#joel x fem oc

[bed-chemist]

❝you've never been to heaven, have you?❞

A/N: this is my first time writing something for tumblr, or like this in general. feedback is greatly appreciated. this also isn't edited so ignore any mistakes. as a baking girly, i couldn't get this story out of my head. i legit would lay in bed at night and dream about hard-ass chef miller and the sweet baker. enjoy ♡

Prelude Summary: the sweetest baker has a birthday lunch with her friends, effectively humbling the chef in the process.

Chapter Warnings: death of a parent (mentioned), language, alcohol, slight age gap (F!MC and Joel are 6 years apart), threatening (brief, joke between two girl friends in an established friendship).

Key Tags: chef! Joel, single! father Joel, no outbreak! Joel Miller, slow burn, dual-pov, fluff, flirting, friendship, eventually established relationship, eventual smut, original character, black!fem!MC, no y/n.

⋆ word count: 3.7k ⋆

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JUNE 30TH

“Welcome to The Austin. I assume you have a reservation?”

Of course, we had a reservation. 

This was one of the hardest restaurants to get into. The reviews are excellent and they’re rumored to be gunning for a Michelin Star. Luckily, my best friend Madeline was what you considered Chicago pretty. Her charisma and beauty make her a shoo-in for being a model.

The long and wavy blonde hair cascades over her back as she flutters her lashes at the host behind the stand. “Yes. It’s my best friend’s birthday and we have a reservation under Madeline Crown,” she speaks for our small group, shoving me forward as the designated birthday girl. A mischievous twinkle flashes in her blue eyes and her smile takes over. 

Raising my hand, I wave awkwardly at the host. “That’s me,” I admit shyly, adjusting my falling crown and sash.

He flashes me a small smile. “Happy Birthday,” he breathes quickly before tapping the screen. “Just the three of you, Ms. Crown?” he asks Maddie, looking behind us at the group.

The phrase makes me grimace. My parents died in a car accident five hundred fifty-six days ago. And for five hundred fifty-six days, I’ve been suffering. They were the closest people to me and left me alone in this world as an only child. The only family I have left is the one I’ve created with Madi, Leo, and their families. I didn’t want to burden them with my birthday festivities, so Madi and I opted for lunch with just the three of us. 

“Yeah. And we need a booth away from eyes,” the third voice in our trio, Leonardo, blurts out. He shifts, anxious to get to our table and out of the lobby. Out of the three of us, he’s more likely to have to be bombarded by people during this lunch given our current surroundings.

Why on earth did I choose to be friends with a socialite and a senator? I don’t like attention and as of now, all eyes are on us. The sash and crown Maddie forced me to wear don’t help.

His two secret service agents stand upright a few paces back. We’d planned for weeks to get clearance for this lunch, so having them tag along was only a slight damper. “Right this way,” the host snaps me out of my spiral, grabbing a couple of menus and motioning us to follow him.

My feet carry me forward through the restaurant behind Madi, who stops to exchange pleasantries with an acquaintance. Softly brushing past her, I continue to follow the host with Leo and his team trailing behind me.

The restaurant is situated on the top floor in the middle of downtown. The open windows allow natural light in and the faint smell of steak wafts through the air as we weave through the open floorplan. My back hunches forward feeling slightly out of place in a room full of the fabulously wealthy.

Although I’m not entirely broke, my bakery just got in the black. If it weren’t for the parental death and what they passed on to me, I’d still studying to be a nurse. But after their death, I decided I’d only do things that would make me happy. Now the glaring separation between me and the rich and powerful feels like a slap in the face.

We reach a square table near the corner of the space. We’re still in view of everyone, there’s just room for Leo’s secret service to stand between us and them. Leo pulls a chair out for me closest to the window and I thank him, sliding into my seat.

The host puts the menus down on the table in front of us before letting us know our server will be with us shortly. Leo thanks him before taking his seat next to me, with his back towards the majority of the restaurant.

Leo sighs as Madi joins us again. “What did I miss?” she huffs.

Rolling my eyes, me and Leo open our menus, “Literally nothing. We just sat down,” I tell her, jokingly.

After some time of reading the menu, the tips of Madi’s fingers twinkle on the table out of the corner of my eye. Her sparkly white nail polish immediately catches my attention. “Well, this place is to die for. What is everyone getting?” she beams.

Flipping back and forth between the sides and appetizer pages, I furrow my eyebrows. “Why the fuck would you bring me to a place with no fries on my birthday?” I ask her begrudgingly.

Leo flips back to the appetizer page and slides his menu over. “They have baked potatoes,” he mansplains, pointing at the page.

Pushing the bound leather book back before him, I shake my head. “I hate to break it to you but that’s not french fries, Bookie,” I counter.

Madi puts her hands up in defense. “They’re a potato. I thought you’d be good with any potato,” she explains.

Leaning back into my chair, I rub my eyebrows in frustration. “Yeah, but I don’t even like steak and we’re at a steak restaurant on my birthday. You know what, fuck it. I’m getting Mcdonalds after–” I start before cutting myself off, noticing the server approaching the table. I don’t want to be rude in a nice restaurant, especially one that’s been so accommodating to my friends.

A brunette woman stands near us. “Welcome to The Austin. My name is Lisa and I’ll be your waitress today. Can I get you all started with something to drink?” she asks the table.

Sitting up, my mouth opens to speak, but Madi cuts in. “3 margaritas, and keep them coming,” she instructs Lisa.

Lisa nods, flashing a smile towards us. “I’ll be right back with those for you,” she chirps, shifting on her heels to walk towards the back again.

Leo tilts his head at the blonde after we’re left alone. “I can’t drink on the job, Mads,” he scolds Madeline.

Madi shrugs, giving him her signature smirk. “Good thing no one has to know but the three of us, golden boy,” she says, twirling her finger around the table.

Leo seemingly takes the statement to heart, scoffing and crossing his arms. “Oh fuck off. I’m not golden,” he counters.

Shaking my head, I rub his arm so no one snaps a photo of Senator Torres all pent up. “No, you’re not. You’ve just become Mr. Americana to the rest of the world. But we know who you truly are,” I attempt to comfort him. The holes being stared into the back of my head are proving to be lethal.

Leo’s dark brown eyes involuntarily squint as he smiles. “Thank you, Miggy,” he gushes and his body language softens.

And suddenly, I have the ick from the mention of my nickname. How the fuck did Madi date Leo? It was years ago but still. I would’ve thrown up every time he opened his mouth.

Removing my hand from his arm, I raise my eyebrow. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?” I remind him.

“Might want to ask my assistant about that. I wouldn’t know,” he jokes and I resist the urge to smack him in the chest. 

Not in public and not around bodyguards who could take you down in seconds.

Lisa returns with our drinks and I pick the glass up, taking a sip of the lime-flavored beverage. “What can I get you to eat today?” she asks, glancing back and forth between Madi and me.

Madi chirps her order to Lisa as my eyes scan back and forth over the page. None of the entrees were less than two hundred bucks, and I didn’t have breakfast. 

I can’t drink on an empty stomach. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it,” Leo leans over and murmurs to me.

Shaking my head, I lean towards him to close the gap. “No. Fuck no,” I whisper yell.  He could put it on his card, but I’d still Venmo him for lunch afterward.

He nods with a toothy grin taking over his face. “It’s your birthday and you’re not paying. Get whatever you want,” He objected with finality, turning towards Lisa to order.

Leo’s deep voice drifts to the back of my mind as I scan the menu one last time, finally ready to order. Lisa comes over to me and I decide to try the steak and crab, hoping it’ll change my mind.

Two more rounds of drinks into the lunch, the appetizers arrive at the table. The muscles and oysters taste okay, but the escargot is orgasmic. The buttery breadcrumbs combined with the sourdough has me forgetting I’m eating a snail. Leo and Madi graciously allow me to finish off the plate, offering to order more if I’m interested. Instead of accepting, I fight the urge to lick the plate clean.

When our steaks arrive, Madi claps with excitement. The whole presentation of the meals is rather dramatic. Each dish and its components are read before the plate hits the table. 

My mouth waters as my filet mignon and grilled king crab leg is set in front of me. Madi snaps a photo for her social media while Leo and I dig into our meals. 

My face soon changes from excitement to a grimace as I try the main course. This is fucking disgusting. The grilled crab is burnt and the filet mignon tastes like rubber. My mouth is only able to chew a few bites before scrambling for my drink.

Leo peers up from his plate, tilting his head. “The fuck is your problem?” he questions me.

Shaking my head, I finish off my third margarita. “Nothing,” I murmur. I should be grateful that I’m even here at all. This place is way out of my budget.

Madi seemingly decides to join the conversation and put her two cents in. “It’s not nothing. If you don’t like the food, they’ll remake it. Look, here comes the owner,” She scolds, nodding to the area behind me.

My upper body slowly twists around to see who she’s talking about. The man in question is walking towards us dressed in crisp white chef attire. My eyes drink him in and I notice his curly chocolate hair. I notice a stray curl falling in front of his face and suddenly, I have the overwhelming urge to reach up and fix it. 

I continue my shameless perusal of his body, down to his cuffed shirt hugging him so perfectly and tightly that I can see his muscles. My breathing slightly speeds up. 

That is a beautiful specimen of a man.

I’m jolted out of my stare as Leo stands from the table, nodding to the security. “He’s good. It’s his restaurant, for god's sake,” he barks.

My body becomes stiff as the tall man moves smoothly into our area. “Senator Torres, Sir. Thank y’all for your support,” the stranger smiles slightly, extending his hand for Leo to shake.

Leo’s hand tightens its grip, with his other coming up to smack the man’s elbow. Oh, they know each other well. “No, thank you. The catering you made for my election gala was the reason I won the election,” Leo boasts.

So this is the famous chef they’ve been ranting and raving about. I was out of the country securing the last of my parent's affairs when the gala was thrown; something Leo was gracious enough to let me miss.

The handsome man smiles softly, moving his attention to Madi. “Nice to see you again Ms. Crown. Everythin’ tastin’ great, I see,” he charms her with a smirk on his face. 

My eyebrows furrow trying to pin down his southern accent. Chicago is a metropolitan city, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he were from Louisiana or Florida. Especially with that beautiful tan, he’s adorning.

Madi straightens her back like a cannon ready to fire. “With mine? Yes. But with Ginny’s not so much. Chef Miller, meet the birthday girl, Imogen,” she introduces us and I’m rendered speechless. His deep brown eyes seemingly stare a hole into my soul.

Anxiety creeps up my spine feeling put on the spot and having to give a bad review in person. “Hi,” I wave shyly. 

Chef Miller’s eyes squint in suspicion, focusing down on the food before fixing his gaze back up on me. I silently thank the gods above for a brief break from his intense stare. “You don’t like the steak, darlin’?” he asks, pointedly.

Oh, fuck off. The man is gorgeous, but his food is shit. But, his use of the word darling has me hanging on to every syllable he utters. Shaking my head, I roll my shoulders back a bit. Put the lonely and horny brain away for a second, Ginny. “Or the crab,” I answer.

Chef Miller’s eyebrows raise and I start to etch the details of his face into my brain mentally. He might be early thirties, but the wrinkles on his forehead hint that he’s been through some things. “Nobody has ever complained about my cookin’. What’s wrong with it?” he questions me in his deep husky voice.

Clearing my throat, I bring the plate back in front of me. “It's dry and burnt,” I pause, beckoning Chef Miller over to stand beside me. He walks a bit closer and when he leans over, I can feel his body hovering over mine. When I take a breath, I can smell smoke on him with an undertone of cedar. 

Moving the food around on the plate, I show him his shotty work. “Look,” I point out with my fork.

Chef Miller grunts, reaching forward and effectively caging me in between his body in the table. “I’m sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart. Can I get you somethin’ else?” He apologizes, swiftly removing the plate from my view.

Shaking my head, I replay reading the menu in my mind. “No, it’s fine. I don’t like anything on the menu,” I explain solemnly, turning towards him. I don’t want him to feel responsible for my picky eating habits, either.

Chef Miller frowns, “It’s your birthday, honey. I’m not sendin’ you out hungry and upset,” he counters.

Reaching out, I put my hand on his exposed forearm in an attempt to get him to listen to me. “I’m not upset. I wouldn’t lie to you,” I loosely promise him. His eyes snap down to where my fingers are connected to his skin then back up at me. 

My hand quickly retreats as Lisa comes back around to refill our drinks. Chef Miller turns to hand her the plate and she accepts it before grabbing some glasses from the table. “Why don’t you come back into the kitchen with me and I’ll make somethin’ special for you,” the offer drips from his lips as sweet as whiskey caramel. 

I feel the heat rise in my cheeks when I think about being in a room with him. Alone. “No that’s alright. These two have to go soon anyways,” I use the bullshit excuse, hoping he’ll buy it.

He nods, before putting his hands up and conceding. “Ok. Let Lisa know if you change your mind. She’ll bring you back,” he informs me. 

He turns his attention back to the entire group. “Y’all have a good day. Hope to see you soon,” he smiles, turning to leave the secluded area.

Both Leo and Madi bid him a hushed goodbye before turning their attention toward me. If looks could kill, I’d be dead this second.

Madi squints her eyes at me, before shoving her empty plate out of the way. “I’m going to murder you,” she threatens me. 

My head jerks back in shock. “What? Why?” I ask her.

She sighs, taking a sip of her margarita before slamming it back down on the table. “That was your birthday gift, you dumb cunt. You don’t think we know they don’t have fries. They don’t need fries when they have fine-ass Joel Miller. He was practically fucking drolling on your shoulder and you didn’t even notice,” she fumes.

Joel Miller, the hot single chef, is interested in me. I mean, I’m way out of his league. He’s like the working woman’s Timothée Chalamet. “What?” I ask in disbelief again.

Leo crosses his arms and leans comfortably back in his chair, having finished his meal. “Does she have to repeat herself or are you processing?” Leo picks my brain.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I lean forward a bit. “Processing, give me a moment,” I tell him, closing my eyes.

“You don’t have a moment. We’re ditching you while they turn over for dinner. And you’re going to go back into that kitchen and have a hot chef whip you up a meal, alone. Then you’re gonna have him whip you up, at home,” I hear Madi scheming. 

Suddenly I feel hot, like my whole body just got stuck into an oven. “Madi! I’m not,” I start off shouting a bit at her before realizing we’re in a public space. I’m not even angry at her, I just feel overwhelmed. “I don’t think I’m ready for that,” I bear my soul to her, blinking away tears.

I haven’t had sex since the death of my parents and the cobwebs are tumbling back there. Knowing that my parents would never meet my future partner was a pain that felt soul-crushing. The feeling is just now starting to subside.

Leo reaches up and scratches his curly scalp. “I told you this was a bad idea,” he scolds Madi. 

When I make eye contact with Madi again, her face is soft and warm. “I’m sorry, Ginny. I didn’t mean to push you too hard,” she apologizes profusely.

Tucking a stray curl behind my ear, I shake out the spiral of anxiety in my head. “It’s fine, can we change the subject?” I plead with the table.

Madi claps her hands in excitement. “Yes, okay!” she cheers. “You know what? Redo gift. Let’s go shopping,” she proposes. 

Nodding, a smile starts to creep onto my face. Hours of mindless walking up and down Magnificent Mile is just what I need right now. “Now that, I can get down with,” I point at her with a grin.

Leo chuckles, standing up from the table. “I’ll see you two this weekend, I have some work to do. Happy birthday, Miggy. I’ll give them my card on my way out,” he bids us goodbye.

Madi waves at her ex-lover. “Bye Leo,” she flirts.

Giggling, I shake my head at her antics. Eventually, they’ll end up together. “You’re the best,” I thank him.

Leo turns around, shooting me a wink. “Anytime, darlin’,” he mocks  Joel.

Madi’s hand slaps to her chest and she fakes retching as he walks away. “Something about him. When Joel does it, it makes my pussy quiver. But when he does it, I want to throw up,” she confesses.

Nodding, I finish the last drink before we can say goodbye to this restaurant for the day. “Ditto,” I sigh, grabbing my purse from the back of my chair.

Happy fucking birthday to me.

part 2

[damneddamsy]

falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part i)

summary: Joel Miller never expected much out of Jackson—just a quiet place to live out the days he had left. But when a baby’s cries lead him to a mother unravelling under the pressure of nursing her child she never asked for, he finds himself tangled in something he can’t walk away from—no matter how much he tells himself he should.

a/n: this is soft daddy Joel like you've never seen before. angst, angst, angst. just heart-wrenching, gut-clenching, bucket-full-of-tears kind of flow. but I promise, I swear to you, it's going to get good!

Joel had spent the past week trying to ignore it.

The sound was distant, muffled through the walls, but it was there—constant, sharp infant's cries cutting through the night like something wounded, something helpless. The baby never laughed, cooed, or made small, gurgling noises that kids were supposed to make. Just crying. Night after night, the same pitiful wails, like it was fighting sleep and didn’t know how to be comforted.

And the mother?

Leela. That was her name. Tommy and Maria had told him her family had been here before them, before all of this, that she’d grown up in Jackson, that the big house across from his had always been hers. He instantly believed it—her place didn’t look like the others. It was well-kept in a way that wasn’t just for show. The wood was aged but polished, the porch steps sturdy, and the windows wiped clean even in the dead of winter. A home, not just a shelter.

But it wasn’t warm.

Not with that sound in the night. Not when he never saw anyone else go inside.

No one knew who the kid’s father was, and Leela never said. She wouldn’t even let people help her—not Maria, not the older women in town who had tried, not even the ones who had kids of their own and knew what to do. And now, at the end of another long day, that fucking baby was crying again.

Joel had tried to let it be. Had forced himself to breathe calmly, stay in his house, shut the curtains, turn over in bed and pull the blanket over his head like some stubborn old bastard trying to pretend it wasn’t his problem.

But it was.

Because he could hear it. Because it sounded fucking miserable. Because he’d had enough.

When the cries began to get worse into the night, that was his last straw. With a frustrated sigh, he yanked on his jacket, shoved his arms through the sleeves, and stepped out into the cold, the door crashing shut behind him. The snow crunched beneath his boots as he crossed the road, hands tightening into fists, shoulders squared. The wind was sharp, biting at his skin, and when he reached her porch, he had half a mind to just bang on the damn door until she answered.

But then—he hesitated.

There was still a kid in there. The devilkin, probably. A baby nevertheless. And it's struggling mother.

He exhaled through his nose, loosened his fingers, and reached for the old metal knocker instead. Three firm, steady raps.

A pause. A paddle of footsteps down the staircase inside, light and hesitant. A sniffle. A sigh.

The curtains fluttered from nearby—just a fraction, just enough for him to catch the glint of an eye in the darkness, shedding a blade of light onto the frozen lawn. And then the door creaked open.

The poor mother looked like hell.

Her eyes—pretty, brown, red-rimmed, heavy-lidded—held the kind of exhaustion that settled deep, beyond sleep, beyond fixing. Her cheeks were hollowed, her lips chapped to brown, her hair falling loose from whatever attempt she’d made to pull it back.

And the baby—the cries hadn’t stopped. If anything, they were worse now. Closer. Desperate. The sound reached him in waves, piercing and thin, rattling against the walls of the house and clawing at something deep in his chest. A familiarity.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she murmured. Her voice was raw, barely holding together. “I just…”

She trailed off as if the words had run out, or maybe she didn’t have the strength to find them. Then the baby shrieked, and she flinched. A full-body recoil, like something had struck her. She turned away, pressing her wrist to her nose, shoulders curling inward, folding into herself as though she could disappear into the space she took up.

And Joel—well, he had been ready to lay into her. To tell her to do something, to figure it out, to stop letting that kid cry itself raw night after night. But looking at her now, standing there with her arms wrapped tight around herself, shaking from something that wasn’t just the cold…

He couldn’t do it.

Instead, against every instinct, every frustration, he surprised himself by saying—

“Let me try.”

X

Joel didn’t exactly wait for an answer.

Didn’t stop to think if he had the right. Didn’t question if she would let him in, because the noise was still there, splitting the air, working its way under his skin like a thorn that wouldn’t come out. His jaw tightened, his hands curled into fists, and the next thing he knew, he was pushing past her and her doorstep.

He wasn’t trying to be cruel. Well, he had been, just not anymore.

It was desperation. A need to stop that noise. That noise had been giving him sleepless nights for a week now. And with it, came the memories he’d spent years burying. He couldn't afford to let them resurface by the likes of this strange, terrible mother.

The house smelled faintly of old wood, dust, and something softer underneath—like linen, like the lingering scent of a person who lived there and never left. It was dark, too, save for the single glow spilling from a room upstairs. His boots were heavy against the worn floorboards, his breath tight in his chest as he took the stairs two at a time. Three doors on the second floor, but only one was open.

He stepped inside.

The first thing he saw was the cradle, right in the centre of the empty room, as if placed there on purpose, a little crib mobile fashioned into wooden horses, dangling mid-air.

Old. Hinges barely holding together. The wood had worn smooth from time, its edges dulled, like something that had been used for generations. The mattress inside was thin, its fabric stained with age, but the sheets were neatly tucked. Arranged properly. Everything was in its place.

This wasn’t neglect.

This was someone trying—someone failing.

And then the baby. No older than a month, wriggling in its white nappy, legs kicking in frantic little bursts, tiny fists curled so tight they trembled. Tears slicked its cheeks, its face blotchy and red, its mouth stretched wide in a scream so raw, so piercing, that it stole the breath straight from the lungs. It was exhausted. Starving.

But goddamn, if that wasn't one beautiful fucking baby.

Biggest brown eyes he’d ever seen, glassy with exhaustion, wet and searching. A head full of thick, dark hair, damp and curling at the ends. But it wasn’t chubby the way babies should be. Not soft enough. Too small, skin drawn tight, movements restless but weak. Malnourished.

His jaw clenched. He barely registered the sharp footsteps rushing up behind him until her voice cut through the noise.

“Hey, ‘scuse me, I didn’t let—”

He cut off her protest with an abrupt, “Boy or girl?”

She stopped short. Lips parting. Swallowing down whatever she’d been about to say.

“Girl.”

Joel’s gaze flicked back to the baby. He noticed the slight bloating around her belly, the way she arched and curled, restless, like she couldn’t find a position that didn’t hurt. That explained the shrieking. Colic, for sure.

“You fed her anything?”

There was a thoughtful pause, and then, quietly—

“I—I’ve been having trouble with…” She gestured vaguely to her chest, gaze dropping, almost ashamed. “I tried water... um... I don't know.”

Jesus Christ. Joel dragged a hand down his face, exhaling hard through his nose. Too late at night or too early in the morning—he didn’t know which, and at this point, it didn’t matter. His head ached. His body ached. And this kid—this poor, starving little thing—had been too hapless to be born to this fucking clueless, stubborn mother.

“Need to call Maria,” he said under his breath.

Her eyes went wide. “I don’t need anybody’s help. I'm fine.”

He let out a sharp, humourless laugh, shaking his head. “You don't. Your girl sure does. And try saying that when this crib empties in the next week.”

She flinched, shoulders jerking.

He barely registered it. He was already moving, already slipping into old instinct, the one he thought had died a long time ago.

Stepping closer, Joel reached into the cradle, hands slipping beneath the baby’s small, rigid body. Carefully, he eased her onto her stomach, a shush falling from his lips, settling her against his forearm, palm spanning nearly the length of her body. Christ, she was so fucking small. Too small. Probably premature. A frail little thing, light as air, fists still curled, breath coming out in tiny, shuddering gasps between cries.

Leela stood stiff beside him, her breath uneven, arms wrapped around herself like she wasn’t sure if she should step forward or pull away.

Joel didn’t look at her. His focus stayed on the baby. The way her tiny limbs jerked, how her cries wavered like she couldn’t decide if she had the energy to keep going.

He started rubbing slow, steady circles against her back, the calloused warmth of his palm pressing gently but firmly over her fragile bones. Something old stirred in him—something buried deep, something that twisted like a knife. He didn’t think about it. Didn’t let himself. Just kept rubbing. Kept murmuring something low, quiet, something he wasn’t even aware of.

“Thatta, girl. There you go.”

“'Sokay, ssh. Ssh.”

“I got you.”

The wails started to waver, breaking apart in the middle, turning into stuttering hiccups, then snivels, a laughable baby burp that even had him breaking into a small smile. Then—

Silence. Oh, sweet, splendid silence.

Joel exhaled, keeping his touch steady as she shuddered against him, her tiny fingers twitching against the sleeve of his jacket.

“See?” His voice was rough. “Just needed a little push.”

Leela didn’t respond. She was staring. Not at him, exactly, but at his hands, at the way he held the baby. Like she wasn’t sure what to make of it. Observing him, learning.

When he glanced down, she was blinking up at him, half-lidded, her breath slowing, her little body going limp with exhaustion. She made a wet, little noise, almost a soft coo.

“She got a name?”

When the silence lingered, he lifted his head, caught Leela’s stare, and cocked a brow when she didn’t answer. Then, she silently shook her head.

Joel frowned. “You didn’t name your kid?”

And just like that, something clicked into place. The way she stood there, arms locked tight around herself. The way she hadn’t called the baby anything. The way she hadn't moved a step close to protect her baby from this stranger. The hesitation in her voice, the way she held herself together like she was bracing for something.

“She ain’t yours?”

Her gaze flickered. “She is.”

Soft. Firm. After a beat, she lifted the hem of her shirt, revealing the crisscross of stretch marks across her stomach, just above the line of her pants.

Joel sighed through his nose. His fingers ghosted over the baby’s small back before he finally let go, letting her rest in her mother's arms. It felt wrong—leaving the baby there like that—but he slipped his hand away, albeit unwillingly, and stroked her fine, dark hair once. Twice. Then forced himself to stop.

He exhaled sharply, standing upright, rubbing a hand over his face. His patience was hanging by a thread. His chest ached with something raw, something angry. He had no business being here, no reason to care, but—

"Look," he muttered, voice tight, "you shouldn't have had a kid if you were just gonna sit around and do nothing. Jesus, at least get yourself some help."

Leela cringed. It was barely noticeable, just a flicker of movement, but he caught it. She turned her face away, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear, and bit at what little was left of her nail, worrying it between her teeth.

The sight of it—it wasn’t what he expected. He had been bracing for an argument, for defensiveness, for anger. But there was nothing like that. Just the quiet gnawing of her thumbnail, the restless shifting of her fingers.

Something settled uneasily in his chest.

He exhaled sharply. "Maria’s coming in tomorrow," he said, firm. Like he was setting it in stone. "Whether you like it or not. She'll know what to do."

That made her glance up. And for the first time, he really saw her.

Not just the exhaustion, the red-rimmed eyes, or the way she curled in on herself like she was trying to take up as little space as possible—but the fear. That deep, paralyzing kind of fear that settled into a person’s bones, made a home there.

Then his eyes flicked downward, back to the baby. She had her mother’s eyes. Big, dark, and brimming with something wild, something untamed. Something fragile, caught on the verge of bolting. And in that moment, they both looked the same.

Wet. Trembling. Exhausted. Confused. Helpless.

Leela swallowed thickly, lips parting like she wanted to speak. But when she did, her voice barely made it past her throat. “Take her.”

Joel blinked. For a second, he thought he must’ve misheard.

But she was looking at him—really looking at him now, eyes wide and wet, breath uneven like she’d just sprinted a mile. And the way she was standing, trembling, fists curled into the fabric of her sleeves—She meant it. She was serious.

"You're right," she whispered, voice barely there. "I might kill her. Just take her away, please."

A slow, sinking dread pooled in his stomach. His fingers curled at his sides, restless, itching for something to hold onto.

The baby stirred weakly against Leela’s chest, small fingers twitching up to her mother's neck, dark lashes fluttering against flushed skin. She had gone quiet, her body still in that way newborns only got when they were too damn exhausted to keep crying.

His hands twitched at his sides. He knew what he should do. He should take the kid. That was the right thing, wasn’t it? He should lift her into his arms, swaddle her in a blanket, turn on his heel, and walk out the door. Hand her off to Maria, and let someone who actually knew what they were doing step in. Hell, she’d been talking about trying to set up a proper nursery in town, get the kids what they needed—she’d figure it out.

But Joel didn't move; couldn't move.

Because now that he was looking at her, really looking, he saw it—saw the fear clinging to her like a second skin. Not fear of him. Not fear of what people might say. Fear of herself. Conviction was a luxury.

She stood there, arms wrapped tight around herself, her body drawn inward like she was trying to make herself small as if shrinking could somehow erase the truth. The baby rested against her chest, quiet now, as if sensing the shift in the air. Her fingers barely touched her child, hesitant, light, the way someone might hold a delicate piece of glass they weren’t sure they could be trusted with.

Joel’s stomach turned.

“I—I'm not—I can’t do this.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, frayed at the edges, raw like an old wound that had never properly healed.

He felt something sharp and hot twist inside him, something he didn’t want to name.

“You ain’t givin’ her up.” His voice came out rough, low, unwavering.

Leela let out a breathy, broken laugh, shaking her head. “Do you think I have a choice here?”

“Yeah.” His eyes stayed on hers, unrelenting. “I do.”

She sniffled, shaking her head again, but her fingers twitched against her sleeve, gripping the fabric like she needed something to hold onto.

And Joel—Joel had seen this before. Had known people like this. People who stood at the edge of something dark, looking down, unable to turn back. He’d been one of them once. It made something ugly rise in his chest. Made him angry in a way that didn’t make sense, and didn’t sit right.

Because this mother—this stupid, foolish, ignorant girl—had no business being like that. She didn't even know what kind of luck she'd struck with that baby girl. He would've killed to be where she was, even if it was for a moment.

"You're a fucking coward if you're thinking about giving your daughter up.” The words left him, sharp as a blade, before he could stop them. “You got plenty of choices, but you're too goddamn pigheaded to make the right one."

She flinched. Not just in surprise, but something deeper—like he’d struck her with all his might, like he’d confirmed every awful thing she’d ever thought about herself.

Joel’s jaw locked. It was too late to take it back.

He should’ve stopped. He should’ve taken a breath, let the words settle and left it at that. But something about her, the way she stood there like she was waiting to be knocked down, made his patience snap clean in half.

“Pull yourself together,” he bit out.

Then he turned and walked out the door.

The air outside was colder than before, or maybe it felt that way. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he stepped onto the road, his breath coming sharp, ragged in the quiet of the night. His fingers ached, curled into tight fists, his pulse still hammering.

He was halfway across the street when something in him shifted.

His anger thinned, the heat of it fading just enough for everything else to creep in—her voice, her hands trembling, the way her arms had tightened around that kid like she was afraid of herself more than anything else.

He slowed, stopping in his tracks. The house loomed behind him, dark except for that single upstairs window.

Joel looked up at the home.

The cries had started again. Thin, reedy wails carried through the cold, through the walls.

He stood there, staring at the lights flickering against the frost-covered glass.

This time, jaw tight, he turned away.

X

That being said, Joel hadn’t slept well.

Not that he ever did, but last night was worse than usual.

Every time he closed his eyes, it was the baby’s cries again. He saw Leela’s face, dark and hollow, eyes too big for her sunken frame. He heard her voice, raw and trembling, telling him to take the kid—like it was the only way. Like she didn’t trust herself to keep her alive, already grieving her.

Even now, as he tugged on his gloves and prepared for patrol, he kept seeing the way she had watched him with her baby. He remembered the way she desperately looked at him, waiting for him to take the baby from her, as if letting go was the only mercy she had left to offer.

Maria was there now. She had let herself in, just like that. Hadn’t knocked, hadn’t hesitated. And Leela had not met her at the door, hadn’t locked it after Joel had walked out last night.

He adjusted the rifle on his back and exhaled sharply.

Not his problem. He shouldn't be bothered with it. He’d done his part. More than his part. He had brought help in, and gotten someone else to deal with it—someone better suited for this kind of thing. Maria would figure it out. She always did.

Still, as he swung himself onto his horse and rode out for patrol, that damn house stayed in the back of his mind. The way it stood there, quiet and still, while something inside was coming apart at the seams. The way Leela had stood in that dim room, shoulders curled inward, looking more like a ghost than a person.

He shook it off and went through the motions. Focus on the day ahead.

Patrol was long, tedious, and more of the same—checking the perimeter, clearing out old trouble spots down his trail, making sure everything was as it should be, and scouring supplies. A welcome distraction. When he stopped by Ellie’s as usual, she narrowed her eyes at him from behind her sketchbook, muttering something about how he looked like shit.

“Didn’t sleep,” was all he said. And she didn’t bother to press. Ellie was another long, welcome, more pesky distraction.

By the time evening rolled around, he’d fallen back into his routine. Routine. That was what mattered. He groomed his horse, rubbing his hands along its mane just to keep them busy. He cleaned his rifle, making sure the gears weren't easy to jam and stopped to pick up some new gear at the store. He grabbed a whiskey—alone—just to take the edge off, slowing down for a bit.

He finished the evening like always, grabbing a boxed dinner from the mess hall, not bothering to make small talk. No one asked anything of him, and he didn’t offer anything in return. A night like any other. Something he repeated to himself, just to ground himself to reality besides the weight of his breaking boots.

Then he saw her. Maria was still at that house, waiting by the porch swing, face tense. She spotted him almost instantly and strode straight toward him.

Joel nodded at her in greeting, shifting the box under his arm. "You good?"

Maria didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Sure. Got a second?”

He tipped his chin toward Leela’s door. "All set over there?"

“Far from it.” Her voice was tight, laced with something he didn’t like. “I need your help.”

Joel scoffed. “What’s the punchline?”

But Maria didn’t laugh. Didn’t even crack a smirk. Instead, she followed him inside his house.

Joel's 'home' was nothing special—functional, practical. Just a space to exist in. A couch pushed against one wall which he used more than the bed upstairs, a table he used out of necessity, a kitchen stocked with the bare minimum. Not much to look at, or even stay for long. It wasn't home, but it was enough. Certainly nothing like Leela’s home, where history bled through the worn floorboards, through the walls, a place that had been lived in.

Joel didn’t let himself think about it too much. He dropped the box of food onto the table, turning to Maria with his arms crossed.

“Well?”

Maria sighed, staring out the window toward Leela’s house. The porch light flickered weakly, and the house itself looked darker than it had last night. Like it had collapsed in on itself a little more.

“She’s not okay, Joel.”

Joel huffed, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve, pretending not to hear the implication behind those words. “Figured.”

“No,” Maria said, sharper this time. “I mean it.”

She turned back to him, her eyes shadowed with something heavier than just concern. She looked tired—worn—in a way that wasn’t just about the town or the thousand responsibilities on her shoulders. It was personal.

Joel exhaled through his nose, already feeling the walls closing in on this conversation.

Maria rubbed a hand over her face. “She’s disturbed. I don’t think she’s had a proper meal in days. She’s having trouble breastfeeding, let alone keeping herself together enough to care for that baby.” She shook her head. “I can’t be there all the time. I’ve got the whole town to run, a hundred things to look after. Tommy’s drowning in work. We're stretched thin as it is.” Her eyes met his, steady and pointed. “You’re my last resort.”

Joel frowned, jaw ticking. “And do what, exactly? Pretend like I've done this dance before?”

“Just be there,” Maria said so positively, like it wasn’t the worst fucking idea in the world. “Make sure she doesn’t slip up with the baby. Help where you can. Just a few days—until Tommy and I can step in.”

Joel dragged a hand down his beard, exhaling slowly. “You have got to be shitting me. You want me to play babysitter.”

Everything in him wanted to refuse. He’d done his part here. Hell, more than his part. He didn’t owe that woman anything. She had a nice home. Pretty face. She had her newborn. And if she didn’t know how to handle it, that was on her. He wasn’t looking to take on another burden. Christ, wasn’t he supposed to be done with this kind of thing? Wasn’t he past the point of taking in lost causes?

But Maria didn’t look like she was giving him a choice. Her voice softened, dropping to something quieter, edged with meaning. “I don’t think she had this baby with someone she knew, Joel.”

Joel stiffened. Maria’s expression didn’t change, but there was something unspoken there, something heavy, something that didn’t need to be stated outright. Still, it landed in his gut like a stone.

She let the silence stretch, let him fill in the gaps. And he did.

“I hope you understand what I'm getting at,” she continued. “I don’t think she wanted this at all.”

Joel clenched his jaw, staring at the floor, pretending like he didn’t hear them. He didn't ask how she knew, didn’t even ask what she’d seen in that house today that had led her to that conclusion.

Because he already knew. He’d seen it, too.

The way Leela couldn’t bring herself to name the baby. The way she looked at the child was like she was something fragile, something unfamiliar, something that didn’t belong to her. The way she had looked at him—not with resentment, not with anger, but with resignation.

Like she was handing over the baby because she genuinely believed it was the only way to save her. A fist of darkness curled in his stomach.

He knew what it was like to lose a child. He knew what it did to a person, how it tore through you, how it hollowed them out from the inside. But whatever this was, it wasn’t grief. This was something worse. He prayed he would never have to deal with this.

This was a woman standing on the edge of the deep and the dark, staring down into it, wondering how much further she could fall before there was no coming back. And there was a baby—a fucking baby—at her feet. Yet, she was ready to take that fall.

Joel exhaled, slow and heavy, rubbing the back of his neck.

But the truth was, he’d already stepped in. Already gotten himself involved. Whether out of desperation or some obstinate, buried need to fix things that were beyond saving, he wasn’t sure. And now, if he walked away, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to live with the consequences.

Suddenly, the room felt smaller, the walls a little tighter. A long silence stretched between them.

Finally, reluctantly, he sighed. “This is a big fucking mistake, Maria. I'm the last person who should be over there with her.”

Maria nodded, hearing what she needed to hear, relief flickering across her face. “You'll figure it out. I'll be around if you need anything. Thank you.”

Joel didn’t answer. He didn't know what the hell he’d just agreed to, but something in his gut told him it was going to end real bad.

X

Morning light washed over his neighbour's house, soft and cold, as Joel made his way up the steps. It must’ve been the perfect little home once, back when the world was still whole—white clapboard, modest porch with a swingset, somewhere that had been waiting too long for someone to come back home. A place built to last. And maybe, before seasons and silence collapsed, it had.

But time had sunk its teeth in. The paint had started peeling in the corners, the wood of the steps groaned under his boots, and though the windows were clean, there was something hollow about the way they sat in their frames as if no one had looked out of them in a long time. It didn’t have the neglect of a broken-down house, but rather the hush of a place that had lost something vital.

And the front door was open again.

Joel clenched his jaw.

Maria had been right—that girl really didn’t have a single clue.

He pushed the door wider and stepped inside, careful, slow, not wanting to seem intrusive but unable to stop himself from taking in the room. It wasn’t what he expected.

Her home wasn’t cluttered, wasn’t in disarray, but there was something about it that felt… off. A mind too busy to bother with the details of living. Against one wall stood two large blackboards hung haphazardly over shelves, filled with complex math equations, numbers and symbols scrawled out in clean, sharp lines. A few pieces of chalk lay scattered at the base, alongside crumpled papers and a wastebasket that never quite caught them. Shelves held solved Rubik’s cubes, closed notebooks, and empty pens stuck upright in a pen stand. On the table, a coffee mug sat with dried stains at the bottom, an imprint of hands that had used it over and over, mindlessly, then set it aside without a thought.

Joel frowned, taking it all in.

A fucking scientist. That was the last thing he’d ever have guessed about her. Dr Leela last-name-something, the resident nerd mom.

He didn’t know what he expected when he climbed the stairs, only that something about the house still put him on edge. It wasn’t just the oddity of it—the blackboards filled with numbers, the pages of equations scattered like fallen leaves—it was the fact that none of it felt lived in. Clinical. Like the house had been built to serve a purpose, but never for a person.

He reached the top step just as he heard the baby girl’s soft fussing from down the hall. The sound made him hesitate. It wasn’t the sharp, desperate cries from the night before. This was softer, almost a coo, the kind of sound that made something in his chest tighten before he could push it down.

Carefully, he stepped forward, peering into the nursery.

Leela stood by the cradle, one hand rubbing slow, absentminded circles over the baby’s tiny stomach. It was almost an imitation of what he’d done the night before, but the difference was clear—where his movements had been firm, knowing, hers were unsure, like she was following a set of instructions she didn’t quite understand.

She looked different in the daylight. Dressed neatly in a long, thin nightgown that fell to her ankles, her black hair was left loose, unbrushed, hanging past her hips in uneven waves, obviously never seen the business end of a scissor. The exhaustion was still there—was part of her, woven into how she held herself—but her face was smoother, her shoulders less rigid, like she had settled into something.

The floorboard groaned beneath his boot. Leela looked up. She even tried for a small smile. A little, ghostly quirk of her lips.

“Hello, Joel.”

He didn’t respond. Something about how she looked at him, or maybe how she looked past him, unsettled him. He didn’t like feeling that way—not in someone else’s home, not when he was meant to be in control of the situation. Instead of answering, he stepped toward the cradle, glancing down at the baby.

The baby girl let out a high-pitched whine, stretching, her fingers curling and uncurling before she kicked her little legs. Then, as if noticing him, her mouth widened into a gummy, toothless grin, her round face alight, untouched by the world’s cruelty.

Joel couldn’t help himself. His lips twitched, just slightly, before he shook his head.

“Managed to—?” He gestured vaguely toward her chest before pulling his hand back, curling it into an embarrassed fist against the cradle.

Leela caught on. Her fingers twitched at the pearly buttons of her nightgown. Just a small, involuntary movement.

“Oh… Maria told me to hold her close to stimulate… you know.” She hesitated, shifting her weight. “I fed her one of the bottles she gave me, too.”

Joel nodded. “And?”

Leela looked down at the baby. “She stopped crying.”

He frowned. “That’s it?”

Leela’s fingers tightened against her arms. “I… don’t know how to hold her without making her cry.”

The words made something dark flicker through him, he didn’t have the energy to name it. It wasn’t quite anger, but it was close. Frustration. Exasperation. A sharp-edged bitterness he couldn’t swallow down fast enough.

Joel scoffed. “You can’t hold your own baby?”

Leela looked away, her heart breaking in her eyes before she managed to mask it.

Joel exhaled, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “It’s not all math,” he muttered.

He didn’t wait for her to answer. Instead, he reached into the cradle, slipping a hand beneath the baby’s head, cradling her against his arm, careful, practised. He eased her up, letting her body settle against his forearm, her head resting in the crook of his elbow.

The second she was in his arms, something inside him cracked.

She was tiny. So fucking tiny. Tinier than Sarah had been.

Joel swallowed thickly, feeling the light weight of her against his chest. He hadn’t held something this fragile in years—hadn’t let himself. But muscle memory took over before he could stop it before he could remind himself that this wasn’t the same. It was already clawing its way back to him. He rubbed a slow, steady hand over her back, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. She was warm and soft, her tiny fingers twitching against his shirt.

For a second—a half a second—he let himself sink into it.

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispered.

The scent of her, like the faded remnants of old cotton, the delicate press of her body against his. A ghost of something long lost. A time when his arms had been full like this when his days had been nothing but cradling Sarah against him, balancing a baby bag on his shoulder, and pushing a stroller down the sidewalk, filled with groceries, with the Texas sun overhead.

A different life. A different world. One he had no business remembering.

Joel forced himself to blink out of it. He cleared his throat, shifting, pressing the feeling down before it could take hold.

“And that’s it,” he said gruffly. “Ain’t that hard.”

Leela was watching him. Not like she was waiting for him to say something—not like she even expected him to. She was watching the way he held the baby, the way she settled so easily against him. Studying him, the way she studied numbers and equations, looking for a formula, an answer.

He breathed out. “Here,” he muttered, shifting the baby carefully toward her. “You try.”

Leela didn’t reach for her baby immediately.

Her hands hovered, hesitant, fingers twitching like she wasn’t sure how to move them. Joel could see it—the tension coiling in her shoulders, the stiffness in her posture. Her breathing shallowed, her chest barely rising, as if even that movement might disturb the delicate balance between her and the tiny life in front of her.

But finally, she forced herself to move.

Her hands, unsteady, cupped beneath the baby’s body as if she were handling something breakable, something foreign. It was careful, but too careful—unnatural in a way that the baby could sense. And sure enough, the second Leela pulled her in, her arms locked tight, too rigid, too unsure, and the child stirred. A tiny whimper. Then a sharp, warning cry.

Leela stiffened, her grip faltering. The sound made her flinch, her breath catching, as though she’d been struck.

She barely lasted five seconds before her resolve cracked. She was already shifting forward, already pushing the baby back toward Joel, who took her without hesitation.

The crying stopped almost instantly.

Joel settled the baby against his chest, bouncing her gently, a practised movement. He didn’t have to think about it—his body just did what it knew, routine kicking in where hers faltered. The baby let out a soft, sighing coo, her tiny body relaxing, as if she knew she was back in capable hands.

Leela, however, looked shaken. Not in a dramatic way—she wasn’t crying, wasn’t breaking down—but her hands curled into fists, pressing against her stomach like she needed to hold herself together.

Then, she winced.

Joel’s attention snapped back to her, his gaze dropping to the way she clutched at her lower back, her body tilting forward ever so slightly like the pain had taken her by surprise.

“Hey.” His voice softened. “You wanna sit down?”

She nodded, barely. A tiny dip of her chin.

Joel glanced around. There wasn’t much in the nursery. Just the crib, a long wooden bureau, and a mattress on the floor pushed against the far wall. No chair, nothing to lower herself onto easily.

With a quiet sigh, he adjusted his hold on the baby and stepped closer, offering an arm. “C’mon.”

Leela hesitated. Not out of pride—he could tell—but maybe out of uncertainty like she wasn’t used to being helped. But when she tried to move on her own, another sharp grimace crossed her face, and that was enough.

She let him guide her.

Joel was careful, supporting her weight without making a big deal of it. The baby stayed nestled in the crook of his other arm, still resting peacefully, unaffected by the movement. It wasn’t easy—manoeuvring both of them at once—but it was instinctual.

He helped her lower onto the mattress, feeling the way her muscles tensed beneath his touch before finally giving in to the pull of exhaustion. Leela eased back against the wall and settled into the thin cushion. A long, quiet sigh left her lips, her posture unwinding slightly like she’d been holding herself taut for hours—maybe longer. But even then, she still didn’t entirely relax.

Joel watched as she lifted a hand to her face, brushing back loose strands of hair, her fingers pressing briefly into her temples.

"I'm sorry, Joel."

He frowned. “For what?”

She inhaled deeply. “It’s only been three... four weeks since I delivered. I’ve just been feeling out of it ever since.”

There was no shame in her tone, no self-pity. Just a quiet fatigue. A statement of fact.

Joel pressed his lips together.

Four weeks. Jesus. That explained a lot. The exhaustion, the stiffness in her movements, the way her body still seemed like it hadn’t recovered from what it had been through. Hell, no wonder she looked like a ghost of herself. The human body wasn’t meant to bounce back that fast—not without help. And from what he’d seen so far, she wasn’t the type to ask for it.

“She came too soon,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Leela shifted, tilting her head slightly toward him. "Eight months," she said, voice softer now. "That’s not normal, is it? It’s why she’s so tiny."

Joel didn’t answer immediately. Leela waited, like she wanted him to say more. When he didn’t, she tucked her knees up onto the couch, resting her chin against them.

She rubbed a tired hand into her eyes. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

There it was. Not frustration. Not helplessness. Just quiet, resigned truth.

Joel glanced down at the sleeping baby, still curled against his chest, her breathing soft and even. One tiny hand had fisted itself into his shirt, gripping instinctively—like she knew, on some level, that she had to hold on to something, someone, to stay safe. His grip on her tightened slightly.

Leela’s words sat heavy in his chest. I don’t know how to hold her without making her cry. And now this—I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. He’d heard new parents say those words before. Hell, he’d felt it himself, back then. But something about the way she said it—flat, detached, like she wasn’t even fighting it anymore—made something inside him go stiff.

Joel breathed out, shifting his arms so the baby settled more comfortably against him, and she felt so heavy all of a sudden.

Too much quiet, too many things unsaid pressing at the edges of his mind. He didn’t want to sit in it—didn’t want to acknowledge what it stirred in him. So, he broke the silence the only way he knew how.

"You could start by giving her a name," he said, glancing at Leela. "Not that 'baby girl' is a terrible name."

Leela blinked, then looked down at her daughter, studying her as if she were just now realizing that, yes, she still had to name the kid.

After a thoughtful moment, she lifted her gaze back to him. "Do you want to pick one for her?"

Joel snorted. "Me?"

She nodded, entirely serious.

He shook his head. "I think I'm gonna stick with 'baby girl.'"

Leela let out a small breath of laughter, barely there, but it softened something in her face. She bit her lip, thinking of a name, then murmured, "I always liked the name Maya."

"Maya?" He tested the name on his lips. "I like that. Maya. It’s pretty. Rhymes, too. Leela, Maya."

Leela’s lips twitched at that, and she shifted forward, moving closer without thinking, drawn in by something unspoken. She leaned down, head dipping toward the baby still curled up against Joel’s chest.

And for the first time since he stepped into this house, Joel saw it.

That fondness. It was small, but it was there—the quiet, aching kind of love that didn’t need words. The kind that made itself known in the way her fingers smoothed over the baby’s forehead, tracing delicate lines across her tiny features. In the way her body curled just slightly, instinctively, around her daughter, like even in her exhaustion, she was drawn to protect.

"Maya, Maya, Maya," she whispered, barely a sound, breathing the name into her daughter's ear as if speaking it into existence.

Joel watched her for a long moment, an unfamiliar phantom kick in his ribs. It was too much. Too close to something he didn’t want to touch, something that felt like the past reaching for him with cold fingers.

He should leave. He knew he should. Should’ve gotten up, handed the baby back, given some half-hearted promise to Maria that he’d check in, and then walked out that door.

But he didn’t. Instead, he settled in a little more, stretching his legs out, arms still loosely cradling the child.

He finally broke the silence with, “So, you’re some kind of scientist?”

Leela glanced up at him, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I’m more towards math.”

Joel frowned. Math. In a world like this?

People didn’t survive with numbers. They survived with bullets and knives, knowing when to run and when to pull the trigger. You either killed or died. You either protected or raided. You didn’t see too many folks walking around trying to save themselves with goddamned math equations—unless they were Fireflies with delusions of rebuilding the world. That was the kind of thinking that got you shot.

His gaze flickered back to the crib. What the hell kind of life was she leading before all this?

He leaned back against the wall. “And just how long have you been here alone?”

“A long time.” She didn’t elaborate. Just glanced down at the baby, adjusting the folds of the swaddle with careful fingers. Then, softer, almost like an afterthought—“Not anymore.”

Joel didn’t know what to make of that.

His gaze flicked toward the stacks of books on the baby’s bureau, thick with dust on the edges but well-thumbed through. He hummed. “And you do… math?” He made it sound ridiculous because it was.

She only nodded, unbothered. “Analytic geometry and a bit of mechanics. My parents used to work at NASA. I took up their research once I was old enough to understand. They loved to teach me all about it.”

Joel blinked. NASA? Ellie would lose her little mind if she were here.

He studied her again, reassessing. She didn’t look like someone who used to be involved in something that big. Not now, anyway. Dressed in an old nightgown, her hair hanging in dark, tangled waves, bruised-looking eyes that made her seem older than she was.

He hesitated before asking, “And just how old are you?”

“I’m turning thirty soon.” She didn’t sound glad about it. Then again, no one ever did.

But there was something about that number that made his stomach turn. Maybe because of all her intelligence, all her sharp, clinical detachment, she looked young under the weight of everything she was carrying. Or maybe because twenty-nine didn’t seem old enough to have gone through the kind of hell that made a mother flinch at her own baby.

Joel wanted to press further. Wanted to ask why she was alone, how the hell she had made it this long without the baby’s father, how a girl who could do math for NASA ended up here—malnourished, exhausted, hunched over on a mattress like she was carrying the whole world on her back.

But before he could, Maya stirred.

A small, sleepy movement. Tiny fingers wriggled their way free from the swaddle, barely curled, stretching toward the air. The whimpering started softly, then built, that newborn cry that was both fragile and urgent all at once.

Leela straightened instinctively, her hands twitching toward her daughter. But this time, when she lifted Maya from Joel’s arms, she didn’t hesitate. She held her with a little more certainty, a little more care, cradling her close to her chest as if she were nestling something precious rather than foreign.

Joel let out a slow breath. Good. Progress.

Then, before he could so much as glance back up, Leela started unbuttoning her nightgown, the lapel falling open.

His eyes snapped away so fast it nearly gave him whiplash. “Christ.”

“Oh, god—! I’m so sorry, Maria said to try—”

“’Sall good,” he muttered, fixing his gaze firmly on the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but at her. “Just, uh—go for it.”

“I’ll cover up. Sorry.”

Joel nodded stiffly, still keeping his head turned. But in the silence that followed, his body didn’t quite relax.

He listened. Not just to her, but to everything. The rustle of fabric, the faint, uncertain exhale as she adjusted her hold, the wet, rhythmic sound of the baby nursing, the occasional tiny sigh. A noise so small it barely existed, but it filled the quiet all the same.

Joel let out a breath through his nose, sinking into himself, gaze flickering absently around the room. He took in the details he hadn’t paid much attention to before.

The crib—old, but sturdy. The mess of books stacked against the walls, as if she had been trying to build some kind of fortress out of paper and ink. The curtains were drawn too tight, like she didn’t want the outside world bleeding in. And the emptiness—the distinct lack of anything that made this place a nursery. No toys. No clutter. No warmth.

He knew that kind of space. Knew what it meant when a room felt temporary, even when someone had been in it for years.

“I’m decent now.” Her voice was quiet but certain.

Joel glanced over his shoulder. A blanket was draped over one of Leela’s shoulders, concealing both her and the baby beneath it. His eyes traced over her face, the way she was staring down at Maya—not with the ease of a mother who had done this a hundred times, but with the focus of someone trying to get it right. Like she was handling some delicate equation she couldn’t afford to miscalculate.

The baby suckled noisily, and Joel saw the way Leela’s fingers curled against the fabric, white-knuckled.

"Do you have many children, Joel?" she asked suddenly.

He stilled. The question—simple, almost offhanded—landed like a hammer.

His fingers curled against his knee, tightening. It wasn’t the first time someone had asked. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time he’d asked himself that. But coming from her—a woman he barely knew, holding a baby that wasn’t much more than a handful of weeks old—it hit differently.

Did he have many children? No.

But he had one. Had. That word sat on his tongue, sour and heavy, pressing against the backs of his teeth. He could say it. Could let it out, let it breathe. But if he did, it would only linger, thick and unwelcome, in the air between them.

He grunted out, “Not your concern.”

Leela nodded once, quiet and accepting. She didn’t pry, didn’t press—just dropped her gaze back to Maya, adjusting the blanket with slow, careful fingers.

“I understand,” she murmured.

Joel wasn’t sure why, but he believed her. Maybe it was the way she said it—flat, unbothered. Not some empty reassurance, not some half-hearted attempt at sympathy. Just a statement. Honest. And somehow, that made it worse.

Silence settled between them, thick but not uncomfortable.

Joel let out a slow breath and glanced toward the window, toward the faint light filtering through the edges of the curtain. The town was waking up. People were starting their day, going about their lives. Normal. Simple. This? Sitting here in this too-empty house with a woman he didn’t know and a baby who had seen too much of the world already? This wasn’t simple.

Then, her voice—quiet, hesitant.

"Did your baby ever feel like a stranger?"

He turned to look at her, watching as she nursed the baby beneath the blanket. Her head was slightly bowed, her fingers absentmindedly rubbing slow, rhythmic circles against the tiny foot poking free. It was such a small, natural gesture—one he’d seen a thousand times from mothers who loved their children without thought, without hesitation. And yet, coming from her, it felt… disconnected. As if she was mimicking something she wasn’t sure she believed in.

The question settled deep in his chest, pressing against something sore.

"Never." The answer came without thinking. Without doubt.

Sarah had never been a stranger. From the second she was in his arms, slick and tiny and furious at the world, she was his. He hadn’t known what the hell he was doing, but love—love had been instant, bone-deep. A gut punch. A freefall. A terrifying, irreversible thing. It had been impossible not to love his daughter.

That’s how it should feel. But Leela—she looked like she was still waiting to wake up from a dream. Or maybe a nightmare.

Leela exhaled softly, barely a sound, but Joel caught it. It hit him harder than it should have.

"I wish I felt that way," she muttered.

That did something to him.

It wasn’t pity, exactly—Leela didn’t seem like the kind of woman who wanted pity. No, it was a knowing. A recognition of something lost, something stolen before it ever had a chance to be hers. Joel had lost things, too. He understood that kind of grief, even if this one wasn’t his to carry.

Leela had slipped back into that blank, distant sadness, like she was stuck in it, unable to claw her way out. And Joel wasn’t the kind of man who offered words where they wouldn’t make a difference, but Maria had asked him to help, and he’d told her he would. He wasn’t good at this kind of thing. He never had been. Words were never easy for him. Feelings even less so. But he knew how to read people, how to see what they couldn’t bring themselves to say.

So, he did what he could.

"She looks like you," Joel mused, almost without thinking.

Leela hesitated, blinking at him like she wasn’t sure she’d heard right. "You really think so?"

He smirked, nodding toward Maya. "Look at that. The eyes, the nose, the hair. That’s all a mama’s girl."

She glanced down at the baby in her arms, her fingers stilling against Maya’s tiny foot. For a second, something in her expression wavered—like she was trying to see what he saw, trying to find herself in this child. "Mama’s girl," she murmured, testing the words on her tongue as if they didn’t quite belong to her yet.

Joel felt something shift in his chest, just a little.

It was something.

Still, his eyes drifted over the room, taking in the stark walls, the empty corners. The air in here was cold—not from the weather, but from the lack of anything. There was no sign of her in this space. No warmth, no comfort, no life. It felt temporary, like she hadn’t put down roots. Like she was waiting for something.

Or maybe like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to stay.

He exhaled, tipping his chin toward the crib. "Though, she’s gonna be real disappointed when she sees the state her mama’s kept her room in."

Leela’s brows knit together as she looked around as if really seeing it for the first time. "I tried my best. Is it that bad?"

Joel huffed, shaking his head. "It could use a little more work." He gestured toward the crib. "Fix another one of those." Then to the bare space near the window. "Somewhere to sit. Some shelves there." His gaze travelled to the walls. "Fresh coat of paint. Some new lights."

Leela studied him carefully, her lips pressing together. "I don’t want to impose."

He shrugged, leaning back on his palms. "You won't. I like to keep busy."

Leela gave him a look—one of those assessing, sceptical looks he was starting to recognize from her. The one that suggested she wasn’t sure if she could trust him yet. "Are you sure?"

Joel let out a short, dry chuckle. "I was a contractor before the world went to shit, sweetheart. This is a cushy job." Then he cocked a brow. "And I’m fifty-six, not dead."

Leela bit her lip to hide a teasing smile. "Could’ve fooled me."

Joel levelled her with a look, but there was no real heat behind it. "You want me to take that crib back down?"

That did it. She laughed—an actual laugh. Not the polite kind. Not the uncertain kind. A real, full sound, one that cracked through the quietness of the room like sunlight breaking through clouds.

The motion jostled Maya, making her let out a startled cry of protest.

Leela immediately sobered, her expression softening as she adjusted the nursing baby under her blanket, tucking her closer. She began to coo under her breath, "Oh, I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. Mama’s here."

Joel caught it. That shift again. That slight change in her voice when she said Mama. Like she wasn’t quite sure of it yet. But it wasn’t just an obligation or just guilt, or uncertainty.

This time, it sounded like she meant it.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t push. Just sat back and watched, letting her find her way.

X

Fifteen days.

That was how long he’d been here. How long he'd been wedging himself into a life that wasn’t his, in a house that wasn’t his, with a mother and child that weren’t his to take care of.

And yet, every night, when the baby cried, he found himself plodding up the stairs like it was instinct. He’d lean in the doorway, watching as Leela sleepily nursed Maya, her heavy arms curled around the tiny, wriggling body. Some nights, she fed her from the bottle, but as the days passed, that sipper gathered dust.

It was slow. Subtle. She was feeding her baby more.

And Joel—he was still fucking here. He didn’t think much about the why of it because he figured if he did, it would only lead to questions he wasn’t ready to answer. All he knew was that it felt natural, falling into this quiet rhythm with them. Like it had always been this way.

The couch downstairs became his bed. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but it didn’t matter much. As long as he didn't throw his back out. It was easier than going back to an empty house. Leela, for her part, never asked him to stay, but she never told him to leave, either. Maybe that was her way of saying she wanted him around. Or maybe she just needed him to be.

"You don’t have to—" she had started one night, catching him setting up his makeshift bed.

"I know," he cut off before she could finish.

He kept his hands busy, too. That helped a lot.

The crib came first. A slow project, one he didn’t rush, because what else did he have to do? He sanded the edges and smoothed them down so there’d be no risk of splinters. He reinforced the frame, extended the width, and even managed to track down some pink paint to liven it up.

It was a stupid thing, but it made him feel like he was doing something. Like he was helping in a way that made sense.

Leela had caught him painting one afternoon, crouched over the crib with careful, measured strokes.

"Pink?" she’d said, standing in the doorway, one brow raised.

Joel had glanced up, brush still in hand. "What? You don’t like it?"

Leela had hummed, considering. Then, softer, "I think Maya will like it."

Something about the way she said it—like she was finally thinking about that, about what her daughter would like—made him grin to himself. He continued the long stroke of paint down the crib.

Then there was Leela. It had been easier, at first, to pretend he was only here for the kid. That his concern for her was secondary. But after the first week, it became clear—that wasn’t true.

She was unraveling.

Joel noticed it even when she thought he hadn’t. The unbearable insomnia. The way she startled awake like she was being wrenched from nightmares. The way her eyes stayed shadowed, dark-rimmed and tired, and how she never seemed to eat a full meal.

Just because he tried not to bother, didn’t mean he didn’t notice. She had once fallen asleep at the kitchen table, arms folded beneath her head. Joel had set a bowl of soup down in front of her, the sound making her jolt awake, eyes wide, gasping and panicked.

She blinked at him, disoriented, pushing her unruly hair out of her face. "I—I wasn’t sleeping."

"Alright," he said, pushing the plate closer. "Eat."

Leela wavered, nose scrunching. "I’m not—"

Joel shot her a look. "Eat."

She sighed. But she picked up the spoon.

He didn’t bother to push or pry any further. He stopped himself there. Because what the hell was he supposed to say? He wasn’t Tommy or Maria. He wasn’t the kind of person people confided in. It was better off this way.

So he willfully ignored it. Turned the other way when she wiped her eyes too hard when her shoulders shook just a little when those deep, muffled sobs filtered through the walls at night. Every part of him told him to cross that invisible line—to do something—but instead, he stepped outside, leaned against the stoop, stared at nothing.

One night, he heard it—soft at first, then breaking, like something deep inside her had finally snapped. Anyone reasonable would've gone up to comfort her. Fuck, it was already turning him inside out.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs for a long moment, jaw tight, staring up at the dark landing.

Then he turned around, walked outside, and sat on the porch steps, letting the cold bite into him. Good. He huffed out a wispy breath, quietly waiting for the sounds to pass. This wasn’t his problem.

One unlucky day, the second he stepped into the stables, Ellie gave him a knowing, annoying look. "Jesus, what's worse than shit? Because that's what you look like."

Joel huffed, adjusting his grip on the saddle he was carrying. "Thanks, kid."

Ellie narrowed her eyes, stepping closer and giving him a once-over. "Seriously, you look like hell. Where the fuck have you been?"

Joel grunted, busying himself with the straps, not looking at her. "Been around."

Ellie scoffed. "Been around? What the hell does that mean? You've been busy playing house with the lady at the big house?"

His jaw flexed and fingers tightened on the cords. And Ellie caught it. Her smirk sharpened.

"Oh my God. That’s exactly what you’ve been doing, huh?"

Joel shot her a look. "No."

"Yes," Ellie drawled, crossing her arms. "Dude. I knew something was up. You’ve been MIA. I thought maybe you finally croaked in your sleep, but nope—turns out, you’re off fixing pipes and babysitting."

"I ain’t babysitting," Joel muttered, too quick.

Ellie smirked harder and drawled out, "Riiiight."

Joel let out a long, slow exhale through his nose, shaking his head. "She needed help. That’s all."

Ellie clicked her tongue, rocking back on her heels. "Hmm. Right. Just help. No attachment, no paternal instincts kicking in. Oh, definitely not. Not Joel Hardass Miller. He’s just the neighbourhood handyman now."

He cut her a sharp look. "Ellie."

She grinned, enjoying this way too much. "What? Just saying. It’s kind of adorable. Old man Joel, all domesticated. It's nice."

Joel muttered something under his breath and turned away, ignoring her. Oh, but she was far from done.

"So, uh…" she cleared her throat. "How’s the baby?"

He hesitated.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d started watching that kid. Listening to her. He knew Maya’s different cries now—hungry, fussy, lonely. He knew the way she liked to be held, the way she calmed when he rubbed her tiny back. And he knew, without a doubt, that he would hear her tonight, whether he was there or not.

"She’s uh, good," he said finally. Kept his voice level, unaffected. "Stronger. Sleeps better."

Ellie studied him. "Bet she likes you."

Joel shrugged, trying to play it off. "Babies like warm bodies, Ellie. Ain’t that deep."

Ellie snorted. "Sure. And you're a warm bundle of joy." And then, just when he thought she was about to let it go—"You’re gonna miss her, huh?"

Joel's hands dropped to his sides. Ellie wasn’t teasing anymore. Her voice had gone softer, something knowing creeping in.

And he didn’t answer. Because he wasn’t about to start thinking about that. About leaving. About hearing those cries and knowing he wasn’t supposed to be the one answering them anymore.

Joel slowly adjusted the saddle and grunted. "You gonna stand there all day, or you gonna help me get this horse ready?"

Ellie sighed, shaking her head, but didn’t push. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Dad."

"Ellie."

But she was already cackling her goddamned head off. "This is rich. Daddy Joel."

Still, Joel stayed in that big house. Just a few more days. And the more he stayed, the harder it became to keep his distance.

It had started small—fixing things around the house, making little adjustments to help Leela care for the baby, and bringing her food. He fashioned a sling for her out of an old scarf and showed her how to wear it. At first, she’d been rigid, reluctant. But Maya—baby girl took to it immediately, curling into her mother’s chest, small fingers grasping at the fabric.

Joel wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, but something about that moment had stuck with him.

Because for the first time, he saw Leela hold her. Not just carry her.

And then there was Maya herself. The little ray of sunshine was growing, filling out. No longer that fragile, underfed thing he’d first seen in the cradle. Her limbs weren’t so thin anymore, her eyes brighter, more alert. She’d started watching things with intent—fixating on his hands when he worked, tracking his movement around the room, making little fists and clumsily bringing them to her mouth.

She smiled more, too. And it did something to him. It shouldn’t have.

He shouldn’t have felt that warm pull in his chest every time her tiny mouth curled into something resembling a grin. Shouldn’t have liked the way her whole body wriggled when she was excited. Shouldn’t have let himself get used to the small weight of her when Leela, in her exhaustion, wordlessly passed her to him, and he found himself rocking her without thinking.

But it had happened, slowly and without permission. And now, when he held her, it felt natural.

Maya knew him. Trusted him.

That realization unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

And then, on what must’ve been the third week, Tommy and Maria showed up at the door. Joel knew it the second he opened it—that this was an extraction.

Tommy stood there with that damn smirk, the same one he used to wear when Joel got him out of trouble—except this time, it wasn't his brother who had been looking for a way out.

"You're officially relieved of duty, big brother."

Joel grunted, letting his brother pull him into a quick hug. He clapped him on the back, but his grip was just a little too firm. A little too final. "Didn’t know I was on duty."

Maria stepped in next, squeezing his shoulder, her eyes warm with something Joel didn’t want to name. "Thank you, Joel."

He didn’t say you’re welcome. Didn’t say anything at all. Just gave a small nod, because that was easier than acknowledging the importance of what he’d done. No need to attach importance to what he was walking away from.

He felt Leela before he saw her.

She stood behind them by the front door, her arms loose at her sides, watching but not interfering. She was dressed in a warm sweater and pants this time, although he liked seeing her in that long nightdress of hers, the one with the pearl buttons.

She didn’t say anything. And neither did he. Because there was no point in goodbyes.

Instead, he gave her a nod—brief, almost impersonal—and then he turned, stepping off the porch, his boots heavier than they should’ve been.

Maria’s voice, quiet but clear, carried behind him as she spoke to Leela like she was approaching a wounded deer. "You feeling okay, baby? Come on, let’s talk."

Joel kept on walking. Crossed the street.

And for the first time in fifteen days, he realized—he didn’t want to go home. Because home meant silence. Home meant absence.

Home meant walking into a house where there was no tiny, fussy cry in the middle of the night. No bleary-eyed woman fumbling with a bottle, no soft, small weight curled against his chest when exhaustion finally won out.

For fifteen days, he had fallen into something. A rhythm. A purpose. A role. And now, as he stepped through his own front door, into the empty space that used to feel normal, Joel realized he’d done something reckless. Something he never should’ve allowed.

He’d let himself care.

X

[I really like this one, so much! I love how sweet it turned out, how JOEL of him it is, and how Leela is just that sweet, confused mother. I think I'm going to really love building on this one! ]

[ taglist : @cuntstiel , @bubblegumpeeeach , @evispunk ]

[joelswritingmistress]

Neighbors With Benefits: Part 1 (Joel Miller x f!reader)

Part of the #hotdilfsummerchallenge (I will be adding more and tag the Masterlist) Thank you @hellishjoel for putting on this contest. It's a lot of fun!

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word count: Roughly 5000

Warning: Dilfy smut, age gap (23 & 42)

Mid-June, 2024. The first summer back home upon college graduation. You knew there would be an adjustment period and while you didn't necessarily feel unhappy, there was a strangeness that left you with feelings you couldn't quite pinpoint. This was your childhood home, your hometown, your room - but still, somehow it felt foreign.

You hung up the maroon cap and gown that showed off the primary color of Texas A+M, the college where you had spent the last four years studying your ass off to get a degree in criminal justice. At twenty-three years old after spending the last few years in a little off-campus apartment with some friends, you were feeling both aggravated and nostalgic upon returning to your parents' house in the suburbs. They were great and you got along just fine; but the freedoms that had gone along with renting your own place were now reeled in a bit tighter. At the very least you knew your mother would likely stay awake on the nights you were out late. Still, you appreciated how much they cared about you.

You moved to your bedroom window and flung it open to let in some air to get rid of the stuffiness that lingered in the house. Immediately, your eyes landed on a man next door standing behind a grill as smoke filtered up above him in a faint, little cloud. He flipped a burger with a pair of metal tongs and took a sip from what looked like a bottle of beer.

"Hey, honey."

You jumped at your mother's voice as if you'd been caught doing something wrong. "Hey." You pressed your eyebrows together and motioned out the window as she entered the room. "Who's that?"

"Oh, I guess it never came up in conversation," your mother said with a shrug, "That's our new neighbor. He moved in back in January."

You glanced back out the window.

"He’s a bit too old for you,” she teased with a laugh.

You whipped around and made a face. "I'm not... I'm not checking him out. I'm just asking why there's a stranger in the Wilsons' backyard." You smirked and raised your eyebrows, "Maybe if my mother told me things I wouldn't have to play detective."

"Isn't that what you got your degree in criminal justice for?"

You chuckled, knowing she would most certainly outwit you in a verbal battle. "And I'm 23 years old. No one's too old for me anymore."

"Well, in that case I hear they just built a nice, new nursing home down the road with plenty of widowed men. I can drive you there if you'd like."

You let out a hearty laugh. “I’ll pass."

The two of you giggled and your mother continued, "Will you be joining your father and I for dinner tonight? We were thinking of just going to Chili's and then heading to a play at the little theater downtown. The kids are putting on Grease."

You smiled as your phone vibrated with a text from your best friend. "It's Holly."

"So, I guess the answer is going to be no," your mother suspected. She smirked and got the hint. “Keep in touch.”

"Okay," you agreed and then cleared your throat when she turned to go. "Mom, what's his name?"

"Huh?"

"The neighbor," you went on, "I should probably introduce myself since I'm going to be a resident of 45 Harding Drive again."

"Joel," her mother replied, "Joel Miller."

Your parents left soon after and so you wandered out to the back steps, waiting for them to take off first before popping open a beer. The ice cold beverage tasted better than normal because of the incoming summer heat that was supposed to really strike the following morning. With a content sigh, you leaned your elbows back on the top step of the set of four that led from the back door into the oversized backyard.

"Jennifer?" a deep, scratchy voice made you jump for the second time that night. You put a hand on your chest and glanced off to the side when you realized a man had called out your mother's name.

The neighbor, you thought, feeling your stomach knot up.

You cleared your throat and rose to your feet, leaving the beer on the top step. "No… I’m (Y/N)." You took a few steps in his direction though he made his way almost all the way to the steps.

"(Y/N)?" His features became clear when he stepped into a small, back light beside the door. The man flashed a friendly, boyish grin from beneath a trim beard. "Tim and Jen’s daughter?"

You looked down sheepishly and smiled before lifting your eyes to meet his stare. "Yeah."

He’s hot, your inner monologue informed you, as if your cheeks hadn't suddenly grown hot.

His eyes shifted to the beer and his grin widened even more before he extended a hand. "I'm Joel... your neighbor."

"Nice to meet you." You gave a closed-mouth smile and took in his appearance, consciously telling herself not to stare. His plain white t-shirt showed off his broad chest and shoulders

Joel cleared his throat. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's fine," you assured him and then cleared your throat, "Do you want a beer or something?"

A smirk twisted onto his face., "No thanks. I was actually just coming over to see if I could borrow some butter."

"Oh..." You glanced over your shoulder at the back door and then back to Joel.

"You don't have to," he said reassuringly, unable to keep the grin from his face. "You don't even know me yet so-"

"No.” You cut him off, "No, it's fine."

"Are you sure?" Joel's voice cut through you like a knife and he kept his eyes firmly locked on yours.

You nodded, unable to look away for a moment and then waved him inside.

"Don't forget your brew here, honey." He reached down and scooped up the beer as you flung the back door open.

You smiled again, "Thanks."

Joel nodded and followed you in, before glancing around at the modest but modern kitchen. "You, uh... you even old enough to drink this shit?" He motioned to the beer.

You rolled your eyes, "I can show you my ID if that makes you feel any better." You flung open the refrigerator, "I know my parents are going to treat me like I'm in high school again."

"Well... they're just trying to protect you," Joel said. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-three." You glanced over her shoulder at him, somewhat pleased to catch him staring - or so you thought. It prompted him to look elsewhere.

"Here." You removed a stick of butter and crossed the room to hand it to him. When the butter landed in his hand you decided to be bold and didn't immediately let it go, "How old are you?"

He chuckled before holding a wicked smirk and again held her captive with his playfully intense eyes. "How old do you think I am?"

You stared back, somewhat used to gaining control over the guys you had dated or been interested in in the past. Already, this time you felt a bit outmatched and part of it was your instant attraction to him. When Joel took one step in her direction, you swallowed hard and gave a random answer.

"Thirty-two?"

Joel laughed a little louder, putting a hand on his stomach. He ran the other hand through his messy brown hair and pointed. "You're so full of shit."

You smiled at him, "I was thinking more of thirty-eight, thirty-nine."

He sucked his teeth and gave you a look up-and-down before smiling wide again. When he didn't say anything in response you flat out asked, "Am I right?"

"Forty-two," Joel finally informed you after a long pause.

"Over the hill then?"

He snickered and then motioned to the fridge, "Ya know... I will have that beer if you don't mind."

You smiled before reopening the fridge to fetch one for him. When you placed a bottle of Bud Lite in his hand he used the counter to pop the top rather than twist it. When the dented bottle cap fell to the floor and danced in circles for a moment you glanced back up to find him continuing to stare as he took a long swig from the bottle.

Joel wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Your dad going to notice that a few of these are missing?"

"They're mine," you informed him, "And I'm not-"

"A kid, I know..." Joel rolled his eyes now and the two of you shared a laugh, "Believe me when you're my age you'll love that someone will accuse you of being younger."

"I'm sure I will."

He reached down and scooped up the cap from the ground and then held it out in his palm. When you went to reach for it he closed his hand and smiled playfully.

"I'll take it," Joel offered, "Don't want you to get caught drinking these things when your parents come home." He continued to tease you about your age.

"You know, I could've guessed you were fifty."

He laughed out loud. "Smart mouth on you," Joel flashed his index finger at her with the hand that held the bottle, "I like it."

You looked down and laughed again, feeling your cheeks grow hot again from his remark.

"Anyway, I should be getting back." Joel continued to smile, almost triumphantly and winked. "It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you too.”

He held your gaze for an extra second, forcing him to smirk a final time before heading out the back door.

"Thanks for the beer," he said casually, "I'll see ya around."

8:15 pm - the following evening

"Sorry I couldn't make it out last night," Holly said to you. The two of you sat side by side at barstools down at one of the local bars in town. "My boss can be a real pain in the ass sometimes."

"It's fine. I had the house to myself so I kind of just had some time to chill and binge watch some old shows."

"Sounds terrible."

You laughed and shrugged. "It was alright."

"Well, here's to... summer?" Holly raised her martini glass and you tapped her beer bottle gently against it.

"To potentially the weirdest summer of my life."

"Why's that?"

You shrugged, "I don't know. Being back home doesn't feel so 'at home' anymore."

"Give it time." Holly sipped her drink, "In a month it'll feel like you never left."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"Hey, it's not so bad. I'm here." She smiled and raised her eyebrows, "Jill and Molly should be home within the week too. We can get the old crew back together before we all get real jobs and have to do shitty adult stuff."

"I'll drink to that," you agreed, taking a longer swig of the beer. You sighed and began to peel at the blue Bud Lite label, letting your mind drift to the night before with Joel. You envisioned him snapping the cap off the top of the beer bottle, using the counter. A smile crossed lingered on your face.

"Ooohh... someone's checking us out," Holly commented, "Or maybe they know you..." Her eyebrows pressed together and she motioned using her head toward a table in the corner of the bar.

"Oh shit." You couldn't contain your response but realized it must've sounded out of place.

"What?" Her friend asked, "Do you know him?"

"That's my neighbor," you informed her, "New neighbor."

Joel smirked and gave a wave but quickly entertained a conversation he was having with two other men at the small, corner table.

"He's kind of a Dilf."

You snickered and shrugged, unable to take your eyes off of him. When Joel glanced back in your direction you looked away and quickly took a sip of your.

"You think he's hot," Holly suspected with a laugh.

"What?" You shook your head, "No... I mean he may have some Dilf qualities or something like you just said but…” The sentence drifted off.

"Mm-hmm..." She continued to stare at her friend with playfully accusing eyes.

"Stop," you joked, "I just met him last night."

"Last night?" Holly perked up, "And..."

"And what?"

"You tell me."

You laughed again, "He came over to the house because he needed some butter."

"More like some sugar," she winked and glanced up toward a television that had a baseball game on in front of them.

You let out a hearty laugh and shook your head.

"He keeps looking over here." Holly’s voice perked out, "Oh! He's getting up," Holly whispered, stalking him for a moment with her eyes.

You glanced over and felt your stomach twist in knots when he headed in their direction.

"So you are over twenty-one," Joel cracked a wide smile and tapped the back of her chair as he continued to walk by.

"Twenty-three," you called after him, smiling wide.

He glanced over his shoulder, winking once before continuing on around a corner toward the bathrooms.

You let out a sigh and Holly turned back around.

"What the hell are you waiting for?" her friend asked. Before you could attempt to plead your case Holly went on, "He's hot... and he's totally flirting with you."

"He's not flirting with me."

"That was a Frank Sinatra-worthy wink."

You shook your head, laughing again. "Where do you come up with these things?"

"You're glowin. You're crushing on this guy. Who cares if he's your neighbor. Get on that."

"He's forty-two," you lowered your voice.

Holly raised her eyebrows and glanced toward the doorway where Joel had just walked through before returning her attention to her friend.

"Forget it." You sipped your drink and tried to pretend like you were nterested in the game on the television.

"At least admit you're crushing."

She turned to her and shook her head, "Fine... he's hot. Okay?" You focused on the screen for as long as she could and tried to pretend not to notice when Joel rounded back into the bar. You let out a deep breath as he crossed behind you and felt a rush when he came up beside you to flag down the bartender.

"Another round?" the middle-aged bartender asked, already reaching for a beer.

"Please,” Joel said with a nod, "You can put it on the tab." He turned to you, "Any interest in playing darts over here?" He nodded toward a dart board in the corner.

"Sure."

"Don't feel obligated." He forced your eyes back to his and continued to stare into them.

"I don't." You felt that intense paralysis again and couldn't turn away. When the bartender came back with the round of beers for Joel, you felt relieved and let out a breath.

"Get these two what they want," Joel added to the bartender, "Next round's on me when you finish those."

"Oh, you don't have to-"

"It's fine. I owe you one from last night." He headed back to the small table with his friends and Holly finally snapped you out of your daze.

"I thought you just gave him butter," she whispered with a giggle, "What was last night?"

You swallowed hard and rose to your feet, prompting Holly to do the same. "I offered him a beer and he took it," she said, "It was nothing... believe me. If I had anything interesting to share I would tell you."

Your legs felt heavy as you crossed the dark bar that was scattered with only a handful of other people. While the two other men began collecting darts and erasing the chalkboard to the side, Joel stood staring with his elbow on the table. For a moment everything else was in the background and you could only focus on him.

Shit... Any wit she had going for her had betrayed her. The instant, intense attraction you had to him was completely clouding your judgment. You felt like you were about to enter a wolf den, though you didn't at all mind playing the part of Little Red Riding Hood.

The anxiety-ridden feeling you had had leading up to the game of darts diminished as the night went on. You played a few games, swapping teammates several times, beginning with a 'boys versus girls' theme and then pairing off randomly when one game ended.

"He's going to fuck it up, you watch," Joel taunted as his friend lined up, closing one eye as he released the dart, only sending it clunking off the board and to the ground. "You didn't even hit the fuckin' board." His words drew laughter from everyone and the man that missed stumbled to retrieve it, chuckling as he went.

"I'm fucked up," Skip, the older robust man, remarked as he struggled to pick the dark up from the floor.

"Ya think?" Joel joked, continuing to sip on his beer.

"It's about time I get this man home to his wife and let her deal with him," the other man, Charlie, chuckled from behind a pair of alcohol-induced crimson cheeks. "Can't hold his liquor."

Skip huffed a breath and closed his eyes with a hand on his head. "The old lady's going to be mad at me. Especially when I tell her we've been hanging out with these lovely ladies." He motioned to you and Holly, laughing at himself and making the others do the same.

"I'd leave that part out if you knew what was good for ya," Charlie informed him with another laugh. "Come on Skippy. It's past your bed time."

"Game over?" Holly asked you.

"I guess so." You raised her eyebrows and smiled.

"Charlie, you guys to get home?" Joel asked.

"It's just a quarter mile down the road," Charlie waved a hand. He smiled, "Good night ladies."

"Goodnight," you both said at the same time before Holly turned to you.

"I'm heading to the bathroom. Be right back." She raised her eyebrows, noting it would give you and Joel a moment alone and you tried to play it off coolly.

"Okay." She watched a moment as Holly made her way down the bar and around the corner.

"Hope I didn't kill your girls night," Joel said.

"No." You turned back to him and leaned an elbow on the table, "We were just bored. Had to get out of the house."

"Mmm..." He slid back down into a seat and you took upon herself to join him as you waited for Holly.

Joel leaned both elbows on the table to straddle his beer, "You're probably used to night clubs filled with young guys just dying to buy you a drink. This has to be fuckin' lame."

"I was over that scene by my junior year," you told him with a laugh as you shook your head. "They were all the same with their cheesy cologne and gelled up hair."

Joel huffed a laugh and took a sip of his drink. "Sick of that shit huh?"

"Very." You mirrored his position and continued to sip on the beer you had been milking for the better part of an hour, "I'm kind of over the party scene... and the being at home scene."

"You've been home for one fuckin' day." He raised his eyebrows, "Get over it. You're saving money."

You nodded, "Yeah... yeah you're right."

"I know I am." He smiled, a charming arrogance radiating out of him.

When your phone buzzed in your pocket you jumped and quickly removed it, finding a text message from Holly.

I'm getting in my car. Snuck out the back. Have fun. You'll thank me later.

When you looked back up Joel was grilling you with his eyes. You wondered if he had managed to read the message or not. You cleared her throat. "Holly," you said simply.

"You guys need to go?"

You opened her mouth to speak, still unsure if he had seen what your friend wrote but decided to chance it and lie. "She... got sick. She's on her way home."

"She okay?"

You nodded. “Just a little embarrassed I think and decided to go." You took a sip to buy yourself some time in case he asked any more questions. When he didn't you tried to change the subject. "This place is dead."

"What's so bad about the college scene?" Joel asked.

"Huh?"

"The young guys, the night clubs..."

"Oh... nothing, I guess." You cleared her throat feeling like he was trying to read your mind. Again, your face felt flush with heat and you continued, "They're just... all the same. There's no appeal anymore. When I was eighteen I thought it was cool sneaking into bars and all that." You smiled and shook her head before looking him in the eye. "This is more my speed."

Joel stared back and didn't immediately say anything.

You almost couldn't take the quiet stalemate. The sexual attraction for Joel burned in your chest and in that moment, in the quiet corner of the bar, it was hard to fight it. All the same, you felt like you had to be reading his body language correctly in assuming he was feeling something too. Still, the fact that he was your older neighbor, who you didn't know very well, lingered in the back of your mind.

Getting involved with Joel would satisfy your instant craving for him but beyond that you knew it could only lead to making both of your lives more complicated.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom," you told him, when you couldn't contain your feelings any longer. It was the only thing you could say without leaping across the table and initiating a make-out session that played out animalistically in your mind.

"You gunna disappear on me too?" he joked, though you could see there was a hint of seriousness in his piercing eyes behind the wicked smile that hadn't left his face all evening.

"Not a chance." You felt embarrassed by the bold nature of your words, but took a deep breath and made the long walk across the bar into the restroom area. When you pushed open the door you felt relieved that no one else was in there and quickly made your way to the sink to pat some water on her face. You let out a breath, leaning both of her hands on the counter and then took in your appearance to make sure you was satisfied with the way you looked.

I'm being ridiculous, you thought. I'm too old to feel this out of control over a guy... or a man.

Joel was a man. He wasn't at all like the college boys you had been surrounded by who loved to crush beer cans on their heads, brag about how many consecutive beer pong games they'd won and worst of all when they threw the cheesiest lines at you and your friends to try to get laid. Joel didn't have to say or do anything in particular. He could simply look at you the right way and you found yourself ready to obey any request or demand he threw your way.

I’m in over my head, you thought, but I don't care.

You took in another deep breath and felt like you had the quick break that you needed to hold a sensible conversation with him without the constant interference of your out-of-whack hormones.

"Okay," you whispered to yourself and fiddled with your hair before pulling the door open to head back into the short, dark hallway. When Joel rounded the corner at the same time from the bar both of you stopped abruptly.

His eyes stalked the length of your body before finally re-settling on your gaze.

"Checking to make sure I didn't bail?" you joked, nervously laughing just after. Your tongue danced along your bottom lip, and you couldn't help but look him up and down the way he had just done to you.

Joel swallowed hard, tipping his mouth up into a half-smirk before walking past the men's room door in your direction.

You didn't have time to process all of the questions in your mind because he marched up and planted his lips against yours, immediately penetrating them with his tongue as his hands successfully shoved you up against the door to the women's room. It opened a few inches beneath the force.

You felt an explosion of adrenaline filter through your body as you kissed him back even more savagely than in your daydreams.

Joel pushed the door all the way open with one hand, not separating himself from you as he gripped your ass with his free hand and pushed his hips firmly against yours.

You tangled a hand in his hair, kissing him back with a heated passion that you didn't bother to try masking now that he had initiated the fantasy that had been playing out in your mind since you had him.

He moaned into your mouth before taking a breath and crushing his lips back against yours. Your back collided with the tile wall at the back of the bathroom, and you arched your neck as he began to ravage you, sliding a hand down the front of your pants while gripping your face with the other to kiss you hard again.

It all was happening so fast. You struggled to keep up but couldn't process a conscious thought when his first two fingers slid inside of you.

You bit down on your lip in a break in the kiss and spread your legs wider to give him more access.

Joel left a single kiss on her lips and spoke against them in a husky whisper, "Let it out honey," he kissed you again, "Let it out."

You knew the bar was nearly empty and there wasn't another woman that had been there. Even if there had been you didn't know that you would have cared. When his fingers twitched, arcing perfectly in his technique to make your entire lower body shiver with pleasure, you groaned.

"Fuck Joel," your whined his name, desperate for his tongue to dominate your again as he continued to finger you relentlessly until you felt like you were going to explode.

Joel's arousal heightened when he traced your lips with his thumb of his free hand, prompting you to take the tip of it into your mouth.

"God," he closed his eyes relished in the feeling, pushing his fingers deeper into you.

You whimpered again, writhing beneath his touch and attempted to reach for the belt buckle on his pants. "I want you."

He removed his hand from beneath your slick panties and placed his hands against the wall on either side of you as you managed to undo his buckle and shove his pants down off his hips.

Instinctively, you dropped to your knees, taking in as much of him as you could. Joel moaned and bucked his hips once as he grasped the back of your head with one hand. You looked up, watching his head fall back as his closed eyes pressed shut tighter. Joel allowed you to have your way with him as you continued to go down on him like you might never get another opportunity to do so. "Fuuucckk." He drew the word out, encouraging you to continue as he grabbed a fist full of your hair. "Ohh shit..."

Had anybody walked by the door there would have been no way to mask what was going on. Joel didn't hold back and felt an additional jolt of pleasure when you stroked him with your hand before quietly demanding him to come.

He opened his eyes, letting his mouth hang open as he glanced down, making eye contact with you as you engulfed him again.

"Jesus..." Joel's eyes closed and he felt an unmistakable buildup brewing below his waist. He couldn't ask you to stop, not when he was on the verge of exploding. "I'm gunna come." He shouted the words so loud that you thought for sure that someone had to have heard your encounter from somewhere in the bar. Still, you didn't let up and allowed him to push deep into you, gripping the back of your head with such force that you couldn't have separated your mouth from him if you tried.

He groaned, not attempting to hold back what he was feeling, alternating different curse words in between uneven breaths that ultimately left him panting as you finished him off. With a final breath he released your hair, letting his hand drop toward your face as you wiped a hand across your mouth and slowly rose to your feet.

Joel stood there for several seconds, breathing heavy with his pants at his ankles and a hand still on your face. When he finally came down off the high enough to speak, a chuckle left his mouth and ran a hand through your now-messy hair. "Shit honey... you didn't get yours." He let out another breath and then retrieved his pants from the floor and straightened out his appearance.

"It's alright," you told him with a sly smile, noting the heat that was still brewing between your legs.

He huffed another breath and adjusted himself over his pants before regaining your gaze. Joel smiled and drew his thumb gently under your eye, "Mascara's running. Sorry honey."

You closed her eyes as he continued to wipe the stray makeup away from your face. When you reopened them, Joel sported a half grin and he raised his eyebrows.

"Guess I fuckin' owe ya one."

You snickered, pleased to know that he wasn't at all expecting this to be your only encounter. "Yeah... you do."

Joel took a final, deep breath. "Well... you know where to find me."

"Next door."

"If you see me outside come on over to... borrow some butter or something.”

"Butter..." You snickered and then swallowed hard when he took a step toward her and slid a hand back down the front of your pants.

Joel touched his lips to yours as he spoke and this time gently began to massage up and down your wet center. When your mouth twisted up in a smile and you closed your eyes again he grinned and removed his glistening fingers. "It's a shame this is going to go to waste. Too bad you're so damn good at giving a blowjob. I had all the intentions of fucking you but I could just not ask you to stop.”

"Damn," she said quietly, but smiled, praying he might have it in him to continue.

Joel smiled, reading the disappointment on her face. "I'll be in and out tomorrow," he claimed, "You see me and you feel like bringing me over some butter…”

"I think you’ll definitely need some."

He looked down and made his way to the sink to wash his hands before turning to her with a smile. He ended the night the same way he had the night before, "I'll see ya around."

CLICK HERE FOR PART 2

[animasola86]

😈 FORK-TONGUED LOVER

m!demon x f!reader 🔥 very explicit 🔥 words: 7.1k

Your boyfriend is a demon, and while you're not quite sure how that came to be, you are all in now - as he is all into you, literally, using his demonic powers to stretch your body to its limits until he can poke at your soul, eager to devour it (and you) whole.

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! Manipulation! Somnophilia! Oral/vaginal/anal sex. Cockwarming! Deepthroating! Deep penetration! Overstimulation! Ceiling sex? (READ ON AO3!)

A/N: The prompt was "demons, manipulation, anal play", and of course I couldn't leave it at that. By the way, this demon doesn't have a name, so you can imagine any character here if you want, in their monster AU of course!

Your boyfriend is a demon. What kind of demon you have no idea, he never told you, and it also kind of doesn't matter. He looks very normal (very hot in your eyes, with that beautiful jawline and those broad shoulders and his muscular but also lean body, so strong and tall, with bulging veins snaking under his tight skin, up and down his arms and legs and over his toned abdomen... uh, where were you going with this? Ah, right, he looks normal...), he also acts pretty normal, like a human would. He's kind and caring to you, but also doesn't shy away from taking your hand and leading you through a crowd, taking control. He makes you feel safe and seen and slightly spoiled.

The first time you realized he might be a little different, was another one of those instances when he took control. In the bedroom. It wasn't even really your first time with him, but that night will always stick in your memory, because it was the first of many amazing love-making sessions that left you so fucked-out you barely remembered your own name. The thing that makes him special is that he can manipulate his body, namely his cock.

When he's balls deep in your fluttering cunt, he can make it bigger, give it ridges and nubs, form it in a way that fills you out completely, that always stimulates all those special spots, leaving you absolutely senseless (in the overstimulated way) and more than satisfied. Best sex you've ever had (at least before you met him because he kept surprising you with new features to his cock every time he penetrated you anew).

He also coerced you to try anal, and even though you weren't one hundred percent convinced about it, he made sure you were ready. You see, his tongue is another great feature about him. When he talked or ate or laughed or even kissed, it was a normal tongue, but when he wanted to use it against you, it became a forked one, long and girthy, a muscle capable of many things, especially diving deep into your yearning holes.

Nobody has ever eaten you out so thoroughly, so deeply before, it's a glorious experience that made you use the Lord's name in vain one too many times (and each time he'd punish you for it, the little hell child that he is, making sure you'd scream his name instead while he bullied your most sensitive areas, relishing in the way your pussy clamped down on his tongue when he spanked your soft ass). Maybe that was why he liked to lick and probe you from behind, seeing your reddened cheeks did something to him.

You were a little apprehensive at first, having him so close to areas nobody's breached before (and that you thought were a little unflattering, to say the least), but he reassured you that he loves every single inch of you and is willing to show you just how much. And then his tongue pressed into your ass, and you forgot to breathe as shame flooded your senses, only to then be replaced by something you can only call madness. Because it drove you mad, in the best way, how he plunged between your tight muscles, how his strong hands held you open for him, how his grunts and groans vibrated through you.

Next thing you knew, he had slipped his cock into your prepared depths, and you'd thought it would hurt with how big he normally was (or could make himself even bigger), but instead of you molding to him, he had molded to what available space you were giving him. And it was a strange sensation. He was filling you out, still stretching your hole and the muscles beyond, but this time he'd made himself longer, thinner, and it kept going, invading your insides like a snake looking for a way out.

You felt your belly bulging, and the first time you saw him rearranging your guts (in the most literal way possible), you were very concerned, your hands swatting at the moving thing beneath your skin, but he only held you tighter, pressed you to his chest, and snapped his hips against your rear, distracting you with hard thrusts that felt so good you forgot about whatever happened inside your body. He was all that mattered, he and his beautiful demonic penis.

And you grew to like anal sex just as much because he really (actually) knew your body inside and out, always making sure you'll get the best experience by allowing him to merge his body with yours. You were thrown from one orgasm to the next, and most of the time the night ended with you passing out from overstimulation (but always with a smile on your face). And sometimes, the night didn't end at all as he kept going even when you were asleep.

He didn't sleep, didn't need to apparently, so he just lay with you in bed and watched you. Sometimes he would read or scroll on his phone, or he'd meditate to the sounds of your soft breaths (and snores). But eventually he'd grow bored, and he'd use you and whatever hole he was keen on invading that night. That man (demon) had stamina, it was insane. That was one of the reasons why you allowed him to do to you whatever he wanted while you were trying to catch some Z's.

The first time you woke up to him tongue deep in your wet cunt had been a little strange, but not completely unpleasant. He'd even asked you if it was okay (after telling you he had to taste you, you looked too delicious, he couldn't stop himself), and you agreed. How could you not. And so he continued to use your sleeping form for his pleasure (and yours, it definitely made for some fabulous(ly) wet dreams).

And you'd think you'd be utterly sore afterwards, but he somehow made sure your muscles were soft and relaxed, no matter how often they'd clench around his appendages. His massages were incredible, be it with his big hands and long fingers, or with his tongue, he just knew how to get rid of those knots (and bruises, though if those were visible to the public eye, he'd usually leave them, making sure everyone knew what you were up to and who you belonged to).

You were his, and you loved it, but at the same time, he was yours too, and whatever you wanted to do, he'd do it with you. He even came to one of those pottery courses you'd wanted to try out or watched that lame romance movie with you. And he never complained, because he knew, once you were back at your shared apartment, you would repay the favor (even though it never felt like that) by giving him something back.

And this is how you ended up on the couch, him lounging with his arm draped over the backrest (while the other hand rubbed over your bare rear), you curled up beside him, small fingers massaging his balls while you tried to fit his cock into your mouth. Sometimes he wanted to challenge you and kept it the way it was, long and girthy, and you'd end up choking with only half of him able to fit while his tip poked at the back of your throat, but most of the time he was more accommodating and made himself a little easier to handle.

He liked your feverish attempts to try to deepthroat him (even though you were never able to hold him for long before retching something awful) as much as your happy little mewls when you managed to fit all of his magically reduced length into your mouth, bulging your cheeks, while your nose nestled in his pubic hair. Tonight, you and him were watching a movie, some mindless action fling he was really into while you'd rather gag on his cock. Though you quickly relaxed on his lap and decided to just cockwarm him while enjoying his warmth and the probing of his fingers.

He always had to touch you, even in public, and it didn't stop at the innocent hand holding you were so fond of. He'd slip his long fingers under your skirt and rub and poke at your drenched underwear, and the moment nobody was looking, he'd dip them into your ready heat, most of the time resulting in you dragging him to a nearby restroom to thoroughly continue this endeavor, but sometimes he'd fingerfuck you right there, either sitting in a booth in your favorite diner or while standing in line for something (and somehow nobody ever noticed your red face or strained noises or the way his hand disappeared under your clothes, no matter how close you were to other people).

He was a master at manipulation, not just his body to fit your needs or to coax you into things you'd never tried before, everything around him seemed to bend to his will – if he wanted to. People moving out of the way when he'd walk with you through crowded streets, waitresses forgetting to charge you for your food, waving you off with a dumb little smile and unseeing eyes (one time you went back there alone and tried to give them the money he cheated out of them, but they couldn't even remember you), and other instances where he played with his surroundings just for the fun of it.

You didn't know how old he was (he looked somewhere between his mid-twenties and mid-thirties, probably depending on what you were in the mood for), and you didn't know much about demons (and somehow you never questioned his existence in the first place), but you would assume he's been around for a while, because it was so easy for him to puppeteer the humans and manipulate the world around him.

Most of the time you didn't mind, he wasn't cruel or condescending, didn't play pranks on people (at least not unjustified), but he'd make people trip when they've done something mean to others, he'd sometimes even help those in need, but those instances were rare and only if he was in a really good mood. He was a demon after all, not an angel.

And he was your demon, devoted to your well-being like no other boyfriend had been before. Not that you had a lot of experience, but you knew this was different, special, and it wasn't just the sex. The whole package. He was perfect, and if he'd ask you to come to hell with him, you wouldn't even hesitate. As long as he stayed with you, always connected, by holding hands or by being buried to the hilt in your cunt or by invading your body in a way nothing else has done before.

How did you meet? You're not too sure, actually, he may have wormed his way into your life on his terms, but you're not mad. You've never felt this loved and appreciated, this happy and satisfied. He may be a puppet master, moving you in ways you may not have initially wanted at first, but as much as he pushes you out of your comfort zone, he stretches it, makes it bigger, includes himself in it (on both a metaphysical as well as a literally physical way). He is a part of you, made a home in your body and in your soul, you became one, and it's everything you ever dreamed of (even though you could never imagine it).

Back on the couch, you're still suckling on his cock, lazily palming his throbbing balls, eyes closed and relaxing, while the TV spews loud action noises through the living room. His fingers are buried in your clenching ass, just resting there, occasionally pumping into your tense muscles a little, reminding you that he's still there. You give him a deep suck in response, and he lets out a content growl.

As you look up from under your lashes, you notice that his eyes are completely black, not just the iris, the entire eye. It's a clear sign for you that he's on the brink of losing his patience, his restraint, the need to ravish you pulsing through him. You shift a little and change position, so you can bob your head. Slowly you start moving, your lips straining around his girth, and as you do, you feel his cock growing.

He's made it smaller to accommodate your mouth, but now he's back to his normal size, maybe even bigger, certainly longer, as you struggle to get all of him somehow stimulated. Your hands are both around his shaft, pushing his tight skin over his hardened core as you suckle hard on his tip, flicking your tongue around and against his slit, tasting those precious pearls of precum, and you try to push him deeper, but as soon as he nudges against the back of your throat, your body convulses and spit fills your mouth.

You lean back with a deep gasp, and it's then that his hands find your head. One hand curls around your neck, the touch is warm, almost scorching, but it relaxes your tight muscles, and his other hand slips into your hair until he grips it in his fist, and when you lean back down to try to deepthroat him again, he pushes your head down, and before you know it you feel your neck bulging against his hand. Panic crashes through you, but he holds you there, soothes your throat from the outside while simultaneously pressing you down with his inhuman strength.

Your lungs are burning, your eyes rolling back, but you don't fight it, you let him do whatever feels right to him, because you trust him not to hurt you. It does hurt though when he starts bucking his hips up and slides his cock deeper into your throat, the fit barely possible you think through all the cotton in your head. He doesn't care, holding you as he fucks your face with quickening thrusts. Wet gurgling sounds echo in your ringing ears, and you have no idea why you haven't fainted yet.

There's a steady warmth rushing through your body as he keeps pumping his definitely elongated cock down your throat, filling you up in ways that don't feel natural. He groans quietly as he holds your head, using you for the hole that you are for him in that moment, and all you can do is take it, endure. You feel frozen in time, barely able to struggle even though the need to breathe becomes bigger and bigger. Luckily you don't gag anymore, how could you in your bound position.

Tears fall from your lashes, your jaw is slack, and a steady stream of drool drips past your swollen lips. And he keeps assaulting your throat, your neck never not bulging with how his cock moves up and down, finding space where there shouldn't be any. You're drowsy, lightheaded, drifting towards unconsciousness, but he never lets you fall over. Instead he doubles his efforts, his hips slamming against your face, his hands tight around your neck and in your hair.

And then, with a low growl that sounds as otherworldly as his cock feels in your throat, he stills deep inside you, your nose buried in his pubic hair, twitching balls pressed to your lips, and you can feel how his cum pulses through his shaft before it spews into your throat, spurt after spurt, sliding down into your stomach without restraint, warm and filling, oh so filling. The wish to taste him comes over you, and he seems to read your mind and slowly pulls back, lifting your head, his hand on your jaw now as he massages it gently.

Your eyes flutter open, and you have them fixed on the long appendage slipping out of your mouth, widening with every emerging inch. It keeps going and going, and when his cockhead finally pops out from between your lips, it still shoots thick ropes of cum onto your face and chin. The first thing you do as your airways are finally freed again is not to take rapid gulps of air, but stare at how his cock morphs back into its original form, still long but not as long, and a bit girthier, the mushroom tip red and glistening, more globs of his spend gathering in his slit.

The sight is mesmerizing, and before you know it, your lips strain around him and lick up those shiny pearls, his taste flooding your mouth, soothing the slight ache you feel as you swallow every single drop. He's eased his grip on your hair and is now caressing you gently as you clean him up, sucking the last remnants of spend out of him as if you've never tasted anything better (spoiler alert: you haven't). Once you're done, you collapse on his lower stomach, breathing deeply, your body coming to terms with the strenuous experience.

Your hands close around his softening dick, and you cuddle it to your warm cheek, giving it a gentle kiss. A low rumble goes through him as he chuckles at that. He keeps stroking your hair, his other hand moving back along your spine to rub between your ass cheeks. You sigh contently when two of his fingers press against your sphincter and inside you, the pressure a welcome change to having your throat filled like this. Closing your eyes, you let him finger you as you snuggle against his groin, small fingers tracing along the veins on his shaft.

He lets you relax a little more, but when you're close to drifting off to sleep, he suddenly pulls his fingers out of you and grabs your waist, and before you know it, you're lying on your back, legs spread wide as he settles between them. His eyes are still all black, and you shiver at the sight. There's always hunger in the way he looks at you, be it now or when you share an innocent moment on your commute to work, he can never hide the fact that he wants to eat you up.

And how he eats you up. Holding your hooded gaze, he leans in and plants soft kisses on your fluttering belly before he moves lower, licking his tongue down your mound, until he leans back and lets you watch how the normal pink muscle turns a deeper red, gets longer and thicker and then forks at the end of it. You've been rightfully scared the first time you've seen that, but as soon as he dipped that strange thing between your folds, you didn't care about its shape any longer.

And you don't care now, except for how it makes you feel. He laps along your seam, slowly parting your folds with a deliberate press of his forked tongue, before he closes his lips around your swollen clit, sucking hard with his tongue nudging at your entrance. The way he moves his mouth fascinates you, he seems to be at all the right places all at once, and all you can do is lean back into the soft couch cushions and let him have at it.

While you mewl and moan as he dips deeper, pressing the eager muscle between your tense ones, he lets out low grunts and groans that vibrate through you, further pushing you towards the edge. Your body is buzzing, and you reach out your hands to slip your fingers into his hair, grabbing a few fistfuls as you buck your hips against his face.

Under your palms, you can feel the little bumps on his head where you know he hides his horns. You've only seen them a couple of times, large and curved and pointy, and after your initial shock, you'd tried to use them as handle bars once – which he quickly prevented, telling you they were too sensitive to be grabbed like that (you were disappointed at first but then realized he was afraid of the strength you sometimes developed during your coupling, and you couldn't blame him, you did break a headboard with your tight grip before, though that wasn't entirely your fault with how brutally he'd hammered into you at that time). You still rub the heels of your hands against the little protrusions. He hums into you at the sensation.

His tongue is buried deep inside you, rubbing at your gummy walls, poking at those special spots, teasing all the way to your cervix (you're sure he's even poked into your womb at some point, but details are all hazy when you're writhing in nothing but bliss at the feeling). You are floating, back arched, hips stuttering, mouth wide open as you moan out his name over and over again. He keeps tonguing your clenching cunt while also teasing your clit, and you know he could do better, but he likes to edge you, keep you in that state where you're too far gone to protest but still nowhere near the realm where you'll forget your own name.

As he huffs and puffs against your sex, eating you up like a man starved, his big hands slip up your body to then close around your breasts. Gentle gropes turn into bruising grips until your hard nipples poke into his palms, and every little touch nudges you a little bit higher. You're wailing now, so sensitive, so needy, and it's that point where he slips his forked tongue out of your core and really sucks on your clit, that long muscle circling your swollen nub and pulling on it, coaxing more breathless cries out of your throat.

Your hands fall from his hair, clawing at the couch instead as you arch and buck against him, your body starting to twitch uncontrollably, and then, finally, with a hard suck to that sensitive bundle of nerves and a tight pinch to your nipples, he throws you over the edge. You come with a wailing scream, body spasming, thighs trembling, toes curling, all air sucked into your burning lungs as the lights explode all around you. He keeps licking at your throbbing clit, hands rubbing over your quivering breasts, his own grunts sending additional shock waves through your core.

He lets you down easy, lapping at the wetness seeping out of your clenching cunt, before he presses a lingering kiss to your inner thigh. Then he leans back on his haunches, watching you, his eyes seemingly even darker, as if feeding off your juices has made him even hungrier, even hornier, and by the look of his cock, he is indeed very aroused. It's bobbing against his lower stomach, standing proud and tall, thick veins bulging under the tight skin.

The sight pulls you from the aftermath of your orgasm, and you sit up slowly, hands reaching out, but he grabs your wrists in his large hand and pushes you back down, hovering over you as he stares down. You struggle in his hold, whimpering quietly, needily gyrating your hips beneath him as you feel his heavy erection on your stomach, so large and warm and already twitching. The only thought in your cloudy head is: I need him inside of me, and you know he wants this too, but he finds equal fun in playing around with you first.

So you wait, more or less patiently, as he watches you silently, his large black eyes boring into your soul, a little smirk playing around his lips. You lick your own, knowing the sight will drive him mad. And indeed it does, when he finally moves, smashing his mouth to yours for a searing kiss that quickly makes your head spin. He licks at the seam of your lips, and you part them, inviting his tongue in, and as it slips into your mouth, you feel it changing, getting longer and bigger, the two thinner ends teasing at the back of your throat.

You let out muffled moans as you try to meet his tongue with your own, and he sucks on it eagerly while still exploring every inch of your mouth. You taste yourself on him, and it only makes you salivate more as you think about where this tongue has been before. It's a messy kiss, hungry and passionate. You struggle beneath him, but his grip on your wrists is unrelenting, his weight on you grounding you, but the feel of his hard cock pressing into your soft belly turns your need into an urge.

His free hand is on your chin, lifting it up while his lips are still suctioned to yours, his tongue probing deeper, and when you feel the telltale sensation of having to gag, he pushes into your throat. Your vision blurs, lungs burn, body convulsing against him, but he keeps going, ignores the spit gathering in your mouth, just drives his tongue deeper down your throat, the muscle not as hard and girthy as his cock, but it's still an invasion you weren't ready for.

He starts moving it back and forth, and the pressure and friction feels like too much. You can't breathe, all you can do is gurgle helplessly. As your eyelids flutter and you look at him (without really seeing him with how badly the black spots dance before your eyes), he presses his lips firmer against yours as if to soothe you, while his tongue slides up and down your esophagus. You feel his hand closing around your neck, applying gentle pressure, the warm sensation making it all a little easier.

But just when you lean into the experience of having your throat tongue-fucked, he pulls back again, his tongue retreating and changing back into a normal size, before he peppers you with soft kisses as you slowly regain control over your breathing. His hum is low against your cheek, and despite the saliva dripping past your swollen lips, you find yourself smiling at him. He kisses your drool away, following the trail down your chin and to your neck, where you feel him nibbling on your fluttering pulse.

He's not a biter, luckily, even though his canines are a little pointier than normal human teeth. Yet he only uses them to tease you, and that he does as he scrapes them along your throat, his warm breaths coaxing a thick layer of goosebumps onto your exposed skin. When he starts working a hickey into your neck, he moves his arms around you and slowly lifts you up. Your freed hands are tingling, but you quickly place them to the nape of his neck to hold yourself up.

Pressing you to his chest, he pulls you into a standing position, before he tilts his body back, and you feel how your feet leave the soft carpet beneath you. Immediately your heart starts racing, and you quickly wrap your legs around his waist, tightening your grip on his neck. He's done this a few times before, always surprising you, but you've thought he would stop doing it after you told him you didn't like it too much. You open your mouth to protest, staring at him, but he only grins, holding you against him as a sudden jerk goes through his body.

And then you find yourself pressed to the ceiling, desperately clinging to him as you squeeze your eyes shut. Without even seeing how far away the ground is, you can feel the vertigo crashing through your stomach. You have a horrible fear of heights, and he knows it, and yet he pushes you out of your comfort zone yet again. A little wail escapes you as he slowly pries your arms away from his neck. His hands move along them gently, spreading them, until he pins you to the ceiling by your wrists in an almost T-pose. You don't even know how he's able to reach his arms so far (he is also levitating, but that doesn't strike you as weird anymore).

If you'd be upside down, you'd be lying on your back with your arms spread and your legs wrapped around his waist, with him hovering over you, holding your wrists tightly. But you're not lying, you're pressed to the ceiling by a strange force emanating from your boyfriend, who basically hangs off you like the demon that he is. Despite the horroresque idea of him crawling along the walls and ceiling like a man-sized bug, you are too aroused right now to think about it.

He leans down (no, up) to plant soft kisses along your jaw, and you start grinding your hips into him, trying to forget the horrible sensation of hanging upside down (you're not upside down, per se, but with your hair falling over your face it sure feels like it). A sudden squeak escapes you when he lets go of your wrists, and you fear the worst, awaiting the inevitable fall, but you remain glued to the ceiling, even without him holding you up. Whatever force he is using, it's strong, and despite staring down now with your eyes wide open, you feel a little more relaxed, trusting him not to hurt you.

His hands move along your body before he carefully pries your legs off his waist, keeping them spread wide (and they'd follow gravity down if it weren't for the force holding them up) as he maneuvers his bobbing cock towards your ready sex. His black eyes are on you as he rolls his hips, his hands finding your face to keep your hair out of it, and you feel his tip pressing against your entrance before you let him in surprisingly easily, the stretch still coaxing a soft moan out of your throat. He keeps nudging his pelvis into you, slowly sinking deeper until he bottoms out completely.

He's not manipulated his cock this time, it's his normal length and girth, shaft smooth except for the bulging veins rubbing against your walls, and you don't complain, he's still way bigger than any man you had before him (not that you had many, but it's enough to make the comparison). Focusing on how he fills you out, you close your eyes and try to ignore your strange position on the ceiling. You feel him leaning in, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth, distracting you as best he can as gravity makes your head spin until you don't know what's up and what's down anymore.

You focus on him, on his gentle caresses, the way he moves his hips back and forth in a slow and steady rhythm, getting you adjusted to his size, but when you feel something curling around your ankle, your eyes fly open. He gives you an innocent smirk, but you already know what's going to happen. Behind him, his tail rises up, a long black appendage that ends in a little upside down heart-shaped tip. With his hands holding your face and his knees pressed to either side of your torso as he pumps his pelvis into you, the tail seems to have a mind of its own (well, it's his mind, but it feels like a third party with how unpredictable it moves).

It slithers up your leg, sending additional shivers down your spine. You're already on the brink with how his cock pushes in and out of your eagerly clenching cunt, mewling and moaning with every thrust, but when you feel that sneaky appendage poking at your sphincter, you almost choke on your own spit. He slows his pumping then, watching you closely, and you wish you could hold onto him, touch him, ground yourself against him, but you're still forced into that spread-eagle position on the ceiling, held by this unseen force, unable to connect – or even protest when his tail suddenly parts your tight muscles and slips into your ass.

All you can do is cry out, eyelids fluttering as he invades yet another part of your body. The heart-shaped tip wriggles its way deeper, carving its way into your tense depths, before it settles inside you while he resumes the constant pounding of his hips. Your head is spinning, not just from your high position and the vertigo assaulting your senses, but from how he plays you with his body parts. Cock sliding in and out, back and forth, rubbing along all the right spots, filling you out perfectly. Tail poking deep, undulating into you while also holding you in place, impaled like a dummy on a ventriloquist's hand.

It's as if you're dreaming, floating (quite literally) at the edge of sanity and pleasure, pushed and pulled without being able to do anything against it. And you love it. Before you met him, you were always anxious, overthinking everything, worrying your little head off. But then he introduced you to this realm of bliss, the head-empty-feeling that made everything so much easier. All you can think about now is him and how he uses you, how he drives his cock and tail into you without mercy, chasing his own orgasm as well as forcing you to feel these incredible sensations that fill your head with cotton.

There's this warmth building up inside you, the telltale sign of your impending orgasm, and you whine and wail under his motions, desperate to be led towards the edge and pushed over, desperate to fly. He watches you as you start to lose it, and his hands move to your waist, fingers digging into your skin, a bruising but comforting grip, and suddenly you're being pulled away from the ceiling, the hard surface you were pushed against is gone, and you are flying, held in the air, impaled by his tail, with his cock still pistoning in and out of you fast and hard, your whole body moving, arms and legs hanging limply, swinging with every deep thrust.

The vertigo grows into that whirlwind of sensations, and you may or may not be turned around, angled this way and that, you couldn't tell, your eyes are closed, and all you can do is feel. Like floating, like burning up from inside, like being filled and stretched. The noises of skin slapping against skin and those traitorously wet squelching sounds dim around you as the air gets heavier. You can barely breathe, your heart is that low thudding noise in the back of your head, your body shivering, lips twitching, and then you come, hard, with a disembodied scream that fills the room and sets the cotton in your head on fire.

He holds you as you spasm, those waves of pleasure burning through your nerves, and you barely register how he pounds into you faster, how his tail slips deeper, pushing against your limits, how he growls into the black void you find yourself in. Then his arms are around you, pressing you to his warm chest, and he gives you that final thrust, burying himself as deep as he can go, as his cock twitches and throbs, and with another low growl that sends goosebumps over your sweat-slick skin, he shoots his load into your convulsing depths, filling you out in a way that shouldn't be possible.

It's so warm, burning you up from the inside, spreading through your body, lulling your overstimulated senses. You're a puppet in his arms, still impaled by his tail as he slowly moves you down – until your curling toes brush against the carpet again. Gently he settles you on the couch, but your head is still spinning, and it's only when he lies down heavily on top of you, pushing you deeper into the cushions, that you regain control over your limbs. Inhaling sharply, your eyes flutter open, and you meet his warm gaze, his eyes no longer black, and his smile is soft – wildly contradicting the way his tail is still moving inside your ass.

But you don't mind. Your shaking hands move up his sides before you hold onto his broad shoulders, feeling his warm skin. Your touch is clammy while he didn't seem to have shed a single bead of sweat despite the airborne acrobatics. An amused little giggle escapes you, and he watches you curiously before he leans his head onto the cushion beside yours, his lips brushing against your cheek. You turn towards him, smiling softly. He leans in and presses his mouth to yours, his tongue persistently pushing between your lips, slowly easing back into needing to touch you and fill you at all times.

As if his tail in your ass and his cock in your overflowing cunt wouldn't be enough.

It's one of the perks of having a demon as your boyfriend. You're never alone (never empty), he's always there for you, even when you have to suffer through those long hours of redundant labor. He'll make sure you can feel him inside you no matter what, even if he's miles away, waiting for you. Be it through those touches you can feel but not see, those phantom caresses he's able to give you, or by stuffing you full of his cum before you have to leave for work, the constant drip into your underwear a gentle reminder of what awaits you once you get home.

You've never been as sex-obsessed as you are now, he certainly opened a few gates you are unable to pass through again or even attempt to close. You're past that. Why would you want to stop those desires either? They are a part of you the same way he is a part of you and you are a part of him. He never officially bargained for your soul, and he didn't have to, you gave it up willingly, to be with him, forever.

Squished into the couch under his weight, you keep kissing him hungrily, slowly fighting your way out of the bliss-induced haze he put you in. He's still on top of you, heavy inside you, his seed slowly dripping from your clenching cunt. There's a strange pressure when his tail forces its way out of your ass, and you know it's slowly retreating back into his body, as he returns to his more or less human form. He always turns back after successfully satisfying his and your needs, almost as if making you believe he never changed in the first place, and him showing you his true self was only a figment of your orgasm-riddled imagination.

But you know better, and it may have scared you at first, but now you can't get enough of all those extra features. You know for sure you could never have sex with another human again, it wouldn't be the same, because only he can meet all your special needs, fill you out perfectly, whatever orifice he desires most in that moment. Just the thought of his magically elongated cock pressing deep into your throat makes you shiver, and the idea of the same cock filling every possible inch of your cunt and further, stimulating every sensitive spot with its enhancements, makes you gasp against his lips.

He is all you can think about. You may be moved by invisible strings, guided into things you never knew you needed, but you don't complain. You want them, and you want him. And you'd die if he ever decided to dislodge his claws from you, if he ever let you go.

Feeling a sudden sadness gripping your insides, you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him harder. He strokes your cheek and leans back, his eyes scanning your flushed face. A single tear rolls out of the corner of your eye, and he traces its movement before he leans down and licks it up gently. A shudder and a sob crash through you, your fingers digging into his hair, holding onto him tightly, desperately. His lips move along your jaw until he presses a soft kiss to your earlobe.

His voice is a low hum in your head as he whispers: “No need to be sad, pumpkin. You are mine, and you always will be. There's no escaping me. We are bound by body, soul and... blood...”

A stifled moan escapes you as you turn your head to the side and offer your neck to him. He's never bitten you before, but you know, deep down, like a long forgotten instinct, like a thought he planted into your brain, that it will be the last ritual to properly chain you to him – and him to you. And you want it.

His teeth sink into your soft skin, a sudden cold creeping through your veins, your body twitching slightly beneath him. And as he laps up the blood spilling from your neck, he holds you tightly, his hips rocking gently into yours, reigniting the fire burning within you as you feel his cock expanding inside you, filling you out, further pushing your limits. You can only issue weakened gasps, your mind slipping, a soft smile playing around your swollen lips.

He seals your wound with a gentle kiss, inhaling deeply as he nuzzles your neck, your pulse fluttering against him, and then he starts moving his hips, slow and steady thrusts that bounce you on the couch. Your eyes are hooded, but you can barely see him above you. All you can make out is a black shadow, filling your vision, as he grows on top (and inside) of you, the tail is back to tease your twitching limbs, his horns slip from his skull, brushing against your fingers fisting his hair, his whole body seems to vibrate as he assumes his true demonic form that he's never fully shown you.

And even now you can't appreciate it with how he hammers his cock into you, holds you in his embrace. Your mind is spinning, filled and yet empty, while his low growls mix with your little mewls. He is all around you, inside and out, devouring you whole. And you're here for it. All of it. He could drag you into the lowest circle of hell and you'd just cling to him, unwilling to let go, his to carry around, his to play with. His little puppet, the small human he chose to be his mate.

The soft swish of his wings barely registers as he lifts you into the air again, fucking your body and soul with reckless abandon, taking you to heights (and depths) you've never seen before, stretching you and your comfort zone further and further, invading spaces he shouldn't be able to penetrate. But you are his, every inch of you, every nook and cranny is there for him to fill.

And while he does just that with persistent thrusts of his large cock, you feel your heart swelling as well, beating hard in your heaving chest, beating only for him. Your boyfriend is a demon, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS

KINKTOBER 2024 MASTERLIST

[moonbeamoclock]

Hot take that shouldn’t be a hot take:

my biggest pet peeve is when people tag something as a x reader but it’s actually an oc…..i got to the last chapter of a fic only for the description of the ‘reader’ to be of a white person.

then the author got nasty with me after i called her out about it but that’s whatever

it takes an extra 2 mins to have a generic description of a person rather then give the details of their appearance but some of y’all are just too lazy to do even that

[outoftheseine]

- JOEL MILLER FIC RECS PART 2 -

forever in love with this grumpy old man <3 | note: please be aware of the authors’ warnings before reading. fics include canon tw’s like: violence, death, grief. most of these fics are age-gap relationship and some have 18+ content so minors please DNI.

part 1 | main masterlist

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

love in the middle of a fireflight | part 2 | part 3 • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @babydin

your bear | part 2 • joel miller x daughter!reader

↳ by @rrickgrrimes8 (very angsty, hurt/comfort)

a helping hand • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @teacupcollector

a lover's pinch • prof!joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @hier--soir (smut, au, angst, secret relationship)

i will be home for christmas • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @punkshort (no outbreak, fluff, smut, angst but happy ending, hurt/comfort)

lavender • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @justagalwhowrites

seeing you, seeing me • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @amywritesthings (slow burn, smut)

fate, after all • joel miller x f!oc!reader

↳ by @honeyedmiller (fluff, smut, no-outbreak)

ambush | part 2 • joel miller x reader

↳ by @huntergarrity (angst, violence, hurt/comfort)

seams • joel miller x reader

↳ by @fuckyeahdindjarin (self-conscious!joel, shy!reader, fluff, slow burn, explicit)

soft!joel collection • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @cavillscurls (smut, fluff, angst, soft and domestic!joel)

ONE-SHOTS - BLURBS - HC’S

daisy, give me an answer • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @dilf-din (fluff)

take this moment • joel miller x reader

↳ by @mylostloversbookmarks (post-outbreak, fluff)

ground me • joel miller x reader

↳ by @huntergarrity (fluff, comfort)

clouded judgement/clear mind • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @bluebeary-jay (violence, angst, hurt/comfort)

keep your eyes on me • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @mgparker (angst, violence, protective!joel)

daydreams • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @morning-star-joy (grumpy x sunshine, fluff)

i hope you are happy • joel miller x reader

↳ by @blissfulbarbie (very angsty, no outbreak)

grays • joel miller x reader

↳ by @softlyspector (domestic fluff, insecure!joel)

sweet creature • dad!joel miller x reader

↳ by @rocketrhap3000 (so fluffy)

lacy • joel miller x reader

↳ by @toxic-seduction (angst but happy ending)

bloodshed, crimson clover • joel miller x fem!doctor!reader

↳ by @morning-star-joy (slow burn, angst, violence)

arms tonite • joel miller x reader

↳ by @motherjoel (angst, reader gets hurt, happy ending)

skater • joel miller x platonic!gn!reader

↳ by @rrickgrrimes8 (angst, hurt/comfort, father figure!joel, tw: drowning)

be my daddy • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @bastardmandennis (no outbreak, smut, fluff, slightly angsty)

how the cookie crumbles • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @egcdeath (no outbreak, fake dating, slow burn, slight angst, fluff, idiots in love)

day after tomorrow • joel miller x reader

↳ by @familyvideostevie (no outbreak, fluff)

it’s your turn for choosing • joel miller x reader

↳ by @familyvideostevie (modern au, fluff)

i’m a feminist obviously • joel miller x reader

↳ by @toxic-seduction (protective!joel, violence)

softness • post outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @joelsgreys (fluff, joel is a dad, tw: premature birth)

as long as i have you • jackson era!joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @beskarandblasters (very fluffy, slight angst)

sweetheart • post-outbreak!joel millet x fem!reader

↳ by @joels-shitty-puns (fluff, light angst)

are you mine? • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @eupheme (protective and soft!joel, fluff, light angst)

a forever thing • husband!joel miller x pregnant!wife!reader

↳ by @honeyedmiller (fluff)

the revenant wife • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @pettyprocrastination

butterfly • joel miller x black!latina!reader

↳ by @stargirlfics (angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, slow burn)

unlikely friends • joel miller x reader

↳ by @sweetercalypso (fluff)

mischief nights • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @jupiter-soups (fluff, slight angst)

all my casualties of love • joel miller x reader/oc

↳ by @agentmarcuspike (smut, grief)

a matter of timing • joel miller x baker!fem!reader

↳ by @lavenderursa (angst, smut, comfort, neighbours to lovers)

[theetherealbloom]

PEDRO PASCAL MAIN MASTERLIST

PEDRO PASCAL

JOEL MILLER

DIN DJARIN

OBERYN MARTELL

MARCUS ACACIUS

REED RICHARDS/ "MR FANTASTIC"

TIM ROCKFORD (coming soon!)

© etherealbloom - all rights reserved. please do not modify, repost, or translate any of my original work. none of my work is permitted to be reposted on any other platform.

[x1un4rx]

| A Night to Remember | (No Outbreak) |

Pairings: Bf!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: A quiet night out with Joel turns into a meaningful and intimate experience for the reader. After a cozy dinner, the two of them escape to a peaceful spot to stargaze, enjoying each other’s company. It’s a night of connection, comfort, and a little bit of unexpected tension, all under the stars.

Warnings: mild language, fluff, jealousy, mild possessiveness, light romance.

A/N: I had fun (also suffered) writing this one! I wanted to make it sweet, soft, and a little steamy—because who doesn’t love a little romance, right? Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know what you think! <3 (I didn't proof-read this properly, so apologies if something sounds weird/doesn't make sense.)

Word Count: 2,8k+

Credits: @cafekitsune for the lovely dividers <33

(edit: I made changes with the dividers. Also for future references that I've forgotten to clarify, I edit my work ALL THE TIME, so my works when reblogged by others look different, sorryyy (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ ))

The house was unusually quiet tonight. No sounds of Ellie barging through the door with her usual energy, no music playing from her room, no chaos over something small that you both would inevitably laugh about later. It was just the two of you, alone for the evening, and it felt like a luxury. Sarah was in college now, juggling her studies and figuring out life away from home and Ellie was at a friend’s house for the night—a sleepover, her first in weeks, and the quiet was strangely comforting.

You were standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, adjusting your hair for the third time. It wasn’t a special occasion or anything—just a romantic dinner date with Joel. But you’d been looking forward to it, especially after the week you’d both had. You were used to the small moments with him—the late-night talks, the quiet mornings—but tonight, you wanted to feel a little more… put together. The soft fabric of your dress hugged your figure just enough, nothing flashy, but enough to make you feel good about yourself. You didn’t need anything extravagant to remind you of how far you’d come with Joel. But maybe, just maybe, tonight felt different.

You caught your reflection in the mirror for a second too long and realized you were smiling at yourself. You could hear Joel’s low, familiar voice from behind the door.

“Everything alright in there?”

You rolled your eyes, still trying to get the perfect look. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just making sure I don’t look like a disaster.”

Joel’s chuckle came through the door, warm and teasing. “You can’t not look good, babe.”

You felt a smile tug at your lips. That’s Joel. The man who knew exactly how to make you feel like the most beautiful person in the room—even when you weren’t trying. His words were like a secret confidence boost you never asked for but always appreciated.

You gave up trying to get your hair perfect and called out to him. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Miller.”

There was another soft knock on the door, followed by the sound of the door creaking open. Joel’s face appeared, and you immediately had to suppress a laugh. There he was, looking like he’d just stepped out of a magazine. His jeans were perfectly worn in, his shirt a little more pressed than usual, sleeves rolled up, showcasing his forearms—those strong, calloused hands that always made you feel safe.

“You still gonna be in there forever, or what?” Joel grinned, crossing his arms, leaning against the doorframe with that cocky, laid-back expression you loved so much. “I was startin’ to think you were gonna leave me hangin’.”

You raised an eyebrow, eyes scanning him up and down. “Dramatic much?”

Joel smirked, pushing off the doorframe and stepping inside. His eyes didn’t leave you for a second. He always had this way of looking at you like you were the only thing in the room. It wasn’t like he had to try—it just happened.

“Yeah, yeah. Dramatic. You ready yet, or am I gonna have to keep waitin’ for you?” he asked, moving closer, wrapping him arms around your waist and his head on your shoulder, breathing on your neck.

You felt your chest flutter, and despite the teasing in his tone, you could tell there was something softer in his eyes. Something different tonight. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You always know how to make everything look effortless, don’t you?” His voice was lower now, more sincere than teasing.

You laughed softly, feeling your cheeks heat up. “You’re just saying that.” Joel looked at you through the mirror, looking at you in utterly disbelief. "I would never lie to you, my love."

Joel then pulled away from you and just smiled, a quiet, affectionate smile, before extending his hand. “C’mon, let’s get outta here before I forget we actually have a reservation.”

The drive to the restaurant was easy, comfortable. The quiet between you was never awkward—just the gentle hum of the engine and the music playing softly on the radio, songs that you both recognized. You didn’t need to fill the silence with anything more.

But when you pulled up outside the restaurant, a new energy seemed to shift. Joel straightened in his seat, his fingers drumming absentmindedly on the steering wheel. It wasn’t just a dinner to him. He had been planning this for awhile, putting in the effort, and you could feel the anticipation coming off of him in waves.

“Ready?” he asked, eyes glinting as he turned to look at you.

You met his gaze, that familiar warmth spreading through your chest. He didn’t just ask if you were ready for the evening. He was asking if you were ready for the next few hours—just the two of you, away from everything.

He always had a way of making everything else disappear.

“I’m ready,” you said, leaning over and pressing a kiss against his cheek. It wasn’t big or showy—just a quiet, simple gesture—but you saw the way his grin grew in response.

“You’re too good lookin’,” Joel said, "You sure you don't want me to start the truck again, head home and have fun in bed instead?" his voice laced with fondness and teasingness.

You gave him a look, "No love, let's go have a lovely dinner, instead of being cooped up at home and eating leftovers."

He held your hand as soon as you both climbed out of the truck, keeping you close to him as you made your way toward the restaurant. There was a quiet protectiveness in the way he kept his hand around yours, like he didn’t want to let go, even for a second.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. “You gonna hold my hand the whole night, or what?”

Joel flashed you an exaggerated pout, that teasing look never leaving his face. “What can I say? You’re way too good lookin’ to let go. Gotta keep you close just in case.”

You laughed softly, the warmth of his touch grounding you. You could tell that tonight—tonight, he wasn’t just the guy who looked out for you. He was all in, fully present, and it made your heart beat a little faster than usual.

Dinner passed in a blur of delicious food and even better conversation. Joel was as charming as ever, effortlessly making you laugh with his lovely, dry humor and his little sarcastic remarks. But it wasn’t just the jokes—it was the way he’d lean in a little closer when he spoke, the way his hand brushed against yours under the table, the quiet glances that spoke volumes more than words could.

It was comfortable, easy. The kind of night that made you feel like you were the only two people who mattered in the world.

And then, just as dessert was being served, Joel excused himself to the bathroom. You were left to your own thoughts for a moment, the buzz of the restaurant fading into the background.

That’s when the guy, whom seemed like he was from the bar across the road due to his wobbly footing, was walking up to you, had caught your eye.

Your not in the mood for this. You wanted a lovely dinner with your man, but this guy had to rock up... amazing.

“Hey, beautiful. Can I sit with you?” His voice was too smooth, too confident. He leaned against the edge of your table, his body angled just a little too close.

"I saw you from the bar across the road, thought I might take a chance with a pretty girl like you." He said, eyeing you up and down. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

You blinked, taken off guard. “Uh, I’m waiting for someone,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

The guy didn’t move, just smiled, and leaned in a little more. “Oh, come onn, we could share a drink or something. I’m sure the bloke you came with won’t mind.”

You raised an eyebrow, more uncomfortable now. “No, really. I’m fine.”

But he didn’t back off. He just kept smiling like it was all a joke, a game. “You sure? I think you’re missing your chance here pretty, you positive you wouldn't want a drink with lil' ol' me?” This man was gradually becoming more disgusting and annoying by the millisecond.

Your patience was wearing thin, and you didn’t want to make a scene, but his persistence was starting to piss you off. Just as you were about to speak again, you saw Joel coming back from the bathroom.

You felt the relief flood through you, but it was short-lived. Joel’s eyes scanned the room, landing on the guy standing far too close to you. He didn’t hesitate for a second.

“Everything okay here?” Joel’s voice was low, calm, but you could see the shift in his body, the protective stance he was taking.

The guy hesitated for a moment, his smirk faltering. He clearly hadn’t expected Joel to show up so quickly, and when he saw the way Joel was looking at him—there was no mistaking the intent. Joel wasn’t backing down.

“Yeah, yeah, no problem,” the guy muttered, giving you a final look before retreating.

Joel didn’t take his eyes off the guy until he was out of sight. Then, he turned to you, his expression softening as he reached for your hand.

“You okay? Did he do anything to you darlin'? ” His voice was quieter now, almost apologetic. He was the kind of guy who didn’t like confrontation, but when it came to you? He’d do anything to make sure you felt safe.

You smiled at him, grateful. “Yeah, just didn’t know what to do. Thanks for stepping in hun.”

Joel squeezed your hand, his thumb gently brushing against your skin. “Ain’t no one gonna mess with you when I’m around, sweetheart.”

After dinner, Joel’s truck rumbled down the quiet road, the noise of the city faded into the background, it was like stepping into another world altogether. The quiet of the woods wrapped around you like a blanket—peaceful, uninterrupted. Just the sound of your breaths and the rustle of leaves in the distance.

The air was cool, carrying the fresh scent of earth and pine, the kind of crisp evening breeze that settled into your bones, making everything feel clean and new. When Joel finally pulled off the main road, heading into a small, secluded patch of woods, you couldn’t help but feel your heart beat a little faster. There was something about the stillness of nature that always made you feel both small and incredibly alive, especially with Joel beside you.

He parked the truck at the edge of a grassy hill, surrounded by nothing but open land and a sky full of stars. It was perfect—just like he’d planned.

You stepped out of the truck, inhaling the cool air deeply, letting it fill your lungs. The night seemed to expand in every direction, endless and vast. You walked a few paces away, and then, for a moment, you simply stopped and tilted your head back. The sky was so clear, so wide, that it took your breath away. The stars shone like diamonds scattered across a velvet canvas, each one brighter and closer than you’d ever seen in the city.

You could see the Milky Way, a faint but beautiful streak across the sky, and the constellations you’d learned about as a kid suddenly seemed more real, more tangible. There was something magical about being here, so far from everything else. The stars felt almost like they were there just for you, like they were a secret shared only between you and the universe.

Joel’s voice broke through your thoughts, warm and close. “You alright?”

You turned toward him and smiled, already knowing he was watching you with that soft, caring expression. The kind that made you feel like you were the only person who mattered in the world to him. "Yeah, just... it’s amazing out here."

Joel chuckled lightly, walking over to you and placing a hand on your back, guiding you to the blanket he’d set out on the grass. “I thought you might like it,” he said, that grin of his tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You did mention it when we first met." You looked at him, smiling slightly. "You remembered it?" You were surprised he remembered something from 3 years ago.

You sat down on the blanket, and Joel followed, stretching out beside you. His hand brushed against yours, fingers intertwining, his warmth against your side, a steady presence that grounded you. You both lay back, the sky opening up above you, vast and endless, and for a moment, it was like everything else melted away. The truck, the world, everything. It was just the two of you, the stars, and the cool night air.

As you settled in, your head found its place against his shoulder, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you into a peaceful calm. Joel’s arm draped casually over your body, his fingers lightly brushing the skin of your arm, as if he wanted to be as close to you as possible without even trying. You could feel the gentle pulse of his heartbeat beneath the fabric of his shirt. It was a familiar sound, comforting and safe, and you let yourself sink into it.

“The stars look different out here,” Joel said, his voice a soft rasp in the stillness, like he was marveling at the view for the first time too. "They look...prettier."

You smiled, your eyes tracing the patterns above you. “Yeah,” you said, your voice quiet, almost in awe. “They’re... more alive. Like you can actually see them, y’know? The way they’re all scattered across the sky, like the universe just decided to let us in on its secret.”

Joel let out a soft hum of agreement, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your arm. “Guess there’s a whole lot more out there than we ever see, huh?”

You nodded, unable to look away from the stars. “It’s... it’s incredible. Sometimes I forget how big the world is, how much of it we don’t even know about.”

For a long time, neither of you spoke. There was something peaceful about that silence, a comfortable kind of quiet that wasn’t awkward but full of understanding. Just the gentle rustle of the grass beneath you, the breeze moving the trees in the distance, and the faint hum of insects.

“I used to come out here a lot,” you murmured, your voice soft but steady, as if the night made you want to share more than you usually did. “When things were rough, I’d just lie on my back and look up at the stars. It always made me feel like... like I wasn’t as alone as I thought I was.”

Joel’s fingers paused in their movement, and you could feel him turn his head toward you, his gaze soft in the darkness. “You were never alone darlin',” he said quietly, his voice firm but gentle, like he wanted to reassure you that you were never carrying the weight of the world by yourself.

You met his gaze, finding the sincerity in his eyes. It made your heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, but... it’s different now,” you whispered. “I have you. And I’m not just looking at the stars alone anymore.”

Joel smiled at that, a little crooked grin that made your chest feel warm. “Well, we got a hell of a view tonight, don’t we?” He nudged you gently with his elbow, his voice laced with affection.

You laughed softly, leaning closer to him, your fingers brushing his again. “We do. It’s perfect.”

His arm tightened around you slightly, pulling you just a little closer, as if he couldn’t help himself. “Yeah… it’s just right.” His voice dropped, almost to a whisper, like he was speaking to you alone, like the night itself was a secret between just the two of you. “Just us. Right here.”

You nestled your head a little deeper into his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body against yours and the steady, comforting beat of his heart. The stars seemed to shine even brighter when you thought about how far you’d come, how much you’d shared and how much more you still had ahead of you.

For a few moments, you let yourself drift, your eyes closed, breathing in the night air. You didn’t need words. You didn’t need anything more than this—the quiet company of someone who understood you, the peaceful presence of the stars above, and the promise that no matter what, you’d always have this moment to hold on to.

In that moment, it wasn’t just about the stars or the quiet, but about everything that had led up to this. How far you’d come. How much you had, just right here, with him.

- lunar <3

[nobitchs-world]

Me someone says they like bfd fics

[davosmymaster]

Home

TAGS AND WARNINGS - Hurt/comfort, panic attack, family issues, abusive family, racism (against Joel and Sarah), mentions of stalking (if you squint), Joel is definitely Latino, potentially triggering if you have suffered from an abusive household, self-degradation, “Mexican” as a slur, Christmas celebration and religion. Reader is 28. Because of the plot both reader and family are implied to be white/not black or latino.

PAIRINGS - Joel Miller x fem!reader (Pre-outbreak! Joel)

WORD COUNT - 3.2k

SUMMARY - Coming back “home” to your family for Christmas is always a dangerous move. The goal was simple: survive through the night. Joel comes to the rescue when the mission becomes unbearable.

Home

There is a warmth in your chest as you close the door to your childhood room. Out of the bubble you have now created for yourself beyond those four walls, there's a dad sitting in front of the tv and a mom putting the finishing touches to Christmas dinner. Your brother is somewhere out there, too. And all you can think of is how the warmth in your chest becomes white lightning, a fire going up and down through your sternum; and your closed-up throat unwilling to welcome any more air into your lungs.

'What's wrong?' you ask yourself in your mind; as if you didn't already have the answer for that. All is fine, all is well. And yet the fire doesn't stop despite the lack of oxygen in your lungs, and the trembling in your hands becomes somehow more erratic.

'What's wrong?' The voice in your head is unforgiving. Sarcastic. Insulting, even. 'Nothing's wrong. You know damn well that's the problem.'

Your breathing comes out laboured. Somehow the autopilot has failed, and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing; it seems that your body is no longer interested in keeping you alive. Let alone sane.

As if sent by God themselves, the flip phone in your handbag rings. The melody fills the room from where you left your things an hour ago and your knees crawl there, unable to hold your own weight. Back hits the mattress, and your form becomes a boneless bundle of anxiety against it, on the floor. Your shaky hands look for the phone inside your bag; and you pick it up on its last ring.

You hear a relieved breath on the other side, and yours immediately follows. His voice comes out low, a drop of worry staining it inevitably like blood on a white shirt.

"It's me," he says. And you want to respond 'Of course it's you, who else would call me at this hour on Christmas eve?' "Just wanted to check how everything is going."

Words don't come out of your mouth. You just bend into yourself a little more, feeling extremely cold all of a sudden. The trembling is gone. Although it has left remnants behind, a trail of weakness in your very soul, your breathing still in manual mode. Slow. Lungs aching.

"Darlin'..." Joel whispers.

You can almost picture him bent over his yellow kitchen counter. One hand is pressing the phone against his ear, his elbow supporting his weight. The other is against his chest as if trying to comfort himself with half a hug. The crease between his dropped eyebrows is deep. Concern flows from his voice like a river after it's rained. You want to massage the fine lines on his forehead, press your own hand against his patchy beard; and kiss the worry away.

The words you prepare yourself to say are comforting, dismissive of your current situation; but they never leave your lips.

"I shouldn't be here," it's what flows from your mouth instead.

He takes a deep breath followed by a sigh, and you can perfectly picture him shutting his eyes tightly.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

He insists, but you don't have a different answer to offer. Truth is, nothing has happened; and that is something Joel Miller, your boyfriend, whose parents were always there for him both physically and emotionally when he and Tommy were growing up, will never understand.

He will never understand the silence in the room below, and how unsettling it is to patiently wait for the inevitable fight. He will never understand that the smell and sight of the house you grew up in bring memories deeply buried but burnt into your brain. He will never understand the unnerving rage that floods your nervous system whenever your family behaves like family; when they treat you nicely and kindly and it feels like they are mocking you somehow. Because you know how they are, and you know they are seconds away from dropping the masks and beginning the third world war as soon as you bring up the wrong topic; which seems to be any topic these days. But especially the fact that you're dating a divorced dad. And as if that wasn't enough, it bothers them, even more, knowing that said dad is of Latin descent, and his child, a black girl.

You don't understand why you're even there. Well, you know why you're there; because they drove three hours to pick you up even though you repeatedly told them that you could drive back home for Christmas. Because you had felt guilty —and sick— at the thought of one: saying no after that; and two: the anxiety a fight in front of Sarah's teacher would cause you.

How had they found out you were taking Sarah to school, or what school she attended? You had no idea.

"I'm sorry..." you whisper, suddenly guilty for being there; even though you know it's not your fault that they are manipulative and abusive and a complete fucking nightmare. It feels like you need to apologize to both of them, for still wanting and expecting your parents to change despite the awful things they think of Joel and Sarah.

"Hey... hey..." Joel speaks in a whisper, his heart pounding so hard it hurts. And you hear him walking somewhere; probably outside. He doesn't like Sarah listening to things she's not supposed to know about. "We both know it's not your fault they have their head so far up their asses."

There's no reason for you to break the way you do, but that doesn't stop your tears or your own shallow breath from making it to the other side of the line. A low grunt escapes your lips. The pain is raw, and feels new rather than just an uncomfortable scar. Your eyes scan the room and they find your purple walls, old notebooks, clothes in the open wardrobe and, suddenly, it feels like you're fifteen and so fucking helpless and exhausted and done.

"Darlin', come on..." he's begging. "Take deep breaths with me. C'mon..."

You close your eyes, so tightly that your very brain hurts, so tightly that you see bursts of fireworks behind your eyelids. That doesn't stop the tears from coming, but at least now there is a dark invisible barrier between you and that house that should be your home but isn't. And you take a deep breath with him, and let it out.

"Good. You're doing so good," he says, and it fills you with guilt that his voice sounds so scared. "One more... Yeah, there you go. One more baby girl... That's it," he keeps you from falling into the abyss of your mind, and you don't think you could ever repay the debt.

A comfortable silence settles between the both of you before he asks.

"Want me to go and pick you up?" he asks, with such a gentle voice you couldn't help but picture him as he talked to baby Sarah. He doesn't want to scare you or upset you in any way.

But you shake your head quickly and wipe your tears with the back of your hand.

"No," you respond. "It's so far away, and Christmas... and Sarah needs you."

"Sarah is perfectly fine here, and Christmas will last 'til morning. It's not even that late," he says. "...and you need me too," he insists. "It's not that far, anyway."

"It's a three-hour-long drive."

"For those old motherfuckers maybe. I can go back and forth in that same amount of time."

You sigh, loudly. The strength is leaving your body with any passing second, and you fear you will pass out on him while still on the call.

Almost as a threat, you hear your mother speaking in the living room.

"She's in her room?" she asks, and your heartbeat increases. It pounds heavily against your ribcage. The voice is muffled by the walls and stairs, but loud and clear as if she wanted you to hear. "Some things never change, do they? What a shame. A twenty-eight-year-old woman, hiding in her room from the parents that raised her... and put a roof over her head..."

Then, your brother laughs.

"Joel..." you say. With the tone that comes out of your shutting throat and your knees on the floor, his name in your mouth feels like a prayer. He winces on the other side of the line as if he could feel the stabbing pain in your heart. But that, you don't know. "Please hurry..."

"I will, baby," he says.

As soon as your words leave your mouth, you regret them. Almost screaming his name, he gets startled; asks what's wrong as if he feared the ceiling of your childhood bedroom collapsing on top of you. It certainly feels like it.

"Don't be so quick, though," you whisper, and immediately cringe at your own words. "I mean... Don't get yourself killed on the road. Please."

He blows a long sigh, directly into his phone.

"Je-sus... Christ," he could almost laugh at the relief. "I won't. Keep your phone at hand."

"Thank you, baby."

Before either of you has even hung up the phone, the door to your room bursts open. Your brother is standing there, with that sly grin that you wish you could beat out of him without him killing you first; but which, at the same time, terrifies you to the point of absurdity.

He leans his head, covered by a baseball cap, towards the hallway.

"She's talking to the Mexican!"

A different kind of rage fills your veins, but even before you have the chance to say or do anything; you're defeated by your own dread. You wait for him to say something else, to reveal your new plan for Christmas; but he just stands there squinting in your direction. He seems confused by your puffy red eyes and your sitting position on the floor; rather than concerned for your teary face as an actual brother should be.

Your mother speaks, then. A loud cry comes from the first floor. Exaggerated. Malicious.

"Oh dear lord," she sobs. "What did we do to deserve this? And on Christmas Eve. Can we not have one peaceful Christmas?"

"Dinner's ready," your brother says. And slams the door.

[***]

For almost two hours you eat up your father's complaints about hypothetical broken hinges and your mother's cries about being the worst possible mother ever. Your brother seems the only person eating dinner in peace, and you're almost jealous of how unbothered he appears to be.

At some point the conversation redirects towards Joel, you don't know exactly when or why, but your father says his name as if Joel had anything to do with whatever he was talking about. You try to defend him, but end up with both of them somehow offended because you called them racists and they-are-not-racist and Mexicans-take-our-jobs and no matter how many times you tell them he's not Mexican, they don't seem to care.

How you manage not to have another panic attack, that you don't know.

The doorbell rings throughout the house, as if announcing the apocalypse. Your brother stands with his fork halfway out of his mouth, and your heart races as you look toward both of your parents. You see their mind going a mile a second, wondering if their complaints have been loud enough for the neighbors to call the police. Until shaking like a leaf, you get up from the table without having eaten a single bite, get your handbag and head to the front door.

Everything else is a blur, even if nothing special happened, even if they just let you go without a single word. Somehow, silence is even worse than what you were expecting. Next thing you know, you're in Joel's truck heading back to Austin and he's holding your hand.

Just the sight of him calms your nerves enough to wake up from the trance. He's rubbing small circles on the back of your limp hand. He manages to drive with one single hand on the steering wheel, but he clenches his fist so much around it that you can see his knuckles turning white.

He turns for a split second to look at you, and his gaze softens. His fingers intertwined with yours, and he squeezes gently.

"There you are, gorgeous," he says, his voice being the only thing you can hear. He takes a deep breath, and you know he's trying very hard not to pull over and squeeze you against his chest until your atoms and his merge together. "We're going home now, baby. It's okay."

The sentence feels like a kick in the gut, but he's right; you're going home now. The force of the blow is so hard that you physically flinch, and fat round tears come back to your cheeks.

You wished it was different. You wished they were different. You wished you could call their house your home and those people your family, but they hardly have earned the title of acquaintances. It doesn't matter that you're their flesh and blood; they haven't treated you as such. Through the four of you flows the same blood, but what does that matter when they seem to break your own heart with every word they pronounce?

You don't even realize how or when, but the truck is standing on the side of the road. Joel gets out and walks to where you are, and your arms fling themselves over his broad shoulders as soon as he swings the door open. He buries his nose in your hair, breathing in your own presence and squeezing his fingers on your waist as if he could get your body any closer to his. When your touch falters, he takes his chance to grab your cheeks and kiss you.

The kiss tastes like salt from your own tears, but that doesn't stop him in the slightest. He wants to kiss you harder than his own body is capable of. He daydreams of becoming the prince in those Disney movies Sarah loved as a child. All so he can erase all your pain with a single kiss, wake you up from the terrible nightmare with just his presence, his love and care. He knows that's not possible, but that doesn't stop him from trying.

His tongue gently licks yours. He revels in the kiss, his knees almost buckling up as if he was a teenager all over again. Before he lets go, he nibbles at your lower lip. And it's not until then, when his hips accidentally brush your inner thigh, that he notices how hard he actually is.

You gasp, and your lips form a perfect 'oh" against his mouth. Your eyes are closed, and he holds his breath at how drugged up he feels. He breathes your exhale and now it is pooling at the bottom of his lungs, making a home there. Unmoving. Strange to his system but somehow still welcomed. He presses his lips against the pulse point on your neck, feels the swollen vein there and flattens his tongue against the warm skin. Just the soft moan coming from your lips makes his boring existence worth it.

And then he bites. Softly. So soft that he barely feels his own teeth against your flesh. It still makes you jump.

"Joel!" you whisper, and the following second he's smiling as he draws a path of kisses back to your cheek. "Ugh... stop"

The air he's been holding finally comes out of his system with a long sigh. Both his hands are hugging your cheeks as his lips approach your forehead and gift you a kiss there.

"I won't let anyone mistreat you this way again," he says. He's all eyes closed and heart on his sleeve. Even if he was usually affectionate, he had never once before been so open before. The ghost of his ex-wife still haunts his nightmares and threatens him to end the same way with you if he let himself go. "I wish I met you before... maybe I could've been there and..."

"Joel," you stop his ramblings. Those words he's saying are not even directed at you anymore. He's lost in his own thoughts, in his own pain. "Joel you couldn't have done anything. This had to happen sooner or later."

Finally, he lets go, but still keeps you close enough to bury your head in his chest if you need it.

"Look at you..." he says. "Comforting me when it is you who needs comfort now. I can't even begin to imagine what it was like to be there all those years. I would've lost my fucking mind."

With teary eyes, you look into those gentle brown eyes he carries. They look at you with so much pain already, such a heavy backpack full of sorrow for you on his back, that you feel bad to answer.

"I did. I did lose my fucking mind. Not having a home does that to a person."

Maybe it is because he doesn't want to cry in front of you, not now that you're so tender around the edges, at least; but he brings you back into his arms and a few tears well his eyes.

"Let me be your home," he finally whispers against your hair. "I will always be your home, somewhere you can always go to and depend on. Sarah and I will be your home. You don't have to keep looking anywhere else..."

The wound in your chest cannot be mended, that you already know. Yet Joel's words feel like a balm on the open wound. The promise sounds heaven-sent, too good to be true. It also feels threatening somehow. The breaking of that promise, if you agreed to it, would mean completely losing any hope remaining in your body, any strength to keep fighting. Trusting is so difficult and love so complicated when fate seems so random. Yet this is what living is like, isn't it? What is life if not a continuous gamble we play in the hope of achieving a little happiness?

His eyes are fixed on yours, trying to read the thoughts coming non-stop to your mind. But in the end, there's nothing left to consider. Before you could even make the conscious decision, your mind, even if broken and dazed, had already performed the biggest proof of care you were capable of. You had stood against your parents for Joel and Sarah, something you had never been able to do before. Not in all seriousness, at least; not as far as showing them that you were capable of walking out of their house without their permission.

You loved them, and they loved you the way a true family should love. Joel loved you in a way you had never thought possible, and Sarah considered you, in all aspects, her true mother. Their home was always open for you. Always welcome. The only scream anyone would hear could only come from the tv or the radio. The arms were always open, the coffee always boiling hot, and the favors didn't need to be asked for. Love wasn't traded, but simply given.

"You two have always been my true home," you finally conceded, right into his incredulous and love-struck eyes. "Will you forgive me for forgetting?"

"Oh, babygirl..." he whispers, a smile dancing on his lips as he presses his forehead against yours, and his hands slowly warm your cheeks. His nose gently brushes yours. "There's no need to apologize. I will never get tired of reminding you."

[bed-chemist]

❝sweetest pie❞ by bed-chemist

─♡ summary: Gordon Ramsey has nothing on Joel Miller. The owner and head chef of a Michelin Star-worthy restaurant couldn’t have predicted anyone would give him a bad review. But, the baker who hates his food saw a perfect opportunity to bring him down a notch.

─♡ tropes & series warnings: Pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader, Chef!Joel x Baker! Original Character, Chef x Baker, Grumpy x Sunshine, Joel x Black FMC, smut, fluff, angst, 18+ black!writer, language, mentions of death of parents and children, fighting, alcohol, physical descriptors (brief), characters affected by symptoms of anxiety or depression.

faceclaims ෆ spotify playlist.

tracklist:

1 ෆ ❝you’ve never been to heaven, have you❞

2 ෆ ❝i might just give you a bite.❞

3 ෆ ❝baby, i’m the sweetest.❞

4 ෆ ❝i got cake and i know he want a slice.❞

5 ෆ ❝one thing about me, i aint taking no shit❞

5.5 ෆ joel and ginny’s first date

6 ෆ ❝i want that nasty, that freaky stuff❞

7 ෆ ❝on my cloud, i got some space for you.❞

8 ෆ ❝i got the flavor that lasts❞

9 ෆ coming soon!

some of my characters are clearly affected by symptoms of anxiety and/or depression. because i want y'all to be healthy and take care of yourselves while reading, here are some resources

take care of yourselves, plz. xoxo, livvy ⋆˙ᵕ˙

[damneddamsy]

DAMS masterlist 🌨️

renegade (aemond targaryen) x (fem!oc) part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v, part vi, part vii, part viii, part ix, part x, bonus

second sight (cregan stark) x (fem!oc) - completed part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v, part vi, part vii, part viii, part ix, part x , bonus i, bonus ii, bonus iii

second sight (modern!cregan stark) x (fem!oc) now, before, later

falling (joel miller) x (fem!oc) part i, part ii , part iii, part iv

[joelswritingmistress]

Neighbors With Benefits Masterlist (Joel Miller x f!reader)

Part of the #hotdilfsummerchallenge but I might keep going with it into September if I'm feeling DiLFY 😆 @hellishjoel

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: DiLFY smut, age gap (23 & 42), unprotected sex

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5

PART 6

PART 7

PART 8

PART 9

PART 10

PART 11

PART 12

PART 13

PART 14

PART 15

[farmerlarrry]

Orange Slices (Joel Miller x f!reader)

masterlist | chapter sixteen | chapter fifteen | read on ao3 | playlist

story summary: A story about finding companionship and love in the midst of chaos.

word count: 4987

a/n: Hi guys, so sorry about not updating here for a while! I promise I'll continue posting Orange Slices chapter updates here, I just completely forgot to post chapter 17. Not to be annoying, but if you are interested in staying in touch with me/my other works/story updates (including fororange slices), I am now mainly on @urbancowboyjoel now. Chapter 18 is still in the works, explanation is at the end of the chapter hehe.

if you want to be notified when I post new chapters, follow @farmerlarrrylibrary and put on notifications! If you'd rather be tagged, just let me know.

@pocket-macnchz

Chapter Seventeen

“Come to me in the silence of the night; come in the sparkling silence of a dream.” -Christina Rossetti

The moonlight streams in through the small window in the kitchen, offering a comforting presence in the midst of your sudden onset of insomnia. After the day you had, all the lifting and moving, you should be tired; you should be exhausted. However, after tossing and turning for hours while your mind raced with thoughts about James and Joel and Nessa and your impending return to patrol and past memories, of your hometown and how things used to be, how much has changed within the past few years–your relentless thoughts refused to slow down no matter how much you tried to fight against them, so you forced yourself from the couch and took a seat at the kitchen table in the dark. 

Staring off into the dark abyss of where you just came from, you roll your neck, grimacing at the shooting pain at the base of your skull. Sleeping on the couch was not working out. Nothing good came out of it, just restless nights and daily body aches. Still, regardless of being in this house for a while, the reminisce of the lives that used to call this house their home still haunts you in one form or another. This place has yet to begin feeling like yours, and at this rate, you don’t think it ever will. 

The past few weeks have been nothing short of a blur, between the conversation you had with Joel and the myriad of drama surrounding you in Jackson, your mind has been rather preoccupied. 

After your eyes fully adjusted to the dark, you reached for the notebook at the center of the table. The clock mounted behind you on the wall in the kitchen, was loud in your ears, the mixture of tick-tocks and your heartbeat whooshing in your ear gave you a sense of unsettling nausea. 

You flipped to the next available blank page in the worn notebook, the moon casting a sliver of light across the table as if it was encouraging you to write about your troubles after witnessing your restless night for countless weeks. The eraser head hits the paper in between the ticks and tocks of the clock as you delve further into your thoughts. Where do I start? You ask yourself.

A few weeks ago, after returning from an uneventful patrol alongside Joel, you came across a post on the community information board in the town square. Charles posted a help wanted request for cleaning and setting up a library in one of the vacant buildings within the community. As soon as you saw his name signed at the bottom, you ripped it from the board and rushed to his house to volunteer your hand. A part of you felt saddened that he didn’t come to you and ask, considering he confided in you that one day he'd like to open a library here. Although, given the rocky state of things going on in your life, you understood why he didn’t ask to begin with. 

After going around to the different guards, asking for anyone to cover her spot with patrol, Tommy was the only one who stepped up while you and Charles began stripping the building, cleaning, and organizing the collection of books he’s hoarded over the years, were donated by members of the community, or were purposely scavenged from nearby.

Although you hated admitting this to yourself, it was nice getting a break from doing patrol. Setting up the library was the perfect distraction from everything going on, and spending time with Charles, someone who you looked up to for guidance and as a father figure, was the kind of presence your soul needed. 

That distraction only went so far though, at night your thoughts consistently kept you up into the wee hours of the morning. It had nearly become debilitating and you knew it was something you’d have to figure out sooner rather than later, particularly before you returned to your patrol duties. The main two culprits that haunted your thoughts were none other than Joel and James; Joel, mainly because you’ve been spending much less time with him than usual, and James for the fact that he’s been too involved in your life lately. 

Regardless of not going on patrol with Joel, you still see him nearly everyday. Usually the two of you eat dinner together, with him stopping by what will eventually become the library to see if you wanted to join him. Your answer was always yes with no hesitation on your end. After dinner, he'd walk you home, sometimes he’d stay for an hour or so, other times he’d retreat to his house to go to bed, telling you that the sleepless nights in the QZ and on the outside were catching up with him. At the end of each day, you always craved more from him.

Then there was James. Oh, James…

Ever since your confrontation out front of the stables about the little stunt he pulled that almost got you taken off of patrols, it seems as if James has been trying to do some intense damage control with you. He’s stopped by your house a handful of times that you know of. You’ve never opened the door, going completely still so as to not alert him of your presence, though he still takes it upon himself to profusely apologize through the door, pleading for you to talk to him. 

Through word of mouth, either from the other guards discussing your temporary leave or from Charles himself, James must’ve learned about you helping with the library because he began showing up between his patrols and other guard duties, claiming he just wants to see how things are coming along. 

These unexpected drop-ins put Charles in an awkward position; you knew it, James knew it—he came anyway. While you stealthily slipped into the back room to busy yourself, sometimes organizing piles of books you already organized days prior, other times just staring at the wall, Charles would take the initiative to entertain James with small talk. 

Every time James made his eventual departure, Charles would let out a loud heavy sigh, saying so much with no words. And after you’d mutter your half-assed apology as you emerged from the back room, he’d give you a look; one so full of disappointment and defeat. For the rest of the day, both of you would work in silence.

Charles never said anything beyond his sigh and the look he’d give you in regards to James. His body language was more than enough and he knew that. He knew the guilt that you feel and the conflicting anger you have towards James. After the last talk the two of you had, he’d given up and knew no matter what he said to you, no matter how much he tried to help, you wouldn’t listen anyway.

He knew you were a coward and had no plan of resolving things with James anytime soon.

A coward wishing their problem would disappear. 

You wished James would just disappear , because then you wouldn’t have to think about what you did to him that started this. And that made you feel guilty. 

Eventually, you knew you’d have to come face to face with James, knowing that he won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. The community is relatively small and people talk; in the long run it would be best to smooth things over, at least attempt to talk things out. Although, it just wasn’t something you could do right now. Not with your conflicting and complex feelings toward James—especially not when things were so God damned gray with Joel. 

The snapping of the lead of your pencil pulls you out of your mind consuming rant, suddenly becoming aware of your dark surroundings as you return to reality. You could feel the intense heat radiating off of your cheeks as you brought one palm up to your face. 

After staring at the paper for a few minutes, taking in the messy scribbles of words, you rip out the page in one swift motion, immediately crumpling it into a ball. The muscles in your forearm tensed as you squeezed the paper within your fist, making it smaller and more compact with each squeeze. The paper disappeared within the dark shadows of the kitchen when you chucked it across the table.

Your head began to spin, a buzzing sensation filling your skull and making you feel uneasy. Moving the hand on your cheek up to your forehead, you let out a sigh of frustration and close your eyes.

Joel. 

Such an intense and complex person. From the moment you sat across from him at that damned table at that abandoned cabin, you felt drawn to him. Something about him that you couldn’t quite put your finger on made you feel understood and protected and at ease. When it was just the two of you, you could imagine what life would be like by his side, and it was something you so badly wanted to manifest into reality. He could be a complete asshole at times, but then there were other times when he was so vulnerable with you and he would laugh and you could see a glimmer of joy in his eyes that gave you a tiny glimpse of who he was before the outbreak happened. Weirdly enough, you wanted him just as much in his worst moments as you did in his best. To you, knowing that was enough. It was enough to understand what you felt for him.

James…

He was such a sweet and kind soul, always making you feel so normal, as if none of this outbreak bullshit ever happened. James felt things so purely and intensely, it almost made you envious that someone could experience life in such a way after losing so much.  From the beginning he treated you as an equal, he didn’t make you have to prove yourself like some of the others did, he didn’t see you as the weird girl who showed up with Tommy Miller and his misfit older brother. He treated you like a human being deserving of friendship, he stuck up for you, and on the late nights the two of you would spend together, he made you feel like you were something important to this world. While all those things may remain true, it doesn’t change how he treated Joel or what he did to you when his jealousy took over. Things could never go back to how they were after that.

Closing the front cover of the notebook and slipping the pencil into the spiral binding for safe keeping, you slide it back to the center of the table where you retrieved it from.

In the past, writing had helped you sort through your thoughts, it did when Joel left shortly after you arrived in Jackson and when memories of the past became too much to bear. It gave you a chance to dump everything without the judgment of others and many times you were able to either solve the core of the problem or come to some sort of decision on how to manage your feelings, but this time around…no matter how much you deliberated, how much you wrote, it just leaves you with a bigger headache than you started with. 

And this headache seemed to grow worse as the days went on. 

As your hand ran down the front of your face, you turned in your chair to look at the clock, squinting your eyes to make out the numbers and hand position in the dark. You raise your eyebrows when you realize it’s now past midnight, nearly an hour has passed and you have been completely lost in your thoughts this entire time. 

At this point the moonlight shifted, the sliver that previously caressed the table with a soft glow, was now leading you to the couch. 

Pressing your palms firmly against the smooth surface of the table, it takes you a second to push yourself up onto your feet as your eyes lock onto one of the many burn marks pulling you back into your daze. Joel did say I was welcome anytime, the words appear in your mind without any warning, maybe I can… With one hard, intentional blink, the thought disappeared.

Nothing good ever comes after midnight. On top of that, you aren't being rational right now, you’re sleep deprived and borderline delarius. Nothing good will come out of that, you whisper your words out loud. Sleep. That’s what you needed. That’s all you need right now. Not clarity, or confirmation, or him.

You wrap your arms around yourself as you walk the short distance from the table to the couch, nearly toppling over on the couch. All you wanted at the moment was to sleep. You desperately wanted a break from your racing thoughts that were now becoming tortuous. Before laying down, you punched the poor excuse of a pillow a few times before laying on your back, your hands resting just above your navel. As you close your eyes, you slow your breathing. 

Trying to trick your brain into sleeping, you count the seconds that pass in unison to the ticking clock. Flashing images of Joel kept distracting you, so when you finally reached six hundred after several failed attempts, you flipped onto your side with your face now facing the back of the couch. The rough fabric brushed the tip of your nose as you nuzzled your face into the cushion, the heat of your breathing warming your cold cheeks. 

Three hundred more seconds pass before you shoot up from the couch, the sudden movement making blood rush to your head, the already dark room becoming darker for a fraction of time. Your heart, for some reason that you don’t know why, is racing, thumping strongly within the confines of your chest.

Placing your hand over your heart, feeling the movement under the layers of skin, muscle, and bone, you approach the window in the living room, your steps slow almost as if you were afraid of getting caught. As you look out the window toward Joel’s house, you brace your hands on the windowsill, leaning into them to get a better look. His house at this time of the night was nothing more than a shadow, but you could recount every detail of it by memory. 

You began to gently chew on your bottom lip as a sudden calm came over.

Fuck it. 

Before you could process your decision or think of what the consequence might come from out of this, you were already halfway out the door, barefoot and still in your pajamas. Time seemed to slow as you walked across the empty street and up Joel’s pathway; the overgrown weeds tickling the bottom of your feet with each step. 

Knock, knock, knock.

The wooden door was hard against your knuckles, knocking hard enough so he would hear but wouldn’t be alarmingly loud either. 

For a brief moment, a sliver of consciousness washed over you, the only thing you could hear was your own ragged breaths as the adrenaline continued to rush through your veins and covered your body in a numbing sensation. What are you doing? Your eyebrows drew together. Looking over your shoulder you judged the distance between where you stood and where your front door was. If I leave now, perhaps I can make it back before he gets to the door. The longer you think on it, you realize the opportunity slipping through your fingers. 

The sound of creaking floorboards causes you to turn back toward Joel’s front door and straighten your posture, your chin tilting upward ever so slightly. Your fingers fiddle with each other as you wait for the door to open; on the other side of the barrier, you can hear Joel clear his throat and your heart stalls.

At first, he barely opens the door wide enough for his head to poke through. You take a second to scan his face; he looks confused, still half asleep, but God did he look handsome.

“Hey, um, ” your voice is soft, not quite sure what to say. You shift the weight between your feet as you continue to look at him.

After taking what seemed like forever to process your presence, Joel’s narrowed eyes quickly turn into concern and he opens the door wider revealing his entire body. “Is everything okay?” His voice was rough, laden with sleep. Your breathing hitches, leaving you unable to respond as you take him in before you. Your eyes glaze down from his concerned expression, to his chest hair and down his bare torso, to the top of the band of his blue boxer that looked as if they had been put on in a rush. Your core ignited with an intense heat, your heartbeat picking up in speed. 

You force yourself to swallow despite your throat feeling as if it were closing in on itself. “I can’t sleep…” You shook your head, keeping your eyes fixated on his. “I’m–I’m sorry to bother you so late.” Letting out a sigh you avert your gaze down to your feet. Looking at him was too much for you to handle right now. 

The sigh of relief escaping him made you slowly look back up at him, his shoulders relaxing. Without saying anything else, Joel opens the door completely, stepping aside to allow you to come in. You give him a shy smile in response, butterflies now going rampant in your stomach. 

You wait for Joel to take the lead, not sure what would happen from here. You knew what you wanted to happen, whether it was right or wrong. Perhaps he’d offer you the couch, simply a place to sleep for the night. That’s probably for the best. Or maybe the two of you would talk for a bit and then he’d send you on your way. Fuck, you’re an idiot, you thought, hating yourself now for not thinking this through. Joel had to get up for patrol in the morning and you thought it was a good idea to bother him for your own selfish reasons. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You dig your nails into your palms as a flash of heat runs through your body. 

Joel’s arm brushes up against yours as he passes, leading you further into his home and turning on lights as he goes. You have to force yourself not to look at him or the way his back muscles shift as he walks. Get a hold of yourself, you scold yourself and suck in some very much needed oxygen through your teeth. 

You take everything in as you walk further into his home, it’s been quite a while since you’ve been here. Between the pictures of wildlife to the half finished wood carvings, everything remains the same as you remember; perfectly lived in and a reflection of who Joel is at his core. 

The kitchen light flickers a few times when Joel flips the switch, damn light , his voice comes out as a low mumble. As the two of you approach the table, he pulls out one of the chairs gesturing for you to take a seat. You avoid his gaze, giving him a nod of gratitude before he rounded the corner of the table and headed toward the kitchen cabinets. 

“You want something to drink?” He asks as he grabs two glasses, the side clinking together as he sets them down on the countertop. “Liquor, fresh milk, water…” He only turns back to look at you once he finishes. 

You shake your head. “I’m fine, thanks though.” The last thing you need is alcohol, and you were sure that anything that went down would instantly be vomited back up given the fact that your stomach was in the most intense knots you have ever experienced. 

Joel stares at you for a second longer than usual before giving you a single nod, abandoning the glasses on the counter and taking a seat in the chair directly across from you. 

He clears his throat before asking, “Somethin’ botherin’ you?” His tone was genuine. You scoff quietly in response, if only I could tell you , you thought.

You didn’t respond immediately, staring off into the kitchen behind Joel and gathering your thoughts. “There’s…” You didn’t know how to respond or what to say. No, you couldn’t tell him. Or could you? “Yes, I just don’t know… I don’t” You cut yourself off, sucking in some air to challenge the suffocating feeling that manifested in your chest. 

“You don’t want to talk about it?” He says, not intending it as a question. Joel clasps his hands together, resting them on the table. Without looking at him, you slowly nod. “Nothin’ wrong with that.” 

Then a silence fell between the two of you. You didn’t know what else to say, you could barely look at him across the table from you and could feel his stare burning a hole into you. Guilt quickly washed over you and you slightly cringed to yourself before lifting your eyes up to Joel. His gaze was intently fixated on you, an intensity in his eyes you saw only a few times. 

Your lips part, your tongue wetting your dried out lips. “I’m sorry I woke you up for nothing,” Your voice was breathy and barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know what to do, so…” 

Joel immediately shook his head before you were even able to finish. “Don’t– no, don’t apologize.” You give him a pitiful smile, though his expression did not break. The two of you stare at each other for what seems like minutes, though in reality it was probably only a few seconds at most. 

“How’s the library comin’ along?” He changed the subject, which you were thankful for. “Sounds like a lot of people are excited for it.” Joel cocked his head. 

“Yeah, probably a dozen people stop by a day just to see when we’ll be done.” You say as you tuck your hands beneath your thighs. “Hardest part is just filling the shelves with books, more tedious than hard though.” Joel was listening with intent. “Tony brought us a ton of books from the run last week, so that was pretty huge. On top of that people have been dropping books off to donate.” 

“It’ll…it’ll be a good addition to Jackson.” Joel responds and you nod.

There was a pause in the conversation, a bit of awkwardness rising in the air. 

“How’s patrol going in my absence?” You inquire, changing the subject. 

Joel let out a low whisper as he adjusted himself in the chair. “Same ol’, same ol’. Don’t tell Tommy I said this, but it’s been nice spending some one on one time with him. It’s been a while since it’s just been us.” He says, a glimmer growing brighter in his eyes. A small smile appeared on his face. “Sort of like old times, when we’d go on fishin’ trips together.” 

You smile at the sentiment, before completely changing your expression. “ Mmmm,” you hum, causing Joel to look at you. His eyes narrow slightly in confusion. “Do I have to worry about you replacing me?” You jokingly narrow your eyes back at him, cocking your head to one side. 

Joel let out a boisterous laugh. “God no, never,” his response was quick with no hesitation. “I say that, but I can only take so much of him… ask me in a few more weeks and I’ll be beggin’ on my hands and knees for you to come back.” 

A smile appeared on your face again, “I won’t make you beg too hard.” Joel instantly locked eyes with you through his brow-line, your stomach jumping at the eye contact. 

“No?” He raised his eyebrow as he spoke, his voice dark but somewhat playful as he gave you a devious smile.

You were the first to drop your gaze, followed up by Joel clearing his throat. 

“Um…” You fill the silence, trying to think of how to converse after that moment. In your peripheral view, you see Joel reach his hand over the table, gesturing toward you. 

“I think about ya’.” His eyes dart around as you look at him, searching for some sort of reaction from you. Everything around you went eerily silent. You raise your eyebrows almost stunned by this confession. All you wanted to say was: You do? However, you waited for him to continue, to take the lead on whatever was about to be said. It seems as if your reaction was enough because Joel nodded. “When I’m doin’ patrol and you aren’t there, at night before I fall asleep,” as he went on, he refused to look at you. From his expression you couldn’t quite tell what his intent was telling you this. “I–I’m…” At this point his head is hanging low, his eyes fixated on the table; he shook his head. “I’ll be right back.” 

His tone was different than before, you sensed a bit of hesitation, perhaps embarrassment. You return with a curt nod, although he didn’t give you a second look before he left and headed toward the stairs. You remained seated at the table as you listened to the thumps of each step he took, and when things went silent, you raised out of the chair. What just happened? Joel’s confession almost seemed unreal, did you imagine that just now? You turned in a circle, your eyes tracking the walls as you spin. Am I dreaming? Your face now twisted in confusion. 

Walking out of the kitchen, you stand  at the bottom of the staircase for a moment looking up. Joel was nowhere in sight. You blow out the air you had been holding on to as you pad over to the living room, turning on the light. Bracing your hand on the threshold, you paused.

It was considerably messy compared to the other parts of the house. A blanket was lazily draped over the back of the couch, the guitar laid on it back on the ground as if he had been playing it and put it there to come back to later. Records were scattered on top of the coffee table, alongside a book laying face down open. 

As you approach the bookshelves on the back wall, you run your hand along the soft blanket and carefully step over the guitar. 

Reaching for a book that had a red-brown leather exterior with silver foil details on the side, your ears perk up when you hear Joel coming down the steps. You remain still, running your fingers over the spine before pulling it out. You hear the floorboards creak as Joel gets closer and closer to the living room, the louder his steps get, the weight in your chest gets heavier. You remain still, not turning toward the entrance to acknowledge his presence. 

Seconds seem to pass by in hours, until you feel his warmth behind you. “You can borrow it if you’d like.” His voice shook slightly as he spoke, your breathing becoming shallow. No words would leave your throat. 

Quickly, you turn to face him, your arm dropping to your side with the book still within your grasp. Joel took a single step toward you, closing the already little distance between your bodies. You brought your hand up to the middle of his chest, placing the palm of your hand flat against him; his heart was beating fast. Out of instinct, your body stiffens, your eyes softening as you lock onto his. 

As you tilt your chin upwards, Joel leans in, his eyelids fluttering as the two of you become closer to one another. Your eyes remain wide open as you relish the sight, total relief overcoming you at what was about to happen. Your tortuous thoughts from earlier completely disappear and burn in the fire that rose in the core of your pelvis. It was just you and Joel right now. Right now that's all that mattered to you. 

Just as his lips met yours, your eyes fluttered shut. Bursts of colors explode beneath your eyelids, and at some point the book slipped from your hands, landing with a dull thud. His hands were all over you now, one fisting at the back of your oversized night shirt, and the other gently caressing the side of your hip. Joel’s lips were soft, his movement a lot more gentle than you imagined on the many nights you couldn’t sleep. Yet, he was still passionate and the intensity made jolts of electricity rush through your body.

You quickly pull back from him, both of your hands holding loosely onto his biceps. He went to lean in again, but you pulled back again. “Tell me you want me to stay,” your voice is barely above a whisper, smooth and alluring. There was nothing more you wanted than this , what was happening right now. After that first dinner with Tommy and Joel, that was the turning point for you and ever since then that– Joel seemingly wanting it as much as you did–it was all you could think about whenever you were around him or when you’d see him at the bar, or across the community. 

Joel’s hands glided down your back before he clasped them together. His eyes shift off to the side before returning to you. You could tell he was contemplating, just like you had earlier; doing this…is it right or wrong? The way his hands press into your lower back told you that he wouldn't be able to resist you, not this time. 

His throat bobs as he looks into your eyes, his eyes softening and his lips parting. No words came out as he leaned into you, placing his forehead on yours. 

Joel nodded and whispers onto your lips, “Stay. ”

chapter eighteen coming soon! (I'm being so fr too, I'm just bad at writing smut and I want it to be perfect so bear with me)

painting divider | credit: @cottage-writings

[sstardustt3]

"smile, you're on camera y'know?"

summary- fem!reader and joel go get grocries while reader films.

word count- 1611k

tags- Ifem!reader x joel miller I fem!reader being a horrible camera woman I pre!outbreak (like way before) I 19yo!joel I breif mention of sarah I pregnant!reader I domestic fluff I grumpy x sunshine trope I

additonal info- Hiii this is my first actual fic so sorry if it's bad and it's not proof read so sorry for some grammer mistakes and i'll end up doing another post abt this but i'm going to make a masterlist for my fics in the future and i also can do requests and prompts so if you like this and any future fics and writing please feel free to put it in! reposts are also appreciated.

time-12:35 

Date- 3/31/2001

Recording sesion- 15:28:52

“Fucckkk…” Joel groaned and shifted around in the sheets

“If you don’t get that goddamned camera out my face…what is it five?”

Your eyes drifted down to the time at the corner of the camera.

“No actually, it’s twelve thirty five. I let you sleep in.” 

 you said from behind the camcorder, having a bit of a laugh at his irritation. He rolled his eyes at your comment and put the sheets over his head. Which promptly got it pulled off and thrown onto the ground

“No c’mon get up sleepy. We have shit to do.”

“Why can’t you go yourself since you’re full dressed already?’

Despite his protests and mumbling, sadly for him he knew he could never deny you, so he begrudgingly rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom, mumbling on the way. You soon followed, the cold air hitting your body once again and went to the drawer and sat the camera down as she slipped the thick whit socks on.

“He’s so adorobly in love with me, and it might seem like he hates me but trust me if you saw the way he was all over me last night you would be eating your words right now, trust.”  you chuckle to your camera, picking it up and walking to the sink in their bathroom. You hear an annoyed, slightly pained groan from joel on the toilet. 

You quickly turn your head and a grin grows on your face. “You okay in their honey?” you hear another annoyed sigh.

“Im great doll. Just fuckin’ peachy” the toilet flushed and he opened the door, one  hand on his hip and the other with his hand making a poor attempt at covering his face from her god forsaken camera that was tracking him.

“I'm starting’ to think that getting you that camera was a mistake”

He picked up his tooth brush and paste and squeezed the tube. The thick paste beading at the opening and getting wiped off on the toothpaste 

“Nonesense. Plus, wouldn’t little sarah love to see her mom and dad when they were young?”

She smiled, sitting it down on the counter and showing off  her pregnant belly to the camera. 

“Isn’t that what photos are for?”

He supposedly said. It was hard to tell with all the paste muffling him. 

“It’s the digital age.”

He didn’t dignify your teasing with a response and spit out the toothpaste and washed it all out with tap water. He whipped his lip and kissed your forehead.

“I’m guessing you wanna go somewhere?” he lazily pulled his shirt off and threw it in the hamper and you quickly seized the opportunity to zoom the grainy film all the way in to his chest to his abdomen. A cheeky smirk grew on your face at the sight. 

“It’s for groceries and to get a christmas tree. You can’t help get a christmas tree?” you quickly refuted. You zoom out and walk to window and gracefully pushed the blinds up and focused the camera on the outside. Thick snow covering the trees and the driveway covered in ice, It looked amazing on the camera, even better in real life.

“Y'know you didn’t have to wake me up for groceries, could’ve just gotten them yourself.” he mumbled, pulling the shirt over his head and slipped on his grey sweatpants.

You twirl, the camera becoming unfocuesed and slightly blurry at the abrupt halt as you dragged your foot to stop.

“Meet me in the kitchen when you’re ready.”  You call out before shutting the door.

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Time-12:42

date-3/31/2001

Recording session-27:02:24

The doors to the grocery store opens with the chime of bells accompany it as joel pushed the door with one hand and push the cart with other with your hand over his. 

“What do we really need outta here?” he said, seeming a little more awake then he was on the walk there.

The camera whirled to the fruit section they were first greeted with upon walking in. Focusing on the bright red color of the peppers and tomatoes.

“Tomatoes…cabbages…ribs....thats really it.”

“Simple enough.” he walked to the produce section and started looking through fruit, his hands turing them around and looking at them closely. You followed his hand and zoomed out a little to see his face. And once you noticed you couldn’t help but laugh at that  stupidly serious look on his face. He noticed and looked at you and your camera.

“What- what is it, why are you laughing?”  he said, with his eyebrows furrowingly slightly, making him look confused and annoyed.

“Your face, your so serious all the time baby, lighten up, please.” chucking hard, her hand that was filliming dropping to her side and hooking her arm around his neck and gave him a light kiss. His face warmed slightly in response which promptly earned a smirk from you.

“You’re too unserious.”

“You’re too serious.” the camera raised and a cheeky smile grew on your face “c’mon smile, you’re on film.” 

“Forget it.” he rolled his eyes and he refocused his attention on the fruit,inspecting it and testing the firmness to make sure it’s fresh.

The attention of the camera flew to the bakery and you made your way over. Getting welcomed by the secent of crepes, macaroons, jelly filled donutes, and other various foods. First going to the donuts, bending down to the prettily decorated display. A woman came over from the otherside, sliding the door to the side as her tongs took out the powdered donuts out and slid in a fresh new steaming hot batch with a little star star shaped candy on a stick on the top. Quickly you stood up to grab the young tired tenagers attention.

“Exuse me, ma’m?”

She turned around, and came back over, putting her arms on the top of the glss display. “Yeah?”

“Can I have two dozen of these?” you said, pointing off screen to the cute little pastry

She leaned far over the counter, ridiculously far and caused you to flinch slightly and back up.

She looked at the name plate next to the desert.

“The…fairy dust powdered donut?” she cranked her neck up to look at you.

You nodded. “Yeah those are the ones.”

She gave a quick nod and pulled back to her side, swiftly grabbing the tongs and picked up 24, 12 at at time and placed them in a bag.

“Is that it?” she asked.

“Yeah thats all.” you said,  trying to hide her shock at the womans quickness.

“That’ll be 9.95.”

You dug your hand in your purse and pulled out two fives and handed it to her which she accepted without a word and she gave back some cents.

“Have a good day ms.”

She called and you responded with a nod and walked away.

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Date-3/31/2001

Time-1:42

Recording session- 60:02:37

“Goddamn it, it feels like i spent all day in there.”

Joel sighed as he carried the bags from the store to the train station.

“Well not all day. Just…” you paused briefly. “Around two hours. Average time for a trip.”

He scoffed as he stopped at the platform. He turnt  your camera which he was also holding towards you.

“I don’t need you being a smartass.” he said from behind the camera

“It’s what I do best.” you retort with that stupid smile before turning the opposite direction. Leaning to the right to see the train coming.

“Don’t do that.” he pulled you towards him, unintentionally backing into his chest.

“Why not?” you asking while reeling your head back to look at him.

“Because I don’t want a damn bullet train to speed towards us and rip your head off because you’re being stupid.” he said, not noticing the light reddining on his face.

“Joel, your blushing.” you tease with that damned smile you’ve had on all day.

“Shut the hell up.” he quickly snapped back.

Within a few seconds the train slowly came and opened it’s doors and you quickly went inside with joel following closely behind. You took your seats and it was only when the pair sat down they realized how tired they were from standing. Joel craned his neck down to look at the camera. It was a quite a tooth rotting sight actually. You and joel holding hands on the train with both shoes in frame and yours untied. He sighed and sat the camera down on your lap and bent over to tie your shoes. You look down, slightly confused at what he’s doing.

“...What are you doing?” you mumbled as you looked down.

“Why are your damn shoes always untied is the question.”

“Hey, blame converse not me.” you said as you put your head back and sighed. 

He didn’t say anything back and you didn’t either. The entire train ride for the two was surprisingly quiet, with joel just looking into the grainy footage of the camera the whole time that had been recording the pair the whole time, that you were oh so obsessed with. He didn’t realize just how he was staring at the camera until the train speakers rang out their stop. He turned to you and saw you completely knocked out. He chucked and shoved you awake.

“Hey..” you rubbed your eye and and slowly rised as you noticed a few others on the train were, including joel

“C’mon sleepy head, smile your on camera y’know?” he said, cracking a smile. Which caused you to laugh and lightly shove him.

“Yeah, c’mon.”

[itsoutrageouss]

Like a bellflower - chapter one

chapter one of like a bellflower, a Joel Miller x Fem!Oc fanfiction.

warnings: violence, death, blood, the word 'rape', general apocalyptic angst things yk

words: 2,6k

Story taglist

1. A stoic rescue

✿✿✿

“If we don’t find some more fucking ammo soon I swear i’m going to kill someone,” Kade grumbled as we all walked along a broad gravelly road. He bit into the last of his dried meat with anger, ripping the flesh apart aggressively with his teeth. His arm nearly hit me as it swung back. I always stayed behind the four of them. Kade, Ryan, Sarah and Cole. When they found me, and agreed to pick me up along with them I thought I could find solidarity in Sarah. A girl. Or a woman I should say, because she is a lot more woman than me. 

Her shoulders were as broad as the mens, her figure sturdy and hardened like her face. No solidarity was to be found in those eyes. She met me like the men did; looking down at me with clenched jaws, demanding I fix us all food and making mean jokes when I try to brush and fix my hair. 

“That ain’t going to fix nothing sweetheart- how about a trip to the salon instead? It’ll be on me,” Kade would say with a nasty grin and they would all belt out laughter while they tended to their guns like I tend to my hair, with the same kind of care. The kind you should never use on weapons.

“But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue,” I always quote, biting my tongue until metal melts in my mouth.

“You have to calm down, we’re almost at the next town. If there isn’t any ammo, we’ll butcher someone that has some.” Cole replies, walking with fast, tough steps. They were always so hard, so violent. I watched intensely as my feet kicked the gravel. My gun didn’t have a lot of ammo left either but I would rather not have to hurt someone to get more. I’d run if I had to, but I really didn’t. 

The rest of the walk was silent, until old suburban houses started appearing. No one spoke to me. Wordlessly everyone divided to ransack the houses. Cole and Kade went together, so did Ryan and Sarah. Sarah, a dainty, feminine name for a woman with cold, rejecting eyes. No solace. I walked on my own, shoulders slumping. 

The house was a pale blue, the door was off the hinges completely, and I stepped over the rotten wood. Dust swirled in the beams of light that were pushing through barred windows. Someone had stayed here for a while, it looked like. Empty cans of food were piled on the dirty kitchen tiles. When I glanced back at the broken down door, I noticed the beating it had taken. The blood stains that the wood had absorbed. Scratch marks. I didn’t want to think of what had happened here, and instead I filtered through the flashes of sunlight, the warmth pulsing on my cheek. The air smelled like rotten wood too, as well as flowers. They bloomed in the corners of the walls, through broken tapestry they unfolded like nothing had ever bothered them. Like the whole world wasn’t dying. Untouched by the destruction, pretty and blooming. I wished to be like the flower. 

There was no ammo, but in the back cabinets I found old cans of beans that must’ve been forgotten in whatever hurry had happened here. Between the wooden beams that barred the window I saw the others gathering in the middle of the road. Soldiers, they looked like. Machines. They made my skin crawl and every soft thing inside me hardened. I solidified, when everything I fought for everyday was to be soft. Free, fresh and blooming like a flower. A war between me and the world to preserve the delicate human I was, but I felt like throwing it all up when Kade looked at me. He made me feel like he wanted to rape me. His eyes were wide like a drug addict, and his stare a direct look into the most damaged soul I had ever met in my life. I had no clue what his story was and I was terrified to find out. He wanted to hurt the world like it had hurt him and I didn’t want to be here to see it but I had nowhere else to go. 

They talked aggressively to each other, heads bent close together even though there probably wasn't anyone around for miles. I still never got used to seeing people standing in the middle of the roads. The cars were supposed to be there. And now all the cars were flipped upside down and stripped for parts. Sarah crushed a spiring dandelion under her foot. Her black, greasy hair flipped around her head when she talked. The day was beautiful but the people were not. 

We decided to camp there, in the house I found. I found a broken family photo in a bedroom upstairs. I was frozen, sitting on a four poster bed with a family full of strangers in my hand. This room was a memory in time. A photo in itself. If not for the barricaded window, where the sunlight slowly turned red, you wouldn’t be able to tell that life had died everywhere around it. So I stayed there all night. I went downstairs silently, like a child who’d awoken from a nightmare. But there were no parents downstairs, and I crept silently around them to grab a can of beans. Kades big hand squeezed my fragile wrist harshly and the can dropped from my hand. “You’re not taking all of that,” he spoke harshly before opening the can and pouring almost all of the content into an empty one. The rest he gave to me. “Sit down,” he stroked my wrist where he’d hurt me and I coiled away, sitting down reluctantly. I never joined their talk. Ryan was the nicest of them all, though the difference in their behaviors were minimal. They had been just them for so long that Sarah was Ryan and Ryan was Cole and all of them were Kade. Not one authentic trait that wasn’t given to them by the apocalypse. None of their own selves left from before. I pitied it, sort of. When they dozed off in their sleeping bags I snuck back up and crawled under the cold comforter in the bedroom with the photo on the pillow next to me. I tried to imagine living here. With my family, when they were still here. Sleeping next to my parents in their bed even though i probably was a bit too old for it. We wouldn’t tell anyone. Tomorrow we’d make breakfast together, maybe? 

Those thoughts put me to sleep. 

Bang. I woke with such a violent start that my hand flung the photo to the carpeted floor. It was already broken, but now the glass had fallen out of the frame in pieces completely. I had ruined the last memory of this family. Another bang. It was gunshots and the crashes that followed rumbled the old flooring beneath me. Impulsively I ripped the photo from the frame and stuck it in my pocket. I didn’t know how to move. We had never been in this situation. I had never been apart from the group when we were attacked. They were always there and always merciless. I had to fend for myself still, because they prioritized each other over me anytime. Sometimes it was as if they would purposefully let me fight on my own despite them being fully capable of helping me. I swung my backpack on, in case I had to run again. My hands trembled and the gun nearly slipped from my grasp. I creaked open the bedroom door, right at the top of the stairs. “Fucking get him!” I heard Ryan yell. More crashes, grunts. The stairs creaked as I took a step but another noise covered it. Blood sprayed on the wall next to the broken front door. Greasy black hair, fell with a thud to the ground. Blood started to pool around Sarah’s head, which was all of her I could see from this angle. I breathed in. It smelled like being on summer camp. Sunlight, fresh air but a metallic, wooden scent interfered with the peaceful memory. Kane roared and I heard him  surge towards whoever the perpetrator was. I closed my eyes harshly until it hurt, then I opened them and ran down the stairs as the spots faded away from my sight. My gun was stretched in front of me. Everything after that happened so fast I barely caught it. An elbow to Ryan's face who stumbled backwards. To clean shots through Cole's stomach. Bang, bang, thud. Bile rose in my throat. My gun was still in front of me. I didn’t move. I didn’t know what I felt. 

A loud grunt, a missed shot but a punch to the gut from Kade to the stranger. He was hardened too, but not in the cold, menacing way of the others. He looked human, I thought, right before he twisted Kades arm around in a nasty crack, pushing his back into the man's chest before firing a bullet right through his temples. Kade looked at me then, and for the first and only time I saw something else in his eyes. He looked scared. Like a little boy who’d been told off. Who’d been left alone and scolded and shown no love, who now pleaded for it for the last time ever. And then my eyes turned sympathetic. I did everything I could to give him that last piece of whatever feeling closest to affection I had for him and a peace fell over his eyes right as the bullet tore through him. My mouth was sour, and I leaned down, throwing up right next to Sarah’s body. 

The stranger let Kade fall to his knees, discarded him and stalked towards me with a reaction time that seemed inhuman. I expected the harsh, calloused hands of a man piercing my skin. Like Kade’s used to. I dropped the gun. It landed in my own puke. The man stopped between me and the mess. We both looked down. Then we looked up. My eyes were filled with hot, stingy tears from throwing up. Maybe fear. He breathed harshly, quickly and his nostrils flared. His eyes were dark as he looked demandingly underneath his furrowed brows. He had a handsome face, salt and pepper scruff, a hooked nose and sloped lips. But he also was hardened from this world. 

His shoulders fell, quickly aware that I probably wasn’t the biggest threat around. That irritated me, and I squared up, fisting my hands. “Get away or I'll punch you.” I said. There was volume in my voice that I didn't expect. He didn’t move, but looked down on my petty gun again. Then he turned around, and started searching the bodies of my old crew. He took their guns, searched them. I stood still. I was shaking like a leaf and tears rolled down my cheeks now silently. I wasn’t sad for these people. I was sad for the last time this happened. When it was the people I cared for that lay still while I stood up. I cried for them,  tightly fisting the photo of the family I found in my pocket. The man stopped, and looked at me. “I’ll leave some stuff for you,” he said. His voice was gruff. And it hit me like bricks, so hard I nearly folded into two again. I was going to be left alone. The man was looking done, about to leave again. Then there would be silence, like when snow falls. Nothing. 

“Take me with you,” I said, too desperate for my liking but suddenly he felt like the last thing I had in the world even though I didn't even know his name.

“No,” he said, and walked out the backdoor without looking back. I wiped my gun off in Sarah’s shirt, with a little regret but not so much that i felt guilty and followed the man out. He had a horse that was tied to a tree.

“You have to.” i stated, my breathing quick and shallow. I would not let him leave. 

“I don’t, actually.” 

Did he not feel any remorse? What if that was my family he just killed, and then left me for myself. Not even so merciful as to put me in the grave with them? But they weren’t my family and I would not go with them into death, but this man didn’t know. 

“You just killed everything around me.” It wasn’t the first time that had happened and I felt like I was grasping at water, trying to hold it in my hand. I heaved in a gasp of shock and sorrow and it was what finally made him look at me. His brows furrowed even more, if possible. His face softened, and I swore I saw guilt flash across his still-new features. He was listening.

“I’m silent. You won’t even know i’m here. And as soon, I promise, as soon as we come across somewhere else I can stay, I'll leave. But you owe me a ride.” I wasn’t used to selling myself, to making me sound like someone you’d want along on your travels and even though my face heated with embarrassment and the words I spoke, it was all the hope I had not to curl up in that four poster bed until I withered into nothing. 

He said nothing for a while, looking somewhere behind me in thought. I mustered my most desperate eyes. I tried baring my soul through them for him to see that I needed this. He already seemed ways better than any of the four people that had taken me upon since the tragic incident. 

“As soon as we find something.. livable, you’re gone.” he grumbled. The relief made my knees weak, air seeped out of me uncontrollably and I had to hold onto the tree so as to not fall in on myself. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I whispered, tasting tears on my lips that I wiped profusely. I was not to be a burden to this man before I had even gotten onto his horse. 

“Just follow me and stay quiet,” he said, pulling the horse along with him. We walked, and I didn't look back. The blue house I swore to leave forever behind me. The photo I held onto. The sun was only just rising, cold and bright as it stretched over the abandoned houses. We walked in the middle of the road, on each side of the horse. I felt warmth on my skin, on my hair and I combed it down with my fingers and braided it down my back. And no one laughed, or said anything. I realized this might have been my rescue as I looked up at the pine trees ahead, instead of down at the gravel. I looked anywhere I liked and made my hair look nice and I stroked the now curled up photo with my thumb, looking over at the man.

“What's your name?” 

I had already broken one of three rules: stay silent, follow me, leave me alone as soon as possible.

He sighed, “you’re not very good at this.” 

Even his scolding, and his glare was everything Kades wasn’t. There was no malice, no intention to hurt. I didn’t feel fear in my gut. 

“I’m Belle. Like the princess” I peaked over the horse’s moving body.

“Like bellflowers,” he said, glancing at me for barely a second. Like a bellflower, blooming, delicate and untouched by the world. I wish it was so.

“Joel. My name is Joel”

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chapter two