part of the roof, your boots scuffing against gravel and ash. She’d already set up the usual spot—a half-dead blanket she kept hidden in a dry metal box, two dented mugs for whatever sad drink she’d brought, and a lighter with a chipped Firefly logo on the side.

She was sitting with her back to the roof’s edge, legs out in front of her, a blunt already half-rolled between her fingers.

“You ever fall off this thing?” you asked, settling beside her.

She smirked without looking at you. “Once. Broke my ass. Joel was pissed.”

You smiled at that, your gaze trailing out over Jackson. It looked different from up here. Softer. The flickering porch lights. The warm yellow glow from the rec hall windows. Someone had a fire going—you could smell it, faint but smoky, riding the breeze. It made the whole town feel small. Far away.

Ellie sparked the lighter, cupped it in her palm, and lit the blunt like she’d done it a thousand times. Which, honestly, she probably had. She took a slow hit, the ember flaring, her eyes squinting slightly as she exhaled. Then she held it out to you.

You froze.

“C’mon,” she said, brow raised. “Don’t make me smoke the whole thing.”

You looked at it like it might bite you.

“I’ve never—”

“That’s the point,” she said, soft. “First time’s with me.”

Your fingers brushed hers as you took it. You tried not to make a big deal out of it. Tried not to seem like you cared. But your pulse was in your throat.

You took a hit, choked almost instantly, and doubled over coughing.

Ellie just laughed. Loud and mean in that affectionate way she had. “Jesus. You’re such a baby.”

You glared at her between coughs, but your eyes were watering too much to make it effective. “This sucks.”

“No, you suck. Give it back.”

You passed it to her and wiped your mouth with your sleeve, feeling your heartbeat skip a little too fast. After a minute or two, though, the edge of it dulled. Warmth crept up your chest. Your limbs got heavy in a nice way. The town lights started to blur a little.

“Okay,” you murmured, leaning back on your palms. “Maybe not that bad.”

Ellie grinned and took another hit. “Told you.”

Silence settled between you again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just... weightless. Safe.

Your legs dangled off the edge of the roof. Hers did too.

The stars were out—more than usual. Jackson’s lights didn’t reach this far, so the sky looked bigger. Like you could fall into it. Like it might fall into you.

“You ever think about leaving?” she asked suddenly, voice low, rough from smoke and cold and maybe something heavier.

You didn’t answer right away. Just watched your breath curl in front of you.

“Sometimes,” you said. “Not for good. Just... for a while.”

Ellie was quiet for a second. Then:

“Where would you go?”

You shrugged. “Nowhere. Everywhere. Maybe west.”

“West,” she repeated. Not mocking. Just thoughtful.

Then she said it.

“Take me with you.”

You turned to look at her.

But she wasn’t looking at you. She was staring up at the sky again, her profile sharp against the starlight, eyes reflecting nothing.

“I would,” you said.

Too soft. Too fast. It slipped out like it had been waiting at the back of your throat forever.

And she must’ve heard it. Really heard it. Because after a second, she looked over.

And something flickered behind her eyes.

Like maybe she knew.

Like maybe she was about to lean in, just slightly, just enough. Like she felt it too.

But then she blinked.

And whatever was there—it was gone.

She passed the blunt back without a word, eyes already turned away.

You didn’t say anything else.

Just smoked in silence, and told yourself the chill on your skin was from the wind.

Another week passes. 

It’s late when she shows up.

You’re already in pajamas, curled on your bed with a half-read book and the radio whispering something low and folky. Rain taps at the windows, steady as a metronome. Everything smells like wet earth and lavender—you forgot to blow out the candle on your shelf.

There’s a knock.

Soft. Hesitant.

You open the door and she’s standing there, hoodie damp from the walk over, hair pulled back messily, eyes flicking past you like maybe she’s reconsidering.

“You busy?” she asks.

You shake your head. “Nah. Just reading.”

She steps inside.

Drops her boots by the door, shrugs off her hoodie, walks up the stairs to your bedroom and settles herself by the headboard of your bed. Like this is her space too. Her sketchbook is under one arm.

You toss her a blanket. She catches it without looking.

The room is quiet except for the rain and the occasional flip of a page—your book, her sketchpad. You don’t ask what she’s drawing. You’ve stopped asking.

Eventually, you shift. Lay your book on your chest and close your eyes, just for a second.

Just to rest.

You don’t mean to fall asleep.

But you do.

The blankets are warm. The candle burns low. And Ellie is close enough to hear breathing. So you drift.

You’re not sure how long you’re out—twenty minutes? an hour?—but when you stir, it’s still raining. The candle’s gone out. And she’s still sitting there.

Cross-legged on your floor. Sketchbook in her lap. Eyes flicking between the paper and—

You.

You blink. Groggy. Voice scratchy. “Are you… drawing me?”

She looks up.

Doesn’t deny it. Just chews the inside of her cheek, then shrugs. “You make a good subject.”

You roll onto your side, burying your face half into the pillow. “You’re a creep.”

She grins. “You like it.”

You do. God, you do.

You don’t say anything, but your cheeks burn, and that’s answer enough.

She doesn’t leave that night.

She stays until the candle smoke fades and the rain stops and your breath evens out again.

And you don’t even realize she slipped something into your coat pocket until a week later—when you're on patrol, digging for gloves in the early cold.

Your fingers brush paper.

You pull it out.

It’s the sketch.

Charcoal and pencil on torn notebook paper—creased from folding, smudged at the corners. But it’s you. Not just how you look, but how you were. Curled up, soft and half-asleep. Mouth parted. Hands tucked under your chin like you were dreaming of something sweet. Like you weren’t carrying so much.

She made you look kind. Gentle.

Loved.

You stare at it for a long time.

And then fold it back up, press it against your chest like a secret.

Because that’s what it is.

She never mentioned it. Never asked if you saw it.

But sometimes, when you pass her in the mess hall or catch her sharpening her knife outside the barracks, she’ll look at you a little too long.

Like she’s still drawing you.

Like you’re still the most interesting thing she’s ever seen.

She comes by your house again.

It’s late.

Later than either of you meant to stay up. The kind of late where the silence starts to hum. Where the lamps buzz faintly and the edges of everything feel a little blurred.

You’re both on your bed, backs against the wall, legs stretched out, a bowl of stale popcorn between you. Some shitty cassette tape hums low in the background—something folksy and quiet Ellie brought over weeks ago that never made its way back to her place.

You’ve been talking for hours.

Not about anything important. Just… stuff.

“Okay,” she says, voice thick with sleep. “Worst food you ever ate. Go.”

You snort. “The canned tuna Joel tried to make tacos with. That shit was criminal.”

Ellie hums, almost a laugh. Her head tips back against the wall.

You keep going.

“Or—wait—no, the beans at the winter festival last year. They tasted like dirt and broken dreams.”

That makes her grin, but it’s a slow one. Fading around the edges. Her eyes are half-lidded, lashes low. You can see how heavy her body’s getting, the way her shoulders slump just a little more every few minutes. The way her head sways when she laughs too long.

She’s tired. You know she’s tired.

But she doesn’t move to leave.

So you just… keep talking.

Low and rambling now. About dumb things. The book you found in the library about edible weeds. The guy in the stables who swears by talking to horses like they’re people. That time Jesse slipped on ice and pretended he meant to break his ankle because it got him out of patrol.

You feel her shift beside you.

Then a weight.

Slow and soft—her head, slipping down from the wall, finding your shoulder like gravity pulled her there.

You stop mid-sentence.

And don’t move.

Her breath is warm against your collarbone. Steady. Even.

She’s out.

Fully asleep.

You freeze—your whole body electric with stillness, afraid to even breathe. Her weight settles into you, solid and real, like something fragile you’re terrified to disturb. One of her hands brushes your leg, curled loosely like she meant to hold onto something and missed.

And god, you want to kiss her.

Right there, in the quiet. While the music hums and her fingers twitch slightly and she looks so impossibly soft and yours that it hurts.

But you don’t.

You just shift a little, careful, and lean your head against hers. Let your eyes close. Let yourself have this.

Just for now.

You wake up an hour later.

The tape’s stopped.

The popcorn’s cold.

She’s still there.

And she doesn’t move when you reach for the blanket and pull it over both of you.

Just sighs in her sleep.

Like she’s safe here.

Like you are, too.

The hangouts continue—quiet, unspoken, intimate in a way neither of you dares to name.

Two weeks pass.

Normally, you’d be paired with Ellie on patrol. You always were. But the day before, Maria handed out the assignments, and your name landed next to Jesse’s.

You frowned but didn’t argue.

Now, it’s still dark when you show up at the gates. Cold, too—your breath curls in the air like smoke. Gravel crunches beneath your boots as you shift your weight, rubbing your hands together to keep them warm. The town sleeps behind you, quiet and still, the sun not yet bleeding into the sky.

You go through the usual routine. Check your pack—rifle, water, rations, bandages.

Then your fingers close around something unexpected.

A switchblade.

Not yours.

Yours is back home—half-dull and chipped from too many close calls. But this one?

This one’s clean. Balanced. The blade shines faint in the pre-dawn light. The handle’s worn just enough to feel like it belonged to someone else first.

You turn it over.

There, on the hilt, a tiny scratch.

You’ve seen it before.

Ellie’s.

Something twists in your chest.

You glance up—and she’s there. Leaning against the fencepost a few feet away, hoodie half-zipped, hands in her pockets. Watching you.

She nods toward the knife. “Just in case I’m not there to save your ass.”

You try to play it cool, try not to let the heat crawl up your neck. “You worried about me?”

She shrugs. “I don’t like it when people die stupid.”

You grin. Quiet. “I’ll treasure that.”

She pushes off the post and walks past you like it’s nothing. Like she didn’t just give you something you’ll probably sleep next to for the rest of the week.

You tuck the blade into your belt and try not to feel too much.

Jesse shows up a minute later, mid-yawn, chewing on half a protein bar. He clocks the switchblade, then glances at Ellie’s retreating back.

“Well,” he says, smirking. “That wasn’t subtle.”

You blink. “What?”

He nods at the knife. “She give you that?”

“…Maybe.”

Jesse lifts his brows like he already knows the answer. “That’s, like… romantic. In Elliespeak.”

You roll your eyes, though your pulse is still a little too loud. “Shut up.”

He falls in step beside you as you start toward the trail. “I’m just saying. The girl’s stitched you up, lent you her tapes, sketched you—”

“She didn’t sketch me.”

“She did.”

“She just said I was a good subject.”

“She said it with the dumbest look on her face. You’ve got her wrapped around your knife-gifted little finger.”

You shake your head. “It’s not like that.”

Jesse kicks a rock off the path. “Sure. But do you wish it was?”

You don’t answer.

Not because you don’t know.

But because you do.

The day stretches long.

You and Jesse move along the outer edge of Jackson, horses in hand, checking the usual spots. Routine stuff. Peaceful, at first. Too peaceful. The kind of stillness that sets your teeth on edge if you think about it too long.

You make small talk—nothing important. It’s easy with Jesse. It always has been. Comfortable in the way old friendships are.

Just past noon, you make it to the north trail.

The air is crisp, sweet with pine. Hooves clop steadily over damp earth. No broken branches, no overturned tracks. You like patrols like this. Quiet. Familiar. Almost enough to forget what the world’s become.

“Y’know,” Jesse says, breaking the lull, “I was sure Tommy was gonna stick me with the new guy. I’ve got a streak going.”

You smirk. “Guess your luck’s finally turning around.”

“Or maybe he just didn’t want you scaring another recruit off.”

You kick a clump of snow toward him. “I’m delightful.”

“You’re something.”

The rhythm’s easy. The kind that only comes from years of knowing someone. Jesse’s always had a way of grounding you—pulling you back to yourself. Maybe because he never pushes too hard. Maybe because he doesn’t have to.

The trail narrows, and you both dismount. The horses plod behind as you lead them into a hollow—low, sloping, shadows spilling between snow-patched trees. Brown earth peeks through the frost like spring’s trying to fight its way in.

You adjust your pack and walk beside Jesse in silence until he slings his rifle over his shoulder and speaks.

“So,” he says casually. “You and Ellie. That’s… new.”

You don’t meet his eyes. “There’s no ‘me and Ellie.’”

“Right,” he says, dragging the word out. “You’re just attached at the hip for fun. Totally platonic.”

You roll your eyes. “We’re just friends.”

“Uh-huh. And I herd horses because I enjoy the smell.”

You kick a rock off the trail. “What are you getting at?”

Jesse shrugs. “Nothing. Just—you’ve been through a lot. And you seem… lighter, lately. Like something’s finally clicking back into place.”

You don’t respond at first. Just watch the sunlight breaking in fractured beams through the trees.

“It’s not like that,” you say eventually. “She just… gets it. That’s all.”

He gives you a long look, like he’s reading a sentence you didn’t mean to write out loud. “Well. Whatever it is—just don’t screw it up.”

You let out a snort. “Is that the official Jackson policy?”

“That’s the friend policy,” he says, bumping your arm with his elbow. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m being emotionally available.”

“Emotionally available with side-eyes and judgment.”

“It’s a package deal.”

You’re just about to laugh—really laugh—when the sound cuts through the air.

Not sharp. Not loud. Just wrong.

You both freeze.

Then it comes again.

Wet. Guttural. Clicking.

Your hand flies to your belt. Ellie’s switchblade presses into your palm—cold, familiar. Jesse’s already raised his rifle, eyes scanning the trees.

“Shit,” he mutters. “How the hell did one get this close?”

You don’t get the chance to answer.

It crashes from the tree line—snarling, fast, all teeth and rot and bone.

Jesse fires. The shot hits—but the infected doesn’t stop.

Your body moves before your brain catches up. You shove Jesse aside, bring the blade up—

Too late.

It catches your side with a swipe of its claws—white-hot pain ripping through your ribs. You stagger, gasping.

But you’re still standing.

Jesse gets a second shot off.

The clicker drops.

You drop with it.

Your knees hit the ground. Then your side. Blood seeps through your coat, warm and terrifying. You press your hands to the wound, instinctive, useless.

“Fuck,” Jesse breathes, already at your side. “Hey. Hey—look at me. We’ve got this. You’re okay.”

You nod. Try to. The world’s blurring at the edges.

Your horse is still there. So is Jesse’s.

Somehow, he gets you into the saddle. Somehow, you stay upright.

The ride back is a blur—half-shadow, half-pain.

You don’t remember much. Just the thudding of hooves beneath you, the steady burn in your ribs, the way Jesse’s hand stays braced on your back like it could hold you together. You focus on the rhythm of it. One-two. One-two. Like if you keep count, you won’t pass out.

But the world starts pulling sideways anyway. Everything going soft at the edges.

Until it doesn’t.

Until you hear Jesse shouting.

And you lift your head, just barely, and see the gates of Jackson coming into view.

And her.

Ellie.

She’s leaning against the fencepost just beyond the stables, a little crumpled daisy held between her fingers like some stupid inside joke. Her hoodie’s half-zipped, hair tucked behind one ear, eyes scanning the trail like she’s waiting for something—waiting for you.

You see it hit her in real-time.

She straightens. The flower falls. And then she’s running.

“Move!” she yells, shoving past the people near the gates, boots skidding on gravel. “Move—fuck—what happened?”

You’re not even off the horse before her hands are on you.

“She’s losing blood,” Jesse says breathlessly, dismounting fast. “Clicker got her. Not a bite—just a gash, but it’s deep.”

Ellie doesn’t say anything. She just loops your arm over her shoulder and pulls you down from the saddle like you weigh nothing, like panic makes her stronger.

Your knees give. Her grip tightens.

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

You try to speak. Maybe say her name. Maybe say sorry. All that comes out is a breath.

Then she’s moving—hauling you through the gates with people scattering out of her way. The infirmary’s not far, but it feels like another lifetime before she’s through the door, barking orders like she owns the place.

“I need a table! Gauze, sutures—now.”

Someone moves to help. She snaps without looking, “Don’t touch her. I’ve got it.”

Jesse’s still behind her, shadowing every step. His face is pale. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to.

Ellie lays you on the table with terrifying gentleness. She’s breathing hard, eyes flicking between your face and your ribs. Her hands hover over your coat before she finally tears it open.

Blood’s already soaked through your shirt.

“Shit,” she breathes. Her voice cracks. “Okay. Okay.”

You want to tell her it’s not that bad, but your body’s gone heavy, useless. Your head lolls to the side, vision doubling. All you can really do is feel the way her hands work—pulling off your shirt, swabbing the wound, pressing down with shaking fingers.

“Ellie,” you rasp, barely above a whisper.

Her head snaps up. “Hey. Hey. Look at me.”

You try. Her face wavers, but you catch enough—her jaw clenched, jaw tight, eyes glassy with something she’s trying very hard not to let fall.

“I’m gonna fix it,” she says. “Okay? You’re not gonna die over some dumb clicker. Not like this.”

She moves fast. Efficient. Her hands shake, but the stitches are clean, tight. You feel every pull of the thread. It grounds you—just enough.

“Almost done,” she says, even though she’s not.

And then, quieter: “Don’t do this again. Please.”

You try to smile. It’s barely there. “You gave me the knife, remember?”

She laughs, breathless, more of a tremble than anything real. “Yeah. So you could not die with it.”

You feel her finishing the last stitch, the bandage going down over your ribs. She tapes it with shaking hands, presses her palm over it like she can will it to heal faster.

You reach out. Fingertips barely graze her wrist.

“Ellie.”

She looks at you.

And this time, she doesn’t hide it. The fear. The ache. All of it.

“I’m okay,” you whisper.

“No,” she says, voice low. “You’re not. But you’re gonna be.”

You try to nod. She leans closer instead—forehead almost brushing yours. Her fingers still wrapped around your wrist like she’s afraid you’ll slip away if she lets go.

And she stays like that. Even when the others finally come in. Even when Jesse’s voice floats from the doorway. Even when everything else starts moving again.

She stays with you.

You don’t remember falling asleep.

One second, Ellie’s bent over you, hands stained with your blood, breath coming fast like she’s been holding it since the gates opened.

The next, it’s quiet.

Dim light filters through the infirmary window. Outside, Jackson murmurs with its usual distant hum—boots on wood, a horse whinnying, someone shouting about feed. Life going on.

But here, in this room, everything’s still.

You blink groggily. Your ribs throb with each breath, the sting of stitches tugging at your skin. Your mouth is dry. Head fuzzy.

Ellie’s in the chair beside your bed.

She’s pulled it close—knees almost touching the mattress. Her hoodie’s half-off one shoulder, sleeves pushed up, knuckles scabbed from where she must’ve scraped them carrying you in.

She’s asleep.

Or close to it.

One hand rests on her thigh, fingers curled like she forgot to relax them. The other is on the edge of the bed, just barely touching yours. Like she meant to hold your hand and changed her mind halfway through.

There’s a smear of your blood on her cheek.

She didn’t clean herself up. Didn’t change. Just sat down and… stayed.

You shift slightly, wincing at the sharp tug under your ribs.

Her eyes open instantly.

She straightens, alert in an instant. “Hey—hey, don’t move too much. You’re still fucked up.”

You try to smile. “Technical term?”

She doesn’t laugh. Just leans forward, elbows on her knees, eyes scanning your face like she’s checking for damage all over again.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

“Jesse got me back.”

Her jaw ticks. “I know. But I should’ve been there.”

“Ellie…”

“No, just—” she sits back, swipes a hand down her face. “I knew something felt off this morning. I fucking knew. And instead of saying something, I gave you a knife and walked away.”

You look down at your belt. The switchblade’s still there, tucked beside your hip.

“You kept it,” she says softly.

You nod. “Didn’t wanna lose it.”

Her expression falters—like maybe she wasn’t expecting that answer.

“Good,” she says after a moment. “It’s yours.”

Silence settles in again. Heavy, but not bad.

Then you whisper, “I thought I was gonna die out there.”

Ellie’s face crumples just slightly. “Don’t say that.”

“But I did. Just for a second.”

She swallows hard, then leans in again. This time she doesn’t stop herself—just reaches out and lets her hand rest over yours. The contact is warm. Solid. A tether.

“You didn’t, though,” she says. “You didn’t. You’re here. With me.”

You don’t say anything. Just turn your hand so your fingers lace with hers.

Her shoulders sag like she’s been holding up too much.

And for a little while, neither of you talk.

You just stay like that. Breathing together. One steady beat at a time.

***

You end up staying with Ellie and Joel.

Not because anyone says you should—but because the night after you’re stitched up, Joel just sort of… picks you up and carries you.

“No point in your tryin’ to do stairs,” he mutters, pretending not to notice the way you bite your lip against the pain. “You’ll be safer with us for a bit.”

Ellie barely lets you get through the door before she’d set up a space on the couch—blankets, pillows, water, one of Joel’s flannels she swears she’s not emotionally attached to but won’t let you give back either.

It’s quieter than you expect.

No big gestures. No fuss.

Just Ellie sitting beside you every night, sketchbook in hand, music playing low from the older speaker she scavenged with Joel forever ago. Sometimes she reads. Sometimes she doodles. Sometimes you talk about nothing at all.

Joel brings you food, and doesn’t say much, but he checks your bandages with a gentleness that makes you wonder how long it’s been since he let himself care like this again.

There’s a comfort in it. A kind of peace you didn’t realize you were missing.

And somewhere in the middle of all that—not loud, not sudden—Ellie starts staying.

She doesn’t go back to her room most nights. Just ends up half-asleep next to you, her feet tucked under your blanket, fingers brushing your arm as she nods off. She doesn’t talk about it. Doesn’t make it a thing. But you start brushing teeth together. You start sharing her hoodies. You start knowing which socks she steals from Joel and which mugs are her favorites.

Days pass like that. Easy. Close. Warmer.

They your birthday comes.

You don’t make a big deal out of it. You never do.

But when you come downstairs that morning, Ellie’s already waiting—leaning against the kitchen counter with something small in her hands.

“Morning, old lady,” she says, grinning. “Made you something.”

You blink. “You made something?”

“Okay, Joel helped. But I did, like most of the thinking part.”

She hands it over—it’s a little carved figure. A horse. A little lopsided, a little burnt on one side,  but clearly painstakingly made. Yours.

You don’t even know what to say. So you just hug her.

***

The kitchen smells like spice cake and melting wax. 

You lean against the counter, picking at the edge of the plate in front of you while Ellie wrestles with a crooked candle in the middle of the cake she somehow baked without setting the house on fire. There’s flour on her cheek and a smudge of chocolate near her thumb. She hasn’t noticed either.

“You’re gonna burn the house down with that thing.” you say, nudging a second matchbox toward her.

She shoots you a look. “I’m being careful.”

“You’re being stubborn.”

“Same thing.”

You smile despite yourself watching her fuss over the tiny, flickering candle like it matters more than anything else in the world. It kind of does.

The party’s supposed to start soon—Jesse and Dina are bringing the drinks, Joel and Tommy said they’d stop by. You’re not sure how everyone managed to organize it without tipping you off, but Ellie’s never been good at hiding when she's planning something. Her nervous energy practically buzzes through the room.

“Hey,” so say after a beat, quieter now. “Can I tell you something?”

She looks up immediately, all that snark draining out of her expression like a switch flipped. “Yeah. Always.”

You shift, eyes on the candle. “I’ve just been thinking a lot. After… everything. With the attack. Getting patched up. Lying around Joel’s house like a lump for a week.”

“You weren’t a lump,” she mutters. 

“Kind of was.” You smile, but then it fades. “You didn’t have to take care of me like that. My sister could’ve stayed to help me. But you did. You and Joel. And I don’t know if I ever really said thank you.”

Ellie’s face softens. She shakes her head. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I think I do,” you say, voice catching a little. “Because it mattered. More than I know how to explain.”

There’s a pause. Ellie watches you like she’s afraid you might vanish if she blinks too hard.

You open your mouth. The rest is right there—on your tongue, ready to tumble out. I care about you. I think I’ve cared for a while. I feel safer when you’re around. Like I’m breathing easier.

You want to say something. You almost do.

The words get stuck behind your teeth, caught somewhere between the fear of saying too much and the fear of saying nothing at all.

Ellie turns back to the counter, and grabs the cake, fixing the candles like it matters.

“C’mon,” she says, voice softer now. “Everyone’s waiting.”

You follow her out of the kitchen, holding the screen door open for her as she walks out, cake in hand. 

“You sure you won’t trip on the way over?” you murmur as you walk down the steps of Joel’s porch.

Ellie huffs a sarcastic laugh and rolls her eyes. “I’ll manage.”

At your house, the lights are low, the music’s soft, and the air inside smells like smoke, cake, and someone's overly enthusiastic cologne (probably Jesse).

Jesse’s already halfway through a drink, deep in a dramatic retelling of some patrol disaster to Tommy and Joel, who are both pretending not to bed amused. A few of your other friends are clustered near the record player, arguing over what to play next.

You settle carefully onto the couch, back against the cushions with a sigh that’s half relief, half ache. The stitches still tug a little when you breathe too deep. Ellie’s only a few steps away, fussing with the drinks she brought out, her flicking to you now and then like she’s making sure you haven't collapsed when she wasn’t looking.

There’s a knock at the door.

You move like you’re going to stand, out of instinct more than anything—but the pull in your side flares sharp and immediate. You wince, halfway up. 

“Hey,” Ellie says, already stepping toward you. “Sit. I got it.”

You sink back down, grateful.

She crosses the room, pulling open the front door—and then pauses.

The girl on the other side of the door is bundled in a jacket and holding a lopsided little box, curls tucked messily into her beanie. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold. She looks up—her smile blooms, crooked and immediate.

“Hey,” the girl says. “I’m looking for—uh, sorry. I’m Dina.” 

Ellie blinks. “...Oh.”

They look at each other for a second too long. 

Not awkward. Not confused. 

Just—still.

Like they’ve both just walked into something unexpected and kind of strange and kind of… good.

You hear her voice from where you’re sitting, and your heart lifts without thinking. 

You push up from the couch, ignoring the way your ribs bark in protest. 

“D?” 

Dina steps around Ellie just in time to catch you coming down the hall. Her face lights up.

“Shit—look at you,” she says, half-laughing, half-crying as she pulls you into a hug. “You dumbass.”

“I missed you too,” you murmur into her shoulder. She smells like cedar and rain.

You’re aware—just barely—of Ellie still by the door. 

She hasn’t moved. Still watching. Still quiet. 

Dina pulls back, brushing her knuckle under her eye with a laugh. “Sorry, I got held up. Patrol’s been hell. But I brought your favorite cake.”

You glance at the box, then at Ellie.

“This is Ellie,” you say.

Dina turns—and for the first time, really looks.

Ellie gives her a small, lopsided smile. “Hey.”

Dina matches it. “Hey.”

It's nothing, on the surface. Just a hello. Just a new face.

But there’s a flicker between them—quickly, subtle, almost unnoticeable if you weren’t standing right there. A glance that lingers just long enough to feel different. 

You feel it before you understand it. A change. 

Like something small just clicked into place.

You don’t know what it means yet, so for now, you pretend not to notice.

You’re curled on the couch now, Dina beside you, a blanket thrown over both your legs like old times. She’s half-talking, half-scolding—about how she would’ve never let you go out on patrol if she’d been around, how you're lucky she loves you too much to throttle you.

You grin through it. Let her fuss. Let her care.

“I swear,” she’s saying, hand on your arm, “you attract trouble like it's a job. Is that a Jackson patrol requirement now? ‘Must be proficient in chaos’?”

“First of all,” you say, nudging her lightly, “I’m very responsible. Mostly. Jesse was there too, y’know.”

“Yeah, and Jesse didn’t get ripped open, so.”

Behind you, Ellie makes a sound—almost a laugh, but sharper. You glance over your shoulder.

She’s leaning against the wall now, arms crossed, listening in.

“Pretty sure she got the knife after the rip,” Ellie says. “Not exactly her best moment.”

Dina grins. “So, you’re Ellie.”

Ellie raises a brow. “Me?”

“Well,” Dina says, “you’re the only person I’ve heard about more than twice in every letter.”

You feel your face heat. “Dina.”

“What? I’m just saying. Ellie this, Ellie that. Ellie drew me, Ellie saved my ass, Ellie made me soup—”

Ellie’s mouth twitches. “It was bad soup.”

Dina laughs, and it’s easy and bright. “I feel like I should be jealous.”

“Maybe you should be,” Ellie fires back, and it comes out fast, almost automatic.

There's a second of silence.

Then Dina laughs again, brushing it off. “Alright, soup queen. Duly noted.”

It’s a short exchange. Barely anything, really.

But something about it sticks with you. The way Dina’s posture shifts slightly toward Ellie, open and relaxed. The way Ellie—who usually hesitates with strangers—doesn’t, not this time.

You shake it off. You’re overthinking. It’s just your two favorite people finally meeting. It should feel good.

And it does.

Mostly.

this was so long but i needed to write it so bad AHH