[broad-shouldrs]

☮ hi all, i'm jax. i'm in my 30's and while this may be a newer blog, it's not my first foray in fandom. based on the type of content written & reblogged, this is strictly an 18+ space. i am type-a as fuck (blame my virgo rising) so i try to keep things neat & organized.

welcome to my little corner of the internet.

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find me on: ao3 || twitter || letterboxd || serializd

[broad-shouldrs]

wip titles game

thank you @mcthsman for the tag. i've been mia for the last few weeks but i'm finally settled-ish and ready to get back to writing.

the sheer number of wip's in my google drive is ridiculous. many of these are half-formed outlines or just short blurbs of things that pop into my head. i can guarantee you that the majority of these titles will change.

rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

*joel miller

humiliated pt 2 - joel miller x reader

hold on to me (rewrite) - dbf!joel miller x reader

tap tap - joel miller x reader

every year - joel miller x reader

in sync - ex-husband!joel miller x reader

bridgerton crossover - joel miller x reader

*dieter bravo

biggest fan - dieter bravo x reader

please - hybrid puppy!dieter bravo x reader

constant craving- hybrid puppy!dieter bravo x reader

*oberyn martell

ruin the friendship- oberyn martell x reader

a sign of good faith - modern!oberyn martell x reader

not meant to be - modern!oberyn martell x dieter bravo

*other pedro boys

the man who can't be moved - lucien de leon x reader

patched up - clint flood x reader

gone cold - ghost!dave york x reader

rough - pero tovar x reader

ash- mom's boyfriend!javier peña x reader

behind the wall - frankie morales x reader

one night in nashville - musician!jack daniels x reader

soulmate multiverse - reed richards x reader

if you can afford me - alpha!harry castillo x omega!reader

no pressure tag: @joelsgoodgirl @time-for-my-weekly-spanking @kokoluwie & anyone else that wants to do this

[a7estrellas]

PEDRO PASCAL with Mira today in Los Angeles

[a7estrellas]

PEDRO PASCAL The Puppy Interview | Buzzfeed

[perotovar]

Y'know, a few days after you broke up with me, I threw up every morning on set. Thought it was heartbreak or flu... Whatever. Sorry I never mentioned it to you.

PEDRO PASCAL as LUCIEN DE LEON The Uninvited (2024) dir. Nadia Conners

[broad-shouldrs]

all i want to do is write but i feel like im not going to have the chance to for at least two weeks. which KILLS me because i feel like my lucien fic is starting to flow.

personal nonsense under the cut. feel free to ignore.

tomorrow, while simultaneously working from home, I have to finish packing my entire life away and get ready for the movers who are going to be here bright & early on saturday.

but that’s not the end of it, because there’s still going to be a bunch of items at my current place that need to be dealt with. my ex has barely started packing their stuff — and while it’s not really my problem, i do feel bad because this is also the craziest time of year for their job. then there’s the matter of cleaning this apartment and helping them move the following weekend.

all while trying to get myself situated in my new place. and all without losing my fucking mind.

wow, ending a 10 year relationship is such fun…

[a7estrellas]

PEDRO PASCAL with Jason Walsh on the set of ‘The Mandalorian and Grogu’

[mcthsman]

since mandalorian and grogu is coming out in like two days this is my oficial warning that if i catch any of you posting spoilers without the proper tags it'll be an INSTANT unfollow from me idc how long we've been moots thank you for coming to my tedtalk

[la-vie-est-une-fleur29]

[broad-shouldrs]

can you tell us anything about the epilogue of better in my head????

i absolutely can. i'm currently in the re-writing/editing phase so hopefully it won't be too much longer.

if you read my latest WIP wednesday, you saw that we've moved into sexting territory which has been incredibly difficult to navigate because their physical chemistry hadn't yet been explored in any of the previous parts. my biggest concern, being a text-only fic, is keeping the same voice and not making a choice that seems out of character

for example... SPOILER: this version of joel isn't necessarily comfortable with dirty talk, so he's not just going to dive right in. not without help.

haven't read better in my head yet? masterlist can be found here

[a7estrellas]

PEDRO PASCAL in a new promo for 'The Mandalorian and Grogu'

[broad-shouldrs]

better in my head ── a text fic

I’ve been stuck chasing your perfect moments, falling for you only through a screen. You get away with anything if you own it. COVERGIRL virtual daydream. 🎶 -the ivy

pairing: joel miller x reader

summary:  a wrong number text turns into something neither of you meant to start.

rating: t - for brief depictions of domestic violence and stalking. please note that this is expected to change.

tags: alternate universe - no cordyceps outbreak, sarah lives, joel miller is bad at feelings, a lot of overall cheesiness.

chapter masterlist.

part one

part two

part three

epilogue (coming soon)

more about the fic.

read on a03

listen to the playlist

check out the tag

[sammy-bryant]

SHAWN HATOSY x QUINN

[peepawmiller]

Summary: Marcus is a workaholic, and you're not sure your marriage is strong enough to handle the strain.

Pairing: Husband!Marcus Pike x Wife!Reader

Warnings: angst, drama, Husband!Marcus, F!Reader, reader is afab and goe sby she/her, brief smut, unprotected pinv, kissing, happy ending, no use of y/n, marriage drama,

WC: 3.9k

A/N: This is my entry for @pedroscurls dialogue challenge! I guess i woke up in a mood one day and wanted to be angsty, but i struggled because Marcus is Perfect™ and he would never do this but i figured if he did he would absolutely bust his ass to make everything okay. Come yell at me if you disagree

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as you sit in the waiting room, the incessant ticking of the clock on the wall delivering another blow with each beat, with each grating click. You fidget, watching the clock, the nail in the coffin hammering deeper and deeper.

You know the receptionist isn’t judging you. Her eyes are kind, but underneath, you know it’s pity she feels for you. 

Because he’s late again. Always delayed. Always prioritizing his career. Always sacrificing your marriage for another opportunity. Always keeping you firmly planted to the side where his job remains front and center.

He always attends your sessions. He at least makes an effort for that. But after last night’s fight, you’re not even sure your marriage is worth the trouble anymore. The thought makes you ache, your chest growing tight and the tears burning hot now. One slips out and you swipe it away before it has the chance to fall. To become real. If the receptionist notices, she doesn’t say anything, which you’ve learned is a small mercy.

A door opens and your head snaps up. It’s the wrong door. Not the entrance to the comfortable, sparsely decorated waiting room, but the door to the office housing your therapist. Your heart sinks, another fresh tear springing up and threatening to spill over.

A couple steps out. The woman grins at her husband over her shoulder, muttering something. He laughs, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her back to kiss her cheek. They whisk by you without a glance, touching, holding, cherishing each other. They’re absorbed in one another in a way that’s become a faint, distant familiarity to you.

That used to be you and Marcus. But it hasn’t been for some time. 

“You didn’t even call to tell me you couldn’t make it, Marcus,” you sigh, arms tight around yourself, leaning against the counter just out of his reach. He knew better than to touch you right now.

“I know. I know, baby. I’m so sorry —“ he answers softly, eyes pleading and warm. Almost irresistible.

“Then why does it keep happening? If you’re sorry, why do you do this to me every time?” You demand, eyes stinging. You don’t want to cry right now. You never want to cry in front of him. Because a sick part of you knows he hates it and it hurts him to see you upset. And you don’t want that. You never want to hurt him. “Why can’t you just —“

“Just what?”

“Just — keep your promises! I looked like such an idiot waiting there for you. Alone at a table set for two,” you sucked in a breath when you couldn’t hold your tears back anymore. “The server just looked at me like I was pathetic. Like I’d been stood up by some blind date. She even asked me if it was a first date. And I just lied to her and told her it was. Because I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that no, it’s my husband who stood me up. Not just some random guy I met. My husband!” 

Your chest heaves after your outburst, tears flowing freely. Marcus looks like he’s in physical pain, like every word had sliced through him, down to the bone. 

“I am so sorry, baby,” he says again and takes a step forward but you inch away. He stops, “Please, let me hold you. I’m sorry. I have no excuse. I’m an asshole. Don’t push me away.”

“I’m not the one pushing you away, Marcus. Your job is doing that for you,” you sniff, turning your back to him.

“No, no, no, honey,” he reaches for you again, a hand grazing your bare shoulder before you whip around to glare at him. 

“Don’t touch me right now.”

He clenches his hands into fists, keeping them pinned at his sides instead. You swipe at your tears before looking down at yourself. You were stupid to get so dressed up for a date night you knew would be ruined by his job. But you did it anyway. You wanted to feel beautiful. You wanted to feel like your marriage wasn’t hanging on by a frail, easily snapped thread. Like it was a normal date night and you knew without a doubt that he would show up and you’d have dinner and laugh and be in love and strip each other down when you got home.

The dress was a waste, clearly. Simple. Black. Thin straps, enticing neckline, slit in the thigh. You wanted to look good for him. And you did. You look stunning.

And he hadn’t even shown up. Hadn’t even bothered to tell her he couldn’t make it.

“Why is your job more important than me?” You ask the question you’ve been careful to avoid in your therapy sessions, always skirting around the true issue, always minimizing your pain. Your voice was so small, so feeble, one small blow would incapacitate you. Shatter you beyond recognition.

His eyebrows draw together, jaw clenching. Big brown eyes brewing with heartbreak. You can see it. The realization.

“It’s not. It’s not more important. Nothing is more important than you,” he tells you, voice low, fists still clenched so tight his knuckles are white.

“You love your job. I know you do. I would never ask you to stop doing what you love. I just wish you’d love me too. I don’t want to feel like I come second to some case or some promotion or whatever else.”

You can’t help the sob that rips out of you. The bone deep misery crashing into you. You cradle yourself, arms wrapped so tight it squeezes the breath out of you, as if keeping the last shreds of yourself intact. 

“Honey,” his voice wavers, reaching out to you, fingertips grazing your arms, “Please, baby, I’m sorry. It’s not like that. I swear, you’re — you’re everything to me. Maybe I — maybe I get preoccupied sometimes. I get a little busy. Maybe I lose track of time. But that doesn’t mean my job means more.”

“I ask for one night a week, Marcus. One night where I get you all to myself,” you sniff, “You can’t even manage that.”

“I’ll do better, I swear,” he promises, finally resting his hands on your arms and pulling you into him, but you shake your head and look up at him, eyes burning. 

“You always say that.”

“I mean it. I can’t stand seeing you like this. I don’t ever wanna be the reason you’re so hurt. I’m sorry. Please, don’t –“ he chokes on whatever thought passes through him and you frown.

“Don’t what? Leave you? Divorce you?”

His eyes are so dark and pleading, you wish you hadn’t spoken the words. Wish you hadn’t just confirmed his worst fears. Because you had considered it. He knows you must have thought about it at least once or twice. But to verbalize it is the very same thing as manifesting the outcome.

You can’t look at him anymore, and even though you don’t want to hurt him, you still say it, “Well, maybe that’s what’s best.”

”It’s not,” he says immediately. Firmly. Final.

”How do you know? You’re barely involved in our marriage as it is.” It’s the ugliest thing you’ve ever said to him, and it silences him in the blink of an eye.

You regret it the moment he turns away from you. The way his shoulders shudder, his hand trembling as he drags it down his face. The anguish in his posture is evident. And before you reach out to him, you force your hands to still, reminding yourself that he hurt you long before you hurt him. 

Still. It was a shitty thing to say. But you don’t apologize. He can think on your words. Stew over them, turn them over in his mind until he’s wrung dry with the pain of loving you.

“I’m going to bed,” you say softly, sniffing. The tears have run out, but you know the moment you lie down, they’ll return. They always do. 

He only nods, doesn’t look at you, ashamed. Good, you think. 

You go upstairs, strip out of your dress, the sexy lingerie you’d worn for him, and slip into a pair of his plaid pajama pants and an old FBI t-shirt. You wash your face. Press a cold washcloth to your eyes, and try to push him out of your mind. You can’t, though. Part of you doesn’t want to. The part that’s so hopelessly in love with him, you feel like your chest will cave in with the intensity of it.

The other part, the part that wants to forget, remembers the pain. The humiliation. The loneliness. The neglect. And you want to purge it all from your mind. Everything tainted by him.

You finish getting ready for bed, hot tears slipping down your cheeks before you’re even nestled under the covers. The exhaustion drags you under. And just as you’re slipping away, you swear you can hear the front door closing. And you think it means something. But you’re too tired to understand.

You waited with your therapist for fifteen minutes before leaving. Even though you cancelled the rest of the session, you still paid for a full sixty minutes. You didn’t care. You only wanted to go home, curl up in bed, and succumb to your misery. Drown in the despair of your failed marriage. But you keep telling yourself – it wasn’t you who failed. It was Marcus.

You’re buried under your comforter, consumed by soft down and fluffy pillows, hiding from the weight of your turmoil, when you hear the front door open and close. It’s nearly nine o’clock at night. On a typical evening, that would be considered an early arrival for Marcus, but on your therapy nights, he’s not only missed the appointment, but he’s over three hours late. 

He doesn’t come upstairs right away. You can hear him shuffling around in the kitchen, and you’re dreading the moment he decides to confront you, because you know he will. He didn’t come to bed last night, and you’re almost positive he went back to work after your argument. Good. At least he’ll always have his career to keep him company.

When your bedroom door opens to reveal him, his tie is loose, jacket missing, and his sleeves are rolled to his elbows, you almost flinch with the intensity of his presence. Like he’s the physical embodiment of the culmination of your pain. Right in front of you.

He doesn’t say anything when his eyes land on you, concealing yourself among the bedding, so you speak first.

“You didn’t come to therapy.”

Shaking his head, you can see his jaw clench, his eyes drop to his shoes, and his shoulders slump. “I had some things to take care of.”

You nod, eyes burning, anger pooling in your chest, hot and bright, “Of course you did.”

He sighs your name, pinching the bridge of his nose, “It couldn’t wait.”

“I never can.”

He looks at you then, his eyes sharpening, pained.

“They offered me the promotion.”

You expected as much. It’s the reason his life has been centered around his job for the past couple of years. At first, he’d only been held up a handful of times. It was nothing you didn’t understand and he always made it up to you. You were supportive, enthusiastic even, encouraging him to work as hard as he needed to to get the position. 

Then, he missed one date night, then two. Then several in a row. He’d get home later and later each night until the two of you were simply strangers living under the same roof. You'd never felt lonelier. 

And now, the job that kept him away for so many nights, was within his reach. You were proud of him for working so hard for it. But the bitterness that crept in was unmistakable. An odious, noxious feeling you wanted to smother. You didn’t want to be this person. This kind of wife. But his absence was worse. It carved a hole in you you didn’t think you could ever fill. Not without him. Not if it meant his job would rip him away from you permanently.

“I said no.”

Your eyes snap to his, unsure if you actually heard him correctly or if it was wistful thinking. If your mind was playing tricks on you. Your heart hammers away at your chest, blood rushing through your ears. You’re sure he can hear it.

“Told them I wanted to transfer.”

That makes your heart sink. Transfer. Transfer where? A different city? Is he trying to tell you he wants a divorce after all?

You swallow thickly, slowly pushing yourself to sit up. His eyes are so dark, so unreadable, you don’t know the path his thoughts are taking. When he doesn’t say anything else, you only nod, willing, pleading for your voice to be steady when you said, “So you’re leaving.” 

You prepare for the worst.

With his muscled arms crossed over his broad chest, he scoffs, and it stills your beating heart for just a moment.

“You drive me crazy.”

That makes you scowl, makes you want to jump out of bed and storm over to him so you can slap him. But you remain rooted in place, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I want you to listen to me very carefully,” he begins, his voice low and solid in a way you’ve never heard before. He’s never stern – not with you. He’s always been soft and gentle. Now, the grave look he gives you silences you. “No job, no promotion, no opportunity, no pay raise, or anything else will ever be as important to me as you are.”

Your eyes well with tears, hands clasping in your lap, heart racing. Your skin buzzes with awareness, with the shock of his declaration.

“Do you hear me?” He says, loud and crisp, “Tell me that you understand.”

“Yes,” you answer, voice so frail and searching. You’re not sure if this is real or not. You don’t dare to hope.

“I’m taking over Analytics. It’s still a promotion. But less field work. More delegating. More in house investigating.”

“What does that mean?” You ask, looking down at your hands, twisting your fingers together, gripping the comforter. 

“It means less late nights. Less absences. Less making you feel like you come second to absolutely anything. Because you don’t.”

You’re crying now, your face twisted, hands flying up to hide yourself from him. Ashamed. You never expected him to make such a drastic decision, not when he’s worked so hard for this. You never expected him to abandon it all just to make you happy. The guilt builds in your chest, bursting like a dam. You’d been prepared to divorce him, primed and braced for divorce.

And he’d surprised you.

“Hey,” he says softly, his weight sinking the bed, warm hands on your wrists to pull them away. When he does, he lowers his head to find your gaze and what you see there is warmth and understanding and remorse and it only makes you cry harder. “I can never take back the time that I missed with you. And I’m sorry I let myself get lost in my work like that. I know I can’t repair the damage I’ve done just by saying all of this. It’s going to take time for you to trust me again. But I want —“

He closes his eyes and takes a breath, centering himself.

“I’m sorry I missed our appointment today. I couldn’t get away, but I want to keep going. I need us to keep going. I never meant to make you feel like my job was more important than you. You’re —“ he swallows thickly, eyes pleading, fingers trembling against your wrists, “You’re my entire world. I would quit my job entirely before I let you go. I need you to know that.”

He lifts your hands to his lips, kissing each of your palms, then your fingers, holding them close, eyes squeezed shut like he’s fighting his own tears. You press your hands to his cheeks, making his eyes flutter open to look at you.

“Did you really reject the promotion?”

He nods, kissing your hand again, lowering his eyes, "I did what I should’ve done the second I made you feel neglected.”

“Marcus —“ your throat feels tight when you speak, but you have to tell him, “I never wanted you to choose between me and your job. I’m sorry —“

“Don’t,” he hushes you gently, “It was never a choice, baby. You are the only thing that matters.”

“But you worked so hard,” your eyes burn with more tears, the terrible, aching sensation of dread clouding you, this moment, “You’re going to resent me.”

His eyes soften and he shakes his head, resolute and firm, “Listen to me.”

“I gave you an ultimatum —“ he shakes his head again, cutting you off, letting the words die on your tongue.

You stifle the next sob that threatens to escape, looking at him — genuinely looking at him — for perhaps the first time in months. His eyes are so dark. So warm. Gentle in a way that makes you regret ever looking away. 

“I made this choice. Not you. You didn’t give me an ultimatum. You didn’t tell me to choose between work and you. You were very clear about what you needed, and I refused to see it. Do you understand?”

You nod.

“I did this to us. And I had to fix it, okay?”

You nod again.

“I can’t have you thinking I’m not completely and totally in love with you.”

You can’t help it. You let out a laugh. Partially a sob, and a huff of air. A breath you’d been holding in since the first missed date night. The tension in your body melts when he wraps you in his arms, still seated on the bed next to you, your legs buried under the comforter. He holds you so tightly, so securely. You never want him to let go.

You burrow a hand in his hair, turn your head to kiss the side of his neck. He pulls away, giving you a beseeching look.

“Can I kiss you?”

You don’t hesitate, nodding, diving into him before the sentence is even fully formed on his lips. He meets you there, and it’s the best kiss you’ve ever shared. It takes shape quickly, dripping with desperation and longing and sorrow. You taste the remorse on him as he licks past your lips, threads his fingers in your hair, tips your head back. It’s hungry and deep and searching for salvation.

You’re the first to begin undressing him, pulling his tie loose and working on the buttons of his shirt as he continues to pour his entire soul into the kiss. He shrugs out of the shirt and breaks away when you start yanking his undershirt up his body. He does the same to you, both of you shedding everything in a matter of seconds.

When you’re both bare from head to toe, and he’s settling between the valley of your welcoming thighs, hand braced next to your head, he just looks at you. Takes you in. Scrutinizing the details of your face like he hadn’t done for some time. 

“I love you so much,” he whispers like it’s a secret he’s been keeping to himself. More tears spring to your eyes and you pull him down for another kiss, his stiff cock brushing your slick folds.

You whimper as he breaches you. It’s been so long since he’s touched you this delicately, this tenderly, or at all for that matter. His job has consumed every moment of his life, leaving little to no room for you. The lack of intimacy between you and Marcus an unwelcome side effect of his burgeoning career.

The sting of him pressing into you makes you gasp, your walls clenching tight. You break away with a whine, clutching at him, arching your body into him. He moans into your neck and flexes his hips.

“Never gonna let you go,” he mutters, sinking into you further. Your eyes flutter shut, and then you feel the brush of his thumb against your cheek. “Open for me, baby.”

You look at him then, and the adoration and truth behind his words strikes you, makes you shudder underneath him. It breaks you open in a visceral, raw way that has you pulling him impossibly close. He drops to his forearms, the weight of him covering you, grounding you. 

When he starts to move, his lips are on you. Your neck, your breasts, your cheeks, anywhere he can reach. In turn, your hands roam his body, feeling the muscles of his back tense with each thrust, nails digging and hips meeting. 

He’s slow and deliberate at first, making you feel every thick inch of him the way you were always meant to. But when your pleasure builds, his desperation eclipses anything tender and slow in favor of power and depth. You come on his cock with a cry of his name, chanting how much you love him, how you never want him to stop.

He’s right behind you, careening over the edge so fast, you’re unprepared for the intensity of it and the aftershocks it delivers. Marcus remains seated inside you as your breaths even out, pressing delicate, intentional kisses across your shoulders, up your neck, until he reaches your lips. You clutch him to you as though he could slip away at any moment, reveling in the attention he willingly gives.

Neither of you speak as he slides out of you and collects you in his arms. You can’t even remember the last time he held you like this, and it makes your chest ache at the lost moments his career stole from you both. You nestle against him, he tightens his arms around you, likely dwelling on the same misgivings.

His thoughts are loud, the tension in his body not quite eased. You look up at him and he’s already staring down at you. Forlorn, somber eyes greet you, and you kiss his jaw.

“I’m not perfect,” he says quietly, “But I want to be. I’m trying to be  – for you.”

The twinge of his admission is sharp and prominent. You press a hand to his cheek, “Marcus, I never wanted you to be perfect. I just wanted you.”

He frowns, and you know exactly what he’s thinking. Exactly how his insecurities are burrowing under his skin, darkening his thoughts.

“Tell me,” you say, kissing his jaw again.

“I almost lost you. I hurt you. And I didn’t even see it. I’m a fucking idiot.”

You don’t want to lie to him. But you also don’t want to tell him how his neglect had plagued you. How it wrung your self-worth completely dry. How lonely you were. How unloved. But you also know that neither of you can heal unless he knows. Unless you’re honest with him too.

So you tell him. You watch his face fall, his eyes shimmer with unshed tears, then close because hearing how deeply he’d wounded you is unbearable. His grip on you tightens, fingers threading in your hair.

And though your marriage is far from perfect, and you two have a lot of ground to cover before it’s  as strong as it once was, you’re hopeful.

Because for the first time in months, maybe even years, you fall asleep with your husband at your side.

:)

tags: @milla-frenchy @isabellaboo2025

hmu if you wanna be tagged in anything

[broad-shouldrs]

please please please PLEASE everyone go read this. not only is it everyone’s husband, marcus pike, but it is such a beautiful story that is so real and so well written.

this fic hit really close to home for me.

more under the cut (and tbh it gets lowkey personal) so don’t feel obligated to read.

i see a lot of myself in this characterization of marcus but also in the characterization of the reader and it completely fucked me up (in the best way) reading this just two days before i start the next chapter of my life.

i’m currently in the process of ending a 10 year relationship that dissipated because neither of us were prioritizing each other. we’re still very good friends, but technically we’ve been broken up for 4 months while we’ve tried to navigate whether or not we should still live together and what our friendship is going to look like moving forward.

so, again, reading this really hit home for me and was cathartic but also emotional.

mal, seriously you did such a phenomenal job. and not just with the angst & emotional parts but also the smut. like, literal infinite kudos to you.

anyway, enough about me. here’s all my favorite parts:

“I mean it. I can’t stand seeing you like this. I don’t ever wanna be the reason you’re so hurt. I’m sorry. Please, don’t –“ he chokes on whatever thought passes through him and you frown.

“Don’t what? Leave you? Divorce you?”

His eyes are so dark and pleading, you wish you hadn’t spoken the words. Wish you hadn’t just confirmed his worst fears. Because you had considered it. He knows you must have thought about it at least once or twice. But to verbalize it is the very same thing as manifesting the outcome.

You regret it the moment he turns away from you. The way his shoulders shudder, his hand trembling as he drags it down his face. The anguish in his posture is evident. And before you reach out to him, you force your hands to still, reminding yourself that he hurt you long before you hurt him.

ouchie ma ma. the literal way this twisted my guts. EMOTIONAL DAMAGE.

“I made this choice. Not you. You didn’t give me an ultimatum. You didn’t tell me to choose between work and you. You were very clear about what you needed, and I refused to see it. Do you understand?”

marcus pike is the perfect man. big sigh.

When you’re both bare from head to toe, and he’s settling between the valley of your welcoming thighs, hand braced next to your head, he just looks at you. Takes you in. Scrutinizing the details of your face like he hadn’t done for some time.

this is literally beautiful. the smut as a whole, if you can call it that, was beautiful. it’s not filthy and honestly — I LOVE that it’s not. a fic doesn’t need filth to be good.

ANYWAY, this was amazing and has easily become one of my favorites 💜

[mcthsman]

*SEASON OF THE WOLF: a joel miller x reader story. (part three)

The giant wolf that has been killing people around town shares a very striking feature with the quiet man that keeps breaking into your home— They both have the saddest, warmest brown eyes you've ever seen.

join the TAGLIST. / SERIES masterlist. / PREVIOUS chapter.

There is a naked man in the middle of your living room — Joel Miller to be precise.

warnings: the basics (werewolf!joel, age gap, no outbreak), girl dad!joel, small town shenanigans, slut shaming, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it bible reference, brief mentions of injuries, more werewolf lore, domistic vibes, mentions of weed consumption, food/eating, just a little bit of werewolf!lore, technically cannibal!joel, death of a spouse, joel miller in a dog collar, mentions of joel's canon suicide attempt, angst.

word count: 8k. (oops)

fox says: hello friends! thank you so much for reading! we're getting into angst territory here, and we're closing in a little to the end of the story (even though a lot of shit still has to go down lol) no smut on this one i'm sorry but i promise we'll get spicier soon! as always, please let me know what we think of it!

also available on archiveofourown.

There is a naked man in the middle of your living room — Joel Miller to be precise, naked as the day he was born and snoring deeply, the loosened collar around his neck rattling with every intake of breath — and you simply can’t stop yourself from staring. Your eyes wander from the dusting of dark hair on his chest to the swell of his stomach, the dried up blood all over his side and the happy trail that leads down to his cock, thick where it lays soft against his thigh. There’s an empty dog bowl of water next to him and the crinkled empty package of Pup-peroni and it makes you laugh so hysterically the noise wakes him up, Joel groaning and running a hand over his eyes. 

“What the fuck.” You say and it’s less of a question and more of a statement. “What the fuck, what the fuck—”

“Y’er the one that dragged me inside like a wanderin’ dog.” 

“You’re the one that showed up on my backdoor dying.” 

Joel sits up, not one bit embarrassed by his nakedness. You grab a throw blanket and shove it to him; he’s a little pale but he doesn’t seem to be on death’s doorstep anymore, dutifully wrapping it around his waist; you try to focus on the blood stains under his ribs, looking for anything to take your attention away from his the wispy hair covering his pecks. There, between his ribs and the caked up blood, is a nearly invisible mark, round and pink as if he’d been shot months ago, not just a few hours.

“You’re not hurt anymore.”

Joel offers you a shy smile. “Special healing super power.” 

“Jesus.” You rub your forehead. “The news said they killed you.”

“They shot me a coupl’a times.” He shrugs and you frown; you don’t see any other injuries, new or old, even when you step closer to inspect his torso better. “Would’ve died if I was a normal wolf. Or a normal human, I guess.”

“Jesus.” You repeat, your voice a little higher than before. Your hands hover in the air, torn between touching him or not. “I need coffee. And then you’re going to sit your ass down and explain everything.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Joel is a coffee snob. He twists his nose as you set the chipped mug in front of him as if it has personally offended him, but takes a sip dutifully when you raise your eyebrow, daring him to say anything. 

“Sugar? Milk?”

“I’m good.” He says, the scar on his temple disappearing when he scrunches his face, the crows’ feet around his eyes even more visible like that. There’s something about Joel that makes it incredibly difficult to pinpoint his age— His hair is greying and the lines on his face tell you he’s older but you can’t be sure just how old. He looks both a hundred years old and forty, the sort of weathering that comes from a lifetime of suffering; now, with how he shook off almost dying as if it was an old coat, you can truly understand why. “Thank you.”

You hum, pouring yourself a mug just the way you like it: Just enough coffee to hide the taste of plain milk, with enough sugar to hide the taste of both the coffee and the milk. You twirl your spoon slowly, the both of you sitting at your rickety old dining table and you can tell Joel wants to comment on it but he doesn’t— He just twists his mug this and that way, not drinking. 

“You can make yourself another cup if that one’s bad.” You say, waving a hand at the kitchen. “There’s more coffee in the pantry.”

Joel hesitates just long enough that it becomes clear he’s actually considering it. 

“This is great.” 

You stare at him until he takes a sip, your lips curling in satisfaction as you watch in real time Joel struggle to reign in his expression. “You don’t have to drink it, Joel.” 

“I do, actually.” He takes another sip, longer this time and you’re not sure if he’s struggling to swallow or just making his point. “You provided it for me, and you’re my mate, so I have to.”

You look down at your own mug, heart beating so loud inside your ribcages that you barely hear your own voice.

“So if I made you a pie laced with rat poison, you’d eat it?”

“Yes.” Your eyes snap back at him and Joel holds his gaze long enough for you to know he means it. “If you’d rather me dead, then I deserve it.”

You stand up abruptly, anxiety coursing through you and sending you to your feet before you can really consider why your body is moving— You mull around the kitchen, tinkering with the cups and the bread basket and then the pantry until you find two sort of smushed Twinkies in the back of a shelf. You throw one of them at Joel who catches it mid air before you finally settle back on your chair. 

“What the fuck?” You ask, mouth full with your own Twinkie— A little stale, but all in all it’s not too bad. “Like, actually what the fuck?”

Joel looks amused as he eats, his eyes twinkling with mirth and mischief. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”

“Understatement of the fucking century.” You scoff. “You said I’m ‘your mate’. I’m not… Anything yours. You’re just the weird wolfman that keeps breaking into my house.”

“You’re mine and I am yours. Do you not feel the pull?” He cocks his head to the side, the movement is oddly dog-like, watching you eerily similarly to the way the wolf does. “It’s something that happens with my kind. We mate for life, and we don’t really get to choose with whom. You were just… Born perfectly tailored for me.”

You’re not sure whether to laugh or not. You do it anyway, and it sounds every bit as hysterical as you feel. The words don’t compute inside your brain, they hold no real meaning other than the fact that Joel is clearly more unstable than you thought. Joel frowns this time, looking just a smidge offended but you push through it before he says anything. 

“The wolf thing. How?”

“I was born with it. My grandfather was bit when he was young.” Joel takes a sip from his coffee, his mouth twisting downwards at the taste. “The shifts don’t start until puberty, but they get easier to control with time.” 

“Tommy’s one too, right? What do you even call it? Werewolf? Lycanthrope?”

“He is, yeah.” Joel shrugs. “Call it whatever you want, we don’t really have a name for it. It’s just… a family thing for us. I only know what my father was told, which isn’t a lot. Most of it is just instincts.” 

“Like killing people?” 

Joel nods, and he doesn’t seem one bit sorry for it. Animals gotta eat, darlin’. Those words keep playing on repeat inside your brain, the image of the wolf and the way he tore Henry apart like a ragdoll. You think of the racist church lady and the junkies and God knows whoever else went missing since Joel arrived. He doesn’t seem to care that he’s killing and eating people and, although you feel like you should care, you can’t find it in yourself to see him as the monster he ought to be.

“How conscious are you in wolf form?”

“It’s like I’m sittin’ in the passenger seat. I’m there but I’m not the one runnin’ things. The wolf is… Primal.”

That single word sends a shiver down your spine, wet heat starting to pool between your legs. You shift, pressing your thighs together; Joel takes a deep breath, his brown eyes going black as he stares at you. 

“You like that, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miller.” You take a sip of your coffee. It’s lukewarm already, tasting just as stale as the Twinkie had. 

“I can smell it, pretty girl. Y’can’t lie to me about that.” His eyes trail down to your lips. “ ‘S alright. He can come out to play if you like.”

You close your eyes, your entire body burning with embarrassment, your brain going blank at the way Joel’s voice drops low.

“You uh— Tommy seemed very… In control the day I ran into him in the woods. More than you.” 

Joel stares at you for a beat longer, as if he’s considering allowing you to change the subject or not before he finally relents.

“He is. He’s better at controlling the wolf, which is a damn joke since he has no self-control at all as a human.”

“And Sarah?”

“She’ll shift, too, when she gets older.” Joel says. “As will any pups we have together. It doesn’t hurt or anything, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

You burst out laughing. “That is a crazy thing to say, Joel.” 

“We don’t need to have ‘em if you don’t want it. ‘S just… Well, biology takes over sometimes.” He shrugs, his face turning red. It spreads down his neck and towards his chest and you struggle to look away. “ ‘S why I have to stay away when you’re ovulatin’. Neither of us would be able to think right.” 

“Is that what happened with Sarah’s mom?” You ask, trying your best not to sound as bitter as you do— You’re horrified at the idea of being jealous of this woman you’ve never met before, but the churning in your stomach is still there. 

Joel looks at you as if you’d just hit him. His mouth opens and closes and his eyes ping pong from your face to the table to his own hands; he closes his eyes for a moment, his hand coming up to scratch the faint scar at his temple. He’s so torn up he doesn’t even seem to be conscious of what he’s doing and you open your mouth to take the question back when his head snaps up, tilting towards the front door. 

“Tommy’s here.”

“Wha—”

The doorbell rings. Joel pushes himself up, fixing the quilt around his waist.

“Absolutely not.” You point at him, swerving so you can reach the front door before he does. “You stay right there, if my neighbor sees you like that the entire town is going to know before I get to work.”

Joel nods, his eyes still haunted as his lips quiver into something that you think is meant to be a smile. You open the door just as Tommy’s hand reaches for the door handle and you raise an eyebrow— He doesn’t even pretend to be embarrassed at being caught trying to break into your house, his eyes simply slide past you and settle on Joel, who stands behind you like a guard dog, pink quilt around his waist and tattered dog collar hanging on his collarbone. 

Tommy freezes for a second, his eyebrows hiking all the way up to his hairline. “Well, someone had a fun night.” 

“You, maybe. I had what has to be one of the top ten worst nights of my life.” You tell him, but Tommy doesn’t seem overtly concerned. “That one was shot. And he’s a stubborn bastard that didn’t want to come inside so I had to drag him.”

Joel shrugs. “Didn’t wanna stain the rug.” 

You ignore him, shutting the door behind Tommy. “You have to give me your phone number, Tommy. I had no way of contacting you last night.”

“Old bastard’s standin’ straight so I reckon you did a good job on your own, sugar.”

Joel growls at Tommy’s words and your entire body shivers. “Don’t call her that.”

“Jesus, you’re annoyin’.” He inspects the skin on Joel’s side, poking at his ribs; the skin is pinkish, a little discolored but Joel doesn’t seem to have any pain reaction at the poking. “Sarah’s been throwin’ up all night. Thanks for leavin’ me with the sick toddler, by the way. Real nice’a you both.” 

“I’m sorry, did you hear when I said he was shot? Like, with a hunting rifle?”

“Not the first time, sugar.” Tommy makes sure to put all the weight into the petname, giving you a toothy grin when Joel frowns. “Sure as shit won’t be the last. C’mon, old man. Had to hot wire your truck because someone left it at the drug store.”

“I can pay for a mechanic to fix it.” You say, the words slipping out of your mouth before you recognize that you cannot afford it. Tommy ruffles your hair as he walks past, not bothering with an answer while Joel looks downright offended. 

“I ain’t ever lettin’ that happen.” He presses a kiss to the corner of your lips, his big hand wrapped around the back of your neck as he pulls you close; you trip over yourself, splaying your hands on his stomach to steady yourself. “Shower and get dressed, either Tommy or I will come by later to drive you t’work.”

“No.” You shake your head. Your fingers flex against his stomach, the skin soft and a little pudgy, but you can still feel the heaviness of the muscles beneath it. “Take care of Sarah, I can get by on my own today.”

Joel smiles proudly at you. “Thank you for putin’ her first.”

You watch from your front porch as Joel walks out, pink quilt low on his hips and dog collar rattling. Tommy honks from the truck, sticking his hand out of the window to wave at you— Over the decaying fence on the left side of your front yard you see Mrs. Henderson, the eight-six year old woman that lives next door, poke her head into your yard: She doesn’t even hide her interest in what is going on, a bony hand coming up to clutch the leopard print robe she’s wearing. The two of you make eye contact for a second, and you hold it with your head held high; she breaks it first, muttering something underneath her breath that sounds a lot like the name Jezebel.

In the one hour and forty minutes that it takes for your shift to start, the gossip fodder has already taken off. You arrive at the pharmacy ten minutes early and your Genevieve, your manager, is already waiting for you; Jenny stares unabashedly as Genevieve motions for you to join her in the storage room— A makeshift office for her, since the owner is too stingy to actually give her one. 

“So… We got a complaint earlier today.” She points you to sit down on a plastic chair as if it’s a chair at her office. You remain standing, arms crossed over your chest. You’ve been through this conversation enough times in your life to know how it goes and you’re focusing all of your efforts in keeping the tears at bay. “About something quite delicate.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “My personal life doesn’t concern you.” 

“It does when we have customers saying they won’t buy from us because someone from our staff is a sexual deviant.”

“I don’t think you’re legally allowed to talk to me like that.” You bark out, but the both of you know it’s an empty threat; even if you had any evidence of this conversation, you’d never spend money on a lawyer to take them to court. 

“Honey, I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to let you go.”

“Don’t call me that.” You scoff. “You’re firing me because of one asshole that was meddling in my life? It wasn’t even that bad.”

“She saw two different men leaving your house in the nude.” Your manager sighs, raising her hand when you open your mouth to say that only one of them was naked. “It’s not just that. You’re not exactly a model employee. You came to work after partaking in marijuana multiple times, and you skipped several days this past few months.”

Genevieve whispers the word ‘marijuana’ with the same tone she might’ve talked about a murder, her accent wrapping around the word as if she’d never said it before. You bite down on your tongue, nails digging into the meat of your arms.

“I was sick. You are the one that told me not to come in.” 

“And yet, no medical leave was provided.” 

“Are you—” You laugh, hands shaking as you bring them to your face. “If you didn’t pay me such a shitty fucking salary maybe I would have money to go to a fucking doctor, Genevieve.” 

The woman smiles, and you instantly know that’s the wrong thing to say. “Well, honey, if you’re so unhappy with your wages I’m sure you’ll find better opportunities elsewhere.” 

You bite down on your tongue even harder to keep yourself from crying. “Alright. I uh— I have some personal items at the counter, I’ll just grab them and go.” 

“Actually,” Genevieve points a well-manicured nail at you. “I was wondering if you could stay for another couple of days? We’ll need someone to train your replacement and you know how Jenny is.”

You fix the strap of your bag, straightening your back as much as you can. 

“Eat my ass, Genevieve.”

On your way out, you steal every single ballpoint pen lid — just the lids, not a single one of the pens — that you can possibly shove into your pockets without seeming suspicious, three Reese’s Cups and a small box of paper clips out of pure spite. You call Joel before you can think about how he’s probably taking care of his sick daughter, sobbing so hard on the phone you can barely explain what happened. 

His truck pulls up at the curb you’ve thrown yourself into, about three blocks from the pharmacy, in exactly seventeen minutes. Sarah is asleep in the backseat, wrapped in a Backyardigans blankie that brings even more tears to your eyes, the baby hairs framing her forehead glued to clammy skin. 

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper as you climb into the car, keeping your eyes on her to make sure she doesn’t wake. “I shouldn’t have called, you shouldn’t have to get her out of the house I just—”

Joel pulls you closer by the shoulders, your denim pants sliding across the leather seat. He pulls your head to his chest and you feel that same rumbling, crooning sound coming from his ribcages— The purring you have since watched countless videos of wolf dogs doing on Youtube. You melt just like the last time, the anguish dissipating from your chest as if he’d cracked your ribs open and plucked it out himself. 

“Is that some other super wolfman power?” You mumble into his chest. “Calming purring noises to go along with the super healing spit?” 

He laughs, but doesn’t answer. 

You’re back at the Millers’ cabin. This time unharmed, with Tommy nowhere to be seen and Sarah awake now, sitting on a little nest of blankets in the living room— Similar to the nest Joel had made for you, except with a lot more Backyardigan toys and Bluey blankets. She’s not feverish anymore, because Joel checked once and then you double checked while he had his back turned to you, playing quietly with a Tasha squeaky toy. You’re pretty sure you just watched her try to make Uniqua and Tasha kiss, but it could also just be the smushing of faces from a kid that doesn’t really know how to navigate her own body just yet. 

Joel has all the ingredients for a meal sitting on the counter and, although you don’t have a single clue to what he’s making, he welcomes your attempts at helping with a gentle smile. 

“No Pup-peroni tonight?” You ask quietly, eyeing the way he dices carrots with the sort of agility of a man that was born with a butcher knife in his hands. 

“Savin’ those for a special late night treat.” Joel winks at you and you need to bring a hand to your face to stifle your laugh. 

“I’m sorry I made you eat those.” You say, going back to potato peeling duty with a laser focus— Anything to distract you from the way his plump lips crook to the side when he smiles. 

“ ‘S alright.” Joel says. “They ain’t that bad.” 

You laugh again, louder this time, enough to drag Sarah’s attention from her toys. She stares at you, specifically, for a long moment before standing up and waddling to where you stand by the kitchen counter. The little girl garbles something in that language that only a toddler’s parent can understand, but between her raised arms and what you’re pretty sure is the word ‘up’, you drop the potatoes to pick her up, propping against your hip. 

“Wa’s that?” The little girl asks, her round doe eyes staring down at a chunk of celery with wonder. 

“Celery.” You tell her after a beat, when it becomes clear that Joel is giving you the space to talk to her. You pick up the vegetable, offering it to Sarah. “Want to try it?”

Sarah is not afraid to make it clear she hates it. One small bite and she’s spitting it out so fast you almost don’t have time to place your hand underneath her mouth, barely catching the half chewed chunk; there’s a small part of you that recoils at the chewed up, spit covered celery bite you now hold in your hand but before you can panic Joel is already there, taking it from you and throwing it in the garbage. 

“Gross.” Sarah squints her nose, her little hand fisting into your shoulder for support when she leans a little too far back as if you’re about to feed it to her again. 

“Sorry, kid.” You laugh, only feeling a little guilty. “It tastes better with peanut butter, I promise.”

Her entire face lights up at those words, and Joel points his finger at the two of you before the little girl can say anything. 

“No peanut butter before dinner.” He says, his voice stern but not angry, indicator waggling at the two of you. 

“Some other day, then.” You wink at her, who giggles but you can tell her attention isn’t on you anymore, Sarah’s eyes wandering through the counter before they settle back on the TV. She squirms a little while you put her back on the ground, wobbling away even before you can properly let her go. 

You’re not expecting the look on Joel’s face when you finally turn back to face him. It leaves your entire body on fire, both from embarrassment and desire; his eyes, those same melancholic eyes you’d seen on your wolf, are set ablaze with so much pride and happiness you feel shy, as if he cracked you open and was able to see deep inside your soul. 

“You’re good with her.” He says, his voice low and rough, heavy with an emotion you don’t want to pinpoint. “Knew you’d be from that first day.” 

You do your best to pretend that his praise doesn’t get to you but there’s little you can do to hide the stupid little smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth; you’ve always liked little kids even though you never had any younger siblings growing up. The closest you got to one is James, Céline’s niece, and even then you never had much contact with the little girl apart from the summer months when Céline had to babysit and would drag you along.

“Kids are cute.” You say eventually. “And they need all the kindness they can get.” 

You don’t look at Joel, instead busying yourself with throwing away the potato peels but you can see the way he stiffens next to you; he doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t press or ask for more or give any indication that he understands you didn’t get that sort of kindness as a child but you know he sees right through you— He has a habit of doing that, you think: Of seeing more than you want to, of listening to what you’re not saying. 

“How did you do it?” You ask as he stirs a large pot of what you now understand to be the filling of a chicken pot pie. “The thing you did that day to get me in the car.” 

Joel licks his lips. He looks over his shoulder once, making sure Sarah is still busy with her toys and the Bluey episode playing on TV. 

“I’m not sure.” He says eventually. “But… Yeah. I’m not sure. I just wanted you to stop being stubborn.”

“It was scary.” You cross your arms over your chest, your voice lowering just in case the toddler is more attentive than she seems. “It felt like you fucking hijacked my body.”

“I noticed.” Joel takes a deep breath, finally turning to face you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

And that is somehow scarier than if he’d meant it.

You’re stalling. You finished your meal over an hour ago, and then you washed the dishes while Joel gave Sarah a bath, even if he told you time and time again that it wasn’t needed. And then you sat by her bed while she made Joel read three different storybooks before she finally fell asleep; it was the sweetest thing, the way he indulged her in it, making up voices and dragon roars and sword swooshing noises when the story called for it. Even after the little girl falls asleep, you stall. 

You don’t want to go back to your empty, drab home, but you also know you can’t just stay here.

“Do you want to stay the night?” Joel asks, hands shoved deep inside his jean pockets as he watches you drag your feet towards your bag. 

Despite the fact that is all you want, you’re a little appalled by his question. “I’m not going to fuck you just because—”

“No.” He interrupts you, his face flushing red. “That ain’t what I mean. I’ll sleep in Tommy's room ‘n’ you can take my bed. ‘S just… You had a real bad day, and I don’t like thinkin’ of you alone at your place right now.”

It would’ve sounded like a pity invite from anyone else, and you probably should feel offended by it, but he sounds sincere; you can tell that Joel wants you here, and being wanted is not really something you’re used to. 

“Won’t Tommy mind when he comes home and you’re sleeping on his bed?”

“He’s hunting.” Joel tells you, a heaviness to the word that makes it clear Tommy isn’t out in the woods with a rifle. “Won’t be home until the morning.”

“You should tell him to eat my neighbor.” Your lips purse; it's mostly a joke, but not entirely so. “Or my manager.”

“Tommy’s diet is a little different from mine.” He offers you a small smile, his eyes guarded as he waits for your reaction. “But I’ll keep that in mind next time the wolf needs to feed.”

“Different how?” 

“He doesn’t go for humans.” Joel takes your hand in his, presses a kiss to your knuckles, and pulls you towards the bedroom as if he’d been talking about the weather and not the fact that, apparently, eating people was a dietary choice and not the monstrous sacrifice you thought it was. 

You think back to Henry’s terrified face, and you almost smile.

Joel makes you sit by the edge of the bed, trying not to be overwhelmed by that scent that is so Joel, while he picks out clothes for you— A big t-shirt that you panic for a moment thinking that no matter how big it is it might be a little too snug and a part of boxer shorts. He hands it over with the tip of his ears tinted pink, and then motions to the bathroom attached. 

“There are towels underneath the sink.” He says. “Hot water takes a lil’ longer than usual to heat up. I been meanin’ to fix that, but…”

“You got sidetracked by stalking me and breaking into my house?” Despite the words, there is a small smile on your face— It’s kind of endearing, really, now that you know Joel isn’t a real threat to your wellbeing. 

“Somethin’ like that.” He smiles, too, and it feels like a little inside joke that is too precious to share with anyone else. 

Saying that the shower takes “a little” longer to heat up is an understatement. It gives you enough time to snoop, though, and you open every single drawer and every single cabinet, combing through everything you can find: A small first aid kit, eucalyptus scented shaving cream and a razor, a hair clipper that doesn’t seem to have been used in years, a bottle of lotion that expired three months ago and, perhaps what catches your eye the most, a box of extra large condoms. It’s a set of three, still sealed, but it sends a thrill down your spine when you wonder when he bought it, and if he was thinking of you— He didn’t buy it at your pharmacy, you would’ve remembered that, and you wonder if he went out of his way to get it someplace else just so you wouldn’t know.

And then, just as you start to think about what he would look like rolling it on his extra large cock — which you’ve seen as he slept in your living room — you’re reminded of his extra sensitive nose that apparently can recognize when you’re horny; you’re not sure if he can smell your wetness or if he can smell your general horniness so you shake your head, throwing yourself into the still cold water to derail your train of thought. 

Joel is sitting at the very edge of the bed by the time you come out of the shower, shoulders slumped as he stares down at his own hands. He looks exhausted, the sort of tired that is so bone deep a good night of sleep is not enough to fix; you can’t see his face properly, but there is a downward twist to his mouth that makes him look the same sad man you’ve seen the first couple of times you met. But then his head snaps up as you pad on the ground, and he gives you a smile that fights against the sadness that shines through his eyes. 

“Everything okay?” You ask, carefully, clutching your clothes to your chest. His clothes, unlike you’d expected, were loose and long enough to be comfortable, the boxer shorts barely peeking through the long, worn out t-shirt. 

“Yeah.” He nods, his shoulder brushing against yours when you sit down next to him. “Just a long time since we had a woman staying the night.” 

“I’ll sneak out before Sarah wakes up.” You promise, giggling at the huff of laughter Joel gives.

“Get some sleep.” He presses a long kiss to your shoulder, squeezing your knee once before he stands up with a soft groan. 

You crawl to the top of the bed and, if you bend your spine just a little bit, no one could blame you for it. “Good night, Joel.”

Joel licks his lips, swallowing thickly enough that makes it clear he’d been watching your back. “G’night, sweetheart.”

You can’t sleep. You toss and you turn and you watch the clock tick up to a quarter past midnight before you give in and realize that you’re not falling asleep; your thoughts keep going back to Joel, knowing he’s just two doors away. You wonder what his pajamas look like, if he sleeps on his back or on his side, how loud he snores— You think of him, laying there, maybe just as awake as you are, thinking of you. 

You’re out of the bedroom before you can come up with a plausible excuse for what you’re doing, tiptoeing past Sarah’s bedroom. You try to push Tommy’s bedroom door slowly, trying not to make any sound but Joel’s head snaps up the second the hinges creak. 

“You okay?” He asks, voice just a little groggy as he pushes himself to his elbows. His voice is raspier than usual, lower in a way that seems dangerous for all of the right reasons.

“Yeah.” Your hand clutches the doorhandle, toying with it for a moment as you stand in the doorway. “Just couldn’t sleep.” 

Joel scoots back a little, though he hadn’t been sleeping anywhere near the middle of the bed. You don’t even hesitate to crawl in next to him— Laying in someone else’s bed in your stalker’s clothes with your head on his chest might be the least weird and offputting thing to happen to you in the past twenty-four hours. 

In fact, it seems like the only thing that makes sense. 

Joel’s heart is beating just on the verge of too fast as he wraps his big arms around you, pulling you as close as possible. It’s better than it was before, his scent of pine trees buried underneath the smell of laundry detergent and soap, his chest doing the purring vibration that always melts the tension away but it’s still not right. You push your face a little more into his chest, his shirt bunching underneath your cheek; Joel’s arms tighten, one of his hands wrapped around your shoulders and the other splayed on your back, but no matter how close you get, it’s still not perfect. 

You’re considering the implications of crawling underneath his shirt when he brushes the tip of his nose against your temple. 

“Y’wanna go back to my room?”

Yes. The relief you feel is immediate, and you’re climbing out of the bed you’ve barely laid down in almost immediately; Joel chuckles, crosses the room in two strides and then he pulls you up from the ground in a princess carry. You shriek but Joel just shushes you. 

“If you wake up Sarah we’re going to be watching Bluey until sunlight.” He adjusts you in his arm so that your head is a little higher and while you grab onto him for dear life, you can’t help but fit your head on the crook of his neck. 

You can’t remember the last time anyone picked you up— Probably your mother, before she died when you were just a couple of years older than Sarah. You can’t remember your father ever carrying you anywhere, and you’re sure your grandmother never did. No boyfriend or girlfriend or friend has ever been strong enough to pick you up off the ground, especially not with the effortless way Joel seems to carry you from one room to the other. 

“So, what kind of other super powers do you have?” You ask when he puts you back on his bed— Comfier, warmer and overall nicer than Tommy’s, in your opinion. “I know the super spit and the magical healing powers, and now super strength apparently.” *

“M’nose and my ears are pretty good too.” Joel smirks, shutting his bedroom door gently before he slides underneath the covers with you; his body molds against yours, your back to his chest, the front of his thighs pressing against the back of yours. “Well, my left ear at least. Don’t hear much with the right one.” 

“What happened?” You ask before it dawns on you that it might be a little rude to ask something so personal— But then again, Joel has broken into your home time and time again, has made several comments on your menstrual cycle and is now holding you so close your ass fits snugly against his hips so you think personal boundaries aren’t really much of a thing with him. 

“Gunshot blew my eardrum a coupla’ years ago.” He mumbles against your hair, his large hand sneaking across your hip to drape over your middle. Once, back when sharing a bed with someone else happened a little more frequently, you always got nervous about it; you’d tuck in your stomach and you’d be so afraid of snoring that you barely slept at all, mostly just laying there and waiting until the other person was in deep sleep before you allowed yourself to relax but Joel’s warmth pulls you in immediately, your fingers interlacing with his where his arm rests on your sternum.

“Is that how you got the scar?” Joel’s chest rumbles against your back, the crooning vibrations so relaxing that you push your back against his chest without thinking. He presses a kiss to your temple with a mumbled ‘Go to sleep, pretty girl. We’ll talk in the morning.’ but you barely register it, already halfway asleep in his embrace.

You wake up in the middle of the night about a minute away from peeing yourself. Joel’s arm is still slung across your middle, heavier than it’d been before, and he doesn’t snore as loud while sleeping on his side. You just started to wiggle out of his grasp when Joel’s arm tightens around you, pulling you back to his chest as if you weigh nothing at all. 

“Joel.” You whisper, poking his bicep. He grunts, but doesn’t show any sign of waking up. “I need to get up.”

You start to shuffle away when he doesn’t answer but, once more, Joel pulls you back. 

“C’mon Mags, stop movin’.” He mumbles under his breath. Joel nuzzles against your neck for half a second before he freezes behind you and you can tell he’s fully awake now.

He’s fully awake, and he just called you by someone else’s name. You don’t answer, you can’t, any sort of response stuck to your throat; this time Joel’s arm loosens enough for you to slip away and you pad out of the room without looking back at him. 

It’s not the first time someone mistakes your name. Your high school boyfriend used to call you by his best friend’s name during sex, the girl he ended up marrying even though he always swore he never saw her like that. Your grandmother calls you by your mother’s name all the time, always with a poisonous downward twist of her mouth that makes it clear it’s on purpose and not a compliment. The cashier at the grocery store that you went to school with gets your name just slightly wrong every time and you never have the heart to correct her.

None of those instances hurt nearly as bad as this.

Joel has his back turned to your spot when you come back, his body too still and too silent to be asleep but you appreciate the pretending nonetheless, not wanting him to see the emotions you’re trying to hide. You don’t sleep the rest of the night, not really, the emptiness where Joel had been feeling like a knife to your stomach.

You roll out of bed just as the sun starts to rise. You promised you’d be gone before Sarah woke up and, while you know most toddlers are early risers, you’re not sure just how early she wakes up— You’re also itching to get the fuck out of Joel’s house. 

“G’morning.” He says just as you’re pulling on your pants, his voice still coarse with sleep. “ ‘S early.”

“Good morning.” You reply and, although you’re doing your best to sound nonchalant, the words come out clipped. “I promised you I’d leave before Sarah woke up. I just need to find my phone and—”

“I thought you were joking.” Joel says. You look back at him for the first time, your shirt clutched to your fingers while his still hangs off your shoulders. “You don’t have to go, it’s—”

“Who is she?”

Joel’s face falls a little and you think he might’ve been expecting you to forget the whole thing. And maybe you should. Maybe it’s none of your business, maybe it’s a good thing that this happened so early on and now you can simply move on and go back to the life you had before. 

“Sarah’s mom.” Joel says at last. He’s sitting up on the bed now and you feel a little silly to be standing while he isn’t— Too confrontational, like you’re the crazy nagging girlfriend you’ve always been told that you are. “I’m sorry, she… She died a little after Sarah was born, and that was the last time I shared a bed with a grown person. I just— I don’t know what happened, but it won’t happen again.”

“You still had the wedding ring tan line when we first met.” You say, finally sitting down at the edge of the bed. Joel extends his hand, flexing his fingers in the sunlight between the two of you; the mark is still there but barely, only visible if you know what to look for, but mostly all you see is Joel’s smooth tan skin.

“It took me a while to stop wearing the ring. I just…” Joel shrugs, his eyes cast down to his own hand. “It felt disrespectful to take it off at first, I guess, and then after a while it felt like too much time had passed and the window for a decision on that had closed. But then I saw you on the tracks that day and the ring became just a ring.”

Your throat feels dry, the conversation too heavy and too honest for the early hours of the morning. You almost want to let it go, to shrug it off and switch subjects but one thing connects to the other in your mind and you’re like a dog with a bone— You need the truth, and you need all of it. You look up, your eyes searching for the scar near his temple and Joel seems to track your movements without a word passing by. 

“Shot myself three days after she died.” The words come out as a whisper, steady in a way that doesn’t feel rehearsed, just hollow. “Sarah was two weeks old. I think… No, I know that’s what made me flinch. I’m sure Tommy could take good care of my pup but… Reckon I convinced myself she’d need her daddy too.” 

You reach out, your fingers eating away at the emptiness between the two of you, your hand brushing softly over Joel’s. He grasps you like a lifeline, the roughness of his fingers a stark contrast to the softness of yours. 

“I can’t imagine what that’s like. Loving like that… Being loved to the point someone would rather die than be without you. I’m sorry you lost her, but it’s kind of a beautiful story, isn’t it?”

“It wasn’t love.” Joel admits. If he’d been whispering before, now his words are barely audible. “It was guilt.” 

Your eyes snap up to his face but Joel isn’t looking at you, his face pale and brows scrunched as he stares at your joined hands. 

“Guilt over what, Joel?” You try to keep your voice composed, do your best to not show how your heart has exploded into a gallop inside your chest. Your fingers shake where they touch him. 

“Because I killed her.” He looks up when you yank your hand away from his. “I didn’t mean to. I promise, darlin’, it’s not— I really didn’t mean to. She just— She wasn’t you, and the wolf wasn’t happy with someone else carryin’ my pup.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

You’re out of the bedroom before you can think, your shirt and shoes forgotten behind as you all but run through the hallway and down to the living room. You only have time to grab your purse before the front door opens— Tommy, coming back from his hunt. He gives you a friendly smile when he sees you standing there, hair a mess and dressed with half of your clothes and half of Joel’s, clutching your purse. 

“G’mornin’, sugar.”

“Get out of my way.” You don’t mean to sound as angry as you do but you can barely breathe, let alone think, wondering at which point Joel is going to come out of the bedroom to drag you back into it— Maybe Tommy is in on it too, maybe he’d be the sentinel that holds the door shut and keeps you away from Sarah. Maybe he’s the one that is going to drag your body through the woods when they’re both done with it. 

“Well damn girlie, who pissed on your Cheerios?” He asks, still standing in the doorway, no longer smiling. 

“Tommy, I swear to fucking God I’ll—”

You don’t get to finish your threat. You feel Joel’s presence behind you, a looming and oppressive shadow cast over you; the air seems frozen for a moment, your entire body tense as you wait for the strike but it never comes. Instead, the brothers share a look and then Tommy steps to the side, hands shoved inside his pockets. 

“Truck keys are by the door.” Joel says and there is a miserable quality to his voice that you don’t think you’ll ever forget; he sounds like a wounded dog— His voice isn’t the high pitched scream of a dog being hurt but rather the low, melancholic cry of an old dog that is starting to lose its senses. You’ve heard it before, the long and painful howl of a dog coming out of surgery, when they’re still drugged enough to be confused and scared of their surroundings but not yet awake enough to bear through it in silence. It’s uncanny and unsettling, and it sticks to you deep down to the bone. 

You don’t look back. You can’t. Instead, you dive past Tommy, grab the car keys and bolt to the truck.

You’ve been parked outside of your house for forty minutes before you call Céline. You’re still in the truck, barefoot wearing your pants and Joel’s shirt, your bag thrown on the seat next to you. It’s close to seven am by now but there is still no movement from your neighbors, the town feeling like it’s as frozen as you feel inside. 

Céline answers on the seventh ring. 

“Hey, everything okay?” She asks, your cellphone on speaker mode on the dashboard as you clutch the steering wheel with both hands. You’re not certain you’ve ever called her before. “Babe? Are you there?”

“Hi.” You say, finally, and your voice doesn’t sound like your own. Your entire body feels unfamiliar, like you’re inhabiting a stranger’s skin. “Were you serious about that trip?”

“Yes, of course! When are you planning on coming? I’ll text my dad for the car.”

“I have the car.” You lick your lips, staring at your front door through the windshield. “I can be there in a few hours, if that’s alright with you.” 

“What do you mean you have—” Céline cuts herself off, your stomach sinking. She doesn’t believe you. She doesn’t believe you, she doesn’t— “Is everything okay? You’re sounding a little weird. Did something happen?”

Yes. Yes. Yes. 

“I just got my PTO approved and I don’t want to give Genevieve a chance to take it back.” You say, chuckling. “You know how she is.”

“Yeah, Gen was always kind of a bitch.” Céline chuckles, too, but you can tell her laugh is every bit as fake as your own. “I’ll text you my address.”

“Yeah. Okay. Great. I’ll pack my bags and let you know when I hit the road.”

“Okay, perfect.” Céline hesitates for a moment, the line going eerily silent. “This will be good for you. You deserve a break.”

“I know. I can’t wait to see you.”I can’t wait to get out of this fucking town, is what you mean. You don’t say it, though. You’re not certain you can. You’re not certain there is anything you can actually say that won’t end up with you spilling all of the dangerous, poisonous thoughts going through your mind.

next chapter (coming soon.)

taglist one: @ptolemaea444 @time-for-my-weekly-spanking @shadowqueen2024 @daniel-bruhhl @ohtiramisuu @honey-moon-13 @pearlessance @mytearsricochetm @taniamiller @pedroncigarettes @clocksonthewall79  @speaktothehandpeasants @msboblikestoread @h-the-comet @amourflores @crazycat-ladys-blog @opal-sunshine @aphroditekillz @sealpointsiamese @realultracunt @somedayheaven @brimarthedragon @corderamuerta @fhuehfbru @violatedvibrators @roses-n-rads @shrewdreader @dmclazybread @imjustaprettyprincess @entoxicant @findoesntgiveashit @thescxrpio @muertera @peaceahpiie @hkm00nie

[broad-shouldrs]

just know that everything i say to you, i say out of love. fuck you, i read this on my phone because i needed it. i need to inject this fic into my veins

in other news…I VERY MUCH DISLIKE YOU, FOX. WHAT THE FUCKING FUCKITY FUCK FUCK FUCK.

i’m diving right into this because i just can’t even right now.

again, most of this is just my stream of consciousness real time thoughts as i’m reading this.

by the way, i read one word and literally went ‘I’m not ready!!’

Your eyes wander from the dusting of dark hair on his chest to the swell of his stomach, the dried up blood all over his side and the happy trail that leads down to his cock, thick where it lays soft against his thigh.

i thought i was ready. i thought i was ready but i am not. i am not and i am blushing and this is not okay.

“You provided it for me, and you’re my mate, so I have to.”

oh fuck the fuck off. i’m just gonna gonna die now

“It’s something that happens with my kind. We mate for life, and we don’t really get to choose with whom. You were just… Born perfectly tailored for me.”

hahahahahahahahahahaha kill me

“I can smell it, pretty girl. Y’can’t lie to me about that.” His eyes trail down to your lips. “ ‘S alright. He can come out to play if you like.”

DO NOT TEASE ME. I AM FOUR SECONDS AWAY FROM SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUSTING

“We don’t need to have ‘em if you don’t want it. ‘S just… Well, biology takes over sometimes.” He shrugs, his face turning red. It spreads down his neck and towards his chest and you struggle to look away. “ ‘S why I have to stay away when you’re ovulatin’. Neither of us would be able to think right.” 

do you just sit there and go what would kill jax the most? because you know it’s this. get away from me.

Tommy freezes for a second, his eyebrows hiking all the way up to his hairline. “Well, someone had a fun night.” 

no girl, because we apparently have morals? idk. I woulda been fucked that wolf and that man.

Joel growls at Tommy’s words and your entire body shivers. “Don’t call her that.”

hot

“I ain’t ever lettin’ that happen.” He presses a kiss to the corner of your lips, his big hand wrapped around the back of your neck as he pulls you close; you trip over yourself, splaying your hands on his stomach to steady yourself.

also hot

“Eat my ass, Genevieve.”

this whole conversation pmo.

He pulls your head to his chest and you feel that same rumbling, crooning sound coming from his ribcages— The purring you have since watched countless videos of wolf dogs doing on Youtube.

need joel to do this to me pronto

“I’m not going to fuck you just because—”

WHY NOT

And then, just as you start to think about what he would look like rolling it on his extra large cock — which you’ve seen as he slept in your living room — you’re reminded of his extra sensitive nose that apparently can recognize when you’re horny; you’re not sure if he can smell your wetness or if he can smell your general horniness so you shake your head, throwing yourself into the still cold water to derail your train of thought. 

fox, I swear to god

“C’mon Mags, stop movin’.”

i forgot about this…take it back

“Because I killed her.” He looks up when you yank your hand away from his. “I didn’t mean to. I promise, darlin’, it’s not— I really didn’t mean to. She just— She wasn’t you, and the wolf wasn’t happy with someone else carryin’ my pup.” 

that’s all…i dislike you (lies) so much right now 💜💜💜

[time-for-my-weekly-spanking]

Love on the brain - Jackson!Joel x f!reader

Rating: Explicit, MDNI WC: 5,1k Summary: As a storm rages over Jackson, you finally confront the man who saved you. And who has chosen to ignore you, even though you're forced to live in the same house. You’re pretty much convinced he hates you. And like a flash of lightning that tears through the sky and lights up the night, the truth finally dawns before your eyes. And maybe it's not what you expected… Tags: Angst, smut with a sprinkle of plot, canon general violence, mention of trauma, mention of blood and death (nor reader or Joel), reader’s pov, no use of y/n, legal age gap (Joel is pushing 60, reader’s age not mentioned but she’s in her 30s in my head) Joel is quite bad at feelings (he’s deep down a softie though🥺), unprotected p in v (look, reader is on the pill but still! Be careful irl, wrap it up!!!), a lot of kissing, soft manhandling, soft choking if you squint, nipple play, fingering, oral (Joel receiving), Joel cums on reader's tits, reader is not described besides having female genitalia, being able bodied and having hair long enough to be pulled, pet names, swearing, mention of food. A/N: Look, I have no excuse, I was horny and I wrote this 😂 It’s very unlikely for me to say that but I’m quite happy with the result and the way I wrote this, so please be kind 🥺 Thanks to @aurorawritestoescape for reading this over and being my lovely beta, I would be lost without you ♥️

Title comes from “Love on the brain” by Rihanna - dividers by @/saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST | JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

It was a terrible night in Jackson. It was raining so hard that the sound of raindrops on the roof had been keeping you awake for hours. The wind was howling so loudly against the walls of your house that you feared you would wake up the next day under a pile of rubble. You weren’t usually the type to be easily shocked, but that night, in your bed, with the blanket pulled up to your ears, you thought you could hear ghosts crawling across the floorboards. In the pitch darkness that enveloped you, you trembled like a leaf.

‘Maybe a cup of chamomile tea might help’, you thought. The idea of ​​going down to the kitchen wasn’t very appealing, but you finally threw back the covers with a huff, grabbed a sweatshirt from the chair next to the bed and threw it over your pajamas.

You padded down the stairs, yawning widely, heading to the kitchen while rubbing your eyes and cursing the dreadful weather. There was a dim light coming from the kitchen, but as you got closer, you thought it was just the moonlight coming through the window. You didn’t bother to fix your hair or even check your reflection in the large mirror hanging in the hallway before entering.

You saw a figure in front of the old open refrigerator. You jumped in fear before remembering that Joel lived in the same house. Yep, the council practically forced Joel to put you up until they finished the repairs in a house near the Tipsy Bison where you could have settled. With Ellie now living in the garage behind the house, Joel's house was unnecessarily large for one person.

So you ended up staying there. 

You tried to be helpful, friendly and grateful. 

But it was as if Joel couldn't help making it clear just how much he disliked having you around.

He walked around grunting, spoke as little as possible, left the house as soon as he sensed you were awake, and came back late every night.

Yes he made coffee before you woke up, leaving a mug in plain sight by the coffee maker for you, along with a small plate of eggs and bacon. He liked things his way and probably hated the idea of you touching his stuff. 

It was giving “either you’re fine with that or you can go to the Jackson’s dining hall, I don’t even care”.

He wasn’t doing anything to make you feel welcomed. 

You were an inconvenience he was forced to tolerate. Nothing more than that.

You rolled your eyes seeing him there, so hard they could’ve stuck in the back of your head. 

“Hey,” you uttered, getting closer to take out an old kettle from the kitchen cabinet. 

“Hey,” Joel grunted back. 

The energy in the room was charged with something unsaid, a linger of tension.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He dared to ask and you huffed a quiet “yeah”. 

He went silent again and kept inspecting his fridge, probably deciding what he was craving as a midnight snack.

He took a bottle of milk out and placed it on the counter before rummaging for a bowl in his cabinet. 

You filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove. 

“Excuse me,” you said, realizing that Joel was standing right in front of the drawer where you kept your chamomile tea. 

He stepped aside, taking his milk and the bag of chocolate cookies that Maria had given him a few days earlier, and sat down at his table. 

Munching on cookies dipped in milk, he looked almost goofy, almost sweet if it weren’t for his frown. You felt like you were bothering him just by standing there in his kitchen.

You turned to take the bubbling kettle off the stove, and poured some water into a cup. 

You sighed, wondering if that night was the right time to bring up the subject. You decided to do it in the end. After all, you were going to be staying at his place for a while longer, and tiptoeing through the house so as not to get on his nerves was starting to wear on you.

“Joel…” you began, with your back to him, your eyes fixed on the steaming chamomile tea cooling on the kitchen counter. 

“Hm?” he mumbled, his mouth full of cookies.

“What exactly have I done to you?”

He swallowed, coughing a little, as if a few crumbs had gotten stuck in his throat from sheer bewilderment.

“What are you talking about?” he replied, a sour note in his voice.

You turned to look at him; he had exactly the expression you expected. 

Annoyed. One eyebrow raised as if to mock you, his mouth twisted into a pout, his hand clenched around the cup, his eyes scrutinizing you.

You felt as if he were looking at you right then, for the first time since you’d set foot in there. 

“You’re avoiding me all the time, you don’t talk to me, you barely even say hello…”

Joel’s shoulders tensed, his chin lifted. “Ain’t true.”

“No?” Now it was your eyebrow that shot up; you could feel disbelief appearing on your face. “Since I’ve been here, that’s all you’ve done. I’m sorry they practically forced you to take me in, and I’m sorry to be such a bother. I wish I had an alternative, but my house isn’t ready yet, and if I go back out there…”

You stopped, a flash passed before your eyes and nearly took your breath away. 

Paul, gutted by an infected while trying to shield you, blood spraying all over your face, his agonizing moans as he died at your feet, and the infected clinging to his neck, sucking, trying to suck away every last drop of his life force.

Your only remaining friend, obliterated in an instant before your eyes, practically a shell of everything he had been up until that moment. 

The blind fury that had exploded inside you, the large rock you’d picked up from the ground, the crack of the infected skull when you smashed it against his head with all the strength that only desperation could give you.

You felt tears stinging your eyes, but tried to keep your composure as you looked up at Joel again.

He seemed smaller now, sitting there in the dim light, the silence broken only by the storm rumbling outside the window.

You walked over to the table, rested your hands on the cold wood, staring at him. 

Joel looked at the cup, then at you, then at a spot behind you as he opened his mouth and said something you couldn’t hear, the words drowned by a thunderclap. 

It felt like the world was about to end out there, all over again. 

And inside, it was a storm of anticipation, silently simmering beneath your skin.

“What did you say?” you goaded him, almost challenging him. At that point, you expected nothing less than for him to throw you out of the house. 

And from the way the wrinkles around his eyes deepened, from the way his eyes seemed to shoot daggers at you, you were convinced he was about to do just that.

Joel stood up and came toward you, barefoot on the wooden floor. 

“Listen, we don’t have to be friends. Why can’t you at least be civil and act like a fucking human being?”

You looked up at him; he towered over you by a full head. His shoulders seemed even broader as he loomed so close to you. He had never been this close before. 

A flash of light illuminated his face, and you thought you saw a hint of sadness in his eyes. 

Maria warned you about Joel being a difficult guy. 

“He’s not bad, you know, he’s just…peculiar. He had to deal with some pretty hard shit.” 

Who hadn’t had to deal with it? You thought. 

You were pretty sure you and Joel would eventually find a common ground.

And somewhere, deep down, you were disappointed in yourself for not having managed to break through Joel’s walls even a little bit.

He still wouldn’t speak to you even then. 

His mouth shut tight and his eyes seemed to be shooting at you.

It was like talking to a wall. And you didn’t know why you were trying so hard. 

Or maybe you did. You wanted him to like you. 

Because it was Joel who had saved you.

He was the one who found you, covered in Paul’s blood, paralyzed with fear, kneeling on the snow-soaked ground with your friend’s head in your lap. 

He killed a couple of infected who were staggering toward you, literally picked you up, and brought you to Jackson without asking any questions. 

And he still hadn’t asked any.

Why go to all that trouble to save you and bring you there if he was just going to act like you never existed?

“Forget it,” you said, picking up your chamomile tea before heading back up the stairs to your room.

You could feel Joel's eyes on your back as you were walking away. 

You crawled back under the duvet, the still-warm cup in your hand, and heard footsteps in the hallway. They got closer and closer until they stopped right outside your door. You could see Joel’s shadow peeking under the door. 

He knocked. 

“Come in,” you said reluctantly.

Joel entered and sat down on your bed. 

Silently.

He was fidgeting with the hem of his night t-shirt. 

“Tell me what you want to say, Joel…I need to sleep.”

“Ain’t no good at this,” he grunted. 

Your patience was thin ice at that point. 

“At what? Fucking talking?”

You regretted being so harsh but you couldn’t help yourself. 

A 60 -year- old man acting like a hermit was driving you mad. And the worst thing was, he was pretty decent to anyone else except you. 

You didn’t know what you did to deserve that stubborn silent treatment. 

“You don’t understand” He tilted his head, watching you through his eyelashes like you were some kind of petty kid, unaware of life and pain and adulting shit. 

You scoffed, “Well, explain it to me, then. Pretty sure you have a tongue and know how to articulate.”

Joel didn’t speak. 

He acted, though. 

He moved closer to you, not tearing those dark, piercing eyes off you even for a second, as if they wanted to pin you to the bed.

Big, sad, and veiled by something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Loss? Fear?

His meaty hand cupped your cheek, his thick thumb pressing against your face right at your cheekbone.

When his face was just an inch from yours, he looked down and shook his head, as if he were once again trying to pull away from something he didn’t want to happen. 

And then, what you least expected, happened. 

He kissed you. 

His lips, chapped from the cold, brushed against yours for just a moment before locking onto them, his mustache scraping against your skin, his nose pressed to yours. His hand slipped down to your neck and rested on your pulse point.

The storm raging over Jackson seemed like a joke compared to the one raging inside you. 

You no longer heard the rain pounding relentlessly on the roof, nor the wind howling like a damned pack of wolves, nor the thunder splitting the sky.

You pulled away from him, your eyes wide like you were a deer caught in the headlights. 

“What the hell does that mean?”

Joel tightened his grip on your neck. 

“You don’t get it?”

You clung to his thick fingers, breaking free from his hold, yelling, 

“First you ignore me like I'm invisible, and then you kiss me... are you fucking messing with me?!”

Instead of answering, Joel yanked you back toward him, kissing you again, this time pressing his tongue against your lips so you’d let him in.

And to your great surprise, your body reacted on its own; your lips parted, your hands clung to his biceps.

You let him in. 

His tongue slid against yours, licking greedily, hungrily, fiercely. 

The voice in your brain that was screaming that it was wrong fell silent, lulled by the taste of Joel in your mouth, by his heavy breathing on your cheeks. Your neck seemed as slender as a flower stem held in his big hand, he was applying a bit of pressure, not hurting you, not choking you, just a possessive grip out of frustration and need. 

You could feel his strength all over you. And Joel kept going. Over and over again, nibbling on your lower lip, sucking it between his own, licking everything he could.

Your tears fell without you even noticing; they rolled down your cheeks and died on Joel’s lips.

You didn’t know why you were crying—or rather, you knew, but you didn’t want to put a name to it.

Frustration. Exhaustion. Nervousness. The need to be accepted by the man who had saved you and then put you aside. 

All you knew in that moment was Joel’s lips casting a spell on you. 

He managed to do that without even talking and it made you feel silly and delusional and dumb. 

But you couldn’t stop. You wouldn’t. 

Because even without naming that overwhelming feeling that was taking over you, it was loud and clear, aching in your bones, igniting in your body like an arsonist's fire. 

Your head was spinning, your breath itching, your pussy screaming between your legs. 

Joel made you lie down on your bed, hovering over you, his hand locked on your neck, his mouth reaching whatever part of you was exposed for him to kiss. 

Your jaw, the tender skin under your ear, your throat, your collarbone. A trail of languid self indulgent kisses ran over you as if Joel was trying to speak through them, as if he couldn’t find his words and was letting his mouth speak in another way. 

The one that brushed over your cleavage was whispering “You mean more to me than you think”. 

The one reaching for one of your breasts over the fabric of your pajamas was saying “that’s what I was trying to suppress.” 

The one on your lips was screaming “I want you.”

When Joel finally muttered something like “We shouldn’t do this” he looked into your eyes searching for some kind of denial, rejection, disgust. 

He only found yearning and need. 

He tried again for some kind of restrain, mumbling “you’re too young” “out of my league” “so pretty it’s infuriating” “I’m just an old cranky man”

but you clung to his biceps in a way that left no doubt about what you wanted, and when your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him close to you, you knew Joel wouldn’t deny the obvious.

Neither of you was strong enough to run away any longer, to fight it any longer, to pretend there wasn’t an invisible force pushing you toward each other—an intricate web of unspoken words and expectations, and bodies yearning for one another in a desperate, carnal, raw way.

His fingers pressing into the soft skin at the back of your neck, just right, holding you in place while he yanked at your too big pajama t-shirt, pulling it down, ruining the hem, the fabric almost tearing up under his force, exposing your breasts. 

His pupils were dilated as he took into the softness of your skin, the roundness of your tits, your pebbled nipples. 

His gaze burned on your skin. 

You moaned as you felt his lips exploring, licking, biting down like he was trying to devour you. 

One of his large palms held your breast firmly, cupping it, while your nipple slipped past his lips, meeting his warm, wet tongue, your body trembling, your head thrown back against the pillow as he swirled around it, suckling on it immediately after, as if he was trying to quench an unquenchable thirst.

Your hips bucked uncontrollably, seeking friction, his hips slamming into you, his growing erection pressing against you. 

“Too many clothes” you moaned in his ear “too many…”

Joel chuckled softly as he felt your hands clutching the waistband of his pants. You didn't want to let go, but you wanted them out of the way—irrational, impatient, frantic. 

“You’re so cute,” he muttered. “Let me go, it’s just a second, I promise”. 

You did as you were told, though not without grumbling.

Even wasting a second felt horrible. He let go of your neck, stood up, and muttered something under his breath “I’m too old for this” or something else you didn’t even hear. 

Old was now your most hated word. He wasn’t old. He was experienced. Your grumpy, moody, irresistible savior. 

He kicked his pants off and he was full commando underneath. A flash of lightning lit up the room and you gasped. His cock was huge, big balls hanging right below it, salt and pepper bush all over his crotch. 

“Fuck,” you uttered. ‘Too much’ was an understatement. But even so, you wanted him more than you had ever wanted anything else.

Joel's cheeks flushed. 

Big, broad, and blushing right in front of your tilted head, your astonished gaze, your half-open mouth.

He tried to look nonchalant with all his might, hopping back on the bed and whispering to you “gonna make it fit” in a hoarse, raspy, voice, as if he had guessed your thoughts.

His hand slipped under your pajama bottoms, brushing against your skin and giving you goosebumps. He moved toward the center, reaching the waistband, and pulled them down.

You kicked them off your legs and to the end of the bed.

Your t-shirt followed right after. 

Joel swallowed. You were almost naked in front of him. 

None of you thought it would have happened and in that moment it felt like you wasted so much time. 

So many weeks holding back, pretending, letting the air charge with a possibility that had seemed unreal, but now seemed inevitable.

Hungry eyes speaking for the both of you. Doing all the work. 

Joel was sitting on his shins on the bed in front of you, your hand instinctively reached for his face, fingertips brushing over the scar on his temple you were dying to know where it came from. 

Every line on his face was telling you more than every word he had ever spoken to you. 

A whole life was in those lines, those birth marks, those faint scars and age spots. 

And those brown eyes. You were drowning in them, willingly. 

“It’s wrong,” Joel hesitated. 

“No”, you placed your index finger on his lips. “don’t say that.”

“Dunno,” Joel insisted again. “Seems pretty fucked up to me.”

You shook your head. 

“I’m a grown-ass woman. Can decide for myself. Frontal lobe fully developed or whatever they’re saying, you know? And I want you, Joel. I want this.”

“Typical of you to use big words at a time like this.”

He was right. It happened quite often when you were nervous. 

You were surprised he had noticed. 

Joel cared about you much more than you'd ever realized. All that bustling around the house, making sure everything was in order, you'd always interpreted it as him liking things his way. Now you understood that his gestures weren't meant to say "don't touch anything else" but "I'm thinking of you," covered up by the gruff, distant demeanor he'd always had.

You moved first, taking his hands in yours, intertwining your fingers with his, before placing them on your waist. 

“Touch me, Joel.” 

His hands remained still, testing your skin beneath his palms.

“Please,” you whined, grabbing at his wrists, sliding them up to your torso, stopping them next to your breasts. 

His fingers tensed, then relaxed and brushed against your nipples. Up and down, gently. 

You moaned. 

Joel’s eyes studied you, as if trying to memorize every distinctive mark on your body, every crease in your skin, every curve.

“Yes…just like that,” you smiled, purring at him like a cat. 

A smirk that he couldn’t hold back played on his lips. 

“So soft and beautiful,” he whispered, almost more to himself than to you, kneading your breasts.

He probably didn’t touch a woman in years but you weren’t even remotely preoccupied with that.

His hands were capable, hands which used to fix, they know how to make things right, they know how to handle with care. 

You’d seen that so many times you’d lost the count. 

You’d also seen how they could be dangerous but you weren’t scared in the slightest. 

You were only scared you wouldn’t know how to stop, craving more and more of what he was doing to you.

You let go of his wrists, caressing the expanse of his shoulders while his fingertips closed around your nipples, pinching and pulling gently. 

A whine escaped your lips as Joel laid you back down on the bed, climbed on top of you, kissed you again, and pressed your body against the mattress.

His rock hard cock was rubbing against your panties, by then so wet that they were useless. 

“Give it to me”, you pleaded, running your hand over a scattering of freckles that dotted his chest.

“Not yet. It'll hurt,” he tried to calm you down. 

Honestly, you were so wet you didn’t believe him, so you kept pushing.

Joel gripped your neck with one hand, letting the other slide down your stomach, all the way to your panties, slipping his fingers under the fabric. 

“Be good,” he teased you, letting you feel his digits just barely on your folds, “or you’ll get nothing.”

You groaned as you felt the tears stinging your eyes again, a single one sliding down your cheek. Joel licked it off your skin and replied unyielding, “Damn, you really are stubborn. 

Maybe I should shut your mouth for a while.“ 

He smiled mischievously, and in an instant a flash of realization hit you.

”Yeah. Maybe you should,“ you nodded. 

”Hmm, want to try? Then maybe you’ll get a sense of what I mean.“

 You watched him straddle you without weighing you down; with both hands under your armpits, he lifted you up and rested your head against the headboard. He picked up the pillow and tucked it behind your neck.

“Like this”

 His cock bobbed in front of your eyes as he stood up slightly to bring it up to the level of your mouth. 

Your tongue shot out instinctively, licking the tip, catching him off guard.

You giggled when you saw him get flustered. 

“Ain’t something to laugh about,” he scolded you, but a small sense of revenge welled up inside you, and you stuck your tongue out again, testing his cock once more. 

It was red and swollen, and you could see a thick vein bulging along its entire length.

It curved slightly upward, which made you think of how deliciously it would hit that spot inside you once it was there. 

It was perfect, and the only thing holding you back was Joel’s stern gaze fixed on you.

His hand was on your neck again as he made you take it into your mouth, pushing you forward. “You want it so bad, huh? All right, show me what you got.”

You tried to relax your jaw as he pushed it inch by inch between your lips, onto your tongue. Salty, thick, and throbbing, you felt it slide across your palate, filling your mouth.

 Joel was right, and it annoyed you to admit it—even just to yourself. 

It was a big deal. Thick, throbbing, and incredibly imposing.

You struggled to get half of it into your mouth, holding the rest in your hand, saliva dripping profusely from the corners of your lips.

Your pussy, deliberately ignored, was crying out for attention, your panties sticking to your folds. 

Joel looked down at you, his eyebrows furrowed, a bewildered expression on his face as he tried to hold back from cumming the moment you started moving up and down his shaft.

Bobbing your head, you pressed it against your tongue, letting its salty taste coat your taste buds, its vein beating against your lips.

“Fuck, what a sweet mouth, honey. Fucking perfect,” he babbled, clinging to your hair. His hips jerked a little too hard, involuntarily, triggering a gag reflex in you that you could barely suppress.

You panicked for a second, then readjusted your jaw to accommodate its thickness, his bush grazing your nose. 

You moaned as he began to move, trying to breathe through your nose, your hand at the base trying to contain his thrusts inside your mouth. 

“Look at me, sweetheart. I want you to watch me while you do it.”

You lifted your gaze to meet his, and you saw it soften, looking a little pathetic. 

He was biting his lower lip, deep wrinkles furrowing his brow, his mustache beaded with sweat, as he was desperately trying to prolong the moment, not to burst into your mouth right away.

His hand clasped around your hair held you in place, almost commanding, but not tight enough to hurt you—just a delightful tug that seemed to say, “Keep going.”

Up and down, completely covered in your saliva, it went deeper and deeper as your mouth. Your eyes were watery, your lips swollen, and your chin wet, yet you didn’t want to stop. 

Your tongue caressed it, your mouth sucked it in, your cheeks hollowed out, its tip finally reached the back of your throat, and you stayed there until you were out of breath.

Joel pulled out of you with a wet pop, and your tongue darted back to the tip in an instant, swirling around it, then focusing on the underside, a couple more licks and Joel was over the edge.

He stopped you just before he exploded in long, sticky white streaks across your face.

You stopped to lick your lips and savor his taste. 

“See? I did it,” you dared to say, smiling proudly at him.

“You did perfectly,” he growled, petting your hair “now lay down for me, honey, let me give that pussy what she wants.”

“For someone who didn't want to do this, you're really going to town, Miller,” you laughed as he helped you lie back down beneath him.

You had never called him by his last name before, but at that moment you found yourself liking it. 

“Aren’t you just a little minx?” He bit back, smirking, manhandling you on the mattress. 

His fingers clung to the edges of your panties, pulling them down past your thighs.

He took a good look at your naked pussy, unconsciously licking his lips at the sight. 

“Fuck, look at her. She’s drippin’,” He whispered, running a finger through your folds and bringing it up to your eyes. “See? Soaking wet.”

You felt your cheeks burn, almost feeling a little embarrassed for a moment, but then turning the tables, taking his finger and greedily licking it in your mouth. 

“Yeah… just like I said… a minx” he uttered. 

He took his cock in his hand, rubbing it against your clit, and your expression changed instantly, a convulsive moan escaped from the back of your throat. 

“Hmm, you’re not laughing anymore, are you?” He teased. 

He entered slowly, sinking deeper and deeper into you, until your hips were pressed tightly together and your foreheads touched.

He wrapped his hand around your head, beginning to move inside you, stroking your hair, while your tongues entwined again in a kiss filled with urgency, mess, and need.

You took him in almost effortlessly, your walls stretched to accommodate him as if they’d been waiting for nothing else, sucking him in as if your pussy wanted to swallow him whole.

 Joel was trembling, sweaty, and hot, his hair plastered to his forehead, as he thrust inside you. He never withdrew completely; he’d pull back a little only to reach that spot again.

For a man his age, he was holding out for an incredibly long time. But then again, he was well accustomed to holding back around you. Few gestures and an incredible number of words that you knew were trapped in the back of his mind.

You didn't know exactly why—no one had ever explained it to you—but you had always sensed that he carried something broken inside him, a wound that had never truly healed.

You could see it even now, in the way he looked at you, in his almost frightened eyes, veiled by something you couldn’t quite put your finger on but that seemed to say, “I’m afraid to show myself so vulnerable. I’m afraid you’ll see right through me.”

You were almost certain he hadn’t been this close to anyone in years—not like that, at least, not in such an intimate and overwhelming way. 

You felt your peak coming, hard and strong, a breathtaking sensation running up from your tummy to your chest. 

As your orgasm streaked, your hand instinctively returned to the scar on his temple, caressing it as if you wanted to heal it, as if your touch were enough to make it vanish, even though you liked it and it was so intrinsically his.

Joel’s body tensed a moment later, and he let out a grunt, muttering, “Dammit, I’m so close.”

You could feel his cock twitching inside you, so hard, its tip pressing against your sweet spot over and over again.

Even though the temptation to keep him inside you was strong—and you’d been on the pill for a while to help with terrible cramps you suffered every month—in a moment of clarity you decided it was too soon.

“Come on my tits,” you moaned, shaken by his thrusts. 

Joel pulled out of you just in time, moving next to you, aiming for your tits as you arched your back welcoming his thick, long streak painting your skin. 

The feeling of his cum running down between your breasts was heady, it made you feel like a whore and a saint at the same time. Your pussy clenched around nothing, still writhing in spasms.

Joel collapsed onto the bed next to you, breathing heavily, his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

“Fuck me…this was…fuck,” he muttered incoherently. 

You chuckled softly as you tried to catch your breath, “Yeah.”

Joel pulled you into his arms and kissed your forehead. “Best mistake I ever made.”

You looked at him sideways, reaching up to his lips and whispering, “But if it feels so good… is it really a mistake?” before giving him a little kiss.

Joel smiled, craning his neck to return the kiss. You felt his smile on your lips.

“Maybe not,” he replied, winking. 

The storm outside was passing and so was the one in your heart. 

npt for the people who showed interest in this wip: @milla-frenchy @broad-shouldrs @604to647 @missadangel @sawymredfox @mcthsman @peepawmiller @baronessvonglitter thank you so much for reading❤️

[broad-shouldrs]

SCREAMING. WHY DID I READ THIS IN PUBLIC? NEAR PEOPLE? JESUS CHRIST.

okay, i’m going to start off by saying something insane…i had a completely different song on my mind the entire time reading this, like from the moment i read the summary. it just goes so good, like scratches every itch in my brain because i’ve been waiting for a fic to feel like this song. all that to say, i’m obsessed.

the song btw is lightning by the wanted. I beg of you to listen and tell me your thoughts.

SECONDLY, i yelled multiple times during the smut. not actually but i was shouting in my head and im sure people thought i was losing it.

my favorite parts:

He tried to look nonchalant with all his might, hopping back on the bed and whispering to you “gonna make it fit” in a hoarse, raspy, voice, as if he had guessed your thoughts.

now listen, i let the first few mumbles and whispers slide. but jesus christ, joel.

“Please,” you whined, grabbing at his wrists, sliding them up to your torso, stopping them next to your breasts. 

maximum screamage

“Be good,” he teased you, letting you feel his digits just barely on your folds, “or you’ll get nothing.”

i want to do the opposite of being good and i want to get nothing. literally howling.

You tried to relax your jaw as he pushed it inch by inch between your lips, onto your tongue. Salty, thick, and throbbing, you felt it slide across your palate, filling your mouth.

“You did perfectly,” he growled, petting your hair “now lay down for me, honey, let me give that pussy what she wants.

H E L P

“Fuck, look at her. She’s drippin’,”

i’ve had it with you, v. go sit in time out. wtf. so good

[broad-shouldrs]

Humiliated || Joel Miller

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

word count: 4942

summary: joel accidentally comes inside you

warnings: 18+, minors dni.

a brief moment of dubious consent due to..., accidental creampie, bareback sex, p in v, somewhat subby!joel, size kink, breeding kink, humiliation kink, edging/ruined orgasm

a/n: i wrote this with the intention of posting it on my birthday last week, but life sucks sometimes. anyways, there needs to be more sub!p men fic. am i right, @time-for-my-weekly-spanking? not beta read, so don't yell at me.

The way Joel fucks you can never be labeled as anything other than exquisite. His breath is hot against the sensitive skin of your neck, his mouth closing over the pulse point just below your ear so as to taste the salt of your sweat. The coarse scratch of his chest hair drags across your breasts as he leans in close, the low rumble of his groan vibrating through your ribcage. The muscles in his back shift and flex under the featherlight touch of your fingertips. A large hand pins your wrist above your head, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, his thick fingers digging into the soft flesh in a way that makes your stomach flutter.

Despite being lost in the throes of pleasure, you can tell how dangerously close Joel is to coming. His thrusts are no longer the steady, rolling grind that he started with, but desperate and choppy. The thick head of his cock grazes against your cervix with every sloppy snap of his hips. The veins along his shaft throb against your stretched rim, his balls slapping against your ass with each stuttered movement. “Joel…” you warn.

He shakes his head fast, jaw tight and teeth clenched as he fights his impending orgasm. “I know, baby. I know. M’pullin’ out, I promise.” 

That had always been the deal between the two of you – he could fuck you bare like he wanted, but he had to pull out – and until tonight, Joel had always been overly cautious. He’d pull out earlier than he needed to, stroking himself those last few seconds before spilling across the backs of your thighs.

Tonight though, Joel seemed to be struggling to hold up his end of the bargain. He rises onto his knees and hooks one of your legs over his broad shoulders. The new angle lets him sink into you further, grinding against that spongy spot inside you with merciless precision. Your body clenches around him, squeezing his cock in a way that makes him break with a choked sound. “Fuck, baby. M’gonna come–”

He rips out of you at the very last second, cock throbbing in the cool summer air. His hand wraps around the thick, slick shaft as he jerks himself with fast, desperate strokes. With an exasperated groan, the first hot rope of come shoots out of him, landing exactly where he wants it - splattered perfectly over your swollen clit. Before you can even react, a second spurt follows dripping down your folds in a sticky, pearly streak. 

The sight of his release painting your pussy flips a switch in him instantly. That primal urge in him that is usually kept locked down roars to the surface. Joel’s chest heaves, his entire body going rigid as every civilized thought gets wiped clean and is replaced with the need to be inside you. “Fuck. Fuck, baby–” He drives into you in one brutal, instinctive thrust, thrusting every thick inch of his cock back into the heat of your cunt. The stretch is sudden and overwhelming despite him pulling out only moments earlier.

“Joel–” you manage to breathlessly exclaim as he turns his head and groans against your ankle. His orgasm hits him harder now that he’s buried where he knows he shouldn’t be, the guilt and wrongness only seeming to intensify everything as he continues to spill inside you.

His whole body shakes with the force of it, completely lost in the rush of filling you when he promised he wouldn’t. “Oh fuck–” he chokes out, gasping and moaning as he grinds himself impossibly deeper, pushing his spend as far inside you as he can. 

Your leg slips from his shoulder and Joel’s body collapses forward with a groan, his weight pressing you into the mattress. He trembles above you, arms braced on either side of your head, too weak to hold himself up fully as he attempts to catch his breath. Even after the last powerful aftershocks ripple through him, Joel stays buried to the hilt, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary roll, unable to stop chasing the euphoric feeling. His cock twitches inside your come-filled pussy, his body refusing to accept that it’s over.

The room falls silent, the gravity of what just happened settling over you until it’s almost suffocating. Joel finally slumps over you, his forehead nudging into your shoulder, arms wrapped tight around your middle like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. His breath is shaky as he burrows his face into your neck and you sense the tension and unease radiating off of him.  “...baby. I–I fucked up,” he admits, voice wrecked from both exhaustion and nerves. 

You can feel the warmth of his release slowly leaking out around his softening cock and you try to lift your head to see, but Joel is heavy over top of you. You tap the side of his ass, urging him to get up and thankfully he understands the gesture. He eases himself out of you, his cock slipping out of you with a wet noise, and falls back onto the mattress, covering his face with his forearm. “Jesus…” you breathe, having propped yourself up on your elbows to look down at the mess he made. The sheen of your slick is smeared glossy across your inner thighs. Joel’s come is everywhere – seeping out of your hole in thick, pearly white streaks and dripping onto the bedsheets beneath you. 

Joel sits up, leaning back on one hand as he takes in the sight of your spread thighs, watching as his come slowly trickles from your entrance. The guilt of breaking his promise to you starts to eat at him; but, alongside the shame is a dark, hungry satisfaction that he can’t push away. The conflicting feelings weave together into some fucked up shame spiral and he lets out a heavy sigh, flopping back onto the mattress. 

He hears you say his name, but the sound barely registers. He’s too lost in his own head, trapped somewhere between regret and disgust. You call out again, this time a little louder, and he rolls onto his side to face you. Without a word, he leans in, one hand cradling your cheek as he kisses you. It’s not rushed or desperate, but rather sweet, as if his lips were trying to say everything he was having difficulty putting into words. There’s an apology in the way that his thumb gently strokes the side of your face. There’s hunger in the way his tongue slides against yours. And, there’s relief in the quiet sigh he breathes into the kiss, like touching you is the only thing keeping him grounded. “M’sorry, baby…” he murmurs against your lips. 

His eyes flick back down to the mess between your thighs, brows furrowing together. “Fuck…look at what I did to you,” he whispers. “As soon as I can feel my damn legs, “we’re gonna get in the car, okay? I’ll drive you to the pharmacy and we’ll see about gettin’ you the mornin’ after pill.” Joel shakes his head, disappointed in himself, but even more so at his cock which twitches with interest. “I promised. I fuckin’ promised and I just…” his voice cracks, “the second I came, I lost it. Buried myself right back in like some goddamn animal.” There’s a short pause, Joel swallowing down a dangerous thought, “Jesus Christ, baby…what the hell did I do?”

You grab Joel’s face with both hands before he can spiral any further, pulling him into a kiss that shuts him up and steals whatever apology was about to tumble out. His lips quiver against yours, unsure if he should even be allowed this kind of forgiveness. It isn’t until the tip of your tongue slides slowly over the seam of his lips that he melts. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding and the tension in his jaw finally eases. His hand comes to rest on your waist and he kisses you back, trying to convey his gratitude for not pushing him away.

When you break apart, you rest your forehead against him and brush your thumbs over his stubbled cheekbones. “Should make you go by yourself,” you mumble against his lips, no malice in your voice. “Explain to the pharmacist what you did.”

Joel looks at you with wide, pleading eyes, knowing he deserves every bit of shame and reproach that would come from confessing it aloud. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his face starting to heat up. “Baby…” he breathes out, voice barely above a whisper. 

You smile softly, eyes locked on his, “She’s going to take one look at this guilty face and just know that you couldn’t keep your cock where it belonged.” Joel makes a ragged sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “She’ll make you say it too,” you add, dragging your thumb over his bottom lip. “What you did. Out loud.”

Joel’s eyes flutter shut, cheeks burning hotter under your gaze, his forehead dropping to your shoulder in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. You’re not exactly sure what prompts you, but you find yourself sliding your fingers into Joel’s hair, gently tugging his head back up so you can see his face. “Tell me what you’d say to her,” you whisper. “Tell me like you’re standing at the counter.”

Joel shakes his head weakly, attempting to resist your request, but his pupils are blown wide, lust swallowing his irises. His cock twitches with interest, blood rushing to where he’s already growing half-hard between his thighs. 

You let your gaze drop, catching the sudden movement in your peripheral vision. Joel lets out a small, miserable whine and tries to bury his face in your neck again, but you keep your grip firm in his hair. “Joel,” you say, slightly amused but with a strangely cruel undertone to it. “Are you getting hard while apologizing?”

Your question lingers in the air, and the real shock of it hits you, because Joel is not the type to be brought down to his metaphorical knees. He is always the one in control – bigger, stronger, unmistakably male – and seeing him like this almost feels surreal. You can’t help but think that it looks good on him for a change. 

Joel’s breath stutters, his cock betraying him as it twitches under your gaze. His blush deepens until he’s red all the way up to the tips of his ears. He feels exposed, ridiculous and so fucking turned on that it’s making his head spin. “Baby, I–I’m trying not to.”

You tilt your head and let out a disbelieving laugh, glancing down at his cock steadily thickening between you. “Doesn’t look like it. Looks like you’re getting big and hard just from thinking about having to talk to the pharmacist later.”

A shiver zips up Joel’s spine and he barely restrains the groan that wants to escape. He fucking loves it when you call him big. Not just because of the way it strokes his ego – though he loves when you admire his dick – but because the way you say it makes him feel powerful. Hearing you use that word against him, teasing him while he’s exposed like this, makes his stomach tighten. The contradiction of being called ‘big’ while feeling so small and humiliated fucks with his head in the best way. Because no matter how big he is – how easily he could pin you down and take control – here he is, rock hard and almost submissive for you. His cock throbs, heavy and flushed dark, curving up towards his stomach as the tip glistens with a fresh bead of precome.

“Answer me,” you say, voice low and commanding as you give his hair another firm tug until his eyes are trained on you.

“...fuck,” he mumbles under his breath, unable to keep himself in check as you stare down at him. “Yes…okay? Yes, I’m gettin’ hard. I hate it and I can’t fuckin’ help it.”

Joel looks completely mortified, but his hips twitch upward anyway, like his body is begging for attention. His big, guilty brown eyes stay locked on yours, glassy and desperate. A long moment stretches between you while you watch him squirm, shame and arousal practically eating him alive. You lean in closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “That’s because you liked it,” you whisper. “You liked filling me up when you weren’t supposed to. You liked fucking up.”

His whole body tenses, his cock jerking with another helpless twitch. “Fuck…baby,” he whispers. “So fucking much.”

You let the silence sit for another beat, just to watch him sit with his admission. His hand flexes at his side like he’s dying to reach out and touch you – to grab your hips, pull you closer, bury his face between your thighs, and eat you out until you’re shaking and pushing him away.  Anything to distract from the embarrassment of telling someone else how much he enjoyed coming inside you. 

When you’re satisfied that you had made him wait long enough, you loosen your grip on his hair and slide your hand down to cup his jaw. “Joel,” you say softly. He responds with a hum, leaning into your touch. “Say it.”

Joel blinks, his breath shallow. “Say what?”

You lean in until your lips are barely an inch from his, “What you’re going to tell the pharmacist.”

Joel’s eyes flutter shut for a second, his lips parting slightly as he half-expects you to lean in and kiss him. When you don’t, he lets out a huff. After a moment, he relents,  “Sorry ma’am,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Can I bother you for Plan B? I…I accidentally…” His sentence tapers off, embarrassment and arousal tying his tongue while you look at him expectantly. “She–she told me to pull out, but I couldn’t help myself.”

You tsk at him, a low, disappointed sound that makes his shoulder tense. You trail your fingers from where it cups his cheek, down the side of his neck, over the rapid thud of his heartbeat in his chest, until you reach his navel. You trace his happy trail with the pad of your pointer finger, purposefully keeping away from his more than interested cock. “Keep going,” you state, more demand than request. “You weren’t finished."

Joel looks at you wrecked, completely at your mercy as you continue teasing him with featherlight touches. “Baby…I–”

You cut him off mid-sentence, wrapping your fingers firmly around the thick base of his cock. He goes stock still, his eyes flying wide open as he lets out a sharp gasp, “Fuck–”. You hold him there, tight and possessive, feeling his cock throb hot and heavy in your palm, but refusing to stroke him. 

“Keep going,” you say calmly, your thumb brushing lightly over the prominent vein on the underside of his shaft. “Don’t stop just because I have your cock in my hand.”

Joel licks his lips, eyes glued to yours, his thighs trembling as he fights the overwhelming urge to thrust up into your fist. “She told me to pull out,” he starts, your grip tightening. “…but I saw how pretty she looked on my cock and I–” He groans softly, enraptured by the way you’re looking at him. “I couldn’t help myself, baby.  I–I just needed to feel you feel you full of me.”

You lean in close, nose brushing against the shell of his ear, and whisper, “Pathetic.”

A broken groan tears out of Joel’s chest, shame flooding his face. He jerks his hips involuntarily, eagerly chasing the heat of your palm. His body shakes – the big, strong man who’s always in control, trembling from a single whispered insult.

“Go on,” you purr in his ear. “Repeat what you’d say to the pharmacist. Word for word.”

Joel’s eyes squeeze shut, his voice is wrecked, cracking with every humiliating word. “...Sorry, ma’am. Can I get a Plan B? I accidentally came inside my girl. She told me to pull out but I…I couldn’t help but fill her up anyway.” His hips twitch helplessly, precome drooling from the tip and leaking over your fist.

“And why not,” you ask softly, adjusting your grip, your thumb swiping over the flushed, sensitive head.

Joel keens, his back arching off the bed. “Because–” he starts, swallowing down a shaky breath,  “because she was squeezin’ me so good that I lost control.”

“I told you to pull out,” you remind him, thumb continuing to move. 

He nods quickly, shame tightening in his throat. “I know, baby. I know. I did at first but…” Joel lets out a strangled whine, only furthering his embarrassment, “...fuck.”

“But what, Joel?” you ask, lips still brushing his ear in a tease. “Finish your sentence.” Your hand slides up his length in one smooth stroke, then back down to the base. He’s so fucking big in your grip, your fingers barely meeting around his shaft due to the sheer size of him. His cock is a complete mess, glistening and still slick with his earlier load. 

Joel’s hands fist the sheets, needing to hold onto something, the fabric pulling away from the edge of the mattress as he fights for control. “I didn’t listen,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “Stuffed myself right back inside.”

You pull back just enough to see his face, his pupils blown with lust, his lips parted as he pants, desperate for more – desperate for something. “Good boy,” you praise. Joel’s entire body seizes up, his cock surging with want, as he attempts to push himself deeper into your grasp. You keep stroking him, the pace excruciating, letting your thumb swirl over the messy come-slick head on every upstroke. “Now tell her why you’re there,” you murmur.

Joel lets out a broken whine, hips jerking helplessly. His voice cracks as he forces the words out, shame and arousal twisting together so tightly he can barely speak.  “ ‘Cause she needs the morning after pill,” he breathes out. “And it’s all my fault.” Joel shoves his hips up, spearing his cock into your grip as he starts fucking your fist in short, needy strokes. “All my fucking fault.” 

The big, dominant Joel Miller is officially gone. In place is this desperate, leaking, shame-drenched version of him who can’t stop confessing how badly he fucked up – how badly he needed to come inside you – and how much he loved it.

“Greedy boy. You just can’t help yourself, can you?” 

He doesn’t answer you. You let him use your hand to get off, watching his face go slack with pleasure before urging his hips down and slowing your hand. Your fingers tighten around him, just enough to control the pace, forcing his thrusts to become shallow and frustratingly restricted. Every time he tries to move, you ease off, keeping him right on the agonizing edge without letting him tip over.

“That’s it,” you croon softly, “Tell her exactly why you need it.”

Joel’s hands fist the sheets tighter, knuckles white as he bunches the fabric at his sides. “‘Cause–fuck…’cause I came inside you, baby,” he groans. “Pussy looked so good covered in my come that I just had to get back inside.”

You feel him swell impossibly bigger in your hand, the thick shaft pulsing in time with his heartbeat, as he teeters dangerously close to the edge. His balls draw up tight, the first warning of his impending orgasm.

Joel’s breath catches, his eyes starting to roll back, inches away from satisfaction. You let go, your hand pulling away completely, leaving his cock twitching and bobbing angrily in the air. He lets out a broken sound as his orgasm crests and then crashes without release. His cock kicks hard, pulsing uselessly, a thick bead of precome dribbling pathetically from the tip and sliding down his shaft. His hips buck in the air, every muscle straining as everything fades into a cruel, aching denial. He collapses towards you, his body practically shaking  as he presses his forehead to your shoulder. “Fuck…baby…please…” he begs. 

You let him ache, his chest heaving with quick, uneven breaths, his denied cock twitching and leaking against his stomach. Every heavy throb is visible as he attempts to gather himself. He tries to tamp down his arousal, but underneath is something deeper  – raw, aching need. 

You press a hand gently to his chest, urging him to lie flat and Joel obeys instantly, falling back onto the mattress fully and without protest. You swing a leg over him, straddling his hips, your slick folds parting around him. His head falls back with a guttural groan as you start to rock against him, the fat head of his cock dragging hot and slippery over your swollen clit making you both moan. You feel him shudder underneath you, a low groan vibrating through his chest as he curses silently, “...fuck, baby. Just like that.”

Joel’s hands fly to your thighs, fingers digging into your flesh like he’s barely holding himself together. His breathing is ragged, eyes half-lidded and desperate as he watches you use him. You tease him like that for a few more torturous seconds without giving him what he really needs, a needy whine slipping out before he can stop it. 

Without hesitation, you take his cock in hand, lining him up with your entrance and sinking down all the way to the hilt. The stretch is perfect, your walls squeezing tight around him, greedy for more. A broken moan escapes both of you at the same time as Joel springs up, sitting up beneath you in a rush, one arm wrapping around your back as he pulls you into a messy, desperate kiss. Joel licks into your mouth like he’s starving for you. One hand slides up your back, while the other stays wrapped around your middle as he guides you harder onto his cock. 

“Fuck, baby…” he pants between kisses, “you feel so goddamn good.” Joel’s forehead drops to your shoulder, breath hot against your skin as he lets you take complete control, utterly lost in the feeling of being buried inside you again. 

“Keep going,” you say, pulling off of him until only the tip of him remains inside you, then slamming back down until he’s fully sheathed again. “Tell the pharmacist what you did.”

Joel’s brain is barely coherent. “Fuck–I–” His hands dig into your skin, almost like he’s afraid you’ll leave him ruined and desperate again. “M’sorry, ma’am,” he begins, his words somewhat slurred as you continue to mercilessly ride him, the wet heat of your cunt enveloping him over and over again. “Need a plan B for my–fuck– girl.” His voice cracks as you grind your clit against his pelvis, the coarse hair on his groin prickling into your skin. “I’m sorry,” he groans, starting to babble, the confession spilling out in desperate, shattered pieces. “So fucking sorry. Felt so good. Fuck, baby…you feel so good. Needed to fill you up.”

Joel is embarrassingly close already, his hips stuttering up to meet your rhythm. “Fuck, baby. Hop off–fuck, I’m gonna–” he gasps, starting to panic. His hands scramble frantically at your hips, trying to lift you off him to avoid further incident. 

But you don’t let him. You slam down onto him one last time, taking him as deep as you can, rolling your hips in tight circles that eke him closer to the finish line. Your walls clench around him like a vice and Joel’s eyes widen in shock. “No–baby, wait–I can’t–fuck!”

His panicked warning dissolves into a guttural groan as his cock pulses violently inside you, his eyes rolling back into his head, vision going white, as thick, hot ropes of come flood you for the second time that afternoon. His entire body trembles beneath you, his fingers bruising your skin where he grips you as if you’re the only thing anchoring him to Earth.

The wet warmth of his spend spills from your cunt and drips down his shaft, coating him in his own mess. Joel’s face is slack, experiencing what one can only assume to be pure bliss – like nothing in the world exists except the tight, slick heat of your cunt milking him dry. 

You ride the high right alongside him, your bodies in a perfect, filthy sync until your own orgasm crashes into you without warning. Your thighs lock tight around his hips as white-hot pleasure rips up your spine. You cry out, your head lolling back, his name slipping from your lips as every muscle shakes with wave after wave of mind-numbing pleasure. 

Joel starts to slowly soften inside of you but doesn’t dare look down at the mess. “Still gotta go to the pharmacy, baby.”

The fluorescent lights of the pharmacy feel way too bright as Joel stands at the counter, posture rigid like he’s waiting on his own execution. The pharmacist, a no-nonsense type of woman in her fifties, offers him a polite smile. “How can I help you today?”

Joel’s face immediately burns red, his blush crawling all the way up to his ears. He rubs the back of his neck, glancing over at you like maybe you’ll save him from utter embarrassment, but you don’t. He clears his throat, an attempt at keeping himself from stuttering which immediately backfires as soon as he opens his mouth to speak. “Uh–I–I–uh…I need the, uh…the Plan B pill.”

The pharmacist doesn’t even blink, she just nods calmly and types something into the computer, “One moment, sir. I’ll grab that for you.”

Joel lets out an apprehensive breath, muttering under his breath while his fingers tap nervously on the counter. He prays the ground will just swallow him whole. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbles to himself.

The pharmacist returns with the small blue box and sets it on the counter, scanning the barcode. “Alright, if that’s it for today, that’ll be–”

“It’s my fault,” Joel blurts out, far too loud, before realizing his blunder. “I–I messed up.”

You watch the pharmacist’s eyebrows slowly lift. In truth, your hand reaches for him like you’re going to stop him, but the words tumble out of him quicker than expected. “She told me to pull out but I just lost my head.”

You bite down hard on your lip to keep from laughing, your face heating with a mix of second-hand embarrassment and delight. The pharmacist blinks, completely unfazed. “Oh. Well…it happens. That’ll be $54.11.”

Joel looks like he’s two seconds away from melting into the floor. His neck and ears are bright red, jaw clenched so tight you’re afraid he’s going to pop a vein in his forehead. He fumbles for his wallet, dropping his debit card with a loud clatter, cursing quietly under his breath. You place a steady hand on his bicep and he manages to swipe the card with shaking fingers, refusing to look at you.

When the transaction is complete, the pharmacist hands him the bag, telling him she hopes he has a good day. He can’t even respond with words. He raises his hand, nodding his head and gently takes you by the arm, leading you out of the pharmacy as quickly as he can. When he reaches the sidewalk, he turns towards you, the bulge evident in his jeans, his voice dropping into a hushed whisper only you can hear. “Baby…I swear I ain’t ever been that embarrassed in all my life.”

The minute the front door clicks shut behind you, Joel lets out a heavy exhale, dropping the keys to his truck on the entryway table. You barely make it two steps before he reaches for you, grabbing your hand and pulling you into him, your back flush against his broad chest. His face drops into the crook of your neck, lips brushing your skin like he needs the contact to steady himself. 

He turns you to face him and his eyes are soft, filled with adoration and love. The flush of humiliation hasn’t fully faded, his ears tinted pink as he cocks his head to the side and then leans in to kiss you. The kiss starts slow, as if he’s asking for permission, but the moment you kiss him back, it deepens – slow and hungry in the softest way. His hands slide down your back, palms warm and steady, pressing you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies. “Baby…”, he whispers, his lips not leaving yours. “...you were real mean to me.”

You smile, humming in agreement, “Yeah, you gonna let me do it again?”

Joel swallows, eyes dropping to your mouth, his response somewhat shy, “Jesus…I–yeah,we’ll talk about it.”

His forehead rests against yours and he breathes you in for a long moment, then kisses you again. His arms tighten around you as the tension starts to bleed out of his shoulders. “Thank you,” he murmurs, the words barely more than a breath. “For helpin’ me take care of it. For not bein’ mad. For…hell, for everything.”

You feel his body relax fully into yours like he’s finally letting the weight of the day settle. His thumb keeps stroking your cheek in slow, gentle circles as he holds you close, safe in the quiet of your apartment. “Maybe it’s time we start trying,” you suggest. His head whips towards you, eyes wide and curious, trying to gauge if you actually mean it. You nod as if answering his silent question and you swear you’ve never seen him happier.

[theewokingdead]

OH. MY. GOD.

[broad-shouldrs]

thank you for reading! i fear part II is only going to make it worse 💜💜

[a7estrellas]

PEDRO PASCAL at The Mandalorian and Grogu premiere in Los Angeles