Rookie! 🖤

This is where I post my writings IMulti-fandom, Chocies, Dragon age, 18+ NSFW, Mature Content. Just also here to have fun

[brokenmemoriesblog]

Here’s a small piece of something I’m working on I hope y’all enjoy it! It’s still a work In progress!!

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The first time Alessia Moretti saw him, he had a gun pressed to her brother’s head.

The ballroom glittered with wealth and deception—crystal chandeliers, silk gowns, champagne flowing like lies. Alessia stood frozen at the top of the staircase, her pulse pounding so loudly she thought it might shatter the music. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but she couldn’t—not when her brother, Luca, was on his knees below.

And not when he stood over him.

Matteo DeLuca.

A name whispered like a curse in the underworld. Ruthless. Untouchable. The heir to a blood-soaked empire that had been at war with her family for decades.

Their eyes met.

For a moment, the world fell silent.

Matteo’s gaze was dark—almost black—cold and calculating, yet something flickered beneath the surface. Recognition. Interest. Something dangerous.

“Alessia,” he said smoothly, as if greeting her at a dinner party instead of holding her brother hostage. “I was wondering when you’d make an entrance.”

Her throat tightened. “Let him go.”

A faint smirk curved his lips. “Straight to demands. I like that.”

“Matteo,” she snapped, forcing steel into her voice despite the fear clawing at her ribs. “This ends tonight.”

He tilted his head, studying her like a puzzle he intended to break. “Oh, it will.” His finger flexed slightly on the trigger. “But not the way you think.”

Hours later, Alessia found herself in his car.

Kidnapped.

The city lights blurred past as rain streaked the windows, mirroring the storm inside her chest. Her wrists weren’t bound—Matteo didn’t need ropes. Power clung to him like a second skin, suffocating and inescapable.

“You’re making a mistake,” she said, her voice low but steady. “My family will come for me.”

“They already have,” he replied, not even glancing at her as he drove. “That’s the point.”

She turned toward him, fury igniting. “You’re using me.”

“Of course I am.” His tone was almost bored. “But don’t take it personally. In our world, everyone is a weapon.”

Her nails dug into her palms. “I’m not yours.”

That earned her a look.

A real one this time—sharp, intense, lingering just a second too long.

“No,” he said quietly. “Not yet.”

Matteo kept her in a sprawling estate hidden deep in the hills—isolated, heavily guarded, impossible to escape.

Days turned into a strange, suffocating routine. He didn’t hurt her. Didn’t touch her without permission. But he watched her.

Always watched.

Like he was waiting.

“You could have killed me,” she said one evening, standing in the doorway of his office. “Why didn’t you?”

Matteo leaned back in his chair, shadows carving sharp lines across his face. “Because dead, you’re useless to me.”

“That’s not the real reason.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then he stood.

Slow. Deliberate.

Dangerous.

He crossed the room until he was standing far too close, the heat of him stealing her breath.

“You’re right,” he murmured. “It’s not.”

Her heart stuttered. “Then what is it?”

His hand lifted—hesitating for the briefest moment before brushing a strand of hair from her face. The touch was surprisingly gentle. Almost reverent.

“That night,” he said, voice low, “when you walked in… you didn’t look afraid of me.”

“I wasn’t,” she lied.

A faint smile ghosted his lips. “Liar.”

Her breath hitched—but she didn’t step back.

“Everyone fears me,” he continued softly. “But you…” His thumb grazed her cheek, sending a shiver down her spine. “You looked at me like you wanted to challenge me.”

“Maybe I did.”

His eyes darkened.

“And now?” he asked.

Alessia swallowed, her pulse racing for reasons that had nothing to do with fear anymore.

“Now,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “I think you’re exactly what they say you are.”

“And what’s that?”

“A monster.”

Something in his expression shifted.

Not anger.

Something deeper.

“Careful,” Matteo said, leaning in just enough that she could feel his breath against her lips. “You might start to like monsters.”

The war between their families escalated.

Blood was spilled. Alliances shattered. And Alessia became the center of it all.

But somewhere between stolen glances and late-night conversations, something dangerous took root.

Understanding.

Then trust.

Then something far worse.

Desire.

“You should hate me,” she said one night, standing on the balcony as the wind tangled her hair.

“I do,” Matteo replied from behind her.

She turned, searching his face. “That’s not true.”

He stepped closer, his jaw tightening. “You’re the daughter of the man who murdered my father.”

“And you’re the son of the man who destroyed my family.”

Silence.

Heavy. Electric.

“So what does that make us?” she whispered.

Matteo reached for her, his hand wrapping around her wrist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

“It makes us enemies,” he said.

But his lips brushed hers anyway.

Soft at first.

Then not at all.

The kiss was fire and fury—years of hatred colliding with something neither of them could control. Alessia’s hands fisted in his shirt as she kissed him back, matching his intensity, his darkness.

Because maybe he was a monster.

And maybe…

So was she.

When the truth finally came out, it shattered everything.

The war. The lies. The betrayal that ran deeper than either of them had imagined.

Matteo hadn’t just taken her to use her.

He’d taken her to protect her.

From her own family.

“You should have told me,” she said, her voice breaking.

“I couldn’t,” he replied, pain flickering in his eyes for the first time. “If you knew, they would have killed you.”

Tears burned her eyes. “And now?”

“Now,” he said quietly, “they’ll try to kill us both.”

Alessia took a shaky breath.

Then stepped closer.

“Then we fight,” she said.

Matteo searched her face, as if waiting for her to walk away.

She didn’t.

Slowly, he reached for her—this time without hesitation.

“And if we lose?” he asked.

Alessia met his gaze, unflinching.

“Then we burn together.”

A dark smile curved his lips.

“Good,” Matteo said.

And when he kissed her this time, there was no hesitation.

No restraint.

Just two enemies choosing each other…

Even if it destroyed them both.

The first bullet came at dawn.

It shattered the glass doors behind them, exploding into a rain of glittering shards. Alessia didn’t even have time to gasp before Matteo had her on the ground, his body covering hers as more shots rang out.

“Stay down,” he ordered, already reaching for his gun.

“I’m not helpless,” she snapped—but her voice shook.

“I know,” he said, eyes locking onto hers for a split second. “That’s what makes this worse.”

Then he was gone—moving fast, precise, lethal.

Alessia pushed herself up just enough to see the chaos unfolding. Men flooded the estate grounds, armed and ruthless. But these weren’t just Matteo’s enemies.

She recognized them.

Her father’s crest.

Her stomach dropped.

“No…” she whispered.

By the time the shooting stopped, the estate smelled like smoke and blood.

Matteo stood in the middle of it, chest rising and falling, his shirt stained crimson—not all of it his. His men secured the perimeter, dragging bodies away, barking orders.

Alessia stepped out slowly, her bare feet crunching against broken glass.

“They sent them,” she said, her voice hollow.

Matteo didn’t answer right away.

That was answer enough.

“They’re not coming to negotiate,” she continued, her throat tightening. “They’re coming to erase me.”

Now he looked at her.

“I told you,” he said quietly. “There’s no going back.”

A bitter laugh escaped her. “You think I don’t see that now?”

She walked toward him, stopping just inches away. For once, there was no fire in her eyes—only something sharper. Colder.

“They chose power over me,” she said. “So I’m choosing something else.”

Matteo’s gaze darkened. “And what’s that?”

Her hand slid into his, steady and deliberate.

“You.”

That should have been the moment everything settled.

It wasn’t.

Because loving Matteo DeLuca didn’t come with safety.

It came with consequences.

“You’re making a mistake.”

The voice echoed through the underground hall, smooth and familiar in a way that made Alessia’s blood run cold.

She turned slowly.

“Luca.”

Her brother stepped out of the shadows, very much alive—and very much not the man she remembered.

Gone was the warmth in his eyes. Gone was the hesitation.

All that remained was ambition.

“You look surprised,” Luca said lightly. “You really thought I’d die that easily?”

Matteo’s gun was up in an instant. “You should have stayed dead.”

Luca smirked. “Ah, Matteo. Always so dramatic.” His gaze shifted to Alessia. “And you… this is disappointing.”

“Disappointing?” she repeated, disbelief cutting through her.

“You chose him,” Luca said simply. “Over your own blood.”

Alessia’s jaw tightened. “You tried to have me killed.”

A shrug. “Collateral damage.”

The words hit harder than any bullet.

“You don’t mean that,” she said, but it sounded weak—even to her.

Luca’s smile turned sharp. “Don’t I?”

Silence stretched, suffocating.

Then Matteo spoke, his voice low and dangerous. “Say what you came to say.”

Luca clasped his hands behind his back, almost casual. “Fine. Father is preparing for a final strike. Not just against you—against everything. Your empire, your allies…” His eyes flicked back to Alessia. “And especially her.”

Matteo didn’t flinch. “Why warn us?”

“Because,” Luca said, stepping closer, “I don’t want her dead.”

Hope sparked—fragile, foolish.

Then he added:

“I want her to watch.”

The hope shattered.

Gunfire erupted again—but this time, it was chaos from within.

Luca’s men.

Matteo’s men.

Lines blurred. Loyalty fractured.

Alessia found herself shoved behind a pillar as Matteo fired with brutal precision.

“Stay with me!” he shouted.

“I’m not leaving you!” she shot back.

A bullet struck the stone beside her, spraying dust. She flinched—but didn’t run.

Instead, she reached for the weapon one of Matteo’s men had dropped.

When Luca reappeared across the hall, their eyes met.

This time, there was no hesitation.

Alessia raised the gun.

Her brother smiled.

“Do it,” he said.

Her finger trembled on the trigger.

Memories flashed—childhood laughter, whispered secrets, the brother who used to protect her.

Gone.

All gone.

“You made your choice,” Luca said softly. “Now make it count.”

A shot rang out.

But it wasn’t hers.

Luca staggered—Matteo’s bullet hitting him square in the shoulder.

He fell back, disappearing into the shadows as his men dragged him away.

“Next time,” Matteo muttered, lowering the gun, “I won’t miss.”

Silence fell again.

Heavy. Broken.

Alessia stood frozen, the gun still in her hand.

“I couldn’t do it,” she whispered.

Matteo walked to her slowly, carefully—like approaching something fragile.

“You don’t have to become him,” he said.

Her eyes snapped up. “But I might have to become you.”

Something flickered across his face.

Pain.

“Alessia—”

“If we’re going to survive this,” she said, her voice hardening, “I can’t be the girl I was.”

She stepped closer, pressing the gun into his chest—not threatening, just… certain.

“Teach me.”

Matteo stared at her for a long moment.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

“Careful what you ask for,” he said quietly.

Her lips curved—not soft, not innocent.

Not anymore.

“Too late,” Alessia replied.

And somewhere in the shadows, Luca watched… smiling through the blood.

Because the real war?

Had only just begun.

Matteo didn’t start training her the next day.

He started that night.

“Again.”

Alessia’s hand tightened around the gun, her arms aching, shoulders burning from holding position for what felt like hours. The target in front of her was shredded—but not enough for him.

“It’s down,” she snapped. “I hit it.”

Matteo stepped behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him at her back.

“You hesitated,” he said.

“I did not.”

His hand came up, steadying her wrist—firm, unyielding.

“You thought about him,” Matteo murmured. “That’s hesitation.”

Her jaw clenched.

“Again.”

She fired.

The shot rang cleaner this time.

Sharper.

Colder.

Matteo didn’t move away.

“Better,” he said quietly. “But not good enough.”

Alessia turned her head slightly. “What do you want from me?”

His voice dropped.

“Everything you were before… gone.”

Something inside her twisted—but she didn’t look away.

“Then make me.”

Days blurred into something brutal.

Weapons. Strategy. Power.

Matteo stripped away every weakness without mercy.

He pushed her until her hands bled, until her body ached, until the softness in her started to fracture.

And Alessia let him.

Because every night, when she closed her eyes…

She saw Luca smiling.

I want her to watch.

“You’re learning too fast.”

Alessia didn’t look up from cleaning her gun. “You sound concerned.”

Matteo leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “I am.”

She finally met his gaze. “Why?”

“Because this world doesn’t reward strength,” he said. “It punishes it.”

A small, dangerous smile touched her lips. “Good thing I’m not afraid of pain.”

His eyes darkened.

“That’s exactly what worries me.”

The opportunity came sooner than expected.

“Say that again,” Matteo said, his voice deadly quiet.

The informant swallowed hard. “We intercepted a message. Your rivals are meeting tomorrow night. High-level. Hidden location.”

“Where?”

A pause.

Then:

“A private compound outside the city.”

Alessia stilled.

“Who’s hosting it?” she asked.

The man hesitated.

Matteo noticed.

“Say it.”

“…Luca Moretti.”

Silence dropped like a blade.

Alessia stood slowly.

“Then we’re going.”

Matteo’s head snapped toward her. “No.”

Her expression didn’t change. “He’s gathering allies. If we don’t stop this now—”

“It’s a trap,” Matteo cut in. “Obvious. Sloppy.”

“Or arrogant,” she countered. “He wants us to know.”

“Exactly.”

“Then let’s give him what he wants.”

“No.”

The word hit like a wall.

Alessia stepped closer. “You said it yourself. There’s no going back.”

“This isn’t about going back,” Matteo said sharply. “This is about staying alive.”

“And hiding keeps us alive?” she shot back. “Waiting while he builds an army?”

Matteo’s jaw tightened. “You’re not ready.”

That did it.

Something cold snapped into place inside her.

“I watched my family try to have me killed,” she said, her voice deadly calm. “I watched my brother become a stranger. I picked up a gun and didn’t drop it.”

She stepped right into his space.

“What exactly am I not ready for?”

For a moment—just a moment—Matteo didn’t have an answer.

Then he said quietly:

“Losing yourself.”

Her eyes didn’t soften.

“Maybe I already have.”

The compound was exactly what Matteo expected.

Too quiet.

Too clean.

Too easy to get into.

Which meant—

“Too easy,” Alessia whispered.

Matteo glanced at her. “Stay close.”

“I always do.”

A beat.

Then, softer—

“I choose to.”

Something flickered in his expression—but it was gone just as fast.

They found Luca in the center of it all.

Waiting.

Alone.

Slow clap.

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t come,” Luca said, his voice echoing through the massive, empty hall.

Matteo raised his gun immediately.

Alessia didn’t.

She just stared.

“You cleared the place,” she said.

“Of course,” Luca replied. “This isn’t about them.” His gaze locked onto hers. “It’s about us.”

Matteo stepped forward. “You’re done playing games.”

Luca smiled. “Am I?”

Then—

The doors slammed shut behind them.

Locked.

Alessia didn’t flinch this time.

“Finally,” she said softly.

Matteo glanced at her—something unreadable in his eyes.

“You knew,” he said.

She didn’t deny it.

“I hoped,” she corrected.

Luca’s grin widened. “There she is.”

“Shut up,” Alessia snapped, finally raising her gun—pointing it directly at him.

For the first time…

Luca looked impressed.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “You really did change.”

Her finger hovered on the trigger.

“You made sure of that.”

A pause.

Heavy.

Charged.

Then Luca spread his arms slightly.

“Go on,” he said. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Matteo’s voice cut in, sharp and low:

“Alessia.”

A warning.

A plea.

A line she couldn’t uncross.

Her hands didn’t shake this time.

Not even a little.

“I won’t miss,” she said quietly.

Luca smiled.

“I know.”

The shot rang out.

And everything changed.

The gunshot echoed like a verdict.

For a split second, no one moved.

Then—

Luca staggered.

But he didn’t fall.

Alessia’s breath caught.

Her bullet had hit him—high, just below the collarbone. Close enough to kill… if she’d wanted it to.

But she hadn’t.

Luca looked down at the spreading blood, then back up at her.

And smiled.

“Still hesitating,” he murmured.

Something inside Alessia snapped.

“No,” she said, her voice low, steady—deadly. “I chose where to hit you.”

Matteo’s gaze flicked to her, sharp, assessing.

Luca laughed softly, even as he pressed a hand to his wound. “You always were precise.”

“And you always underestimated me,” she shot back.

The air between them crackled—old blood, new violence, and something far more dangerous beneath it all.

Choice.

“End it,” Matteo said quietly beside her.

Not a command.

Not quite.

But close.

Alessia could feel his presence at her back—solid, unyielding, a gravity she was already too deep in to escape. Heat radiated off him, grounding and consuming all at once.

“You want me to kill him,” she said.

“I want him gone,” Matteo replied.

A subtle difference.

A dangerous one.

Luca’s eyes flicked between them, something calculating settling into his expression.

“Oh, this is interesting,” he said. “You don’t trust her to finish it.”

Matteo didn’t look at him. “I trust her more than anyone.”

Alessia’s pulse stuttered.

“Then let me prove it,” she said.

And stepped forward.

Luca didn’t move.

Didn’t reach for a weapon.

He just watched her come closer—blood dripping steadily, staining the pristine floor beneath him.

“You won’t do it,” he said softly. “Not really.”

Alessia stopped a few feet away.

Raised the gun again.

This time, it was aimed at his heart.

“You don’t know me anymore,” she replied.

His smile faltered—just slightly.

“No,” he admitted. “I don’t.”

Silence stretched.

Thick.

Heavy.

Matteo didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t step in.

He let her stand there—on the edge of something irreversible.

Because this?

This wasn’t about Luca anymore.

This was about who Alessia was becoming.

“Do you remember,” Luca said suddenly, his voice quieter now, “when you were afraid of the dark?”

Her grip tightened.

“I used to sit outside your room,” he continued. “All night, sometimes. Just so you could sleep.”

The memory hit—sharp, unwanted.

Alessia’s chest tightened.

“That was a long time ago.”

“I’d do it again,” he said.

A lie.

They both knew it.

“You’d watch me die,” she corrected.

Luca didn’t deny it this time.

“Power changes people,” he said.

Her eyes hardened.

“No,” she replied. “It reveals them.”

Behind her, Matteo exhaled slowly.

And when he spoke, his voice was rougher now—less controlled.

“Alessia.”

Just her name.

But it held weight.

Warning.

And something else.

Something that made her pulse spike for an entirely different reason.

She lowered the gun.

Luca’s shoulders relaxed—just a fraction.

Matteo went still behind her.

Then—

She stepped closer.

Close enough that Luca’s breath hitched.

Close enough that her voice dropped to something intimate… dangerous.

“You’re right about one thing,” she said softly.

Luca searched her face.

“What’s that?”

Her lips curved—slow, cold, deliberate.

“I won’t do it like this.”

Confusion flickered.

Then—

Pain.

Alessia moved fast.

The gun pressed under his ribs—point-blank.

And she fired.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

This time, she didn’t miss.

Luca collapsed against her, breath leaving him in a broken exhale.

For a second—just one—her hands stayed on him.

Holding him up.

Holding him there.

His blood warm against her skin.

“You chose,” he rasped.

Her face didn’t change.

“So did you.”

Then she let him fall.

Silence.

Heavy.

Absolute.

Alessia stood over his body, chest rising and falling—but her hands were steady now.

No shaking.

No hesitation.

Nothing left of the girl who couldn’t pull the trigger.

Behind her, Matteo finally moved.

Slow.

Measured.

He stopped just behind her, close enough that she could feel him without touching.

“You crossed it,” he said quietly.

She didn’t turn around.

“I know.”

A pause.

Then—

“Do you regret it?”

Alessia looked down at Luca one last time.

Then shook her head.

“No.”

Matteo’s hand closed around her wrist, firm, grounding—pulling her back just enough that her back brushed against his chest.

Not gentle.

Not soft.

But not forceful either.

Something in between.

Something charged.

“You’re dangerous now,” he murmured near her ear.

Her breath caught—just slightly.

“Good,” she said.

His grip tightened.

“You don’t understand,” he said, voice lower now. “There’s no coming back from this.”

Alessia turned her head just enough that her lips were inches from his.

“I don’t want to come back.”

That was the moment something shifted.

Not into softness.

Into something darker.

Hungrier.

Matteo’s hand slid from her wrist to her jaw, tilting her face toward his—his control slipping just enough to feel it.

“Careful,” he said, but there was nothing careful about the way he looked at her now. “You’re playing with fire.”

A faint, dangerous smile touched her lips.

“Then stop holding back.”

That was all it took.

His mouth crashed against hers—hard, consuming, nothing restrained about it. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet.

It was possession. Tension. Everything they’d been holding back finally snapping loose.

Alessia didn’t pull away.

She met him there—just as fierce, just as dark.

Because this wasn’t about comfort.

Or safety.

Or anything soft.

It was about two people who had lost everything—

And found something dangerous in each other.

When they finally broke apart, the room felt different.

Heavier.

Like the aftermath of a storm.

Matteo rested his forehead briefly against hers, his breath still uneven.

“This changes everything,” he said.

Alessia met his gaze, unflinching.

“Good,” she replied.

A beat.

Then, quieter—

“Let it.”

Outside, sirens began to rise in the distance.

The world catching up.

The consequences coming.

But neither of them moved.

Because for the first time—

They weren’t enemies.

They weren’t pretending.

They weren’t holding back.

And whatever came next?

It was going to be darker.

More dangerous.

And entirely theirs.

The sirens got louder.

Neither of them moved.

Matteo’s hand was still on her—tight at her jaw, like if he let go, something would break loose that neither of them could control again.

Alessia didn’t step back.

Didn’t soften.

There was still blood on her hands.

On her clothes.

On him.

And somehow… that only made the space between them feel more dangerous.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Matteo said, his voice rough now, stripped of its usual control.

Her pulse spiked.

“Feel what?”

His grip shifted—sliding from her jaw to the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair just enough to hold.

“This,” he said.

The word wasn’t enough.

But she understood.

The violence.

The adrenaline.

The way the line between hatred and wanting had completely disappeared.

“You should be afraid of me now,” she said quietly.

Matteo let out a low, almost humorless breath.

“Too late for that.”

Her eyes searched his.

“You don’t think I’ve changed?”

“I know you have,” he said. “I watched it happen.”

A beat.

“And you still want me?”

That question lingered—heavy, sharp, real.

Matteo didn’t answer right away.

Instead, his hand tightened in her hair just enough to tilt her head back—forcing her to meet his gaze fully.

“More,” he said.

Not softer.

Not safer.

Worse.

Something dark unfurled in her chest at that.

Not fear.

Not hesitation.

Something that matched him.

Finally.

“Then stop pretending you’re in control,” Alessia whispered.

That did it.

Whatever restraint Matteo had left—snapped.

He pulled her into him, hard enough that the impact knocked the breath from her lungs, his mouth finding hers again—but this time it wasn’t just heat.

It was possession.

Demanding.

Relentless.

Like he was trying to prove something.

Or take something.

Her hands twisted into his shirt, dragging him closer instead of pushing him away. There was no hesitation left in her now—no innocence to protect.

Only choice.

And she was making it.

“You don’t get to walk away from this,” he muttered against her lips, his voice dark, almost a warning.

“I’m not trying to,” she shot back.

His hand slid down her side, gripping her waist—firm, grounding, almost bruising in its intensity.

“Good,” he said.

Because there was no softness here.

No illusion of something gentle.

This was built on blood, betrayal, and a war that wasn’t over.

And somehow—that only made it stronger.

A crash echoed somewhere in the compound.

Reality breaking back in.

Matteo stilled instantly, instincts snapping back into place.

“We need to move,” he said.

Alessia didn’t let go of him right away.

“Are you pulling away,” she murmured, “or just postponing it?”

His eyes darkened again—dangerous, promising.

“Careful,” he said quietly. “You won’t like how far that goes.”

A slow, knowing look crossed her face.

“Try me.”

For a second, it looked like he might ignore everything—stay, push further, let the world burn around them.

But Matteo DeLuca didn’t survive this long by losing control at the wrong moment.

Even if he clearly wanted to.

He stepped back—just enough.

“Later,” he said.

Not a question.

A promise.

As they moved through the compound, side by side, something had shifted permanently.

Not just between them.

Inside them.

Alessia didn’t flinch at the bodies anymore.

Didn’t hesitate when she picked up another weapon.

Didn’t look back.

And Matteo?

He watched her differently now.

Not like something to protect.

Not like something fragile.

But like something that could stand beside him in the dark—

And not get consumed by it.

Outside, the night air hit cold and sharp.

But neither of them felt it.

Because whatever they had just stepped into…

Was far more dangerous than the war behind them.

And far harder to escape.

“Where to now?” Alessia asked.

Matteo glanced at her, a slow, dark smile forming.

“Now?”

He opened the car door for her—but his eyes never left hers.

“Now we stop running.”

A pause.

Then, quieter—

“And start taking everything.”

Alessia slid into the seat, her lips curving slightly.

“Good,” she said.

Because she wasn’t the girl from the ballroom anymore.

And whatever came next?

It wasn’t going to be love that saved them.

It was going to be power.

Desire.

And the kind of darkness neither of them feared anymore.

The car moved through the city streets like a predator, low and silent. Rain slicked asphalt reflected neon signs, casting fractured colors across Alessia’s face. She sat rigid, hands on her lap, but Matteo’s presence was a tether she could feel in every nerve—close, dangerous, alive.

“You’re different now,” he said, voice low, almost a growl.

She turned to him, eyes sharp. “I had to be.”

“Different… and unafraid.” His gaze darkened, hungry. “And still choosing me.”

Her pulse spiked at the tone. It wasn’t admiration. It was challenge. Possession. Lust wrapped in shadows. She swallowed. “I’ve always chosen you… in one way or another.”

Matteo’s jaw tightened. For a second, he said nothing, letting the tension stretch, heavy and electric between them. Then, his hand brushed against hers. Not gentle. Not asking. Claiming.

“Do you understand what this means?” he asked, voice low, dangerous. “You’ve crossed lines that even I don’t cross.”

She leaned closer, their breaths mingling. “I know exactly what it means. And I don’t care.”

The air in the car felt like it had ignited. Every instinct screamed, every nerve burned. Matteo’s other hand moved to her thigh, resting there, firm, holding her in place. A silent warning. A silent invitation.

Alessia didn’t pull away. Instead, she shifted slightly, meeting his intensity with her own. The tension between them wasn’t just desire—it was power. A test. A claim.

“You like this too much,” Matteo murmured, brushing a strand of wet hair from her face. His thumb traced her jawline, slow, deliberate.

“I like danger,” she whispered back. “And you’re the most dangerous thing I know.”

For a heartbeat, Matteo’s control wavered. Then he leaned closer, lips hovering over hers. His words were rough against her ear.

“And yet, you think you can keep up with me?”

She smiled faintly, teeth grazing his jaw. “I don’t just think. I know.”

The car slid around a corner. Rain beat against the windshield like a drum—rhythm to their shared pulse. Matteo’s hand moved again, firmer this time, inching higher. Alessia’s breath hitched, but she didn’t flinch.

“Do you feel it?” he whispered, his voice low and dangerous. “The storm we’ve unleashed? It’s not just outside.”

Her hand brushed against his chest, steady, certain. “I feel it,” she said. “And I’m not running from it.”

Matteo’s eyes darkened further—black, stormy, and entirely focused on her. He let out a low growl, one of frustration, hunger, and something else—something primal that mirrored her own rising tension.

“You’re a weapon now,” he said. “But not just to them. To me.”

Alessia tilted her head, lips close enough to feel his breath. “Then use me.”

The words hung between them like fire. Matteo’s hand tightened, brushing the curve of her hip with dangerous precision. Alessia’s body reacted instantly—not with hesitation, but with readiness, a dark thrill she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years.

The car disappeared into the night, and outside, the world was chaos. Inside, Alessia and Matteo existed in a darkness of their own making—hungry, unstoppable, and completely entwined.

The war was far from over. But now, they weren’t just survivors. They were predators.

And the night was theirs.

If you want, I can take them straight into the next compound raid, with the tension, darkness, and their obsessive connection ramped even further—where every decision could kill them or bind them even tighter.

The compound loomed in the distance like a fortress of shadows. Alessia’s hands gripped the edge of the car seat tighter than ever, knuckles white. Rain streaked the windshield, but the real storm was inside her.

“You ready?” Matteo’s voice was low, sharp—control and desire coiling in every syllable.

She met his gaze through the rearview mirror, eyes hard, lips tight. “I was born ready.”

He smirked, a dark, dangerous curve. “Good. Because tonight… we don’t just survive. We own them.”

They moved silently through the shadows, bodies pressed close, weapons ready. Alessia’s mind raced—not with fear, but with the thrill of it, of being needed, of matching him step for step. Every movement, every whispered instruction, their fingers brushing as they passed, sent a jolt straight to her chest.

“You’re too quiet,” Matteo murmured behind her as they approached a side entrance. “Thinking too much.”

“I’m focused,” she shot back, voice low, almost teasing, even as adrenaline made her pulse drum in her ears.

His hand grazed hers, lingering, claiming. “Don’t let focus get in the way of feeling,” he said.

Alessia froze for a heartbeat—feeling. Heat pooled in places she hadn’t let herself acknowledge since this nightmare began. And yet she didn’t pull away. She let him draw her closer, letting the danger, the violence, the tension between them sharpen every nerve.

The first guards fell before they even reached the main hall—quick, precise, silent. Alessia moved like a shadow, her gun steady, her mind clear. Matteo’s presence was a constant pressure behind her, guiding, correcting, claiming.

“You’re fast,” he muttered in her ear as she dispatched another threat.

“I’m learning from the best,” she whispered back, lips brushing the side of his face as she passed.

His breath hitched—he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t.

“You’re reckless,” he growled.

“And you like it,” she replied, voice low, daring.

The silence that followed was thick. Only broken by distant echoes of men who didn’t even know they’d lost.

Finally, they reached the inner chamber. Luca was there, waiting. Alone. Smiling. Blood from his earlier wound drying on his shirt.

Alessia’s grip on her gun tightened, heart thundering—not from fear, but from the electricity coursing through her at being here with Matteo.

Matteo stepped closer behind her, his chest brushing her back. She could feel his heat, smell the faint metallic tang of blood and rain on him, taste the tension, the fire between them.

“You always arrive together,” Luca said, voice low, amused. “It’s almost… poetic.”

Alessia didn’t answer. She only raised the gun.

Matteo’s hand slid around her waist, steadying her, keeping her grounded—but his grip lingered, deliberate, claiming.

“You don’t get to do this alone,” he whispered, lips near her ear.

“I don’t want to,” she murmured back, pulse racing, breath hitching.

[bemyluvr]

You Gotta Keep It Hush

Joel miller x reader| slight Tommy x reader

summary: Soon after closing, The Tipsy Bison’s freshly clean bathroom gets dirty during a quickie on the sink. Trying to stay quiet is easier said than done.

cw:MDNI 18+, pwp, public sex, p n v sex, exhibitionism, slight voyeurism, Tommy sorta kinda listens and watches and listens, light degradation, slut shamming, begging, creampie, guilt

wc: 1.3k

The bathroom door of the Tipsy Bison creaked shut behind you, the beaten lock shuttered shut with a soft snap that felt way louder than it should in the dimly lit, tiled space.

The bar was closed, the last patrons long gone, but the faint clinking of glassware echoed from around the corner where Tommy was starting the process of closing up for the night, unaware of what his brother and favorite bartender were getting up to.

The air smelled of stale beer, cheap perfume, and homemade lemon disinfectant. The warm ambiance coming from the yellowed light above the sink buzzed, shining on your faces against the bathroom mirror.

Joel’s hands were on you before you even settled in to what was happening, lips grazing against your collarbone, breath hot and lips urgent. You gasp at his sudden force as his thick thighs push your front up against the wobbly countertop.

“Y’gotta be quiet now, don’t think we want my brother to hear us.”

Joel whispered, his graying beard tickled against your cheek.

You relax into his touch, as hands snake up tenderly around your torso. His calloused fingertips run teasingly against the soft flesh of your belly. Palms leisurely creeping high until he’s halfway up your chest, fingers begin to slowly, unbuttoning your denim blouse.

“Let's get this off now, yeah?”

Joel questions, as his hands continue down, undoing your top just enough for your breasts to spill out the thick fabric. The cold air hits your nipples and you feel him grin as they harden against his hands.

“No bra? Naughty girl”

He teases palming the sensitive plush skin of your breasts.

“was in a rush.”

You grunt, stifling a gasp as he twists your nub between his thumb and forefinger.

He continues, moving to the other perked breast, massaging it before his other hand is moving down your waist popping the button on your jeans.

You gasp as his hand meets your mound, fingers rubbing against your sticky slit through soaked underwear. He uses your open mouth to his advantage and kisses into you.

Returning the kiss, you kiss him back while his other hand comes off your breast and aggressively grabs your face.

The creaking from the floor, mixed with the clinking sounds through the thin walls from the bar made your heart flutter and your hands shake.

The thought that Tommy was looking for you or maybe even him walking in here and seeing you like this, pupils wide, lips bruised and tits spilling out your top with Joel's hand down your pants. You whimper into Joel’s mouth imagining all the possibilities of you two getting caught.

“How’s it that your so fucking soaked and i’ve barley touched you.”

He barks, counting the slow torturous stroking against your panties. Taking his soaked fingers and moving them to circle your clit.

With a pleading look, your big eyes stare back at him, gaze reflecting in the mirror quietly insisting for him to touch you.

“Come on, we both know how much you’re enjoying this.”

You whine, pushing your hips forward into his touch when suddenly he’s ripping his hands out of your pants and tugging your jeans and panties down your legs.

“Desperate little sluts like you don’t get what they want.”

He tuts, as he leisurely unbuckles his metal belt.

Painfully you watch, he unbuttons his Levis just before taking his hard pulsating member out of his underwear. His tip red and angry as its exposed to the cold air, he hisses, taking it into his hand and slowly stroking the shaft. Using his boot he kicks your legs apart enough for his body to fit and slowly runs the head of his cock against your slick folds.

Your hips chase his cock , crying out in frustration as his tip repeatedly just catches against your entrance.

“Remember who’s in charge baby, you act like a brat and I'll treat you like one.”

Joel utters, as his darkened brown eyes stare clearly through you in the mirror.

“I-I need you Joel please I’m sorry, I’ll be good I’ll be quie-“

You cry out, before he’s filling your walls in one hard push.

Arching your back you scream out loud, spreading your legs wider in pursuit to match him, clenching against him as you attempt to adjust to his size.

Joel’s hand instantly clamps down against your mouth, pushing your head into the mirror as it reflects your fucked out state as he fills you repeatedly, snapping his hips into yours.

Your back arches whilst shaky hands attempt to grip anything in your vicinity to keep yourself upright. His eyes lock on yours daring you to be quiet at the same time his movements became bolder fucking you into the sink. Panting through pleasure, you attempt to keep up with his brutal pace.

Suddenly a loud shatter comes from the other side of the wall making you and Joel freeze, lips hovering against your neck as your pulse hammers in your throat.

“Fuck”

You curse, barely audible.

Both of you don’t move a muscle as you're waiting for another noise in the vehement silence.

His cock twitches in your heat and you whimper, hearts pounding holding back in anticipation. Soon enough, the faint sounds of a broom sweeping against the floorboards vibrates through the wall.

Quickly Joel was moving again, hips rapidly plunging in and out of you. You mewl, hips pushing back chasing your own high.

“Go on baby, fuck your self on my cock.”

Joel drawls, snaking his hand around to circle your clit as the other puts two digits down your throat.

“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

Clumsily you gargle out, barely audible approaching your release.

“Look at ‘er, she’s so wet fuckin’ sucking me in. This pussy was made for me.”

Joel howls, plunging his cock all the way out before slamming back in.

“Be a good girl, yeah? Come on, come for me all over this cock, take it, it's all yours baby.”

Joel groans out, feeling you tighten from his words knowing both of you are close.

Joel removes his fingers from your mouth letting your moans melt into the wet sounds of skin slapping echoing in the bathroom. His calloused hand slides over to rip the lock off the door as the hinges creak it wide open.

“Look at you, sounding like a whore begging for this dick. I bet you want Tommy to hear huh? Hear you getting whored out on the job in his bathroom.”

Joel groans, continuing to hammer into you.

“Gonna cum in this pussy, make sure the whole town knows who she belongs to.”

Joel continues pushing you over your limit.

The cool draft from the bar fills the steamy room as you wail, eyes shut, shaking. A white hot feeling overtakes your body meeting your orgasm. Screams fill the room, traveling through the bathroom to the bar. Joel isn’t too far behind you as he cums inside of you. Thick ropes coating your insides mixing with your release. he leans over your sweaty back, breathing heavily.

With the both of you out of breath, he hisses and pulls out in one swift motion. Feeling the loss you wince, as he gathers a towel to wipe the excess begging to drip he cleans you up and fastens his jeans. Suddenly thick hands are gently helping you back into your jeans, you button your top and follow him out the door.

The lights are turned off as the both of you walk around to the front of the shop, looking around for any signs of Tommy.

“Looks like he missed your little show. Can’t believe ya pulled that one off.”

Teases Joel, breaking the silence in the dark empty room.

“I’ll have to relock the entrance again since he’s gone, he probably thinks I slipped out without telling him goodbye.”

You say annoyed, getting your key fob out of your pocket.

Walking to the twin large oak doors you go to leave, exiting right after Joel with the keys in your hand. As you turn your back around, your met with a large hand above your head. Opening the door out comes Tommy with an unreadable expression.

Meeting his brown eyes you jump, pupils blown and cheeks burning you smiled up at him. Terrified of what he possibly heard, you stand there frozen as he takes his set of keys and locks up.

Turning around he looks at you and takes note of your appearance.

“Saw you were a little occupied tonight, I better see ya tomorrow night sweetheart.”

Tommy goads, with a smirk and waves to Joel further ways down the sidewalk.

You begin to parrot the same sentiment back but find yourself unable to form words. Tommy notices your hesitation and chuckles, bowing his head,he winks at you.

You and Joel walk back home in the snow covered streets. Guilt flushes over you as the only thing your able to think about is Tommy. Wondering how much of you Tommy saw tonight and how you’re going to get through your next shift alongside him.

authors note: this is my first ever post and first time ever writing a fic please be nice. Feedback is much appreciated!

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Chapter 10: Hope

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Doctor Female Reader Chapter Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Chapter Summary: He stood in this exact spot the night before he died—or nearly died. Before you brought him back. His honesty brought Ellie back into his life; now it’s time for him to be honest with you. Chapter Warnings: joel miller realizing feelings (yay!), tommy miller best brother award, fear, anxiety, guns, infected, beans, peach pie, flowers, smut, joel miller eating pussy, a beatles song (but in my head it's kurt cobain's cover) Words: 6,850

A/N: Well folks, you should thank my TERRIBLE editing skills. There was supposed to be a day between the last chapter and this chapter, but I forgot to change "tomorrow" to two days as I was mapping out the chapter (like literally in my head it was two days I actually missed it during EVERY EDIT) and then everyone got nervous! I'm so sorry, but because I felt so bad I dedicated most of yesterday to writing this chapter. This one is huge and I know I said the last chapter was my favorite, but now it's this one. A lot of Healed has been leading up to this chapter.

Healed Masterlist | Healed Playlist | Healed, The Video Edit | AO3

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

—-

Joel can't sleep. He squints at the alarm clock ticking on your bedside table, able to make out that it’s almost 3 AM. You’re next to him, sleeping peacefully, but he’s wide awake. His mind can’t stop racing about his feelings for you, as well as your upcoming trip outside of the tall, shielding walls that help keep you safe. He looks over at the little wooden cat figure sitting next to the clock. His future, carved by him, now sits amongst your things.

The mattress creaks beneath him when he moves, and you groan. He freezes and holds his breath until he knows you’re fully asleep again. He’s thinking too loudly in his brain, his body is restless, and he’s going to wake you if he stays here.

He carefully moves the sheets and gets out of bed, before he grabs his pajama pants and shirt from the hook by the door. He dresses in the hallway as quietly as he can before heading downstairs, avoiding the creaky step near the bottom.

It’s quiet when he steps onto the porch. Jackson is asleep, porch lights bright and windows dark.

Since he’s moved into this house, the porch has always been his thinking spot. He swears his brain works better when he’s outside sitting in his rocking chair with his guitar in his hands.

He plucks a quiet melody on the guitar, a tune he hardly remembers, but it slowly comes back to him as he lets the music try to clear his mind. You’ve become too important to him that he can barely remember what it felt like before. Sure, he was happy; he got through each day and got done what needed to be done. After Ellie pulled away, he’d resigned himself to living half a life. Half a life was better than no life.

And then, you came along and saved him. Breathed life back into his lungs and the parts of his life he thought were gone.

He's here because of you, and only you. Still alive, still living.

He was so close to seeing his Sarah again. The watch on his wrist feels heavier. She would have loved you. His daughter, forever frozen at twelve years old, would have looked at you with her bright, curious eyes and immediately decided you belonged with them. The thought doesn't hurt as much as it might have once.

He closes his eyes and imagines a future—something he hasn't done in over twenty years.

Two rocking chairs on this porch. You with gray in your hair, knitting needles moving in your hands as you rock back and forth. Him beside you, his hair mostly white, strumming this same guitar. Matching bands on your fingers.

He can see it so clearly that he doesn't hear the front door open. Doesn’t hear the first time you say his name quietly. Doesn’t notice you standing in front of him, half-lit by the porch light, wrapped in his robe.

You only get his attention when you say his name louder.

"Joel?"

He stands quickly, almost dropping the guitar in his surprise. The sight of you wearing his robe, standing on his porch, makes his heart thud heavily.

"Hey," he says.

“Why are you out here?"

"Couldn't sleep. Didn't wanna wake ya."

"Mm. You okay?"

It’s a simple question, but the meaning he feels behind it makes him think about just how safe he feels with you. How right his life feels with you in it. How he finds himself smiling at simple things just because you're there to share them. How you've made everything better, brighter, and worth fighting for.

"I am,” he answers.

You stand at the porch railing and rest your hands on it. He moves to stand beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you against him.

He stood in this exact spot the night before he died—or nearly died. Before you brought him back. His honesty brought Ellie back into his life; now it’s time for him to be honest with you.

"When you come back from your trip," he starts, the words almost stopping in his throat. "I-I don't want you to leave."

You look up at him. "Joel, I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving Jackson."

"I know that, but..." He swallows hard. "I want you to stay here, in my house, with me. Not just because you saved my life and I owe you everything for it, but because—" a tear escapes, tracing a path down his cheek, he breathes in heavily, an almost sob escaping his throat, "I love you."

"Joel," you say softly, tears beginning to well in your eyes. Then a smile lifts your lips. "I love you too."

It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. He turns to face you fully, one hand coming up to cradle your face as he kisses you, soft, gentle, loving. You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your smile matching his own.

"I love you," you say again.

"Repeat it," he whispers.

"I love you."

He rests his forehead against yours. "I love you too."

You reach for his hand and squeeze it. "Come on," you say. "Come back to bed with me."

—-

As Joel leads you up the steps, your hand in his, your mind reels with everything that's led you to this moment—this house, this man, this life you never thought possible in the apocalypse.

You think about the journey that brought you here. The outbreak, your failed settlement, the journey to find a new home, the first sight of the people who brought you to Jackson, now your fellow residents. The hope that lit in your heart at the first sight of the large, protective walls. 

You learned in the cruelty of the world you live in now that hope was dangerous. Hope got people killed. But you were a doctor, you healed people and gave others hope. 

And the gates had opened. Maria had interviewed you, her eyes widening when you mentioned your medical background. "We always need more doctors," she'd said, and just like that, you had a town.

Then, not even a day later, the attack. The screams, the gunshots, the chaos. Maria grabbing your arm, her face grim as she led you through the death and destruction of Main Street.

Joel, his blood-soaked and gray face, his body covered in wounds, some catastrophic. You spent hours, stitching and cleaning and hoping. Hope gets people killed, but this time, hope made Joel Miller live.

Weeks of quiet and loneliness while you kept Joel alive. Teaching him to walk again, one painful step at a time. His gruff frustration warring with his quiet determination. The moment you realized you were looking forward to seeing him each day. The realization that you were falling in love with him.

And now here you are in his bedroom, which now feels like yours.

When you untie Joel’s robe and hang it on the hook, you can feel his eyes on you. He gets undressed and slides under the covers, holding them open for you.

You’re barely fully in bed when he pulls you close and kisses your lips. Your hands find his chest, running them up and down his broad, warm body.

Joel pulls away, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Now, go back to sleep. You must be well-rested for tomorrow, baby.”

You don’t listen, instead, you climb on top of him before he can stop you, straddling his hips with your thighs.

You love him. Words aren't enough tonight. You need to feel him, all of him.

"Baby, you gotta sleep," he protests, though his hands settle on your waist. "I need you rested tomorrow."

"No," you whisper, grinding down on top of him. "I'll be fine."

He grunts a noise between pleasure and concern. You bend down, your lips brushing against his ear before you whisper, "I want to make love."

Joel groans, his hands tighten on your waist, then slide up your back. "I love you," he whispers.

You moan at the feel of him pressing against you, the sound of his deep voice telling you, and only you, he’s in love with you. You rock against him, bringing your hand down to curl around his length, rubbing the wet tip of him against your clit before you line him up and slowly sink down on him. His hands tighten on your hips, his neck straining as he grits your name out.

It’s always so desperate and needy for each other. You both can no longer silence the want and need for one another. You’re allowed to take now, to want. You’re in love.

He’s panting, trembling underneath you, his arms band around you, tightening and holding you impossibly close. Your lips find his, breaths panting against each other, swallowing each other's moans and declarations of love.

Your body knows his rhythm, your cunt slowly rising and lowering on top of his wide, solid cock. The thick pressure of him pulsing against your walls.

Your hands rest against his cheeks, feeling the sweet prickle of his beard against your palms, your thumb brushing against the heart-shaped patch of hair missing from his jawline.

You make love slowly, savoring each sensation, your lips against his, your voices incanting your love for one another as you reach the peak with him, taking and losing your breath with each roll of your hips.

“Goddamn,” he pants, “you feel so good.”

His eyes shine up at you in the near-darkness. He runs his hands down your back, palms splayed wide and hot, searing you with his touch as you pick up the pace, your breath coming faster as you grind down on him, your cunt clutching him so deep inside. He meets you, his hips bucking up to fill you, to make you feel as one. You drag your lips across his jaw, along the hot skin of his throat, tasting the slight salt of Joel. You’re obsessed with feeling the beat of his pulse against your lips, the thud thud thud of life coursing through him. The life you gave back to him, the life you want to live with him.

His grunts vibrate against your tongue as you lick your way back to his lips, tasting his needy sounds. He leans up, his tongue tangling with yours, your foreheads pressed against each other, softly knocking against one another’s as you ride him.

It’s slow, it’s vital. Like the first time he was awake, the first steps he took, the first kiss you shared—full of hope and desperation for each other.

Joel’s shaking under you, the tension he holds in him radiating out, one hand clutched against the back of your neck, one against your hip.

You’re boundless by everything Joel has given you; you see it so clearly now.

It’s real. It’s true. It’s love.

You’re overwhelmed by it, by how close you are, by how tight he holds you. Tears begin to fall from your eyes, Joel sees, kissing every drop he can that sheds from you before his lips capture yours, his tongue licking into your mouth, his desperate sounds for you leaving him and dissipating inside you.

And then, you shatter, from Joel Miller’s love for you, from the gruff way he grunts your name, from the feel of the pressure of his big cock pulsing inside you, from the way he clutches on to you like you’re the only person in the world.

Your eyes flutter shut, leftover tears trailing down your cheeks, Joel’s name repeated out of your lips. He presses you down against his chest, his heart against your ear as he fucks into you fast and hard, his skin slapping against yours, moving faster and faster as he heavily breathes the sound of your name over and over into the night. He cums inside you, with a cry of your name, his arms gluing you to him as he quakes underneath you.

You cling to each other, gasping for air. You raise your head and look at him, his eyes are still clouded in pleasure. He looks at you, a smile lifting his lips. He strokes your back with a reverent gentleness.

“I love you,” he says. “I love you so much.”

You look into his eyes, brown and deep, holding all the love for you. “I love you too.”

The words come out so easily, before you roll off him and nuzzle close.

—-

The alarm blares at 7:40 AM. Joel grunts as he opens his eyes. You slap the clock to shush it with a groan.

"Morning,” he greets.

You smile back, that sleepy smile that he loves so much. He leans over and kisses you; it feels more sacred to him now.

He wraps his arms around you, and your head rests against his chest. You always fit so perfectly. Your hand traces lazy circles around the plush of his stomach.

"Big day ahead for you," he says, trying to sound more excited for you but losing to the undercurrent of concern in his voice.

"It is.”

Neither of you makes any move to get up. He just lies there, holding you, savoring the feel of having you in his arms, safe and warm, knowing you love him.

He glances at the clock, hating that ten minutes have already passed. “You need to get ready,” he says reluctantly. “Tommy will be here in an hour. I’ll go make breakfast.”

"No," you say, placing a hand on his chest to keep him in place. "I'll just grab some granola. I'd rather stay in bed with you."

He chuckles. "How long do we have?" he asks, his hand sliding down your back.

"I need to start getting ready in half an hour."

"Good.”

He flips you onto your back, kissing you before he trails his lips down your naked body. He licks your neck, your collarbone, your breasts, all the way down until he settles between your legs.

He looks up at you before he focuses on your pussy, a possessive furrow in his brows as he watches himself slide a finger through your folds. Your slick already covers his finger pads when he parts you slowly, reverently. He draws shapes over your clit, grinning at the little gasping noises you make for him. His finger drags lower, before he lines it up and pushes it inside, crooking his finger up and watching you squirm.

You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him, his eyes settle onto yours before he leans forward and drags his tongue up your slit, circling your clit and lapping up the taste of you.

He flattens his tongue, fucking you with it, nose pressed against your clit. His hands slide up your thighs, gripping them and pulling them farther apart so he can press himself closer into you. He trails his tongue up, flicking your clit, so slow it makes you whimper his name out. 

You sound and taste so good to him, he begins rutting his hips into the mattress, trying to give himself relief. He can’t stop himself from humming against your cunt, it’s obscene how much he loves you—how much of his every waking thought is dedicated to wanting you happy and full and safe.

“Joel,” you moan as your arms give out, your head thudding against the mattress. You grab for his hair, he smiles against your pussy when you clutch at his waves, pulling him even closer to your cunt until you’re cumming for him, grinding your pussy against his mouth as you shudder and arch. You scream his name out into the early morning air as your orgasm rolls through you.

His cock is hard and leaking, pressed to the sheet, but he waits. This is for you, always you. He drinks every drop you give him down, tracing his tongue up and down your pussy, collecting all your spilled slick.

When he pulls away, he leaves a kiss against each thigh before he crawls up beside you, his leg slightly protesting. You’re so beautiful like this, a lazy smile across your face, your eyes are still under a haze of pleasure, but bright with love.

"Let me take care of you," you say, your hands already reaching for him.

Joel catches them gently, bringing them to his lips. "When you get back.”

You pout slightly, but he can see the understanding in your eyes. You need to get ready, you need to leave, you need to come back home to him.

The time’s now 8:20 AM. Tommy will be here in only thirty minutes.

—-

Joel’s eyes have stayed on you, watching your every move since you got out of bed.

“I want you to have something,” he says, as he walks out of his closet with a faded olive green flannel shirt and a small box. "It's going to get cold up there, just... stick this in your backpack f’me."

You take the flannel from him, the fabric is soft from its many washes. You put it on over your t-shirt, bunching up the sleeves until they sit just below your elbows. The shirt smells like him, and you resist the urge to bury your nose in the collar of it.

"Better yet, I'll just wear it," you say, smoothing your hands down the front.

Joel freezes, his eyes darkening as he stares possessively at you. He doesn’t say a thing, he just stands there, until you glance down at the box, and he follows your eyes.

"What's in there?" you ask.

“Oh, uh, right.” He opens the box carefully, revealing a black revolver nestled in faded cloth.

He stares down at the gun before he speaks. "I, uh, want you to take this," he says, lifting it from the box. "You know how to shoot one, right?"

"I do.”

"Lemme see your form," Joel says, handing you the revolver.

The gun is heavy in your hand. You stand with your feet shoulder-width apart, aiming at the bedroom wall. Joel moves behind you, his chest meeting your back as his arms come around to adjust your stance.

"Elbow a little higher," he murmurs, as he gently repositions your arm. "That's it."

His hands slide down to your waist and steadies you to perfect your position.

"Now, remember to squeeze the trigger like you love it," he whispers.

Your heart beats rapidly, your breath catching when you feel his hands press harder into your skin. You close an eye, imagining you taking a shot, Joel’s presence behind you makes you feel strong.

"You feel good? Feel confident?" he asks, his lips close enough to brush against your ear.

You nod.

"Good girl," he says. 

You swallow at his praise, at the way he grits “girl” out.

He steps back, allowing you to lower the gun. "I know they'll have guns," he says, "but I want you to keep this on you just in case. And if there's anything at all—anything—you call me on the radio and I will do everything I can to come get you, okay?"

Your heart drops when you see the serious look in his eyes and hear the protective tone in his voice.

"Okay," you nod, carefully placing the gun inside your backpack.

You glance at the clock on the bedside table. Only fifteen minutes until Tommy will be here.

—-

Joel holds you silently in the living room, both of you swaying slightly in each other's arms. Your backpack sits ready by the front door. He breathes you in, trying to commit you to his memory as much as he can.

There’s a quick set of knocks before you both can pull away, the front door swings open, and Tommy steps inside. You jump apart, but it's too late, he’s already seen you in each other's arms. Tommy’s eyes widen, then a wide smile spreads across his face. "Well, good morning love birds."

Both of you don’t say a word, Joel can’t even roll his eyes.

Tommy holds up two radios, mercifully changing the subject. "One for you, and one for you. Chuck says he's trusting you two."

Joel takes the radios, his only way of knowing you're safe. He hands one to you. "Check in with me when you can. Okay?" he says, unable to keep the note of concern from his voice.

You nod, looking up at him with understanding in your eyes. "I will."

His eyes stay on yours, both of you trying to silently communicate just how much you’ll miss each other.

Tommy clears his throat. "We need to get going 'n meet everyone else. I'll just be on the porch."

Once the door shuts, you hug Joel tightly.

"I'll be safe," you say against his chest. "I'll come back to you. I promise."

"I know you will.”

He kisses you, his hands moving to cradle your face. When he pulls away, he stares into your eyes, trying to tell you everything he feels without words.

"I love you," he says.

"I love you too," you respond.

He gives you one last squeeze before he reluctantly lets you go.

He picks up your backpack by the door and lifts it, holding it for you while you slip your arms through the straps. He adjusts it on your shoulders, making sure it sits comfortably.

"You have everything?" he asks.

"I do," you respond, reaching into the chest pocket of his flannel and pulling out the carved wooden Jefferson figure. He smiles at the sight of it before you place it back in your pocket.

Joel follows you onto the porch where Tommy waits, trying not to think about how empty the house will feel without you in it.

"Ready?" Tommy asks, a knowing smile on his face.

“Yep,” you respond. 

He’s so proud of you, he tries to remind himself that, even if the pit in his stomach digs deeper as you get closer and closer to leaving.

You turn and hug Joel once more, your arms wrapping around his waist. He closes his eyes and presses his lips against your forehead. When he opens them, he catches Tommy watching, a wide smile on his brother's face, before he looks away.

Joel angles his head down and kisses you. "I love you," he whispers against your lips. “Check in with me and come home to me.”

"I love you too. I’ll be back soon,” you say before pulling away.

"I'll take care of her," Tommy says. "Like I said… as if she’s my own."

Joel nods. “Thanks, Tommy."

He stays on the porch as you and Tommy head down the path toward the gate, where the rest of the expedition team will be gathering. Before you turn the corner, you turn back, looking over your shoulder at him still standing there.

He mouths “I love you,” and you smile back with a nod, and then, you turn the corner, disappearing from his view.

A fear he hasn't allowed himself to fully think about begins to overtake his heart. He's letting you, someone he loves, walk into danger, and he's not there to protect you.

—-

Green. So much green. Verdant, lush, and beautiful. The last time you were outside these walls, you were starving, traveling with a small group of almost-strangers, exhausted and freezing. Now, you’re strong, warm, comfortable, and in love.

Your horse is friendly and easy to control. You smiled when Tommy introduced you to her. “This is Hope, she’s real good with strangers.”

The pace is slow, Tommy and Sean lead while Jesse tails you. Tommy holds binoculars the whole way, scanning and being ready for anything.

Of course, you’re nervous and you’re alert, but you’re also overwhelmed by how it feels out here. Tall trees, wildflowers growing tall and bright, fresh, crisp air filling your lungs. Your heart sinks when you think about not experiencing this for the first time with Joel. You almost feel guilty. You reach into the pocket of Joel’s flannel and touch the wooden cat to ground yourself back to him and the big, white house you just can’t wait to see at the end of the day.

Your first stop happens near the creek. Steven collects mint as you search near the creek beds. Tommy stays glued to you, following closely behind, his gun at the ready. You spot a group of purple flowers in the distance. Anise hyssop, perfect for treating respiratory issues and inflammation.

You trod through the soft earth near the water’s edge and kneel down. Tommy’s right behind you, standing closer than a shadow. When he told Joel he’d protect you, he really meant it.

The flowers are perfect, you pull out your collection knife to harvest the stems at the base, being extra gentle as you deposit them into the collection box. You wish Joel were here so badly, you wish it were him protecting you and not his brother.

When you get back onto your horses and head farther north, you wonder how Joel is fairing without you.

—-

He stares at the walkie-talkie. It’s all he can focus on. It’s only been a few hours since you left the house. He knows the trail like the back of his hand; it crosses Cache Creek, the safest route that patrol takes. He told himself he wouldn’t contact you, that he needs to let you work, but every second feels like an hour.

He can’t read, he can’t carve, he can’t take a walk, he just sits in his rocking chair on the porch with his guitar, his eyes switching between staring at the walkie-talkie and the spot where he told you he loved you.

He remembers a song from his past, his fingers try to find the familiar chords, the same chords he tried to get right last night. Now, when he thinks about you and your sweet voice telling him you love him, he can remember it perfectly. His voice comes out slower than the song’s actual beat. He softly sings to himself…

“She gives me everything, And tenderly, The kiss my lover brings, She brings to me, And I love her”

He sees your pretty face as he sings. How bright your eyes can shine for him, how beautiful your smile is, how he’ll never get tired of looking at you.

What if Maria had asked someone else? What if you were a day late arriving? Would he still be alive? Would he be in love? Would he be sitting on this porch, wondering where you are now?

In a much crueler time, he would have called himself a failure for not being able to be there for you, but your love won’t let him do that to himself now. He’ll just stay here, on the porch, waiting for you not-so-patiently, with pride in his heart that you’re helping the town that’s given him so much, like a future with you.

—-

The next stop is a smaller meadow, just beyond the trail. You hit the jackpot, Arnica montana blooms brightly.

“This is amazing,” you tell Steven, looking up at him as he takes a drink of water from his canteen.

“Isn’t it?” he asks. He looks down, his eyes stay on you, watching as you collect the bright yellow flowers. The way he’s watching makes you miss Joel’s dark brown eyes on you.

“We’ll stay here for a break, let the horses rest ‘n feed. If you want to check in,” Tommy says.

“Check in?” Steven asks.

“Yeah, uh—” you begin.

“She’s checking in with Joel,” Tommy says matter-of-factly.

“Oh, yes, right,” Steven says, giving you a weak smile. “I’ll finish collecting so you can go… check in.”

You nod, getting up and moving to a line of trees. Tommy stays nearby as your heart beats quicker when you realize you’ll get to hear Joel’s voice.

You press down the button. “Joel?”

His response is immediate, his voice saying your name through the slight static instantly makes you smile. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you respond. You want to tell him how badly you miss him, but you’re mindful of Tommy’s presence.

“How is it?”

“Good, nice. We’ve already got a nice collection of plants, and we haven’t even gotten to the meadow.”

“That’s good,” you can hear the smile in his voice. “I’m proud of you.”

You can’t fight the tears that begin to swell in your eyes or the honesty of your emotions, you don’t care who could be listening. “I miss you. I know it’s ridiculous because it hasn’t even been that long—”

“S’not ridiculous, I miss you too.”

Your heart aches at his voice. “I’ll be home soon.”

“I know you will.”

“I love you.”

A low hum of happiness leaves the speaker. “Love you too. Be safe, okay?”

“I will, I’ll check in again.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

You clip the radio back to your belt. Tommy gives you a smile when you turn to face him and rejoin the group.

You go back to collecting the flowers, knowing that the Arnica will be used to make a salve that will help Joel’s aches and pains.

When Tommy helps you back on your horse after your break, he pats your knee. “We’ll get you back to him. Don’t worry.”

“I know,” you say with a smile before you head to the meadow, your final stop of the day.

—-

Joel’s moved from the porch to the kitchen table, sorting the jar of dried beans you’ve been meaning to get to for days. He feels ridiculous, trying to find any excuse to make the day pass quicker. It reminds him of when you first started at the clinic, how much he’d miss you during the day when you were working. Now, you’re an established resident of Jackson, known for your healing ways and your gentle demeanor… those same healing hands that brought him back from death now care for his fellow residents.

He looks at the radio sitting on the table. His only connection to knowing you’re safe. He knows Tommy will take care of you, but he knows something could still go wrong. He’s lost too much to trust that good things can stay good.

He tries to quiet the dark thoughts. What if raiders find you? What if infected have wandered close? What if there were more than the fifteen that Kat’s group killed? What if he loses you?

 The beans fall out of his hand, scattering across the table. His chest tightens at the thought. He wills himself to breathe in and out, to make a damned square like you told him with his breaths.

In. You’ll be okay.

Out. You’re going to return to him.

In. You’re capable and brave.

Out. You’re his miracle.

He settles himself and goes back to sorting beans.

There’s a knock at the door when there’s only a couple handfuls left in the jar.

He grabs his cane and walks to the front door. He opens the door, and Dina greets him with a wide smile.

“Hey kiddo,” he greets.

“Hey! Special delivery as requested by you,” she says, holding up a pie pan. “One peach pie.”

“Great,” he says, taking it from her hands.

“What’s the special occasion?” she asks.

“Just, uh, something for the expedition,” he responds, trying to think of an excuse other than that he wanted to do something sweet for you, and only you. 

“Oh,” one of her eyebrows shoots up. “For everyone …orrrr, maybe just a certain pretty doctor?”

Joel can’t help the heat that fills his cheeks. “The latter.”

Dina’s smile somehow grows wider and brighter. “Well, enjoy man. Maybe save me ‘n Ellie a slice?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he responds.

“I have more deliveries. I’m glad you have someone to share… pie with,” she says.

He smiles as Dina leaves, placing the pie on the kitchen counter. He now has to refinish most of the Tipsy Bison barstools, but at least he’ll have something sweet waiting for you when you get home.

—-

It’s been a quiet ride, the patrollers are too busy paying attention to any small noise or movement to chit chat, and Steven has been quiet since you left to talk to Joel. You take the time to imagine Joel behind you, his broad body protecting you and holding you close as you travel through the woods. You imagine what he’s like on patrol. Impossibly serious, laser-focused, and no-nonsense. You can see the furrow of his brow as he uses his binoculars so clearly in your head.

When you reach the meadow, it’s just as beautiful as you could imagine. Tall trees surround a large patch of land covered in flowers. Yarrow, valerian, echinacea, red clover, all of it sways in the wind like an ocean of healing. It’s almost magical.

You and Steven split up, working in quadrants, collecting all that you can but still leaving enough for the bees and animals to pollinate. Tommy stays close to you, his hands never leaving his gun.

You’re focused on cutting the stem of a flower when Jesse moves forward. 

“Movement in the treeline. North side.” His voice comes out sharp and urgent. Your hands freeze as Tommy whips around, his rifle raised.

“How many?” Tommy asks.

“I don’t know,” Jesse responds, his binoculars focused on the trees.

“Well, find out,” Tommy grits. Stephen reaches down to his holster and grabs his gun. You take the hint and reach into your backpack and pull out Joel’s gun. Your heart pulses in your chest as you stay low.

“Four,” Jesse says. “I see at least four... but I think there’s more.”

“You ‘n Sean try to get closer, check if there’s anything worse. I’ll stay here with ‘em,” Tommy instructs.

Jesse and Sean nod, slowly approaching the tree line as quietly as they can.

“On your horse,” Tommy tells you. You nod, picking up the flowers. “Leave ‘em, getting you safe is more important.”

He grabs your arm, hauling you up and quickly guiding you to Hope. You climb onto the horse, finding all of this ridiculous until you see the slight look of fear in Tommy’s eyes when he hands you your backpack.

“Steven, on your horse, too.”

A gunshot, and then another gunshot

“Fuck!” Tommy shouts. “You stay HERE, at the first sign of anything, ANYTHING, you both head back to Jackson. You know the path?”

Steven nods, wide-eyed.

Your breathing comes out more labored, and the panic is setting in. If there’s infected that way, they could be anywhere. They said patrol was just out here and cleared fifteen. There could always be more. There’s always more. 

God, you want Joel. You reach into the pocket of his flannel, grabbing the little carved figure of Jefferson. You press your nose into the shirt, trying to catch even the slightest whiff of Joel’s scent. His gun in one hand, Jefferson in the other, his shirt on your back.

More gunshots happen. You’re shaking in fear; this isn’t the same type of fear you’ve had before with infected. There’s a deep pool of fear and anxiety that you’ll never see Joel, that you’ve only told him you loved him a few times, when you owe him millions more.

You can hear shouting in the distance, the horses begin to fidget, some of them stomping their hooves.

Then, a crack of a branch breaking. An infected stumbles out. You panic, the Jefferson figure drops out of your hand as you grip the gun with both hands, aiming towards it. Steven is frozen in fear next to you, his gun pointed, but he makes no movement to shoot. You aim, remembering the feel of Joel’s fingertips against your stomach.

“Now, squeeze the trigger like you love it.”

You squeeze and fire. The shot goes wide, splintering the bark of the tree next to the infected. You aim again, if it doesn’t work this time, you run home to Joel on top of Hope; Hope will bring you back to him.

You squeeze and fire again, remembering to position your elbow a bit higher like he told you this morning. The bullet lands in the infected, but it still stumbles towards you, until a quick succession of bullets takes it down. Tommy stands at the edge of the trees, his rifle smoking.

“You okay?” he calls, jogging toward you while still scanning the treeline. Your hands shake as you lower Joel’s gun, the adrenaline overwhelming you.

“I’m fine,” you manage to respond.

“Steven?” Tommy asks.

Steven only nods.

Jesse and Sean emerge from the trees looking grim and exhausted. “Eight,” Jesse reports. “There might be more in the area.”

Tommy’s jaw tightens. “We’re heading back. Now. Steven, go help Jesse and Sean.”

Steven obeys, getting off his horse, jogging towards the meadow.

“My cat,” you say, realizing you dropped your Jefferson carving.

“What? Your cat?” Tommy asks as he hooks a bag to his saddle.

You jump off your horse, leading her away before you kneel and search frantically through the tall grass.

Tommy kneels next to you. “What do you mean, your cat?” he repeats.

“Joel… he-he carved me a cat,” you answer, your voice panicked. “And I… when the gun… I…”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, we’ll find it.”

Your hands are shaking as you search through the grass, combing through the blades. Tommy helps you search, moving much more slowly and methodically than you do, while Jesse and Sean quickly pack up the horses.

Steven kneels down next to you. “What are we looking for?”

“A small wooden cat figure,” Tommy answers.

Steven looks around before he reaches near your foot, picking up the carved cat. He looks down at it before he shows it to you with a resigned smile.

“Oh,” you gasp.

Steven places the cat in your palm. You close your hands around Jefferson, breathing out a thank you that he answers with a soft nod.

“We need to go. You can call Joel on the ride home,” Tommy softly tells you, offering his hand and helping you on your horse.

“The trip should be about two hours. We’re not stopping,” Jesse says as you all get into formation and head toward the trail back to Jackson.

Once you’re on the trail, you press the button on your walkie-talkie and contact Joel.

—-

“Joel?”

Your voice. He almost drops the radio when he reaches for it. The relief that floods through his body overwhelms him. “Hey, you okay?”

“We’re headed back now. There were, there were, infected.” He jumps to his feet, his whole body tensing at the word, his hand squeezes the radio tight.

“Baby,” he whispers. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” you respond. “Tommy just doesn’t want to take any chances.”

Your voice is so shaky, it makes his heart ache. He reminds himself that he owes Tommy so much now. He knew he’d keep his word; he knew he’d do everything to keep you safe.

“How long?” he asks.

“Two hours, maybe less. We’re moving a lot faster going home than when we left.”

“Okay, baby, okay,” he says. “You’re gonna get home to me and you’re gonna be okay, alright?”

“Alright,” you say. Your voice sounds so fragile, and yet he knows you brave you are.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The radio clicks. All Joel can think about is holding you in his arms, making you feel better, and telling you how brave you are.

He paces across the floor, trying to expel the nervous energy out of him. Staying in this house isn’t going to work. He grabs his cane and heads towards the front door.

—-

The sun is just starting to dip behind the mountains when you get your first glimpse of the gates of Jackson. The sky is lit in purples, pinks, and oranges. Your heart begins to race with each step Hope takes toward Jackson. Tommy waves the flag for the watchtower, the gate begins to open, and you fight the will to tap your heels against Hope to make her gallop faster.

So much has changed since your arrival over seven months ago. Now, you’re no longer just surviving, you’re thriving with a beautiful home and someone you love.

Once you get close enough, you spot Joel, standing near the entrance, leaning on his cane, his dark eyes finding yours. Even from your far distance, you can see the relief wash over him.

When you cross the threshold of the gate, you pull Hope to a stop, Joel’s by your side, before you can even dismount Hope. You practically hop off the horse into his arms, and he holds you impossibly tight, breathing in the scent of you. There are onlookers, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all.

“You’re home,” he whispers against your hair.

“I’m home,” you smile against his chest. 

Next Chapter

—-

A/N: My taglist has grown too large. Please follow @whocaresposted and turn on notifications to be alerted about new chapters!

My perma tags: @forspringcleaning, @schnarfer, @mothandpidgeon

[forspringcleaning]

This chapter is amazing. The love confession was PERFECT. The image of them old on the porch 😭 The smut 10/10. And I’m so glad she found wooden Jefferson. I love these two.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

I think about them on that porch constantly, old and happy and totally in love with each other before ya' know heading inside to ya' know.

[joelsslvts]

𓆩⟡𓆪 𝐈 𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐄, 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍 — 𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐅𝐄𝐌!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader or M!Reader

Setting: Post-Outbreak Safe Zone – You live together in Jackson.

Genre: Fluff, domestic banter, age gap, light teasing

_______________________________________________

The wind howled softly outside the window, the kind of night where everything was still—except for the sound coming from the other side of the bed.

You groaned, flipping over in the creaky mattress and jabbing your finger into Joel’s bare shoulder.

“Joel,” you hissed. “Joel.”

Nothing. Just more snoring.

You sat up halfway, blinking in the dark. “Joel!”

A low grunt. Then silence.

You let yourself fall back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling like it had wronged you.

You loved the man—God, did you—but you were one more snore away from suffocating him with a pillow. The way he snored? It wasn’t even just breathing heavy. It was like a chainsaw being dragged through gravel.

Morning came with a slice of sunlight and the smell of fresh coffee—probably Joel, always up before you like he was training for a damn marathon. You padded into the kitchen, arms folded across your chest.

He looked up, hair still messy, salt-and-pepper scruff catching the light.

“Morning, sweetheart.” He gave you that half-smile. The one that always made you forget you were mad—almost.

You squinted at him. “We need to talk.”

He raised an eyebrow and leaned back. “That so?”

“You snore.”

Joel blinked. “No I don’t.”

You stared. “Joel. Don’t lie. You snore so loud the walls shake.”

“I’ve never heard myself snore,” he said, sipping his coffee casually.

“Exactly! Because you’re asleep while doing it!”

He smirked now, clearly entertained. “Maybe you’re just sensitive. Young ears and all.”

“Oh my God, don’t pull the age card on me,” you grumbled, snatching his mug and taking a sip like it was yours.

Joel gave you a look. “Hey. I made that.”

“And I lost four hours of sleep, so it’s only fair.”

He walked toward you, that amused look still dancing on his face, and wrapped an arm around your waist. You tried to fight the smile that was creeping in—tried to stay annoyed—but he was warm and grumbly and familiar, and… fine, maybe kind of irresistible.

“Alright,” he said. “If I really do snore that bad… why d’you keep sleepin’ next to me?”

You tilted your head. “Because I love you. Even if you’re a sleep-depriving menace.”

He chuckled low in his throat, and you felt the vibration against your body.

“Alright then,” he whispered near your ear, “maybe tonight I’ll sleep on the couch—save your beauty rest.”

“You do that, and I’ll drag you back by your beard.”

He grinned. “So you do love the beard.”

You rolled your eyes and gave his chest a gentle shove. “Don’t change the subject. Just… I dunno, sleep on your side or something.”

“I’ll try, darlin’. But if I snore again, maybe you can wake me up with somethin’ nicer next time.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

He leaned down, lips brushing your cheek. “A kiss wouldn’t kill me.”

You groaned dramatically. “Gross. You’re like 50.”

He laughed. “And you love it.”

Unfortunately for your pride… you really, really did.

[cinnxmxngxrl]

Thinking about how grandpa!Joel’s back is so bad you almost only do cowgirl ༺♡༻

warnings: smut, minors DNI, creampie, infertility, delayed ejaculation

༺♡༻Grandpa!Joel wakes up every morning feeling two things: the deep, killing ache in his lower back, and the throb of his thick cock, already hard in his briefs (and just as painful as his back), already forming a wet patch on them from how much he’s been creaming while he slept, unconsciously humping against your ass in his sleep.

༺♡༻ Grandpa!Joel’s back’s been shit during the last few years, and so he’s gotten accustomed to you riding him (not because he asks you to, he’s too proud for that, but because you know it’s what he needs). He lets you do most of the work while he lays back and takes it. It’s the most frequent position between you two now, but luckily for Joel, he’s always been a hardcore cowgirl enjoyer, both front or reverse, didn’t matter.

༺♡༻Grandpa!Joel, whenever he has you on reverse, he can’t stop himself from slapping that beautiful ass of yours to watch it jiggle. His eyes stay locked on where your hole stretches around him as you move up and down, your slick dripping down the base of his cock and soaking his big balls. He also loves seeing the little pouts you make when his cock hit that deep spot you swear no one else had ever touched, that furrow between your brows as you whimper his name like it hurt so good. The bounce of your titties always gets him going, his eyes stuck on the way they bounce in time with your rhythm. He never knows where to touch, he’s got his hands full of your tits, next, he’s gripping your hips and ass, helping you fuck yourself on him when you get tired.

༺♡༻ Grandpa!Joel won’t admit it out loud, but lately he’s been having issues cumming, not because of you, of course, but with age, getting an orgasm took him longer than before. He feels a flicker of frustration, being so close to cumming, only to have it slip through his fingers. He hates feeling that his body faltered, that he couldn’t finish when he wanted to. But you never complain, you just keep riding him, whispering how he’s the only man you’ll ever want, how no one else has ever made you feel like this.

༺♡༻Grandpa!Joel had lost any filter he once had, he has no shame left in that old body, not when you ride him like this. If anything, he’d only gotten more vocal, dirtier… Every drag of your soaked pussy along his cock makes him grunt and growl like a wild bear. “Mmhmm, attagirl, ride your old man’s cock, yeeahh, jus’like that.” “Look at’cha, little bunny, humping on it like you need it. You do, don’t cha? Fuckin’ need this ole’cock to fuck you stupid.” “Move those fuckin’ hips, baby, yeahhhh, nghhh, there you go makin’ your man feel so goddamn good.”

༺♡༻Grandpa!Joel, on some sporadic occasions, fully ignores the pain radiating through his lower back, he’s a stubborn old bastard after all, and throws you down on your belly. He pushes you down into the mattress, your face smushed into the pillow, your ass raised and then he fucks the goddamn shit out of you. Even through his back is killing him, all he cares about in that moment is to empty his heavy balls into your tight little cunt. And fuck, when he feels you clenching around him (you’re already tight but when you cum you squeeze him so hard he swears you’re cutting off his circulation) he knows he’s not gonna last. Just one or two more thrusts, and then he’s spilling inside you.

༺♡༻Grandpa!Joel fills you so full it leaks out around the edges while he’s still inside. He might be old, but that load is still just as big as when he was young. He can feel it shooting out of him with force, and you feel the warmth of it coating your insides. The stupid instinct of his body is still trying to breed you, he wished he still had the capacity to knock you up, but he doubts there are any good swimmers left in his seed. But a man can dream, can’t he?

Wrote this silly little thing (a recurring thought, honestly) before taking a nap, so sweet dreams to me, hehe.

dividers by: @/strangergraphics

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[easybbgrl]

I neeeeeed him. Ugh and his dirty old mouth yes pleaseeeee

[cinnxmxngxrl]

I SWEAR to god he just gets filthier and more pervy with age😩😩

Thank you so much for reading, bae 🩷

[thinkerpedro]

Daddy Richards

Summary: After several nights of fun in the lab, Reed ends up getting you pregnant.

Pairing: Reed Richards x F!Reader

Warnings: Mention of explicit sex and inappropriate language

Note: I just saw Pedro's hot arms and wished Reed would get me pregnant. 💀

tags: Sex, Office Sex/Lab Sex, Pregnancy Reveal, Accidental Pregnancy, Soft Moments, Romance, Fluffy, Drabble Fic.

Word count: 655

Reed was frozen for a long moment, staring at the pregnancy test. You'd only been dating for a short time; getting involved with a scientist and hero wasn't in your plans, but you couldn't resist spending all those hours alone with him in the lab. He was your doctoral thesis advisor; your relationship was a mistake that could jeopardize Professor Richards' entire academic career.

It all started when you became lab partners and spent nights studying particles under microscopes. On one of those nights, you found yourself on top of the table with your panties around your ankles and his cock buried deep inside you.

Scenes like that became so common they became a habit. You couldn't imagine yourself without those strong biceps holding you down while he fucked you against his desk. The way his hair was always impeccably styled and the white streaks at the sides added a unique touch to his beauty.

It was easy to fall in love; you were madly in love with him. Even though he warned you every time that the relationship wasn't right for countless reasons, you surrendered even more.

Reed had faced many fears in his life, but he didn't know he would feel them so deeply until he got involved with you, with the possibility of his enemies kidnapping you and torturing you to get to him. But the fear he felt now was different. Seeing those two blue lines on the test was enough for him to imagine all the risks you would face.

"You…" he finally looks up.

"I…" you try to find your voice. "Yes, I'm pregnant."

His eyes shine, his expression serious but gentle. A crease of worry appeared on his forehead.

"Reed… I'm so sorry."

"Baby… no." He walks over to you and cups your face. "It happened."

"But we've only been together a short time, we don't have anything, and…"

"I'll take care of it, okay? Don't worry." He fixes his tender gaze on your eyes, which are already forming tears.

"Y-you" blinking a few times, you think you didn't quite understand "Do you want me to take it off?"

"No!" He steps forward, his eyes wide. "I mean, no, I don't want to... but that's for you to decide."

You swallow hard, parting your lips, your gaze wandering somewhere other than those eager, gentle eyes.

"You... want him?"

"Him?"

"I don't know," he shrugs with a small smile. "Maybe it's her."

Laughing a little, you stare at your own fingers.

"Because if you want, I'll schedule our wedding today.”

"What?" He looks up, your heart nearly leaping into your throat.

You try to find a hint of playfulness on his face, but all you find is a calm look and a sweet smile.

"Our wedding." He seemed very sincere.

"Reed, you've got to be kidding…"

"I'm not." He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Listen, I don't want you to marry me because I'm pregnant."

"You haven't told me yet if you want to have the baby."

"I…" Your eyes close for a moment. You didn't feel ready, but deep down you'd always wanted to be a mother, and having a child with the man you were madly in love with encouraged you to face that situation. Maybe it was fate telling you it was the right time to be a mother.

"If you don't want to, know that I want you to be my wife just the same."

His smile teases you to do the same, a pang hits your stomach at his words, and you jump onto his neck to kiss him.

"I want to," you murmur against his lips. "I want anything with you."

Exchanging smiles, he pushes your body forward and takes you in his arms. Letting out a little scream, he carries you to the bed and carefully lays you down on the mattress, finding your lips again.

[idkwhylou]

Pushing it down and Praying

Summary : In a quiet Jackson torn between routine and longing, one patrol with Joel Miller changes everything. What started with silence turned into regrets. Now, tangled between past loyalties and aching truths, desire threatens to destroy what little stability you have left. And some storms don’t pass quietly.

Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings : smut, infidelity, angst, fights, guilt, unresolved feelings, complex relationship dynamics, wound, bit of blood, no y/n

Words : 24,1K

A/N : This is inspired by the song “Pushing it down and praying” by Lizzy McAlpine AND 500 FOLLOWERS CELEBRATION !!! Thank you so much guys <3

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You’ve been in Jackson for over a year now, which is longer than you lived anywhere before the outbreak—longer than most people keep anything these days. It's strange, the way stability doesn’t feel like safety at first. For months, even after they gave you a house, hot water and shifts on patrol, you waited for the quiet to collapse under its own weight. For someone to knock on your door and say it was all a mistake.

But it never happened.

Mark was the one who got you there. Or, more honestly, he was the reason you kept going when you didn’t see the point. The two of you weren’t lovers at the beginning, not really. You were just two people who didn’t know how to say goodbye, who found something easier than solitude in each other’s arms.

You met him somewhere outside QZ, after a bad winter. You had a sprained ankle and a gun you didn’t know how to fix; he had a stitched-up shoulder and a long, jagged scar down the back of his neck he never talked about. You didn’t trade names for weeks. But he shared a fire, and you didn’t shoot him when he got too close. That was enough.

Traveling with Mark was simple. Not easy—well nothing about the actual world was easy—but simple. You watched each other’s backs. You didn’t ask questions when the other woke up gasping in the middle of the night. You made it through empty towns, cold rivers and a whole summer in silence. When you finally made it to Jackson, half-dead and mostly out of hope, they let you in because Maria knew what people looked like when they were running out of road.

You and Mark were assigned housing two doors down from the mill. You helped patch fences, cleaned guns, taught a few of the newer kids how to hold a blade. Slowly, life began to take on shape again, the smell of bread in the morning, the rumble of patrol horses on Main Street, the way kids laughed like they didn’t know the world had ever ended.

And somewhere along the way, you and Mark became a ‘we’.

Not with a declaration, neither with a kiss that shattered the air. Just with the quiet gravity of two people who had been through too much not to cling to each other. He made you coffee in the mornings. You stitched the buttons back on his coat. When he put his hand on your hip at dinner, it felt like habit. Not hunger. Just… something close to home.

And maybe that was enough.

So, when Maria called you into the small administration office one Wednesday morning, you thought nothing of it. Because there always was a shift to cover, always someone sick or rerouted. She closed the door behind you and spoke without looking up. 

“Joel’s taking over the northwest patrol route. Tommy’s staying in for a while to help with the baby.”

You nodded. “Makes sense.”

Then, she finally met your eyes. “You’ll be his partner. For now.”

You blinked.

You’ve worked with Joel before, in passing. Short supply runs. He was quiet, reliable, a little closed-off in the way people tend to be when they’ve lost too much. You’ve never had more than a few words exchanged between you. Never had a reason to look at him longer than necessary.

But you know who he was. Everyone did.

He was the one Maria trusts when no one else will do. The one with a voice like gravel and a glare sharp enough to draw blood. The one who lived on the edge of town with a girl who didn’t smile often now, and a past no one really asked about.

You knew the rumors too. You just never cared enough to sort truth from story.

“I thought I was covering with Claire this week.” You say, trying to keep your tone even.

“She’s got school, and we’re light on senior pairs.” Maria folds her arms. “Joel knows the route. You’re really good and close-range. It’s a smart match.”

You couldn’t argue with that. 

When you told Mark about the patrol rotation, he didn’t say anything at first. He’d just stood at the kitchen counter, both hands wrapped around a chipped ceramic mug, eyes fixed on the same spot in the window where the snow gathered slow and quiet between the fence posts. The light was dull, pale against the glass—that color the sky turned just before another storm.

“It’s just north patrol,” you said, your voice easy, steady. “Two, maybe three days a week. We head out early, back before dinner. Shouldn’t be anything new.”

He didn’t look at you. Just tipped his head, exhaled once through his nose. “With Joel Miller.”

You crossed your arms, leaning your hip against the edge of the table. “Maria says he knows the route better than anyone. And Tommy’s off, so.”

Mark finally glanced over at you, and something in his face—not anger, exactly, but something more unsettled—caught you off guard. “You know people talk about him, right ?”

You rolled your eyes, “I know.” 

“They say he’s not... safe. That something’s off.”

You sighed, “People talk about everyone, Mark.”

“Yeah, but not like they talk about him.”

You watched him for a moment. His jaw was tight, his shoulders wounded. He was bracing himself for something, though you weren’t sure if it was your reaction or his own.

“He’s not the first man with blood on his hands,” you said, softly. Reminding him the difficult situations you'd had to go through, the things you two had to do to get to Jackson. But you knew very well that Mark thought it was all different, so you quickly resumed before an argument erupts. “He just didn’t hide it as well as the rest of us.”

Mark said nothing. Just looked away, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. You knew that he was worried about you all the damn time. Since his shoulder started hurting again, he couldn’t always make sure of your safety anymore. And the idea of leaving you alone with another man, none other than Joel Miller, was even less reassuring for him.

You pushed off the table and stepped toward him slowly. “I’ll be fine.” You tried to reassure him.

His eyes met yours again. “I didn’t say you wouldn’t.”

“No,” you said. “But you’re thinking it.”

He didn’t deny it. And for some reason, that stung more than you wanted to admit. You put your hands on his shoulders, giving him a tender smile in the hope of comforting him. He returned a similar smile, even though deep down you knew he couldn't stop worrying about you. So, you moved closer to him and placed a delicate kiss on his cheek, before heading off in the direction of your shared bedroom.

Later, in bed, Mark curled behind you the way he always does—a warm line at your back, steady breathing against your neck—and you closed your eyes, thinking about the snow falling outside.

You didn’t think about Joel Miller.

You didn’t think about him at all.

You haven’t sleep much that night. There wasn’t a fight, not exactly. Just a silence that stretched too long and bent in places it hadn’t before. You’d turned away from Mark in bed. Not to be cold, but because the heat of his chest against your spine made you feel like you couldn’t breathe anymore. This has never happened to you before. His touch always had the power to soothe and reassure you, yet tonight it was strangely different.

When the morning came, you dressed in layers and laced your boots slow. Mark sat on the edge of the bed, watching you. He didn’t even try to stop you because he knew better. But he didn’t say goodbye, either.

Joel was already waiting by the stables when you arrived. He stood with one hand resting on the saddle of your horse, the other holding a thermos. The steam rising from it caught the morning light in a way that made you realize how cold it actually was. You shoved your gloved hands deeper into your coat pockets and nodded.

“You didn’t have to do that.” You said, nodding toward the horses.

He just gave a low grunt, barely a syllable, and handed you the thermos.

“Thanks.” You said, a little surprised.

He said nothing. Just adjusted the straps on his pack and swung himself up into the saddle like he’d been born there.

So, you rode out without another word.

The trail north curved through old pine forests and empty fields that still held the shape of forgotten crops. The world out there had quieted over the years—the worst of the infected thinned, the scavengers long gone or folded into towns like Jackson. But danger never really disappeared. It just waited. You knew that.

You kept a hand on your rifle, even though the silence felt familiar now.

Joel didn’t speak much. That didn’t surprise you at all, you knew a bit of him already. What did though, was how aware of him you became—the rhythm of his breathing, the way he scanned the trees before they crested a ridge, how he always rode slightly ahead of you but never out of reach. Like he couldn’t stop protecting people, even if he didn’t know how to show it anymore.

You stopped by a frozen creek to let the horses drink. You knelt to check your bootlaces, fingers stiff with cold. When you stood again, Joel was already looking at you—not long, not in a way that asked for anything. Just… looking. Like he’d been trying to puzzle something out. Maria had warned you about him, how he could behave with others, she said it was as if he was in constant survival. Yet, he didn’t seem to reject you, he even seemed surprisingly open to your presence.

You cleared your throat and smiled a little, “You always this chatty ?”

His mouth twitched. Not a smile, but close to what could be one. “Don’t talk unless I got somethin’ to say.”

You nodded. “Fair enough.”

And like that, you kept moving.

Around midday, you reached the old ranger lookout tower, which was just a checkpoint now, a place to rest and mark the map. The stairs groaned under your weight as you climbed, snow flurries starting to drift in lazy circles through the trees below. You stepped out onto the upper platform, the wind sharp against your face, and let yourself breathe deep. For a moment, the world felt far away—the weight of home, of Mark, of all the things you haven’t said out loud.

Joel stood beside you, both hands braced on the railing, eyes sweeping over the valley.

You didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

But there was something in the silence. Not awkward. Not heavy. 

Something… alive.

Something waiting.

The tower creaked under the wind, old metal joints groaning softly with each gust. You leaned your arms on the railing, eyes cast out across the snow-blurred forest. The horizon seemed endless from up here:  white hills and sleeping pines stretching far beyond where you could ride in a day.

Joel stood a few feet away, the hood of his coat pulled low, his hands bare despite the cold. He hadn’t spoken since you’d got down from the horses, but it didn’t feel like silence meant disinterest. If anything, he seemed more present in the quiet than most people did in a whole room of noise.

You glanced sideways at him. “You always ride ahead like that ?”

He tilted his head. “Like what ?”

“Half a horse-length. Just enough that if something happens, it hits you first.”

He didn’t smile, but you caught the twitch of his jaw—almost like you’d clocked something he didn’t expect. 

“Force of habit,” he said. “I was… used to takin’ point.”

Used to. 

You didn’t press. You figured people had asked him enough questions to last a lifetime. You just nodded, letting the cold settle into your shoulders. The wind tugged at a loose strand of hair by your temple.

Joel spoke again, after a while. Quietly. “You an’ Mark been together long ?”

You didn’t expect that. He wasn't known for being the type to make small talk, maybe after all you seemed interesting enough for him to start acting like a real human being. Your answer came out slower than you meant. “Since before Jackson. Found each other on the road.”

He nodded, like he understood more than you’d said. “He good to you ?”

You blinked. “What ?”

“I mean—” He shifted slightly, eyes still on the trees. “He lookin’ out for you ? Keepin’ you safe ?”

It didn’t feel like small talk. Just a man with too many ghosts trying to make sense of the living.

You looked away. “We watch each other’s backs. That’s enough.”

But even as you said it, something in your chest gave a slow, unfamiliar twist. Joel didn’t respond. Just leaned back, hands bracing the railing again. You stood there beside him for a while longer, in that strange, delicate quiet.

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You were half a mile from town on the return ride when you heard them. The sound cut clean through the woods. That high, gargling screech of something no longer human. Your horse startled beneath you, hooves scraping ice. Joel was off his saddle before you even registered the movement, shotgun already drawn.

“Four,” he muttered. “Maybe five. Clickers.”

You slid down fast, rifle raised, adrenaline burning cold in your gut. Joel moved fast, too fast as he motioned for you to stay behind him, one hand pushing you back with more force than necessary.

“Joel—” you started.

“Stay down.”

The first two came lurching through the tree line, jaws twisted and limbs jerking. Joel didn’t hesitate. The boom of the shotgun cracked the air, close enough to sting your ears, and the first clicker dropped without a sound. The second followed two seconds later, a sharp blade glinting once in his hand before blood sprayed across the snow. You had your rifle up, ready, aiming at the third one but he got there first again. Moved like a man who’d done this longer than anyone should. Precise. Brutal. Not panicked, not cruel. Just fast and final.

The last one—a runner—almost got close enough to reach you.

You had it lined up, trigger half-pulled, when Joel barreled into it from the side and drove his knife into the thing’s throat with a grunt. It hit the ground hard. When he stood up, blood coated his sleeve and cheek, he didn’t seem to notice.

You stared at him, your breath catching hard in your chest.

People had talked about Joel Miller. About what he’d done to protect that girl. About the men who crossed him and didn’t make it to morning.

Hearing it was one thing.

But watching him… that was something else entirely.

You didn’t realize you were bleeding until the adrenaline faded. There was a gash along your left forearm, not deep, but wide enough to soak through your jacket, certainly caused by the precipitation, hesitant to take out your knife. Joel noticed before you did and he stepped toward you, jaw tight.

“Let me see.”

You pulled back instinctively, but he didn’t flinch. Just peeled the sleeve back gently, fingers steady and warm against your skin.

“It’s fine.” You said.

“s’not,” he muttered. “Come on. We’re gettin’ back now.”

You didn’t argue.

You were still bleeding when you reached the gate. Joel didn’t wait for anyone, just climbed off fast, circled the horse to help you down, and half-carried you across the snowy path to the infirmary with one arm tight around your back, the other stretching your arm against his broad shoulders. His touch wasn’t gentle, but it was careful and firm. Like the world could fall apart and he’d hold you through it anyway.

The door swung open, warm air hitting your face all at once. You saw flickers—med cabinets, sterile bandages, someone calling for a kit—but none of it stuck.

Then: the door opened again behind you.

Mark.

He froze in the doorway when he saw the two of you. Joel’s arm still around your waist, blood on both your jackets.

“What the hell happened ?” His voice was sharp, too sharp. You shifted on your feet, but Joel didn’t move away.

“Clickers,” he said. “Outside the northwest ridge.”

Mark stepped forward, fast. “You okay ?”

You nodded. “It’s not bad. Just—caught me off guard.”

He reached for your arm, but Joel was still holding it. There was a pause—a fraction too long—before Joel finally let go.

“Could’ve been worse.” He muttered in his beard, stepping back.

Mark’s jaw flexed. “Right. Thanks for the heroic save.”

Joel didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The tension settled thick between the three of you. Not a fight, not yet, but something with teeth. Something waiting to sink in. You sat down on the cot when someone handed you a clean cloth. Your heart was still beating too fast, and not from the blood loss.

Joel lingered by the doorway for a second longer. His eyes met yours, but said nothing. Then he turned and left. And when Mark sat beside you, his hand finding yours, it felt colder than it should have.

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You were tying to pack when Mark started again. You took the time to explain everything to him once your arm was bandaged, but he didn't seem to appreciate what you were saying ayway. So, he had moved on, leaving the subject in a corner of the living room.

He’d been quiet all morning, lingering too long by the window, jaw clenched as he watched the snow pile against the wooden steps. You’d ignored it. Well, tried to. You didn’t want another argument—especially not now, before another ten hours in the saddle—but when you reached for your gloves, he finally spoke.

“You really going back out there with him huh ?”

You froze mid-motion. Your fingers curled slowly around the leather strap. “It’s my rotation,” you said. “Maria needs the north trail cleared. Joel knows it.”

“There are other people.”

You glanced at him. “None that know the route like he does.”

Mark turned then, arms crossed, expression pulled tight. You knew that look—the one he wore when he didn’t want to say something but couldn’t stop it anyway. “He’s dangerous,” he said. “You saw it. Out there.”

You straightened. “I saw him protect me.”

“He didn’t let you get a shot off.”

“Because he was faster.”

“Because he doesn’t care if you feel useless.” Mark snapped.

That hit something deep and old inside you. You swallowed against it. “He kept me alive.”

Mark stepped closer. “And what if next time he doesn’t ? What if you’re not the one he’s trying to save ?”

You stared at him. For a moment, the silence pressed too hard, too sharp. “He didn’t do anything wrong,” you said, voice low. “You’re angry because I came back and he was the one holding me up, not you.”

Mark flinched like you’d hit him.

You didn’t wait for a reply. Just turned, grabbed your backpack, and shut the door behind you harder than you meant to.

Joel was already waiting by the stables.

You didn’t say a word as you saddled your horse. Didn’t look at him. He didn’t speak either—not right away. Just watched you with that unreadable expression of his, eyes narrowed against the pale morning light.

The cold hit harder than last time. Your fingers ached even through the gloves. You climbed up fast and rode out without so much as a nod. The silence between you stretched long and strange. And Joel didn’t push.

But halfway to the ridge, when the snow started to fall harder, he cleared his throat just enough to be heard.

“You alright ?”

You kept your eyes forward. “Fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

You let out a sharp breath, annoyed. “Don’t need to look anything for this job.”

He was quiet again. For a few minutes, you hoped that would be the end of it. But then he tried again. “You don’t gotta be mad.”

You turned your head, finally, sharply. “I’m not mad.”

He raised an eyebrow. Just that. Nothing else. You exhaled hard and looked away. “It’s not you.” Joel didn’t press. Just nodded once, thoughtful. You wanted him to shut up. But part of you wanted him to keep going, too.

After a while, his voice came low over the wind. “I know what people say about me.”

That stopped you.

You looked over again, slower this time.

Joel kept his eyes ahead. His voice was rough but calm—not defensive, not bitter. Just honest. “Not all of it s’wrong,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t give a damn.”

You said nothing. Just stared at him a while, your reins loose in one hand, the snow dusting his shoulder like ash. “I didn’t want you to feel useless,” he added. “I just didn’t want you dead.”

That landed somewhere in your chest like a stone. You felt your throat tighten. Not because it hurt—no. But because it was the first time anyone had said something like that without expecting anything in return from you.

Joel rode a little closer after that. Not enough to crowd you, just enough to block the wind a little better. His coat brushed your knee once when the trail narrowed, and he didn’t shift away.

You still didn’t talk much that day. But it was the first time you noticed the warmth of someone’s silence instead of the weight of it.

By late afternoon, the snow had let up. The trees sparkled like glass, sun breaking through in slanted beams that warmed your face through the cold. You and Joel had stopped near the ridge to check for new tracks—the wind kept the trails clean, and you had to lean low from the saddle, brushing your glove across the crust of snow to feel what eyes couldn’t see.

“Deer,” Joel said, crouching beside a hoof mark. “Two, maybe three. Not fresh, though.”

You watched him for a moment.

The way he moved—slow, deliberate—reminded you of something weathered but still standing, like a fence that had taken every storm and just… held. He looked up and caught you watching.

“What ?” He then asked, his voice husky.

You shook your head. “Nothing.”

He still didn’t smile, but something near his mouth softened. Which make you ask yourself if Joel Miller knew what a smile was.

There wasn’t much to say after that. But something had shifted. The space between your horses felt easier now, like silence wasn’t something you had to fill. Later, when you stopped by a frozen creek to drink and stretch your legs, he passed you the thermos from his saddlebag. Coffee, still warm, surprisingly decent.

You took it without thinking, fingers brushing his. “Thanks.”

Joel sat on a rock a few feet away, elbows on his knees. He didn’t look at you when he spoke, but his voice was low, steady. “You’re good out there.”

The words landed quiet and unexpected. You blinked. “What ?”

He glanced at you. “I’ve done patrol with people who panic. Who don’t check their six. You… don’t scare easy.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. “I’m just trying to stay alive.” You said eventually.

Joel nodded. “That’s the trick, ain’t it ?”

You took another sip of his coffee, feeling it warm all the way down your throat. And for the first time in days, your chest didn’t feel tight. The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It just… was. You left the thermos in the crook of his saddle when you both climbed again, but Joel didn’t say anything about it.

By the time you got back to Jackson, the sun was low and gold across the valley. The guards at the gate waved you through without questions, and the sound of your horses’ hooves on packed snow echoed across the stable yard. Joel gave a quiet nod as you got down. You offered one back. No words—not yet. Just something unspoken that stayed between you as you turned toward your own house.

“Thanks, by the way.” Joel glanced at you, brow furrowing just slightly. “For yesterday,” you said quietly. “I didn’t say anything before—with everything that happened with Mark… I just… I didn’t thank you.”

He shifted his gaze, fixing it somewhere just past your shoulder. “’s nothin’,” he muttered, voice low and almost dismissive.

But you noticed the way his jaw tensed, the flicker of something in his expression—like the compliment had caught him off guard, maybe even flustered him ?

You looked down, suddenly self-conscious, your thoughts blurring for a second. A strange heat flushed under your skin. You blinked, turning your head, and then your eyes landed on someone waiting a few yards off.

Mark.

You hadn’t seen him there. You hadn’t expected him at all. But from the way he was watching, arms crossed and jaw tight, you knew he’d seen everything. He stood outside the door, arms folded, eyes tracking you the whole way up the walk. His face was unreadable—not angry, not cold. Just tired.

Joel took your horse and rode off silently, leaving you no time to respond as he disappeared in the stables.

“Hey,” Mark said softly when you reached him.

You slowed. “Hey.”

He didn’t reach for you. Didn’t crowd. Just stood there with his hands in his coat pockets, head down. “I was an asshole this morning.” He said suddenly.

You opened your mouth, but he shook his head before you could speak.

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he went on. “I do. But when I saw you bleeding like that, last time… something in me just—snapped. I know he saved you. And I know it wasn’t his fault. I just—” he breathed out shakily, “—I didn’t know how to say I was scared without sounding like I didn’t trust you.”

That quiet, broken honesty caught you off guard.

You looked at him, really looked at him, and saw it then: not just the fear from a few days ago, but everything that came before. The road. The loss. The way both of you had clung to something when the world fell apart, just to have someone left.

“I’m sorry…” He murmured, looking straight at you.

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. Mark held you tight, face buried in your shoulder like he didn’t want to let go. And for a moment, you didn’t want to, either. Because he was part of your story. A part you’d bled besides, laughed with, endured. He’d carried your weight through winters when you couldn’t walk another step.

“Stop acting like a dick.” You muttered against his ear as you kissed his temple. That made him laugh and he leaned a bit closer to you, hugging you tighter.

But even as you stood there, pressed against his chest, part of your mind stayed back on the ridge.

The warmth of a shared thermos.

The rough timbre of Joel’s voice when he told you, you were good out there.

You closed your eyes and leaned into the hug.

Forgiveness didn’t mean forgetting. And maybe it was too soon to say it out loud, but something was shifting—slow and steady—just beneath your skin.

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The Tipsy Bison was loud that night, full in the way only winter made it, with firelight flickering along old beams and boots stomping snow loose by the hearth. The smell of roasted meat and whiskey soaked into the floorboards, laughter cutting through the hum of voices like wind through trees.

Mark’s hand stayed light on your lower back as you stepped inside. He was trying. You could feel it in the small touches, the soft glances. You’d forgiven him. Meant it, too. But something in you had shifted, and he hadn’t quite found where to place his hands anymore.

You ordered a drink. Something warm. He leaned close to ask what you wanted, and you smiled at him like you meant it—because in that moment, part of you still did.

And then you heard Tommy.

“Hey, look who it is !”

You turned, already knowing. Joel stood beside him at the bar, one boot hooked on the stool rung, sipping from a glass that caught the firelight just right. His eyes flicked to yours, lingered a second too long, and then moved to Mark. A slow nod followed.

Tommy, already two drinks in, clapped Joel on the shoulder. “Come join us ! We got the last table by the fire. Might as well use it before Maria kicks my ass for spendin’ all the budget on bourbon.”

Mark hesitated. You felt it in the way his fingers tensed lightly against your hip, the way he glanced at Joel before answering. You beat him to it. “Sure.”

Tommy grinned. “That’s the spirit girl !”

Joel didn’t say anything. Just turned to lead the way.

The table was tucked in a corner, quiet enough to talk, warm enough to peel off your coat. You sat opposite Joel, Mark beside you, Tommy beside his brother. Someone brought another round—something dark and bitter, but it warmed you down to your ribs.

Conversation buzzed. Tommy was good at filling space you should say, asking questions with a smile, laughing loud and easy. Mark eased into it, answering when asked, trying not to look too tightly wound. You tried too.

But Joel didn’t say much and it seem that you couldn’t focus enough. Every now and then, though, he looked at you. Not the long stares of someone trying to figure something out—just quick glances, heavy-lidded, like he already had.

At one point, Tommy got up to grab another drink. Mark followed—something about checking in on someone near the door. That left you and Joel alone for the first time since the creek. You felt it immediately. The way the air settled. The way the firelight flickered against his profile, catching the fine lines at the corners of his eyes.

He didn’t look at you.

“You okay ?” You asked, voice low.

Joel’s thumb traced the rim of his glass. “’m fine.”

You tilted your head. “You don’t like being here ?”

He gave a small huff—maybe a laugh, maybe not. “Not my scene. Tommy dragged me here actually.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. But something in you softened.

“Still,” he said, voice rough, “you look like you belong here.”

The words came quiet. Too quiet for anyone else to hear, but they wrapped around you like smoke, curling in your lungs and staying there. Your heart kicked once, low and sudden. But before you could answer, Mark’s voice rose behind you.

“Everything alright over here ?”

You turned. Mark had two drinks in hand and that practiced smile on his face, the one he wore when he felt like he had to catch up, even if he didn’t know why.

Joel leaned back in his chair and gave a single nod. “Fine,” he said. “Just talkin’.”

Mark handed you your drink. “Good.”

You thanked him as he sat close again, arm resting along the back of your chair. And when Tommy came back with four shots in his hands, Mark kissed your temple quickly taking the glass between his fingers. But your eyes stayed on Joel for just a second longer.

And this time, he didn’t look away.

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The cold hit your face the moment you stepped out of the bar—sharp, bracing, like a breath you hadn’t meant to take. Your boots crunched through old snow as you and Mark followed the same path home you’d walked a hundred times before, but tonight everything felt quieter somehow. Even Jackson’s lights seemed softer, the houses dusted with new snow, windows glowing faintly gold.

Mark’s hand brushed yours as you walked, and then his fingers curled around yours. You let him. “So,” he said after a moment, voice low. “Joel Miller.”

You glanced at him. “What about him ?”

Mark’s mouth curved—not a smile, not quite a smirk. “Didn’t say more than ten words all night.”

You snorted. “I think that’s just how he is.” The wind lifted a strand of your hair, and Mark reached up to tuck it behind your ear. You let him do that, too.

Mark looked at you sidelong. “You’re defending him now ?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t I ?”

He chuckled, but there was something behind it, only a flicker of something you couldn’t quite name. He was trying to sound casual, but you could feel the shift in his body, the way his grip on your hand changed just slightly.

“He watches you a lot,” he said. “You know that ?”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, not from guilt, but from something more complicated. “Oh, and you noticed that ?”

“Hard not to.” He glanced away when your eyes found his. 

You stopped walking, turned to face him on the snowy path. His face was serious now, shadows from the streetlamps cutting across his jaw, his breath visible between you.

“What ?” You asked.

He shook his head, “Nothing.”

You waited. Then, when he didn’t follow it up, you accorded him a crooked smile. “Is it me, or you’re jealous ?” You teased.

That got his attention. He stopped, just a few steps from the cabin porch, his brow pulled low. “What ?”

You grinned. “You’re jealous.”

“Of Joel ?” He asked, with a kind of scoffing laugh—too sharp, too quick. “Come on.”

You tilted your head, stepping closer. “You keep bringing him up.”

“I brought him up once.”

You stepped closer again, chest almost brushing his coat now. “You watched him all night.”

Mark’s eyes narrowed slightly, but there was a spark in them now. “I was just keeping an eye out.”

“For what ?” You asked, letting your voice drop. “Him stealing me ?”

He hesitated—just enough to tell you the truth, even when his mouth said, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

You laughed, breath warm in the cold air. “So defensive.”

“I’m not—” he started, but then you touched his chest, lightly, right over the collar of his coat, and whatever came next died in his throat.

Your fingers slipped under the wool just enough to feel the warmth of him. His breath caught. “You’re cute when you’re jealous,” you murmured, biting your lower lip.

He grabbed your wrist—not rough, just enough to hold you still—and looked at you like he wanted to say, something to pull away. But he didn’t. “Careful,” he said instead, low. “You don’t get to poke at me like that unless you want me to do something about it.”

You looked up at him, heart pounding now for an entirely different reason. “Maybe I do.”

His eyes flicked to your mouth, and that was all it took.

He kissed you fast, hard, like he’d been holding it back all night. Tongue, teeth, breathless noise into the space between. You stumbled a little, laughing into it, letting him back you toward the cabin door. Gloves hit the ground. You fumbled with the handle, half-frozen, half-gone with want.

Inside, the warmth wrapped around you both as you slammed the door behind you. He kissed you again, coat still on, hands rough against your waist, your hips, pulling you close like he needed to make sure you were still his.

You didn’t stop him. Didn’t want to. Because something in you still burned for him—even if part of you was starting to spark somewhere else. But that was tomorrow’s problem. Tonight, all that existed was heat, hands, mouths, and the kind of desperate comfort that came from knowing exactly how to make each other fall apart.

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The morning found you slowly—not with harsh light or alarms, just the steady creak of wood settling and the faint pop of the fire in the hearth. The sheets were warm, tangled around your legs, and Mark was still asleep beside you, one arm heavy across your stomach, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

You let your eyes drift closed again for a moment, savoring the quiet.

His breath was slow, steady against your skin. He always ran warm, and part of you wanted to stay there, under the covers, just a little longer. Pretend like you didn’t have to move, like today didn’t already feel heavier than most. You shifted a little to look at him. His lashes cast soft shadows on his cheeks, his jaw rough with sleep-stubble, mouth slightly parted.

You reached up and gently brushed his hair back from his forehead. He stirred, muttering something incoherent before his eyes cracked open.

“Morning,” he rasped, voice sleep-rough.

“Hey,” you said softly. “Go back to sleep. I’ve got patrol.”

He groaned, dropping his face into your shoulder. “Already ?”

“Yeah.”

Mark’s arm tightened briefly around you. “Be careful, okay ?”

You turned your head to press a kiss to his temple. “I always am.”

“Still,” he murmured. “I don’t like it when you’re out there.”

“I know,” you said. “But I’ll be back by sundown.”

His fingers brushed down your side, slow and lingering. “Wish I could keep you here.”

You smiled, even if it didn’t quite reach your eye. “Next time.”

He let you go eventually, and you dressed quietly in the early light: thick socks, layers, your knife and pistol, gloves. When you glanced back before leaving, he’d already fallen asleep again, one hand stretched toward your empty side of the bed.

As usual, Joel was already at the stables when you arrived, cinching the last strap on his saddle. The morning was bright and clear, snow fresh and undisturbed underfoot, sky a pale, cold blue.

He glanced up when he saw you. “Mornin’.”

You nodded. “Hey.”

There was a pause—long enough to notice, short enough to ignore.

“You ready ?” He asked, voice low.

“As I’ll ever be.” You smiled softly.

You got on your horse, boots thudding against stirrups, and set off side by side toward the north perimeter trail, the horses crunching through snow. The ride started quiet, as it often did. Joel wasn’t the type to force conversation, and you didn’t mind the silence. The world felt cleaner out here, colder but clearer, no people pressing in around you, no shadows you didn’t know how to name.

Eventually, Joel broke the silence. “Mark looked real cozy with you last night.”

Your eyes snapped toward him as his words came out low, almost casual, like he was just stating a fact. You blinked, turning your head just slightly to glance at him, searching his face for a meaning. His expression gave you nothing—guarded as ever.

And for a second, you just stared. 

Not him too, you thought as something twisted in your chest. What the hell was going on lately ? Mark with his jealousy, Joel with… this. Was it a joke ? You couldn’t tell. You hadn’t expected Joel to say something like that. He wasn’t the type. At least, he hadn’t been.

Now, everything felt off-kilter. Like the ground beneath your horse’s feet wasn’t so steady anymore.

You scoffed, “Not subtle, are you ?”

He smirked faintly, “Wasn’t tryin’ to be.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no heat behind it. “Yeah. We’re… figuring things out.”

Joel gave a low hum. “He’s always that jealous ?”

You turned toward him. “You noticed that, too ?”

“Hard not to.”

You blinked at his answer, the same as Mark’s last night. There was another beat of quiet, filled only by the wind and the breath of the horses.

“We like each other,” you said, more to yourself than to Joel. As if you were trying to prove something. “We’ve been through a lot together.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just nodded slightly, eyes scanning the tree line ahead. “That don’t always mean it works.” He said quietly.

You looked at him then, really looked. There was something in his face, something worn and tired and honest. You wondered, not for the first time, how much he saw that he never said.

By midday, the sun had warmed the air enough that your gloves weren’t necessary. You sat together on the watchtower platform, passing a thermos back and forth. Joel’s shoulder brushed yours when he shifted, and neither of you moved away.

“This is nice.” You said.

Joel glanced at you. “Ain’t used to people sayin’ that about time with me.”

You smiled. “I mean it.”

He held your gaze for a second too long. Something passed between you—quiet, but real. Then he looked away, and the moment folded itself into the rest of the day.

You stayed at the watchtower longer than planned. Not because you needed to, but because neither of you rushed it. Joel wasn’t one to fill space with unnecessary words, and maybe that was what you liked most about him. With Mark, things were always being said, always being explained. But here, with Joel, silence didn’t feel like absence. It felt like understanding.

Eventually, the sun began to slide down the edge of the sky, casting the forest in long blue shadows.

“Should head back,” Joel said, pushing himself up from the edge of the platform with a low grunt. “Light’s dying.”

You nodded, brushing off your gloves before following him down the wooden ladder. The horses stirred when they heard you approach, and you were halfway through tightening your saddle when you heard the groan—low and guttural—cutting through the silence like a knife.

Joel froze.

Another groan followed. Then a third.

Close.

You dropped your gear and reached for your rifle in the same breath. Joel was already moving—scanning, shoulders tense. He turned to you, calm but direct.

“Up there,” he said, nodding toward the ridge to your left. “Move quiet.”

You nodded and followed.

It was three of them. Runners. Half-frozen and stumbling through the brush, moving fast and wrong, one of them bloodied across the jaw like something had torn it clean off. Joel didn’t wait. His rifle snapped up, one clean shot through the head of the first. You followed his lead, took the second in the chest and then, when it lunged in the eye, the third came too fast—a blur of movement crashing through snow and branches, screeching as it charged. You raised your weapon but stumbled backward on the icy ground.

You didn’t have time to shoot. But Joel was there. He didn’t hesitate. Just stepped between you and the runner, drove his knife straight into its throat. The infected gurgled, spasmed—and then it was over, collapsing into the snow with a wet thud.

For a second, all you could hear was your own heartbeat.

Then Joel turned, grabbing your arm. “You okay ?” He said, low, urgent.

You nodded, barely. “Yeah. I—yeah.”

He looked you over, hands lingering longer than they needed to—one at your shoulder, one at your waist, like he had to be sure. You realized your chest was rising fast, breath visible in sharp, heavy bursts.

“You almost didn’t make that one.” He said.

“I had it.” You muttered, too proud to deny it.

His eyes caught yours, serious and unreadable. “You didn’t.”

You bristled a little—part of you hated being told that. But the other part, the deeper one, couldn’t stop replaying the way he’d moved. Like instinct. Like protection.

“Thanks.” You finally said quietly.

Joel’s mouth twitched. Not a smile, but something smaller. You stood close—too close—snow catching in both your lashes. You could feel the heat of him again. That thick, quiet pull.

Joel didn’t say much as you rode back into Jackson. Didn’t trust himself to. You were ahead of him on the trail, and he kept his eyes forward, but his mind wasn’t where it should’ve been. Not on the route, not on the patrol report he’d have to fill out, not even on the half-rotten runner he’d dropped back in the woods.

He kept thinking about you.

About the way your mouth had parted when you’d looked up at him, breath misting between you like something fragile. The way your hands had shaken when he gripped your waist—not from fear, not exactly. From something else.

He’d seen that look before.

He just didn’t expect to see it on you.

Didn’t want to.

Didn’t want to, because it made something deep inside him shift, something he’d spent a long time keeping buried—the part that remembered what it was like to want, to ache, to hope.

You weren’t his to look at like that.

You had someone waiting.

And Joel had done enough stealing in his life to know where that road led.

By the time you passed the stables and reached the gates, the sky had turned violet and the wind had picked up. He got off from his horse slow, knees tight from the cold, and walked around to help you down, not because you needed it, but because he couldn’t not.

Your hand met his glove, small and sure, and when your boot hit the ground, you didn’t let go right away. He swallowed hard.

“Thanks,” you said, voice quiet.

Joel just nodded; jaw tight. Before he could move, he caught sight of someone waiting near the main path. Standing stiff, arms crossed, gaze locked on you.

Mark.

Again, he thought.

Joel dropped your hand without thinking, took a step back like he’d been burned. You turned and saw him too, face softening, guilt or something like it washing over your features. You walked toward Mark without a word, boots crunching in the snow. Joel stayed where he was, breath misting in front of him, heart beating a little too loud in his ears.

He watched as Mark looked you over—touched your arm, said something low and urgent. Joel couldn’t hear it, but he saw the way your face shifted—tired, but kind. You nodded. Said something back. Let him tuck your hair behind your ear.

It should’ve felt fine.

Should’ve been right.

But Joel just stood there with his fists in his coat pockets and something sharp in his chest, thinking about the moment in the woods. About how close your face had been. About how you’d looked at him like you didn’t know whether you wanted to step back or lean in.

And for a moment—just a second—he let himself wonder what would’ve happened if you hadn’t moved at all.

Joel didn’t went home right away.

He told himself he had chores—boots to clean, gear to check. That was the lie he clung to as he walked slow through the evening streets of Jackson, boots heavy in fresh snow, scarf pulled tight around his neck.

He didn’t want to sit in his damn house and feel the silence close in around him. He didn’t want to lie in bed and replay the sound of your voice, or the way your fingers had curled in his coat like you’d meant to hold on longer than you did.

So, he walked.

He passed familiar faces—a nod here, a wave there—but didn’t stop. Kept his hands in his pockets, kept his eyes forward. Eventually, his feet took him where they always did when he needed to stop thinking: the bar.

The Tipsy Bison was warm, dim, and just loud enough to drown out his thoughts. Not full, not empty either—a couple regulars playing cards near the stove, a few younger folks laughing in the back. Tommy wasn’t there. Joel didn’t expect him to be, not with Maria and the baby home now.

He took a seat at the far end of the bar, where the wood was worn smooth and no one asked him to talk.

Seth nodded at him. “Whiskey ?”

Joel just gave a quiet grunt of agreement. The glass hit the bar a moment later—no conversation, no small talk. Seth knew better. Joel took a sip. It burned. He welcomed it. The radio played something old and slow, some song with a guitar that ached more than it sang. He watched the amber swirl in the bottom of the glass and let himself go quiet inside.

Your face wouldn’t leave his head. The way your eyes had locked on his after the fight. The way you’d said thanks, like it meant more than just surviving.

And fuck, he shouldn’t be thinking about you this much. Not with a man like Mark in the picture. Not when he knew—knew—how messy it got when you wanted something that didn’t belong to you.

He’d already lost too much.

He wasn’t gonna take from someone else just to feel something again.

And yet…

He rubbed at his jaw, sighed through his nose, and downed the rest of the whiskey in one long swallow.

Didn’t help.

He wasn’t drunk, not even buzzed. Just aware. Of the cold he carried with him, the weight in his chest that had your name written all over it even if he’d never say it aloud. Joel set the empty glass down and didn’t ask for another, one drink was enough. More than enough, if he was being honest with himself. He didn’t want to forget; he just didn’t want to miss you this much.

Joel didn’t stay any longer at the bar.

He wasn’t there to lose time, wasn’t there to make conversation or let the noise carry him. He just needed the hum of other people’s lives to remind him he still had one of his own. But even that got too loud after a while. So, he left.

The streets were quieter now, Jackson curling into itself for the night. He walked slow. The cold cut through his coat, bit at his fingers. Snow felt soft and steady—not a storm, just enough to settle over rooftops and soften the sound of his boots.

When he reached his house, he didn’t turn on the lights right away. Just stood there in the entryway, door shut behind him, the dark pressing close. He shrugged off his coat, let it fall to the hook on the wall. Kicked his boots off, not bothering to line them up. The house was still. Still as it always was, with a fire that had long since gone cold. Ellie wasn’t there tonight, she told Joel she would sleep at a friend’s tonight, and he let her. 

He lit a lamp—soft, golden light that didn’t reach the corners—and sat down at the edge of the couch. Rubbed a hand over his face, through his beard. He felt older tonight. Not just in his bones, but also in his heart. In the parts of him that didn’t bend easy anymore.

His mind kept wandering back to you and he hated how easily it did that.

It wasn’t just the look in your eyes. It was everything under it: the weight of trust that didn’t need explaining. The way you hadn’t flinched when he got too close, when the blood of the runner was still warm on his hands. 

No one had looked at him like that in a long time. He leaned back, exhaled through his teeth, and closed his eyes. He’d never say it, but something in him had changed the moment that runner charged. The way you’d fallen back—that flicker of fear on your face. It had stirred something in him that hadn’t moved in years.

Not since Sarah.

Not since Tess.

Not like this.

Joel opened his eyes. They burned a little. He stood, wandered into the kitchen, poured a glass of water. Drank half of it, set the rest aside. The silence in the house wasn’t peaceful tonight. It was hollow. Not like rest—like something missing.

He thought about the way Mark had looked at you. Possessive. Nervous. Like he knew the shape of what was happening but couldn’t stop it.

Joel couldn’t blame him.

He didn’t want to want you either. But he did.

And now that he’d seen that same wanting flicker behind your eyes—even for just a second—it was going to be a hell of a lot harder to forget. He undressed slow, folding the day off his shoulders, and crawled into bed without turning off the lamp. Lay there on his back, staring at the ceiling.

The house creaked. The wind pushed softly against the windowpanes. He didn’t dream. Just kept seeing your face in the snow.

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You’d barely slept.

Mark’s arms had been wrapped around you most of the night, his breath steady against the back of your neck, grounding you in that familiar, comforting way. He’d mumbled something soft before falling asleep—'Don’t go too far today’ or ‘Come back in one piece’—you couldn’t quite remember, not over the noise in your head.

Because Joel had gotten in there somehow. And once something got in, it never really left.

You were already at the stables by the time the sky began to shift pink leaking into the gray. For the first time, you were there before him, and it made you worry a little. You brushed down your horse more out of habit than necessity, fingers lingering in the coarse mane like it might give you clarity.

You didn’t expect Joel to greet you with warmth. He never did. But when he showed up, there was a difference in the way he moved. He didn’t look at you. He didn’t say ‘mornin’’ with his thick accent.

He just gave you a curt nod, mounted his horse, and waited.

You tried to shake it off, tried to be the one to break the silence.

“You sleep alright ?” You asked, voice light, casual.

Joel’s answer came without eye contact. “Fine.”

You frowned. “Cool… I mean. Good.”

He didn’t ask you the same.

The ride out was quiet, even for him. Not comfortable silence—pointed silence. His jaw was tight, his eyes locked on the trail ahead like it might shift beneath his horse’s hooves if he looked away. You watched him out of the corner of your eye, trying not to stare, trying not to let your chest ache.

You’d done something wrong. You just didn’t know what.

When you reached the ridge, you tied the horses in the clearing and started the hike up to the tower, boots crunching in last night’s snow. Joel walked a little ahead, not far, but far enough that the distance felt intentional.

At the top, you shrugged off your pack and sat near the edge of the lookout. He stayed standing. Arms crossed, scanning the horizon.

“You mad at me ?” You asked quietly.

He blinked, slow. “No.”

It was a lie. A lazy one. He didn’t even try to hide it.

“Don’t feel like you want to be here today with me.” You explained.

Joel’s lips pressed into a thin line. He looked at you then—just for a second—but it felt like being looked through. Like he saw something he didn’t want to see and turned away before it could mean anything.

“I show up where I’m supposed to.” 

That hurt more than you expected it to.

You stood, brushing the snow off your pants. “Okay.”

You didn’t say anything else for a long while. Just let the wind do the talking, watched the trees move below you in long, slow sighs. Something was breaking, or maybe something had started to form and he was trying to crush it before it meant too much.

Maybe you were doing the same.

But whatever it was—it hung between you now, thick and heavy and filled with the weight of things neither of you had said. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel safer out here than you did back in Jackson.

You just felt alone.

The silence in the tower had dragged. Long past useful. Long past neutral. You sat on the edge of the windowsill, legs hanging, watching the treeline stretch beneath the overcast sky. Joel was pacing, like always—not frantic, just methodical. Rifle strapped to his shoulder. Boots heavy. Eyes sweeping the horizon with the same constant, guarded rhythm.

You meant to ease the tension. That was all.

“Y’know,” you started, watching him do another slow lap around the perimeter, “for someone who’s supposedly not a dog person, you sure act like one.”

Joel stopped. Glanced at you sideways.

You smirked, trying to keep it light. “You pace like one of those German Shepherds in old movies. All grumpy and intense. Like you’re about to lunge at the mailman.”

Nothing. His face didn’t move. Not a twitch.

Your smile faded and you cleared your throat. “It was just a joke—”

“You think this is a fuckin’ joke ?”

The words hit hard. Sharper than you were ready for. You blinked, mouth parting, “What ?”

Joel took a step closer, voice low and flat but charged with something else underneath—something like frustration trying not to be grief.

“You think patrollin’ out there is some kinda game ? That you can sit around crackin’ jokes while we’re exposed on every side ?”

“I wasn’t—Joel, come on—”

“You think the infected care how funny you are ?” He cut you off, eyes hard. “Or raiders ? Huh ? You lose focus for two goddamn seconds out here and you’re dead. I ain’t about to watch that happen.”

You stood up slowly. “I wasn’t unfocused. I’ve been watching the east line since we got here. I was just trying to—"

Joel shook his head like he couldn’t listen anymore. “Yeah, well. Maybe Mark’d be laughin’ too, if you didn’t come back one day.”

You froze.

The comment didn’t even make sense. But it hurt anyway. There was something raw behind his eyes, something he couldn’t say outright—or wouldn’t—so he lashed out instead. You recognized the shape of it without knowing the name.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as your brows furrowed, “I didn’t realize you gave a shit what Mark thought.”

He looked at you, jaw working, and said flatly: “I don’t.”

And somehow that was worse. He turned away and started down the ladder without another word. You stood there a minute, hands tight at your sides, heart thudding too hard for a conversation that hadn’t even lasted a full minute.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen Joel gruff before. Or distant. Or iritable. But this felt different. It felt like something had gotten under his skin and festered, and you’d touched it by accident, like a bruise you hadn’t known was there.

And it wasn’t just the anger that stayed with you, but it was how much it hurt. And you didn’t even know why.

The ride back to Jackson was quiet, the kind of silence that scraped. Joel didn’t say a word, not even when the gates came into view. You kept your eyes ahead, shoulders stiff, pulse jumping like you'd just come back from a firefight—not a conversation. You didn’t understand what the hell had happened. Why a few sharp words were still echoing in your chest like a wound you hadn’t seen coming.

He didn’t look at you when he handed off his horse.

You didn’t say goodbye.

You left the stables fast, steps brisk, too fast for the ache building behind your ribs. You didn’t want to see him again. Not today. Maybe not ever.

Why do I even care ? That question looped, stuck like a splinter under your skin.

You told yourself it was just the tension. The weight of the job. The way Joel always walked through the world with his jaw clenched and his heart somewhere you couldn’t reach. He was cold. Everyone said so.

But cold shouldn’t leave bruises.

You made it home just as the streetlamps flickered on. Mark’s coat was already hanging on the hook. He was in the kitchen, boots off, sleeves rolled, something simmering in the pan like he was trying to make normal happen again.

He looked up the second you stepped through the door. “Hey—” His smile faltered. “Everything okay ?”

You dropped your bag, your jacket, your gloves. They all hit the floor in a trail behind you. You didn’t answer, just crossed the space between you and kissed him hard. Mark made a soft, surprised sound against your mouth, hands rising instinctively to catch your waist.

You deepened the kiss. Let it fill your mouth, your breath, your hands. Like you could drown out whatever the hell was clawing inside your chest.

Mark pulled back just a fraction, breathless. “You okay ?”

“Don’t worry.” You kissed him again.

He paused, eyes searching your face. “Did something happen ?”

You didn’t want to answer, because nothing had happened. And yet… something had. Something you didn’t have words for.

You shook your head. “Just—don’t ask. Please.”

He nodded slowly as you kissed him again, rougher this time, fingers curled in his shirt like maybe if you held tight enough, everything else would go quiet. And Mark, good, steady, loving Mark, didn’t ask again. He let you take what you needed. Let you crash into him like a wave that didn’t know where to land. 

Because he loved you. And that should have been enough. So why the hell wasn’t it ?

Mark's hands were warm on your skin, grounding and familiar, as he moved with the kind of care only someone who truly knew you could offer. This wasn’t rushed, not anymore. He was trying to soothe you now, to remind you of what you had, of who you were with.

And for a while, you let him.

You kissed him back, traced his spine with your fingers, let your breath mingle with his. You held on like maybe, just maybe, he could pull you out of your own head. But then—

Then Joel’s voice came back.

Not even something specific. Just the tone. That bite. That warning. The way he’d looked at you like you didn’t know what the hell you were playing with. Like you were the dangerous one.

Your breath hitched.

You tried to ignore it. Tried to focus on Mark—on his hands, his mouth, the quiet little sounds he made when he touched you like this. You squeezed your eyes shut and dragged yourself back into the moment.

But it didn’t hold.

Joel’s eyes. Joel’s voice. Joel’s presence—it bled in like ink in water.

You didn’t want to think about him. And still, you did. You thought of the way his hands had clenched into fists after he snapped at you. The way he’d looked away, like he regretted it before the words had even finished leaving his mouth. The way it had made something inside you twist and burn, even though it shouldn’t have.

Mark’s lips trailed down your neck, fingers fumbling with your shirt, his breath warm and eager against your skin. You let your head fall back, eyes closed, trying to let yourself be there, with him, in this moment, in the home you shared. Trying to let the familiar weight of his body anchor you, ground you.

But then something shifted.

Suddenly, his touch—the way his hands moved across your ribs, the soft way he held you—felt… safe. Predictable. Like a blanket draped over something burning. Gentle when what you wanted, what you needed, was something else entirely.

And that’s when your mind betrayed you. The image rose uninvited, vivid and aching: Joel.

The roughness of his hands, the low rasp of his voice, the weight of him above you—not careful, not soft, but desperate. Needing. The way you imagined he’d press his mouth to your throat like he didn’t care about consequences, only about feeling. Only about you.

You gasped, not from Mark’s touch, but from the jolt of heat that surged through you at the thought. You opened your eyes quickly, disoriented, the guilt hitting like a punch to the chest.

Mark paused just slightly, already pulling your pants down, his mouth brushing your collarbone. “You okay ?” He asked, voice low, breathless.

You hesitated. For a heartbeat, you almost said something. Almost stopped it. But instead, you reached for him, pulling him closer, your fingers digging into his back. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Don’t stop.”

Because you didn’t want the thought to fade. You couldn’t say Joel’s name but the way your body responded wasn’t yours to control anymore. You gave in to it, even as shame licked at the edges of your desire like fire against paper. You wanted to feel guilty, feel that what you were doing—thinking—was wrong.

And somewhere deep down, you knew the lie wasn’t for Mark. It was for you. So when he held you tighter and whispered that he loved you, you kissed him harder—just so you wouldn’t have to say anything back.

You wanted him to need you while Mark gave what he can, even though now you didn’t knew what he was giving for. It felt like, even after a shitty day like this, he knew just how to get you, not Mark with his stability. Joel was deep and raw, but you didn’t know how to get what you needed—but right now, the only thing you could do was pushing it down and praying.

Joel, on the other side of Jackson, didn’t sleep. Not really. A few hours, maybe—head propped against the arm of the couch, boots still on, the fire long since gone cold. When the sun cracked against the frost-glazed windows, he was already up, pacing the floor like he’d been waiting for a fight that wouldn’t come.

By the time he made it to the town hall, the morning was half gone. Maria was inside with Tommy, the two of them half-laughing at something the baby had done, little Benjamin giggling in his mother’s arms with that soft hiccupping joy babies made when they didn’t yet know anything about fear.

Joel stood in the doorway a second longer than he should’ve. Watching. Feeling… wrong.

"Joel ?" Tommy turned when he heard the door. "Didn’t expect to see you this early."

Maria smiled, bouncing the baby on her hip. “Everything alright ? ”

Joel cleared his throat. “I need to change patrol partners.”

Maria’s brow pulled together immediately. “Something happened ?”

“Nothin’. Just—think it’s better if someone else rides with her.”

Tommy exchanged a look with his wife, one of those quiet marital conversations that didn’t need words.

Maria shifted Benjamin to her other arm. “You two been workin’ fine together. She said you’ve been pulling your weight, even keeping her out of trouble.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, already annoyed. “That ain’t the point.”

“Then what is ?” Maria asked, not unkindly. She was not the type to let things go that easily.

He didn’t answer right away. Didn’t know how to explain that every time you smiled, something pulled in his chest. That when he snapped at you on the tower, it wasn’t because you’d done anything wrong—it was because he couldn’t stand how badly he wanted to be near you. Couldn’t say that when you looked at him, it made something in him rise up and rattle, and he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Joel ?” Tommy pressed, his voice softer now. “You alright ?”

Joel didn’t look up. His jaw was clenched so tight it ached. He stared at the worn edge of the table like it might give him an answer he could live with. “’m fine,” he muttered, each word scraped dry from the back of his throat. “Just want someone else.”

The silence that followed was thick, immediate. The kind that made a room feel smaller. Benjamin burbled softly in Maria’s arms, tugging at the collar of her coat with tiny, clumsy fingers. She sighed—not in exhaustion, but in that sharp, knowing way she had when she saw right through someone. Her eyes flicked to Joel, sharp and narrowed.

“Right,” she said, voice clipped. “You want someone else. Just like that.”

Joel finally lifted his gaze, meeting hers with a look just as tired as it was irritated. His patience was paper-thin, and Maria could feel it. But she didn’t back down. “You don’t get to throw around demands like that without giving a damn reason,” she went on, bouncing Benjamin slightly on her hip. “You two have worked fine till now. What happened ?”

Joel opened his mouth, but nothing came out—not anything he could say, not in front of them. Not without laying himself bare.

He rubbed a hand down his face, jaw twitching. “Just easier this way.”

Maria scoffed under her breath and turned away slightly, adjusting Benjamin’s blanket. “Easier for who ?”

The question hung in the air like a challenge. Tommy stepped between them a little, his hand resting on the edge of the table, tone more placating now. “Alright, alright. Let’s not turn this into a whole thing.” He glanced at Maria, then back at his brother. 

Joel didn’t answer. Just looked past them all—not at Benjamin, not at Tommy. Not even at Maria. He was thinking of you. And he hated that they could probably tell.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Maria finally said. “But partners are short right now. Lotta teams already out through the end of the week. You’d need a damn good reason.”

Joel nodded, jaw clenched. “I’ll take the long routes alone, if I have to.”

Tommy folded his arms. “You sure about this ?”

No. Not at all.

But Joel said nothing.

Because he couldn’t keep watching you walk into danger with that easy grin and that scar across your cheek he wanted to trace with his thumb. Couldn’t keep pretending your boyfriend didn’t exist, or that it didn’t bother him, more than it should.

So, he said, “Yeah. ’m sure.”

And Maria, always sharper than she let on, just gave him a look. Like she knew he was lying, but didn’t have the heart to call him on it.

“Alright,” she said. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Joel nodded once. Tipped his head at the baby, who looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes. “He’s growin’ fast.”

Maria softened suddenly, mother instinct heating back. “Too fast.”

Joel left before he could say anything else, and as he stepped back into the cold, he told himself he was doing the right thing. Even if it felt a hell of a lot like losing something he never had.

⋆༺ ˖ ݁ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ݁˖ ༻⋆

The news came like it always did in Jackson—quietly, in passing, like it wasn’t going to shift the whole axis of your week.

You were at the market with Mark. He was holding a bundle of apples in one hand, half-listening while some guy from supply explained the trade route had been backed up. You weren’t really paying attention, you hadn’t slept well, and your shoulder ached from the last patrol.

Then Danny strolled by, nodding in that casual, harmless way. “Hey, just heard you’re off tower detail with Miller. Guess you finally scared him off, huh ?”

You blinked. “What ?”

Danny shrugged. “Just saw your name on the new roster. You’re riding with Cathy tomorrow. Joel’s solo.”

You turned fully. “No, that’s—” You stopped. Swallowed. “That can’t be right.”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “What’s the big deal ?”

Danny had already moved on, joking with someone else. You stood there, heart thudding hard behind your ribs.

He changed partners.

Without telling you. Without warning. After that patrol, after everything ?

Mark looked at you like he didn’t get it. “You don’t have to ride with him anymore. Isn’t that what you wanted ?”

After you slept with Mark, the shame came fast and sharp—too much, too heavy to hold. So you did what you could to survive it: you shifted the weight. Let it tip onto someone else’s shoulders.

And so, you blamed Joel.

You told yourself he was the reason you'd spiraled, the reason you'd let yourself get so lost in Mark’s arms. You convinced yourself Joel’s coldness had pushed you there. His silence. His distance. That wall he always kept up, until the one moment he didn’t… and then slammed it back in your face.

So, you let it all spill out: anger and frustration tangled together. Told Mark you were done with whatever this was. That his attitude was making things impossible. That maybe it’d be best if Tommy came back soon so you wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore.

You said it like it was for his sake. Like you were doing him a favor. But the truth was… You just couldn’t stand how much he’d gotten under your skin.

“No.” Your voice came out sharper than intended. “That’s not what I wanted.”

He frowned confused. “Okay… but you’ve been off since the last time you two went out. What happened ?”

You shook your head. “Nothing happened.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

You didn’t answer, so Mark stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Look, maybe it’s for the best. That guy’s not exactly… stable.”

Your stomach turned and you pulled a grimace, before closing your eyes, tilting your head through the ceiling. “Jesus, Mark.” You sighed.

“I’m just saying,” he added quickly, “everyone knows his history. You’ve heard the stories.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard the stories.” You turned to face him fully. “And I’ve also ridden out with him. He’s the reason I came back in one piece.”

Mark scoffed under his breath. “Right. You sure that’s all it is ?”

Your jaw clenched. There was something in his tone—biting and suspicious—that crawled under your skin like rot. Like he knew, or thought he knew, what had started to shift in your chest.

“Maybe you should ask him yourself,” you said tightly. “Since you seem so interested.”

Then you turned and walked away before he could answer, before he could say anything that might unravel the fragile grip you had on your emotions. You didn’t want to hear his voice. Not if it came with more silence behind it. Not if it sounded like indifference.

But you didn’t go home. You couldn’t. Not yet.

Your feet moved on instinct, faster with every step, like your anger was dragging you down the road by the collar. Past the stables. Past the Tipsy Bison. Past every curious glance that turned your way. You didn’t stop. You didn’t slow.

You went to Joel’s.

Without bothering knocking, you pushed the door open with enough force that it smacked hard against the inside wall, the sound echoing through the quiet of his small house. The air smelled like coffee and dust, like something forgotten. He was sitting at the kitchen table, half-turned toward the window, a chipped mug in his hand that he hadn't taken a sip from in what looked like hours. His posture was slouched, weary, as if he hadn't slept. The lines in his face looked deeper in the grey morning light.

When he looked up at the sound of the door, his expression barely changed. Just his eyes—dark and unreadable—flicked to meet yours.

But something in you cracked wide open.

“You asked to change patrols ?” You asked, your voice sharp and shaking at the edges, thick with disbelief and something dangerously close to hurt.

Joel didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. Just set the mug down slowly, deliberately, the clink of ceramic loud in the heavy silence. His jaw tensed, a flicker of something, maybe regret, maybe defensiveness, passing through his face like a shadow.

“Yeah,” he said finally. Low. Rough. Almost tired.

Like he hadn’t expected you to come. Like he’d hoped you wouldn’t.

You stepped inside, shutting the door behind you with a soft click that sounded far more composed than you felt. Your heart was pounding, breath shallow, hands curling into fists at your sides. You didn’t know what you expected walking in here, an explanation, maybe. A fight. Anything but the empty look he gave you from across the room.

Joel didn’t move. Just stood there by the table, arms braced against the worn wood like he needed it to stay upright. The light from the window caught the edges of his profile, that hard-set jaw, those eyes that never gave anything away unless he wanted to.

“Why ?” You asked, the word sharper than you meant it to be.

He didn’t answer, so you took a step forward, arms crossing over your chest as if to hold yourself together. “No bullshit, Joel.”

He exhaled slowly, straightening. “It wasn’t workin’.”

“For who ?” Your voice rose, barely controlled. “Because it was working for me.”

“For either of us,” he said flatly.

“That’s not your call to make.”

His eyes finally locked on yours, hard and unreadable. “Ain’t it ?”

That wall again. Solid. Silent. You hated it. Hated how he pulled it up the second you tried to get close, how fast he shut you out. He made it so easy to feel like a stranger, even after everything. And God, you wanted to tear it down. Brick by brick, with your bare hands if you had to.

“You didn’t even told me about it.” You said, voice low now. Hurt starting to creep in beneath the anger.

“Didn’t think I needed to.”

You stared at him, something sour rising in your throat. “I didn’t even do anything and you just decided to flip a switch and shut me out.”

He looked away at that, jaw tight. Still silent. And somehow, that was worse. You took a breath, shaky and useless. “You know what ? Fine,” you muttered, stepping back toward the door. “Next time, just save me the trouble and stop pretending like you give a damn.”

You didn’t wait for a reply. You weren’t even sure you wanted one. But as your hand brushed the doorknob, you hesitated—just for a second.

He didn’t say anything.

Not a single word.

That silence followed you out the door like a wound you couldn’t stop pressing on.

⋆༺ ˖ ݁ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ݁˖ ༻⋆

You tried. You really did.

The sun had barely risen when you met Cathy by the stables. She greeted you with a tight smile, already saddled up and checking the map with methodical ease. She was nice enough. Competent. She didn't talk too much, which you appreciated. Or at least, you thought you would.

But God, the silence was different now.

Not like it had been with Joel—that strange, heavy quiet where words felt unnecessary but always there, always ready to tip over into something more. With him, silence had texture. Weight. History. Even though you didn’t knew each other well.

With Cathy, it was just… empty.

You rode side by side through the eastern trails, the wind sharp against your face, the sky pale and cloudless. The day was uneventful. No infected. No trouble. Just routine checks and the quiet rhythm of hooves on packed dirt. Cathy made a few comments—something about tracks, about maybe seeing deer—and you nodded along, but your mind kept drifting.

Your chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.

You couldn’t help but thought about the last patrol with Joel, the way he’d barely looked at you, the way his voice had gone hard and distant like he was trying to unlearn you. And even before that, you remembered the way he’d looked at you when you were hurt. The way he’d carried you like it meant something.

The way you’d wanted it to mean something.

God, you missed him.

And it wasn’t just the patrols. It was the safety. The weight of him beside you. The sense that he saw you, even when he pretended not to. It was everything you couldn’t explain and didn’t want to admit.

You glanced over at Cathy, who was scanning the treeline with her rifle resting against her shoulder. She didn’t notice you looking. Of course she didn’t.

Joel’s morning started late. He didn’t have patrol today, not after asking Maria to change things around. He’d told her he needed space. That it wasn’t working. That it was for the best.

But it hadn’t felt like a relief.

His thoughts kept circling back to you: your face that day at his door, the hurt in your voice, the way you’d looked at him like he’d done something unforgivable. Maybe he had. But what was he supposed to do ? Keep showing up beside you, pretending like his chest didn’t feel like it was splitting open every time he heard you say Mark’s name ? Pretending he could stand the sight of someone else touching you ?

Joel swore softly under his breath, jaw tight.

He missed you.

But he’d made his decision. And for now, all he had was the silence he’d chosen, even if it didn’t feel like peace.

Tonight, the Tipsy Bison hummed with low conversation and the scrape of chairs across the wooden floor. Lanterns burned golden overhead, casting a warm glow that didn’t quite reach the back booth where Joel sat with Tommy and Maria.

Joel nursed a drink he hadn’t touched in a while, a whiskey, gone mostly warm. He leaned back in the booth, one arm slung over the wood, the other resting on the table. His shoulders were tight. His eyes, distant. And every now and then, they drifted. Quiet. Focused.

Tommy was mid-story—something about Benjamin and a bath and how the baby had figured out how to splash water clear across the room—when Maria gave her husband a look. A small one. Knowing.

“Alright,” Tommy said, chuckling as he reached for Benjamin in the sling against his chest, “that’s my cue. Someone needs a fresh diaper.”

Joel made a face, but it was half-hearted. Tommy clapped his shoulder on the way out of the booth and disappeared toward the back, the baby making small noises of protest. Maria didn’t say anything for a moment. She just leaned on the table, turning her glass slowly in her hand. Joel stayed quiet, gaze flicking briefly toward the wall. Anywhere but her.

“You gonna keep brooding, or you wanna talk about why you really asked me to reassign your patrol ?” She asked finally, voice low but clear.

Joel’s jaw worked. He looked down at his drink. “Already told ya. Wasn’t workin’.”

Maria sighed through her nose, soft and sharp. “You’re a lot of things, Joel. A decent liar ain’t one of ’em.”

He didn’t answer, so, she followed his gaze. She hadn’t noticed, at first—the way his eyes kept pulling toward the bar, steady and quiet like gravity. She turned, slow and deliberate.

And there you were.

Alone.

Sitting at the bar, shoulders tense, drink in your hand. You weren’t talking to anyone. You weren’t looking around. But there was something in your stillness, something tight in your spine, like you were trying not to look behind you. Like you knew he was watching.

Maria turned back to Joel, her brow lifting just slightly.

He said nothing.

Didn’t need to.

Because suddenly, the reason for the reassignment wasn’t a mystery. And the silence between them wasn’t heavy with avoidance anymore, it was thick with something else. Something like regret or probably longing. The unmistakable weight of something unresolved.

Maria took a slow sip of her drink and didn’t press. She just watched Joel for a second longer, then murmured, “Should’ve figured.”

Joel didn’t deny it.

Maria swirled her drink once more before placing it back down, her gaze following the grain in the wood. She waited a moment before speaking again, careful, but deliberate. “Mark’s a good guy.”

Joel’s head snapped toward her, eyes narrowing. “The hell does that mean ?”

She blinked at him, taken aback by the sudden heat in his voice.

He continued, jaw clenched. “Ya think ’m tryin’ to mess that up ? Break up their little happy picture ?”

Maria raised her brows. “Jesus, Joel. Breathe.”

He exhaled roughly through his nose, dragging a hand over his beard, but didn’t say anything else. “I’m not your brother,” Maria added, her voice calm but firm. “So don’t talk to me like I’m someone you’re trying to win an argument with.”

Joel pressed his lips into a thin line. A muscle twitched in his jaw. But the anger didn’t hold; it bled into something else, something more tired. Something closer to guilt.

Maria softened, just slightly. Her voice lowered. “I said Mark’s a good guy. He is. Steady. Loyal. Good under pressure.”

Joel didn’t look at her. His eyes were already drifting back toward the bar. To you.

Maria watched him. “But I also know good doesn’t always mean right.”

That made Joel blink. He looked at her sharply, like she’d said something she wasn’t supposed to know. But Maria just shrugged. “So. What now ?”

Joel didn’t answer. Not at first. His hand tightened around his glass, untouched whiskey still sitting there, amber and useless. Then finally, low and quiet: “No. I can’t.”

Maria didn’t ask what he meant. “Why ?” she asked instead.

Joel looked at her. Really looked at her this time. And for a second, Maria saw right through the hard set of his jaw and the sharp silence that always followed him around. She saw it, clear as anything.

Fear.

“She’s already with someone,” he muttered. “Someone good.”

Maria tilted her head. “And that’s the only reason ?”

Joel didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Because the truth was sitting right there across the room, sipping from a glass with your head slightly bowed, your fingers curling a little too tightly around the rim. Looking like you didn’t belong next to anyone else either.

Tommy returned with Benjamin bundled tight against his chest, the baby’s eyes fluttering closed already, little fist curled in his father’s collar. Maria reached instinctively for his tiny hand, brushing her fingers over his skin, and smiled to herself.

“Think it’s time we head back,” she said, casting a glance at Joel and his untouched drink. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Tommy nodded, adjusting the strap of the sling. “Yeah. This one’s heavy when he sleeps.”

The three of them slipped their coats back on and started toward the door, the cold wind leaking through the cracks as someone entered. Joel stayed behind a second, his body angled just slightly back toward the bar. Then, as they reached the door, Joel spoke: low, sudden, but firm.

“Wait.”

Maria and Tommy both turned.

“I got someone I need to see.”

Tommy blinked. “You ? See someone ?” His voice had that half-laugh behind it. “Since when ? You hate everyone.”

Maria didn’t even look at him, she just elbowed Tommy hard enough he jolted slightly and shut up with a grunt. Joel gave her a brief nod. She returned it with a knowing one of her own, and they left without another word, the door swinging closed behind them.

And then it was just Joel.

And you.

You hadn’t moved. Still hunched slightly at the bar, one hand resting limply near your drink, your eyes unfocused. You weren’t drunk, not really. Just… somewhere else. Joel walked slowly, letting his boots hit the floor loud enough that you’d hear.

You didn’t turn. Not at first. He stood beside the empty stool next to you. Didn’t sit. Not yet. Just waited. Watched the way your fingers tapped softly against the wood grain of the counter, like you were trying to stay present. Like part of you was drifting, and you were trying to anchor it.

Finally, after what felt like minutes, you spoke. Your voice was low, flat.

“Don’t you have other people to hate tonight ?”

Joel’s brows furrowed slightly. The sting of it hit, sure, but not the way you probably wanted it to. Because underneath the bite, there was something off in your tone, distant, worn thin.

You didn’t look at him, even then. Just stared into your drink. Joel pulled the stool out and sat, slowly. “I only hate most people,” he muttered. “You’re still on the fence.”

Still no smile from you. Still no look. He leaned forward on his elbows, forearms braced on the bar. “You alright ?” He asked.

Silence.

Then, quietly: “Why did you come here, Joel ?”

He didn’t answer right away. Didn’t know if he could. But he looked at you now, really looked and saw the way your jaw was clenched tight, the way your eyes flicked back and forth like they were chasing thoughts too fast to catch.

He didn’t know what to say. But he was there. And that was something. So, he said the only truth he had: “Didn’t wanna go home.”

That made you finally glance at him. Just for a second. And it nearly knocked the breath from his chest. Because even though your gaze was tired, heavy — there was something else buried in it. Something that said: same.

Joel looked at you for a long moment, the air between you filled with a tension too heavy to ignore. “And ya ?” he asked, voice low. “Why’re you here ?”

You didn’t answer right away. You just stared into the bottom of your glass, as if it might offer up something worth saying. Finally, with a breath that caught halfway up your throat, you said, “Mark and I had a fight.”

Joel nodded slowly, like he’d already guessed it. But he didn’t ask about what. Didn’t press. It wasn’t his place, and yet, he couldn’t seem to look away from you. You shifted on your stool and reached for the drink again. Joel’s hand was there first.

“That’s enough,” he said flatly.

Your eyes flicked up to his. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah ?” He asked, unimpressed. “Ya smell like cheap whiskey and regret.”

You scoffed, but your smile didn’t reach your eyes. “You’re a real charmer, you know that ?”

Joel didn’t respond. Instead, he pushed the glass further down the bar, out of reach as you let out a pleading sound, then stood and jerked his chin toward you. “Come on.”

You stayed planted on the stool. “No.”

“Don’t make me carry ya.” He muttered.

You raised a brow. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I’ve carried worse,” he said, stepping closer. “Drunker too.”

“Joel—”

He didn’t wait. He bent slightly, hands on your arms, and guided you to your feet. You were unsteady, not wasted, but just tipsy enough that the floor felt half a beat off rhythm.

“There,” he muttered. “You’re upright. That’s step one.”

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t pull away.

“Mark’s probably worried,” he added, voice still low, almost like he was trying not to sound judgmental.

But something in you snapped at that. “I don’t care.”

Joel stopped. His hands stilled on your arms. You meant it. He could see it in your face. The fire, the frustration, the ache you were trying to swallow whole. He didn’t say anything. Just held your gaze for a second longer than he should’ve, as if he wasn’t sure whether to be angry for Mark’s sake or for his own.

Then he cleared his throat, took a step back, and motioned toward the door.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you home.”

The door of the Tipsy Bison swung closed behind you, letting the muffled warmth of the bar slip back into the noise of the night. Jackson had quieted since sunset, only a few windows glowed faintly with candlelight, snow crunching softly beneath your boots as Joel helped steady you down the path.

You hadn’t meant to drink that much. You hadn’t meant to be angry, either. But here you were, half leaning on Joel Miller like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hand gripped your elbow firmly, the other braced against your lower back when you stumbled on a patch of ice.

“Careful.” He muttered, barely glancing at you, but you could feel the tension in him. Like every step closer between you only made things worse in his chest.

“I’m fine,” you said, breath curling in the cold. “Don’t need a babysitter.” Your lips twisted into something between a frown and a smile. “Didn’t ask for your help either.”

He didn’t answer that. Just walked a little slower, his arm tightening subtly around your waist when your knees dipped again. You hated how good it felt. How familiar. How careful he was, even in his gruff, quiet way. By the time you reached your porch, your head felt clearer but your chest heavier. Joel let go of you at the top step, retreating like your skin had burned him.

He was already turning to leave when you spoke.

“Why did you change ?” You asked.

His back tensed, boots crunching to a stop just before the stairs.

You swallowed, voice quieter now. “The patrols. Why’d you ask to stop patrolling with me ?”

Joel didn’t turn around. He stood there, still and tall under the soft halo of your porch lantern. Then, finally: “We’ll talk another day.”

Your heart thumped hard against your ribs. “Joel—”

“Get in.” He said, voice low and final.

But then the door opened. Mark stood in the frame, wearing a shirt that clung to his chest like he’d thrown it on quickly. His face shifted when he saw who was standing beside you. Joel’s jaw clenched. You could feel the air thicken. Mark’s eyes moved from Joel’s face to your glassy eyes, to the way you were holding yourself—like you were still holding on to something that wasn’t him.

“You alright ?” Mark asked you, voice carefully neutral.

You nodded. “Yeah. Just... needed a walk.”

The door creaked open behind you, and Mark stood there, eyes shadowed by the porch light, his brows furrowed deep. His jaw tightened the second he saw who was next to you. You could feel the shift in the air, the way his expression dropped from concern to something darker. He looked between you and Joel, your closeness, your flushed cheeks, your slightly uneven stance.

“Get in,” Mark said curtly.

Before you could respond, his hand pressed against the small of your back—not hard, but firm, guiding you over the threshold with a quiet intensity that set your teeth on edge. The door stayed open behind you.

Mark stepped out onto the porch again, squaring himself between you and Joel. His body tensed like he’d been holding something in all night and it had just boiled to the surface. Joel didn’t move. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, hands by his sides, eyes calm but cold. 

Mark’s voice was low, furious. “You just keep showing up, don’t you ?”

Joel looked past him, to where you hovered near the door, not speaking, not stopping it. And that alone seemed to temper something in him. He didn’t want to do this in front of you. Not again.

“I was just gettin’ her back here,” Joel said evenly.

“Oh, thanks, Superman,” Mark snapped, stepping one foot down the stairs. “Really heroic of you.”

Joel’s gaze dropped for a second, his tongue pressing against his cheek. He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he looked back up. “It’s not my fault she was drinking alone at the bar.” He started to turn away—enough was enough.

That did it.

Mark let out a sharp breath, laughless. “Right. Of course. “Maybe she wouldn’t be drinking alone if someonehadn’t gotten into her fucking head.”

Joel froze mid-step. The words hung there, ugly and precise. They hit something buried, something raw. You didn’t even have time to call out before Joel turned back around, slow and deliberate. His jaw clenched once—and then his fist was already flying.

The crack of it echoed across the porch. Mark stumbled back against the railing, hand to his mouth, blood blooming between his fingers.

“Joel !” You screamed, rushing forward.

But Joel didn’t move again. He just stood there, chest heaving once, eyes dark and sharp. Definitely not proud.  Mark was coughing now, furious, humiliated, the tension crackling between all three of you like dry wood too close to flame.

“Get inside.” Joel ordered low, to you.

You just stared at him, your ears ringing with the sound of the punch, of everything that had just unraveled. Your hands found Mark's shoulders, preventing him from moving closer to Joel. You pulled him toward you slightly, calling him softly, hoping that would be enough to calm him down.

⋆༺ ˖ ݁ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ݁˖ ༻⋆

The afternoon had turned mean. Spring, fickle and vengeful, had curled back into winter’s teeth, dragging a storm over the mountains and into Jackson like it wanted to punish something. Rain swept sideways through the open barn doors, and the scent of wet earth clung to the wood and hay.

Joel stepped into the stables with his coat pulled tight and his collar up against the chill, his hand flexing absently on the strap of his rifle. He didn’t expect anything different from today—just another patrol, another silent stretch of time he didn’t have to think too hard. But then he heard a voice—your voice—cutting low through the quiet like the edge of a knife.

He froze.

You were speaking to one of the stablehands, your tone clipped, shoulders set in that way you always had when someone challenged you. Water dripped from your jacket, your hair pulled back in a loose, wet knot. Tired. Sharp. And still, you looked good in a way that made something twist in his chest, ugly and real.

Joel’s jaw worked before he said a word. “What are ya doin’ here ?”

You turned slowly, brushing a strand of wet hair out of your face. Your eyes narrowed, the look on your face unreadable, somewhere between annoyance and exhaustion. You were soaked, and yet you held yourself like the rain hadn’t touched you at all.

“I’m replacing Chris,” you said simply, evenly.

Joel’s throat worked around a tight breath. “No.”

You blinked. “What ?”

He took a step forward, voice firmer now, steel behind the drawl. “No. You’re not comin’.”

You straightened, your posture defensive now. “Too late. Maria cleared it.”

“You shouldn’t even be here,” Joel muttered, brushing past you toward the saddles. His hands were already moving, tugging down tack with quick, frustrated precision. 

“Should’ve thought about that before knockin’ up Mark. Chris is the only one who can replace him.”

He didn’t answer. Just kept working the saddle onto the mare, movements clipped and angry. And still, he didn’t look at you—didn’t let himself actually.

He worked in silence, movements stiff, the buckles on the saddle clinking sharply as he cinched one too tight. You stood there dripping, the air around you thick with the smell of rain and horse and tension that had been building for too long.

You didn’t know whether to slap him or walk away. He didn’t know whether to stop you or beg you to go. So, you stood there, both of you, tangled in everything neither of you had the guts to say out loud.

The ride out was choked in silence. The kind that pressed heavy between two people with too much unsaid. Rain hadn’t started yet, but the air was thick with warning, sodden clouds rolling over the treetops, thunder pacing just behind the hills like a wolf waiting for the right moment to strike.

Neither of you spoke. Not once.

The only sounds were the steady rhythm of hooves on wet dirt and the dull creak of tack, broken now and then by the distant rumble of the coming storm. You kept your eyes ahead, jaw set tight. Joel didn’t dare look your way. If he did, he might say something he couldn’t take back—or worse, say nothing at all.

By the time the sky split and the rain came down hard, cold, and mean, turning the trail to sludge, it was too late to turn around.

You both saw the old apartment building at the same time.

It rose like a corpse out of the woods, four stories of crumbling brick and shattered windows, crooked against the treeline. Ivy and moss had overtaken its sides like nature was trying to bury the memory of it. But it stood. Empty. Forgotten. And most important, shelter.

Joel didn’t speak as he led his horse toward the building. Neither did you. You found a broken metal awning at the side entrance, barely wide enough for the horses to crowd under, but it would do. Hands moved by muscle memory, loosening reins, checking gear, grounding the animals. Then Joel stepped forward and kicked the water-swollen front door with the heel of his boot. It groaned and cracked open, revealing a shadowed foyer thick with dust, mildew, and rot, but dry at least.

Inside, the air was stale and heavy, clinging to the skin. Your boots squelched across the warped floorboards. The place had been gutted: no furniture except for the old and dusty couch in the middle of the room, no color, just the skeleton of something that used to matter to someone.

Joel went to the old hearth against the far wall, crouching as he dragged out kindling from his bag. You peeled off your coat with stiff fingers, breath hitching as the wet fabric dragged against your skin. The shirt beneath was soaked, clinging like a second skin. Transparent in places. Cold enough to make your teeth chatter. Your hands rubbed at your arms, trying to get warmth into your bones.

Joel didn’t look at you, but you could see the tightness in his shoulders as he worked, jaw clenched like he was grinding down a thousand words that wanted out.

“You’re slow as hell,” you muttered, voice cracking from the cold. “Any slower and I’ll be frozen stiff.”

Joel didn’t glance back. His hands kept moving, building the fire like it was the only thing keeping him tethered. “’m workin’ on it,” he growled, low and rough.

You scoffed, hugging yourself tighter. “I can tell.”

It wasn’t just the weather in the room anymore, it was something older, deeper. Cold because of everything you hadn't said. Everything he wouldn’t. And all the things that had passed between you when it had been too late to stop them.

You shivered harder and watched the man who wouldn’t look at you—wouldn’t even speak unless you poked first—and wondered how it had all turned into this. Into silence and firelight and two people who used to be something, even if no one ever gave it a name.

The fire crackled, throwing light across the broken edges of the room. You stood a few feet away, still soaked through, arms wrapped tight around yourself—not just from the cold now, but everything else. The heat was crawling slowly from the hearth, licking against your boots, but you didn’t go near it.

Joel sat close to the flames, his hands out, eyes set on the fire like it was something he could disappear into. You shifted your weight, watching the back of his head. Silence throbbed between you, thick and humming. The kind that didn’t come from peace, but pressure. 

“How long were you gonna avoid me ?” You asked quietly, voice brittle.

He didn’t turn.

You waited a second. Two. His silence was answer enough, but it made your chest squeeze anyway. “Oh, so now you’re ignoring me ? Great.”  

Still nothing. His jaw twitched, but that was it. That was when something in you cracked. You stepped forward, boots slapping wet against the tile. “You just decided to stop talking to me one day. Like it was nothing.”

He didn’t move.

“You asked to switch patrols and never even told me. Just let me find out like it was a fucking weather report.” You crossed your arms again, trying to hold yourself together. “You couldn’t even give me the decency of an explanation. And then you went and acted like I didn’t exist.”

The fire hissed in the hearth. Shadows flinched across the floor.

“I know I’m not perfect,” you went on, voice tightening. “I know I messed things up too. But you don’t get to act like it was just me. You don’t get to disappear like that and pretend nothing ever mattered.”

Still, he said nothing. Your heart beat louder than the storm now. You stared at him, angry and aching and worn to the bone.

“Say something !” You snapped. “Just—say something. Stop acting like you don’t care.”

Joel stood. Not fast. Not loud. Slow and heavy, like the weight of what he carried had been nailed to his spine. The fire lit half his face—the scarred half. It made him look tired. Weathered. Haunted. You held your breath. He didn’t look at you at first. Just stared past your shoulder like he couldn’t bring himself to face what he was about to say.

“I do.”

Your brows drew in, confusion slipping into your face. He finally looked at you. And there was something behind his eyes—barely held back. Not anger. Not exactly. “I fuckin’ care for you.”

The breath you took felt sharp and useless in your lungs. He took a step forward, then another. Close enough now that you could smell the smoke on his clothes, the cold still clinging to his collar. “I switched patrols because I couldn’t keep lying to myself. Because every damn second I was near you, it got harder not to reach for something I got no business wantin’.”

You didn’t move. Joel’s voice dropped low, thick with guilt. “I ain’t a good man. I never was. And I sure as hell don’t deserve someone like ya.”

You looked at him, soaking wet, lips parted, heart banging against your ribs. And he looked at you like he hated that he still wanted you.

Your voice cracked the silence. “What do you mean ?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, slow and heavy, like the words were stuck in his chest. “Ya know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t,” you shot back, sharp and breathless. “I don’t know anything with you, Joel. So explain it. Right now. Before I turn around and walk back to Jackson by myself. If you even give a damn.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just stared at the fire like it held all the answers he refused to say out loud. Then finally, gritted out like it hurt to admit, “Ya think it didn’t eat me alive ? Every time I saw you with him ? Smilin’ and laughin’.”

Your chest rose, quick and unsteady. The fire popped sharply between you, casting jagged shadows across his face. The thunder had softened in the distance, but the rain still tapped against the broken windows like it was listening.

You turned away just for a second, swallowing hard, because the way he looked at you—like he was barely holding himself back—made it hard to breathe.

“I do give a damn,” he said again, quieter this time. “That’s the goddamn problem.”

His voice was low, rough with something raw and real, something he’d been carrying around in silence far too long. It cracked something open in you, wide and aching. Joel’s jaw was clenched tight, the muscle ticking near his temple like a warning. But it wasn’t anger in his eyes. It was exhaustion. Not the kind sleep could fix. The kind that comes from wanting something you’ve convinced yourself you can’t have.

You stared at him. “Then why the hell are you pushing me away !?”

“Because I have to.”

Your lips parted, stunned. “No. No, you don’t.”

You took a step toward him, wet boots squeaking faintly on the old floor. Your voice rose. “You chose to, Joel. You made that decision all on your own. You didn’t even let me fight for it. You just disappeared. Like none of it mattered.”

Joel finally looked up at you like it cost him something to meet your eyes. And maybe it did.

And then, quieter now, your voice cracked through the rain-hushed space like a secret: “What the hell do you want from me ?”

Joel didn’t answer at first. He just stood there, jaw tight, eyes on the broken tiles like they held the truth steadier than your face did. The fire cracked softly behind him. His hands were clenched at his sides, and when they finally opened—slow, deliberate—it looked like surrender.

His voice, when it came, was a rasp dragged from someplace deep.

“I want you outta my head.”

You went still.

“I want to stop thinkin’ about ya when I shouldn’t,” he muttered, shaking his head like he hated himself for even saying it. “Want to stop hearin’ your damn laugh in my head when it’s quiet. Stop picturin’ your face when I’m supposed to be sleepin’. Or wonderin’ if he’s the one holdin’ you—if he gets to keep you warm while I’m sittin’ in the dark, wonderin’ if I ever even had the right to say your name.”

You swallowed hard. Blinked the heat from your eyes before it could fall.

Joel kept going, slower now, like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

“So yeah. I asked to change patrols. ‘Cause ridin’ beside you like I didn’t feel every second of it under my goddamn skin... I couldn’t do it anymore. If I had to hear you talk to me like I was just anybody, laugh like you didn’t know what you meant to me—” His voice broke, just a little. “I was gonna do somethin’ I couldn’t take back.”

You stared at him. Wind hollowed through the cracks in the windows. The storm had quieted, but it hadn’t left. Neither had the ache inside you.

Joel still wasn’t looking at you. So, you took one step closer.

 “And what if I wanted you to ?”

He looked up, then. Fast. Like you’d slapped him. His face flickered—between wanting and restraint, between guilt and hope. And God, the way he looked at you then. Like you were the edge of something sharp and sacred.

“Don’t say that,” he warned.

 “Why not ?”

He was already shaking his head. “You don’t know what you’re sayin’. You think you do, but—”

 “I do,” you cut in, voice rising, raw and cracked and honest. His breath caught as you stepped closer again. Close enough to feel the heat coming off him. *“So if you’re gonna do something you can’t take back, Joel…” You searched his face, eyes wide, searching. “Do it.”

All at once, Joel surged forward. His hand clamped around the back of your neck, rough and unrelenting, and then his mouth was on yours—savage, sudden, like a fuse had finally burned down inside him and exploded. He kissed you like it was a punishment, a confession, a goddamn need. Teeth clashed. Breath caught.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t slow. It was all fire and fury, like he’d been holding it in for so long he didn’t know how to let it out gently.

You gasped against him, shocked, reeling and then melted into it, fingers fisting in the front of his soaked shirt, dragging him closer. The rain still clung to his skin, cold and bitter on your tongue, but his mouth was heat, pure and violent. The kind of kiss that stole reason. That made you forget why you'd ever wanted to pretend it didn’t matter.

Because it did.

God, it did.

You barely registered the moment your hands slid down his chest, still soaked through from the storm. You just needed him closer, needed the ache to stop. You pushed him back toward the couch, lips crashing into his again, urgency overtaking sense.

Joel stumbled a bit, catching himself as the backs of his knees hit the worn cushions. He fell into the seat—causing dust to escape everywhere—breath ragged, and before he could speak, you were already climbing onto his lap, straddling him like you didn’t care what the hell happened next.

His hands found your waist, but instead of pulling you closer, he held you still. “Wait—” he rasped, his forehead pressed to yours, his voice nothing but gravel. “This ain’t right. Mark—”

“Don’t say his name here,” you breathed, your voice cracking. “I don’t care.”

His grip on your hips tightened like he was trying to anchor both of you. “You should. Jesus, you should. You can’t come here wantin’ this when you—”

“I thought about you,” you blurted, voice breaking as your fingers tugged at the hem of his soaked shirt. “One night. With him.”

Joel froze under you, his jaw twitching.

“I tried to focus—I tried,” you said, mouth brushing his neck now, feverish. “But all I could feel was you.”

Your lips moved along his jaw, your breath catching as your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. He didn’t stop you—he didn’t help either.

“I pictured your hands. Your voice—low in my ear. I imagined it was you over me. Inside me.”

His breath came rough now, like he was trying to hold himself together by a thread. You pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were wild. Like a man trying to survive his own hunger.

“You don’t know what that did to me,” you whispered, sliding your hands under the wet fabric of his shirt, splaying them across his chest like you could memorize the shape of him. “How wrong it felt... how much I still fucking wanted it.”

Joel’s hands were at your waist now, gripping hard but not guiding. Bracing. His mouth opened—then closed. Like he couldn’t find the words. Like he was afraid of what would come out if he spoke.

You kissed him again, hard, biting at his bottom lip, your nails scraping against his skin as you pulled your own shirt over your head, half-wild.

“I already thought of you,” you whispered against his mouth, broken and breathless. “With his dick in me. I still thought of you.”

Joel groaned—deep, guttural. His head fell back like the words punched the air out of him. And then he surged forward. His breath hitched and his hands were trembling now, just slightly, like he didn’t know if he was supposed to push you away or pull you under.

“I need you,” you whispered again, mouth brushing his jaw. “Don’t make me beg.”

Joel swore under his breath. One short, vicious word. And then his restraint broke.

His mouth crashed into yours, no pretense, no hesitation, just need and a burning desire growing between your two bodies. You gasped, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer, deeper, like you couldn’t get enough. Like this was the only thing that could quiet what had been screaming inside you for so long.

Your hips rocked against him, desperate friction that made both of you curse under your breath. You felt him—hard beneath you—and the sound he made when you moved was nothing short of wrecked.

His hands were everywhere—your ribs, your back, your thighs—torn between worship and restraint. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he rasped against your mouth, even as his thumbs slid under the waistband of your jeans. “This is wrong.”

“Then stop me,” you whispered, teeth grazing his throat. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

Silence.

His hands clenched, breath hot and ragged. “Goddammit.”

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow. It was all the frustration, the biting tongues and unsaid things, all the pretending. So, you wasted no time and undid his fly while he kissed your neck, trying not to bite too hard so as not to leave marks. You lifted yourself slightly off him, rolling your jeans down just enough, before repositioning yourself against him, once he managed to take off his pants and underwear, revealing his veiny and fat cock.

Joel's calloused hands explored every inch of your exposed flesh, his touch rough and demanding. He gripped your hips, fingers sinking into the soft skin of your ass as he pulled your flush against him. You gasped at the feeling of his bare skin on your soaked panties, your own hands roaming over the hard planes of his chest.

Joel bit down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood, the coppery taste fueling his hunger. You arched into his touch, nails raking down his back. You could feel the thick length of him pressing urgently against your stomach, hot and heavy. A whimper escaped your lips as Joel's hand slid between your two bodies, his fingers playing with your sensitive clit through your panties, causing you to moan in his mouth.

Then, his fingers slid a little lower, just enough to move your panties slightly to the side—brushing your intimacy with his cold fingers, making you tremble once more. One of his hands held the piece of fabric, as the other held his hard cock, bringing it to your entrance. Your eyes were fixed on his actions, breathing heavily, not knowing what to think anymore. He let the tip gently caress your pussy, while you moaned again, teasing you for a moment.

Not knowing how much longer you could wait, you tried to reposition yourself correctly on top of him, almost sliding onto his cock, but he suddenly pushed inside you hard, not giving you time to settle back against him.

You moaned loudly as he wasted no time and began pounding into you. He manhandled you, pulling you closer to him, placing one hand on the back of your neck and the other on your hip, forcing you to move in rapid rhythm with him. Your head fell into the crook of his neck, gently biting the base of his shoulder, trying to regain your senses.

“P-Please,” You whined, not knowing what you were asking for anymore.

And just when you thought your body couldn't take it anymore, your hips began to move on their own. You raised your head as you sat up correctly, his second hand mimicking the first as it moved to your other hip, synchronizing your movements—pulling you a little closer to him, if it was eve possible, letting his cock go all the way in.

Your head thrown back in ecstasy as you rode him with wild abandon, nails digging into his broad shoulders, and he growled in approval. You were seeing stars as you fucked yourself on his cock with desperate, undulating hips. The wet, lewd sounds of your coupling echoed obscenely off the walls of the apartment as your body was about to explode. 

Joel’s cock throbbed inside you as you squeezed him harder. "More," you ordered with a crazed edge to your voice. "H-harder.” You groaned as your hands slid up to grip his hair again, tugging sharply as you bucked and undulated wildly

“Ask nicely then.” He replied with a smirk, spanking you ass gently. 

“Joel !” You growled, almost screaming, already tired of his little game. 

He obliged with a vicious thrust that had you on a chokehold. You moved together in a savage rhythm, two predators locked in a rut. You could feel his cool hands all over you—gripping your hips with bruising force, groping your breasts hardly, pinching your nipples.

“So soft.” He managed to say despite his ragged breathing, caressing your breasts as if they were something fragile and precious. He took the left one in his mouth, sucking on it. Then he bit the tip, watching you completely lose control on his lap. He kissed the second one, never taking his eyes off you as you had already closed yours.

He continued to worship you as you tried to muffle your moans as he drove up into you, relishing every sharp point of pain mixed with the intense pleasure. Gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as your hips moved in rhythm, everything else falling away—the storm, Jackson, Mark, all of it. Just the sound of him above you, breath hitching as he pressed his mouth to your body hungrily. 

Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core as he pounded into you relentlessly and he couldn’t stop whispering your name again and again like a confession. Your inner muscles clenched greedily around him. "I'm going to... oh fuck—I'm going to cum Joel !" You keened desperately, feeling his cock deep into your wet pussy.

Joel’s hand snapped out, gripping your throat and squeezing just hard enough to make you see black around the edges. And with a hoarse cry, you shattered into a thousand pieces, convulsing uncontrollably as the most intense orgasm of your life consumed your whole body. 

Joel groaned your name against your neck, hips jerking once, twice more before he pulled out with a curse, stroking himself until he came, hot and messy across your stomach. His breath hitched in his throat, teeth clenched around a low, guttural noise like it hurt to let go.

You stayed where you were, breathless, your chest rising and falling as you blinked up at the ceiling, your body still trembling. Joel reached for the nearest piece of fabric—his shirt, maybe yours—and wiped you off with a tenderness that didn’t match how rough he’d just been.

His hands then, stayed on your thighs like he didn’t want to let go, even though his body had gone loose beneath you. You turned your gaze toward him, boneless and dazed, and kissed the corner of his mouth. He caught your lips in a softer kiss this time, slower, like he couldn’t quite believe he still had the right to.

You shifted, still above him, your hips aching, your limbs trembling. Joel’s hands slid up your back, slow and grounding, before one finally curved behind your neck, pulling you down into his chest, your cheek resting against his torso. Neither of you moved. Now, it was just the quiet and steady rhythm of his heart under your hot cheek. 

He sighed into your hair. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, not even trying to sound annoyed.

You huffed a breath of laughter, warm and smug and utterly spent. “You’ll survive.” Joel huffed something close to a laugh, his hand smoothing over your spine.

After a long, heavy silence, you finally stirred against him. Your muscles ached as you shifted up just enough to look at him. And there it was.

Joel was smiling.

Not smirking. Not guarded or sarcastic. A real, quiet smile, small and fleeting like it caught him off guard. Like he’d forgotten, for a second, that he didn’t know how to be soft anymore.

You stared, caught in it. “That’s a first,” you whispered.

“What is ?”

You touched his jaw, featherlight. “Your smile. You ever show it to anyone else, or should I feel special ?” His eyes flicked away, bashful and amused, and your chest tightened with something too full to name. 

But outside, the wind had calmed, the storm was over, and reality—Jackson, patrols, Mark—was creeping back in through the broken windowpanes. Joel seemed to feel it too. The moment cracked. His expression shifted, that wall rising again. Not all the way, but just enough for you to see it directly. He sat up a little, gaze distant now, and you watched it happen, your stomach dipping.

“Joel…” you reached out, brushing his temple, gentle. “Don’t do that.”

He didn’t answer at first.

“I shouldn’t’ve let it go that far,” he muttered, faking regret. “Not with everything the way it is.”

Your hand slid down to his chest, over his heart. “Maybe. But we didn’t exactly plan it, did we ?”

He looked at you, still conflicted.

“I’m not sorry,” you said, firmer now. “I wanted you. Don’t ruin it by pretending you didn’t.”

Joel swallowed hard, but didn’t argue. Just nodded once, and let your hand stay where it was. Eventually, you both moved, limbs slow and aching as you began to dress. You reached for your shirt, holding it up between two fingers, damp and wrinkled, then turned to him with a crooked grin.

“Jesus. It’s full of your cum.”

Joel choked, actually choked, and shook his head, half-laughing. “Christ.”

You pulled it on anyway, shameless. “Hope the horses don’t mind the smell.”

“Could’ve kept that thought to yourself.”

You grinned, brushing past him to gather your coat. “But then I wouldn’t get to see you blush.”

He groaned low under his breath, but there was warmth under the sound. A little less distance. 

You were the first to move toward the door, still wearing his scent on your skin like something sacred and reckless. The shirt clung to you damply, wrinkled and loose, falling just below the curve of your covered ass.

Joel was right behind you, boots in one hand, watching you like a man walking into a trap with his eyes wide open. You paused at the doorway, giving him a sidelong glance, a smirk curling your mouth.

“What ?” You said, all sweet, wide-eyed innocence. “You coming grumpy old man, or you gonna sit there all day brooding ?”

He raised an eyebrow at that, slow and dry. “You keep talkin’ like that, and I might just—”

He walked past you and right as he passed, he struck—one quick, sharp slap to your ass, open-palmed and sure, a clean smack that echoed off the cracked apartment walls.

You gasped, half-genuine, half-laughing, stumbling a step forward. “Joel !”

He didn’t even look sorry. Just stood there, arms crossed, one brow cocked in full challenge. “Mouth on you. Figured I’d give you somethin’ to talk about.”

You narrowed your eyes, cheeks hot, grinning despite yourself. “Do that again and I’ll drag you back to that couch and fuck you until your knees give out.” Joel’s mouth twitched, that ghost of a smile again, but this time it stayed. You turned toward the door again with a little sway in your hips, tossing him a wink over your shoulder.

His chuckle was low, rough, satisfied as he followed you out, boots thudding softly behind. And even as the sky cleared and Jackson loomed in the distance, something between you stayed warm—a slow-burning thing neither of you were quite ready to name, but neither of you could walk away from now.

You didn’t talk much more after that. You didn’t need to. The storm was over, outside and maybe, just maybe, between the two of you.

For now.

⋆༺ ˖ ݁ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ݁˖ ༻⋆

It had been a few days since that storm-soaked patrol, since that moment in the apartment when everything changed—then went right back to pretending it hadn’t. Back in Jackson, the routines resumed like nothing had happened. Joel went back to his north patrols, you went back to keeping your head down during yours with Cathy. The space between you stretched again. Measured. Careful.

You hadn’t seen him since—well not really. A few glances across the street, the sound of his voice in passing, but no words. No closeness. And maybe that was for the best. Maybe it had to be after all. Still, you couldn’t help and miss him a bit. You, for sure, missed the weight of his hand on your skin, the way his voice had cracked when he finally let himself feel somethings.

You missed how he looked at you like you were a wound he wanted to touch anyway. But now, silence and distance. Had it meant something to him, or was it just release ? Just a mistake he wanted to forget ? Was it just to piss off Mark after all ?

The thought coiled in your stomach like guilt, or probably regret, you didn’t know which. And maybe that was what hurt most—not knowing if he missed you too, or if he’d already decided you were easier to live without.

But Mark had seen you, even with his eye still a little bruised.

He noticed the way your silences got longer. The way you flinched when he reached for your hand in public. The way your laugh didn’t come as easily, like you were trying too hard to seem normal, but failing.

And that night, at the Tipsy Bison, with the low buzz of laughter and clinking glasses all around them, Mark finally saw it.

It was subtle at first. You were curled close beside him in the booth, half-listening as he talked about a new fence post that needed fixing, fingers absently tracing the rim of your glass. You hadn’t touched your drink in a while.

Then the door creaked open, the bell overhead giving its usual lazy jingle.

Joel walked in.

He looked the same as always: weathered and solid, shoulders heavy under the worn flannel he always wore when he didn’t care to try. But something about him was different. Distant. The lines around his eyes deeper. And even if Mark hadn’t noticed Joel, he would’ve known someone important had arrived, because of the way you reacted.

Your whole body shifted, like a current passed through you. Your spine straightened. Your fingers froze. And your head turned to the door before the sound had even fully faded.

Mark followed your gaze and found it locked, unblinking, on Joel Miller.

It wasn’t the look that got him, well, not just that. It was the pause. That second too long where the rest of the bar seemed to fall away. The world went on, but your eyes stayed fixed. Joel, him, didn’t look back. But Mark saw enough in your face to know it wouldn’t have mattered.

He sat back slightly, lifting his glass to his lips, letting the burn of whiskey settle behind his teeth. He didn’t say anything right away. Just set it down slow, watched the way your attention lingered in the corner of your eye.

Then: “You’ve been quiet lately.”

You blinked, like shaking yourself from a dream. “Just tired.”

“Mm.” His thumb slid slowly along the side of the glass. “Must’ve been a hell of a storm out there.”

You gave a small nod. “It was.”

He let that hang in the air, let you sit with it. And when he spoke again, it wasn’t sharp, nor angry. Just... heavier. Lower.

“Funny, though. Ever since you got back…” He paused. “Feels like you never really did.”

Your lips parted, barely. Your gaze fell to the drink in front of you, as if the answer might be hiding in the bottom of the glass. And Mark just watched you, quietly. Knowing he wasn’t wrong.

You eyes flicked back, just for a second, barely more than a blink, to where Joel stood near the bar. He was talking with Tommy, or at least standing beside him, hands buried deep in his pockets. His jaw was locked tight, head tipped slightly down, like the floor was somehow more deserving of his attention.

Suddenly, he shifted his weight, maybe just to adjust, maybe just to move—but then his head turned. Slow. Subtle. Like he hadn’t meant to do it at all. And his eyes found yours. Just for a second. Not long. Not obvious. Not enough for anyone else to notice, probably. But it was long enough for you to freeze. Long enough for your breath to catch like a thread pulled too tight.

He watched you watching him, and then, out of nowhere, smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes, but that was enough to make your chest ache. 

“You see something out there ?” Mark asked casually, like it was nothing. Like he didn’t already know.

You blinked, your voice too even. “Just bad weather.”

He leaned back in the booth like it cost him something, the motion slow and heavy. His arm stretched along the back of your seat, but there was no warmth in the gesture—just distance. His jaw ticked once as he stared at you, voice flat.

“Right,” he muttered. “Bad weather brings shit to the surface.”

Your stomach clenched. There was no softness in him now, no patience, no understanding. Just tired eyes and something brittle tugging at the corners of his mouth. He exhaled a humorless breath and looked past you—toward the bar where Joel still stood, stiff and silent beside Tommy. “Fuck it,” Mark said, a bitter edge cutting through his voice now. “Why don’t we just go over there, huh ? Go say hi ? Maybe make it easier on both of us.”

Your eyes snapped to him, startled. He wasn’t loud, wasn’t even angry in the way he might’ve been a few weeks ago. But this was worse. “What ? No, there’s no need—"

“I mean,” he cut you off, “If that’s where your head’s been since you got back…” He shrugged, like the words didn’t cost him, like they didn’t already taste like blood. “Maybe he’ll say something you actually want to hear.”

You glanced up at him, heart thudding in your throat. He held your gaze—giving you one last moment of doubt, but when he saw that you didn't respond, his mind was made up—the silence between you turning to ash. “Mark ?”

But he was already moving, cutting through the crowd toward the bar with a tension in his shoulders you hadn’t seen before. Not like this. Not this quiet, coiled kind of anger that looked more like heartbreak dressed in steel.

Joel turned just as Mark reached him, instinct maybe, Tommy beside him, stepped back slightly, sensing it too. Mark didn’t raise his voice at first. He just got close, close enough for the space to feel dangerous, and asked through clenched teeth, “What the fuck is your problem, man ?”

Joel’s brows furrowed, “Don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about.”

Mark’s laugh was short, bitter and loud enough to make a few heads turn. “No ? You don’t know ? She’s over there looking like she’s gonna pass out just breathin’ in the same room as you.” He pointed back at you.

Joel’s jaw locked, “Back off.”

But Mark didn’t, instead, he raised his voice—just enough to slice through the din. “Did you fuck her ?”

Silence.

The whole room stilled. Glasses froze mid-air. Forks halfway to mouths. A silence so deep it hummed, the kind of quiet that only came right before something broke. Joel didn’t move, but his eyes—those dark, storm-wrung eyes—lifted slowly to meet Mark’s, and for a second, he didn’t look guilty.

He looked dangerous.

You stood now too, heart in your throat, the whole damn bar watching. Tommy stepped in quick, one hand raised. “Hey—hey, that’s enough.”

Mark didn’t look at him. “Tell me, Miller,” he hissed, voice like flint. “Tell me you didn’t crawl into my bed while I was gone.”

Joel still didn’t say anything. And in a way—that said everything.

The silence stretched too long but Joel didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just stared at Mark, jaw ticking, breath steady like he was holding something back—something mean and wild and sharp.

Then finally, his voice broke through the stillness, low and rough as gravel. “I didn’t crawl into anything,” Joel said, tone quiet but cutting. “She walked in on her own.”

A few gasps cracked through the crowd.

Your breath caught.

Mark’s face went blank for a split second—like his brain short-circuited trying to process it—then twisted into something animal. And before anyone could move, before even Tommy could get between them Mark’s fist collided with Joel’s cheekbone in a sickening thud that echoed off the wooden walls. Joel stumbled back a half-step, eyes wide with surprise.

The room exploded into chaos: someone swore, someone else shouted for Tommy, a couple of drinks tipped off a table.

Tommy lunged forward, grabbing Mark by the shoulder and shoving him back. “Hey ! Enough !”

Joel steadied himself with a hand on the bar, jaw clenched, cheek blooming red and hot. He didn’t hit back, just stared at Mark, chest rising, eyes dark and unreadable.

Mark pointed at him, wild now. “You son of a bitch. You couldn’t keep your goddamn hands to yourself ?”

“Mark—” you stepped forward, voice cracking. “Stop it.”

He spun toward you, eyes glassy. “You didn’t even lie,” he said, like it was the part that broke him most. “Didn’t even deny it.”

Joel’s voice came again, lower this time. “Don’t put that on her.”

Mark turned back, but this time Tommy was already between them.

“You better go,” Tommy told him, calm but deadly serious. “Before I make you.”

The bar stayed frozen—watching, breathing, waiting to see who would move first. Joel didn’t look at you but you felt like the whole goddamn town was watching your soul crack in half. You just stood there, still and burning, the weight of every pair of eyes settling on your back like cinder blocks. You could hear someone whisper your name, but it sounded far away—like it wasn’t really yours anymore.

Joel was still by the bar, fingers pressed to the side of his jaw, blood blooming. He looked calm. Too calm perhaps. Like it was taking everything he had not to turn and leave. Or maybe he was waiting for you to move.

But you couldn’t. 

Tommy’s hand found Joel’s shoulder and he said something too low to hear. Joel just gave a slow nod and didn’t look at you as he left. The moment he was gone, the space felt suddenly colder. With people still staring at you, unable to bear all this sudden attention, you walked silently through the bar, determined to reach your table, grabbed your jacket, and headed for the exit.

You found Mark outside, just past the door, pacing like a dog that had been kicked too many times. His fist was still balled up, knuckles red, his eyes storm-dark and shining. “Mark,” you said, voice soft.

He didn’t answer so you stepped closer. “You shouldn’t have done that. Not like that.”

He finally looked at you—and God, it hurt. All of it. The betrayal, the disbelief, the bitter weight of understanding. “You could’ve just told me,” he said. His voice wasn’t angry anymore. It was small and hurt. “You could’ve told me you didn’t love me.”

“I didn’t mean for you to find out like that,” you whispered. “I didn’t plan any of it, Mark.”

“Right,” he laughed, but it was sharp and hollow. “You just tripped and fell onto his dick, huh ?”

Your mouth parted, stunned, but he didn’t wait for an answer. He just shook his head. “I’m so sorry.”

He stared at the ground. “You don’t even look sorry.”

Silence.

He gave a broken exhale, then turned and walked into the dark—away from the bar, away from you. And you let him go, because what else was there to do ? You didn’t even knew if you were really sorry, it seemed that you didn’t knew anything at all now.

He gave a broken exhale, then turned and walked into the dark—away from the bar, away from you. You stood there, frozen in the echo of what had just happened for a long moment. You weren’t even sure if you were truly sorry. Or if you were just grieving the idea of something that had been broken long before tonight. It was all noise inside your head. Guilt and relief and confusion bleeding together. And suddenly, the weight of it was too much to hold.

So, you walked.

Past the warm buzz of windows and porches, past familiar voices drifting in the night air. Past the safety of certainty and into something colder.  You didn’t mean to end up there. But your feet knew before your mind did.

Joel’s porch.

He was sitting on the steps—hunched forward, elbows on his knees, a slow drag of smoke curling from his lips. As if he’d been waiting. And when he saw you—soaked in moonlight, shivering from more than just the night air—he stood with no hesitation.

You didn’t say anything and the tears came hard and fast, unraveling all the threads you’d held together so tightly. And before you could even wipe your face, Joel crossed the distance. His arms wrapped around you—firm, grounding—and you collapsed into his chest, fists curled in his shirt, sobs cracking through the quiet.

He held you like he meant it. Like he wasn’t going to let go this time. “Got you,” he murmured, low against your hair. “I got ya.”

He held you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other splayed wide across your spine like he could hold you together with just that touch. Your sobs slowed, hitched, then slowed again—raw and uneven, your breath still shaking against his chest. You could feel the steady thump of his heart beneath his shirt. Solid. Certain. Something to hold onto when everything else felt like it was sliding out from under you.

Joel bent his head, voice rough with quiet certainty. “Hey… hey, now.” His thumb brushed the side of your face. “’s gonna be alright.”

You clung tighter without answering, not trusting your voice enough.

“I know it don’t feel like it now,” he murmured, “but it will. Mark’s gonna be fine. Man’s got every reason to be pissed, but he’ll come out the other side.” He paused, his voice softer when he added, “And so will I.”

You looked up at him, eyes red and glassy. Your lips parted, but no words came. Joel kissed gently your forehead, hand still stroking down your back, steady as the sky. “And ya,” he said, the weight of it all settling into his tone, “you’re gonna be just fine, too.”

You nodded slowly, even if you didn’t quite believe it yet. But hearing him say it—hearing Joel believe it—made it feel a little more possible. Like maybe the storm had finally passed. Like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t alone in the wreckage.

Your hand lifted gently to his cheek—the one Mark’s fist had found earlier—fingers brushing the faint bruise already blooming there. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, guilt dragging your voice low. “For that. For… all of it.”

Joel huffed a soft breath through his nose, and to your surprise—he smiled. A real one. The second time you’d ever seen it. A little crooked, a little tired, but it curled at the edges of his mouth like it belonged there, like it had been waiting for the moment to show itself.

“Wasn’t your punch,” he said, voice rough but warm. “I’ve had worse.”

His calm steadied something in you. Like his steadiness gave you permission to breathe again. Then he tilted his head toward the porch behind him. “C’mon,” he murmured. “It’s late. You don’t gotta go anywhere tonight.”

You hesitated only for a beat, then let him lead you inside, his hand low on your back—not pushing, just there as a quiet reassurance. He gave you his flannel to sleep in, warm and worn, sleeves too long. And when you curled into bed beside him, the space felt safe for the first time in days. He didn’t try anything, didn’t ask—he didn’t want that, not tonight. He just pulled you gently into his arms, letting your head rest against his chest, the thrum of his heartbeat comforting you.

[whimsicalwritersstuff]

please please PLEASE more hyperspermia with joel. maybe a longer fic where he just keeps filling reader over and over and over and talking sooo filthy. maybe sprinkle in some mean joel… 😔

(need this man #raw)

One more

Parings: mean!joel miller x fem!reader

Content warnings: explicit content 18+, overstimulation, breeding kink, hyperspermia, degradation (calling reader 'milkslut', 'cumdump'), praise kink, cock bulge/belly bulge, cum inflation/swollen belly, hair pulling and slapping, possessive and mean!joel, choking (consensual), dirty talk, use of pet names 'babygirl' and 'sweetheart, excessive cum play, potential physical exhaustion/weakness of reader.

Word count: 1000

Your body's already trembling neath him, the sheets ruined, soaked with sweat and slick and cum, but dosent stop.

He can't.

He needs it.

Needs you. Like this.

He mutters something under his breath, something low and filthy and before gripping your hip, hauling you up onto your side. You're pliant, twitching, a gasp trapped in your throat as he rolls you, presses his chest to your back and sinks back inside your slick, aching cunt.

Slow. Deep. Possessive.

"Fuck- joel-"

"Shh. Shh, baby. I know."

His voice is all gravel and heat, right at your ear as he presses his palmdown over your belly. "Just one. Just need one."

But it's never just one with him.

He drives in again. And again.

Thick and hard and dripping wet, dragging the mess of himself lit of you, only to bury it back in with a bruising slap of skin. You're so full, streched wide and trembling as he fucks his cum deeper and deeper inside. "So fuckin' tight," Joel grits out, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your shouler. "You feel that, sweetheart? That's all me. All that mess dripping down your thighs. Fuckin- look at you." He fists your hair and makes you lift your head just enough to see the bulge in your stomach, his cock, thick and swollen, pushing up against the swell in your belly as he pistons inside you.

"Milkslut," He growls.

"That what you wanted? That why you were beggin' earlier, grindin' all needy on meoke some dumb little bitch in heat?"

You whimper, tears spilling. It's too much- but you crave every second of it. "Uh-huh," He smirks, breathing hot filth into your skin.

"You like being red, don't you? Like gettin' filled up, leaking all over the fuckin' sheets like a messy little whore." His voice drops, darker now. The pace is brutal. The sound of your soaked pussy clapping against his hips is loud in the room,arched only by your stuttering moans.

"Mine"

A hard thrust.

"Mine"

Another.

"Say it."

You can't even form the word, not when he's gripping your throat, not when your brain's short circuited from the pleasure, your cunt spasming around him from the fourth orgasm he's wrung our of you in the last hour.

He doesn't care.

"Say it."

"Y-Yours, Joel- oh fuck, I'm yours-"

"That's right, baby."

He slaps your ass, watching it jiggle. Watching you take it.

"Good fuckin' girl, such a good little cum dump for me. Gonna fuck a baby into you, keep you swollen all the fuckin' time."

You clench.

That breaks him.

His thrusts go sloppy as he empties into you again, groaning loud, hips grinding into the mess between your thighs, making sure mome of it leaks out. "Goddamn - take it, sweetheart. Don't spill a drop. You hear me?" Your thighs are shaking. His seed is leaking. And Joel just laughs, low and mean.

"Better get used to this, darlin'. 'Cause I ain't pullin' out ever again."

~~~

You've already lost count.

Maybe it was the third time he came- maybe the fifth. It's impossible to know anymore with how long he's kept you pinned, stuffed full of his cock, held there like a ragdoll while he fucks you into the mattress. His chest is slick with sweat, body heavy and burning against your back as he thrusts up into you, rutting slow and deep. Every movement makes your cunt squelch loud, messy, soaked in his cum and slick and spit and who the fuck knows what else.

"You hear that?"

Joel bites your earlobe as he pushes in to the hilt.

"You fucking hear that, baby? That's me pourin' into you again"

And he is.

You feel it.

Another thick gush floods you as he groans, hips grinding in tight, desperate circles, pumping rope after rope of heat so deep it makes your eyes flutter back. The pressure builds in your belly, a warmth that spreads slow, growing fuller, heavier, deeper.

"Shit- fuck," You whimper, voice shaking. "Its- joel- it's too much, I can't-"

"You can, sweetheart. You will."

He smirks into your neck, teeth grazing skin. "This cunt's made to take it. My messy little milkslut."

Your belly's swollen now, soft and rounded where his cock bulges up through your skin. His hand spreads wide over it, pressing down just enough to feel himself from the inside. "Fuckin' look at this," Be growls, voice dropping filth.

"Can feel my cock through your tummy. You're so fuckin' full, babygirl. Stuffed to the brim and still takin' it. "

He pulls back just an inch only to ram in again.

A squirt of cum spills from between your thighs. It's not the first time. Wont be the last.

"There it is. Can't even hold it anymore."

He watches it leak down your ass, pooling beneath you on the sheets.

"Made my own little cumdump. Look at that mess. So greedy for it. "

Another thrust. You sob into the pillow, overstimulated and burning. Your thighs are shaking, soaked with slick and sweat and his endless release.

"Gotta keep fuckin' it back in"

He shoves deeper, groaning.

"I ain't done. Not 'till I plug you ful. 'till there's no room left in that little pussy of yours."

You're whimpering, clawing weakly at the sheets.

"Say it," He grits out, slapping your plump red ass.

"Say what you are."

"I'm- I'm your- your milkslut," You gasp, breath hitching.

"Fuck Joel- I'm your filthy little milkslut-"

"Good fuckin' girl."

Another load floods you. Thick, hot, endless. Your belly streches a little more beneath his hand and Joel moans sl deep it rumbles against your back. "That's it. Take it. Take every last fuckin' drop." When he finally stops moving, cock still twitching inside you, you feel it. The sheer weight of him isndid. How soaked you are, how ruined.

But Joel just keeps you there. Plugged full, your cunt fluttering weakly around him.

You're shaking.

He laughs softly and strokes your belly.

"Gonna knock you up real good this time, babygirl."

[brinabbot]

HOLY FUCKING SHIT, GIRL?????? WHAT A GIFT THAT WAS IT EVEN SEEMED LIKE I WAS REALLY THE READER, I FEEL HOT AND SHY

[joelsslvts]

𓆩⟡𓆪 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍’ 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 — 𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐅𝐄𝐌!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

summary: you survived the end of the world by doing what you had to. jackson was supposed to be a second chance. but people talk, and this time, your reputation might not be the thing that ruins you—it might be a man who can see through it.

warnings: emotional hurt/comfort, mentions of sex work/prostitution (past, not graphic), gossip, judgmental community, mild angst, fluff, protective Joel, Tommy being a sweetheart, Maria being suspicious, soft slow-burn tension

word count: ~2.7k

reader details: sweet, short, long-haired, newcomer, soft-hearted, quietly strong

_______________________________________________

You were a whisper in Jackson before you ever said a word.

Just a name Maria read off a piece of paper and a face they hadn’t seen before. Pretty face. Long hair, too nice for the cold. Quiet. Too quiet, if you asked most people. And you never really said where you came from—just said “Texas,” which was vague enough for everyone’s imagination to run wild.

And then it got out.

You don’t know who said it first. You don’t care.

All you know is that people started looking at you like you were contagious.

Like being a woman who survived the worst of the world made you dangerous.

You’d done what you had to. Not proud of it. Not ashamed either. You never stole from nobody, never killed, never used anyone who didn’t agree to it. You gave something to stay alive. And in a world where men took what they wanted? You made damn sure the choice was always yours.

Still, in Jackson, you were the warning mothers whispered to their kids when you walked by.

“Don’t stare.”

“Keep walking.”

“She’s not the kind of woman you talk to.”

Maria barely looked at you the day she handed you your house keys. Just muttered something about keeping a low profile. “We don’t want trouble,” she said, not even meeting your eye.

Trouble. That was the word that clung to you like dirt.

But not Tommy.

Tommy showed up the second morning you were there with a half-loaf of warm bread and a soft smile.

“Saw you didn’t have much in the pantry,” he said. “Figured you might want somethin’ fresh.”

You didn’t even know what to say. People don’t do nice things without wanting something back. That’s what you’d learned. But Tommy never lingered, never asked questions. Just gave, and left.

The bread made you cry.

—

You started noticing the man a few days later.

Tall. Broad. Walked with a limp in the cold. Gray in his beard. Wore a coat that looked like it had seen hell and come back scorched.

He never said anything. Never came close. Just walked past your place on the way to somewhere else. Sometimes once a day, sometimes more.

At first you thought he was just curious, like everyone else. But then little things started showing up.

Your porch step stopped squeaking. The broken board on your railing was replaced. One morning, you found a coat hook fixed back onto the siding. You hadn’t even realized it was loose.

It didn’t take a genius to put it together.

You caught him once—real late. You’d been up with a headache and opened your front door just as he was stepping back.

He froze like a teenager caught sneaking out.

“...You fixin’ my porch?” you asked, voice soft.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

You waited.

When he didn’t say anything else, you added, “You got a name?”

“Joel.”

That was it.

Just Joel. And then he nodded once and turned to go, leaving behind the silence and the faint scent of cedar and whiskey.

—

People didn’t know what to do with Joel Miller. He didn’t talk much. Didn’t smile much either. Word around town was that he was a “hard man.” Lost a kid, years ago. Came to Jackson with another one—Ellie, her name was. Lived on the other side of town.

He wasn’t friendly. But he wasn’t cruel.

And he kept coming back.

Not always fixing something. Sometimes just walking by. Sometimes just standing at the edge of the street like he was deciding whether to knock.

You didn’t ask him to come in.

You didn’t want to ruin the only thing in town that didn’t make you feel dirty.

But the days started feeling warmer when you saw him.

—

One afternoon, you went to the market, trying to ignore the way people stepped aside when you passed. There were two teen boys near the stable, whispering too loud, grinning too wide.

“Bet she’d do it for a can of peaches,” one of them said.

“Maybe less,” the other laughed.

You turned and gave them a look. Not angry. Just tired.

They shut up real fast when they saw Joel standing behind you.

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t even look at them. Just walked you home in silence and stood by your steps like a silent shield until you closed the door.

You cried again that night. But not because you were sad.

—

Eventually, he started coming closer. Standing on your porch. Asking if you had wood for the fire. If your lock was holding up okay.

He never pried. Never asked about before.

And you liked that. Liked that he let you have now.

One night, you offered him tea. You half-expected him to turn you down.

But he didn’t.

He came in, sat at your table like he’d done it before, and looked around your tiny place with those unreadable eyes.

“You fixed a lot of this,” you said, gently.

“Wasn’t nothin’,” he shrugged.

“You don’t even know me.”

He met your eyes then. Finally. And what he said next made your heart skip.

“I know enough.”

—

The next time Maria saw you walking with Joel, her face twisted.

She pulled him aside after town meeting, voice sharp but quiet.

“She’s not like us,” she said.

Joel looked at her. “Ain’t nobody here like us, Maria. Not anymore.”

“She’s got a past.”

“So do I.”

“Joel—”

“I seen worse people do worse things to survive,” he said, tone flat. “And she never hurt no one. So unless you got a real reason to keep talkin’, I’d stop.”

He walked away before she could answer.

—

It took you weeks to ask him why.

“Why do you care?” you said, voice almost afraid to ruin it.

He looked at you for a long time.

Then: “Because you remind me of people who didn’t make it. Good ones. Ones who never got a chance to be seen as more than what the world made ‘em do.”

You swallowed thickly.

“And I care,” he added, “because I see you tryin’. Every day. To be better. And I know how damn hard that is.”

—

That night, when he reached for your hand, you didn’t pull away.

You just let him hold it. Just for a while.

Because sometimes, in a world that tried to break you, kindness felt heavier than anything else.

And Joel?

Joel didn’t flinch when you leaned against him.

He stayed.

[siennaa111]

need jackson!joel to hold me and baby me and let me lay in his lap when he comes home from patrol

[forthelorewick]

Another one couldn’t hurt… right? pt. 3

WC 11.9k - you tell daddy Joel, but not in that way… that he’s gonna be a daddy again.

NSFW 18+ MDI!

warnings/content: no outbreak!au, fluff, domestic bliss, parenthood, established relationship (husband/dad!joel x wife/mom!reader), age gap relationship, some physical descriptions, results of childbearing, mentions of pregnancy, mild language/swearing, unprotected p-in-v, oral sex (m & f receiving), breeding/pregnancy kink (even if your eyes are wide open, you don’t need to squint), multiple orgasms, so sweet it’s almost sickening.

pt. 1 | pt. 2 / main masterlist

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

pt. 3

It had started earlier in the week. Just little things, subtle shifts in the air of your body.

Your mouth tasted metallic first thing in the morning. You’d get waves of nausea around the same time, like clockwork.

And the smell of bacon? Joel made it Saturday morning and you’d nearly cried. Not from nausea. From joy. You swore it never smelled that good before.

By Thursday, you’d had enough unofficial confirmations, even if you’d already had an idea based on your missed period and the potential implantation bleeding you’d had.

You made the appointment. First thing Friday morning, your doctor confirmed what your body had already been whispering to you.

You were pregnant.

You were four weeks along, which seems so much sooner than you’d known than the last times, but you and Joel had been persistent, and also right about the general day it’d stuck.

You sat in your car for a long moment, hand resting over your lower stomach, the envelope in your lap practically glowing with proof.

Your heart was full. So full you thought it might spill over. With joy, with nerves, with love.

You didn’t hesitate to call your husband to share the news, and Joel picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, baby,” his voice rough with that mid-morning work rasp he always had. “Everythin’ alright?”

You smiled softly, biting your lip. “Yeah. Yeah, everything’s… good.”

There was a pause, and then his voice dropped even lower, knowingly, “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” your voice caught just a little. “I saw the doctor this morning.”

Joel went quiet again. You could picture it, him going still, bracing his forearm against whatever surface was closest, pressing the phone tighter to his ear.

“And?”

“And it’s real,” you whispered. “We’re having another baby, Joel.”

You could hear the breath leave him. A choked sound of disbelief and something more tender, “Darlin’…”

“I wanted to tell you in person, but I couldn’t wait,” you laughed quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he murmured, voice rough and full. “Thank you for callin’.”

You closed your eyes and sighed deeply, “I can’t wait for you to come home.”

“Gimme a few hours,” he promised. “Don’t lift a finger until I’m there. We’re stayin’ in with the kids tonight.”

—

You spent the rest of the day a little floaty. Having taken the day off from work, you spent the day with the kids, well, mostly Ellie until you picked up Sarah and Artie from school. The kids now entertained with each other and their toys as you kept watch, your belly warm with your favorite tea as you curled up with a book you couldn’t focus on. You tried to nap while the kids had their quiet time and failed, then you thought about cleaning, but Joel would’ve scolded you. Your mood was too soft to want that.

You’d just started dinner when you heard the truck pull into the drive, you were already waiting at the door.

He stepped out with a paper bag tucked under one arm, flowers in hand. You didn’t even have to ask, he’d remembered everything.

Pickles. Green apple gum. That weird organic ginger ale you swore helped with nausea.

And the flowers were sunflowers, with a few wild sprigs of lavender tucked in, because he knew you liked those best.

Joel climbed the steps slow, watching you with that soft, awestruck smile that never failed to make you feel like the only thing in the world.

“Hey, mama,” his eyes dropped to your stomach as he stepped into your space. “You keepin’ my baby warm?”

The way he smells the second he steps close— earth and cedarwood, the faintest bit of gasoline and soap, and him. That familiar undercurrent that’s always been uniquely Joel, something sharp and grounding and warm. It hits you like a punch to the chest, stealing your breath and making your knees feel like jelly.

You take a step closer like you’re being pulled, pressing the ultrasound envelope to his chest as your other hand fists in the front of his shirt.

“You smell so good,” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut as you lean into his chest. “God, you reek of testosterone right now.”

He chuckles as he kisses your forehead, then your lips, then drops the bag on the counter to wrap you up in both arms, “You okay?”

“No,” you admit, your nose buried against his collarbone. “You smell like home and maybe a little bit like you should pin me to the nearest surface.”

He laughs again, louder this time, one hand slipping around your waist and dragging you flush against him. “That the hormones talkin’, or just you?”

“Does it matter?”

His thumb strokes along the side of your ribcage like he’s memorizing the feel of you again, and his other hand finally takes the envelope you’d pressed to his chest.

“What’s this?” he murmurs.

You lift your head just enough to watch him peel it open, calloused fingers careful and slow. His eyes scan the blurry little bean-shaped silhouette, and you watch the way his throat bobs when he swallows.

He stares at it for a long moment before whispering, “That ours?”

You nod, lip trembling.

“Goddamn,” he breathes, brushing his nose against your temple, “I’m gonna be a daddy again.”

You’re just about to melt into his chest when—

thump-thump-thump—

“Daddy’s home early!”

You barely have time to react before the sound of running feet echoes down the hall, and then three small bodies collide with Joel’s legs.

He grunts softly but chuckles, already crouching to catch them, “Hey, hey— slow down, ya little heathens.”

“Daddy, guess what!” Sarah says breathlessly, climbing halfway up his knee like a monkey. “We saw a frog in the puddle and it jumped so high and we didn’t even scream, okay maybe I did but it was just one time…“

Then Artie tugs at Joel’s bootlace, determined for full attention, “I drew you somethin’! It’s you, but you have a sword!”

Joel’s eyes flick to yours over the tops of their heads, amused and overwhelmed in equal measure. “A sword, huh?” he says, reaching into the grocery bag to hand them the snack he stashed there, a small pack of gummy bears each, “I love it, bud, I’ll hang it up on the fridge.”

Artie beams, practically vibrating with pride, and Sarah immediately peels open her bag like it’s the greatest treasure in the world. Joel’s still kneeling when a soft, sleepy voice pipes up from behind them.

“Daddy…?”

Little Ellie stands at the edge of the hallway, thumb in her mouth, curls tousled from her nap. She’s still in her footie pajamas, dragging her favorite blanket behind her like a lifeline.

Joel’s whole expression changes, he melts.

“There’s my girl,” he says, voice going quiet and syrupy sweet. He stretches one arm toward her and she toddles over, clinging to his shoulder as he pulls her into the mix.

“Were you sleepin’?” he murmurs into her hair, rocking her gently while the other two bicker about who gets the red gummy bears. Ellie doesn’t respond, just burrows closer with a subtle nod of her head as her little fingers curl into the collar of his shirt.

You lean against the doorway, watching them with a fluttering heart, watching him. He’s a mess of children and exhaustion, but there’s nowhere on earth he looks more at home.

He shifts his weight, still crouched low with Ellie tucked into one arm, his free hand smoothing over Artie’s wild hair as the boy chatters on about frogs and swords and a dream he had last night where Joel turned into a dragon. Joel hums through it, listening, nodding when he should, but his eyes meet yours again and something in them softens even more when he sees you standing there watching him. Like he can feel what you’re feeling, like your heart’s spilling right into his chest.

It had always been this way with him. From the very beginning, when he first told you, voice barely above a whisper, “I want all of it with you. The house, the babies, the mess, the love, we ain’t half-doin’ this.”

And you’d believed him. Because he meant it. Because he never said anything he didn’t plan to give his whole damn soul to.

Joel had always been meant to be a daddy. You knew it in the way he held Sarah for the first time, how his hands shook with awe instead of fear. You knew it in the way he rocked Artie on nights he couldn’t sleep, humming some old country lullaby under his breath. The way he let Ellie curl into him like a barnacle, so content just being close. And you know it now, watching him crouched in your hallway, half-crushed beneath the weight of your children and still looking at you like you were the greatest gift of all.

Sarah’s now halfway on his back, gummy bears forgotten as she wraps her arms around his neck from behind and rests her chin on his shoulder. He tilts his head to nuzzle her cheek, murmuring something that makes her giggle, that open-bellied kind of laugh only kids know how to make. Causing her to lose her grip and double over in a fit of giggles.

You watch the way his fingers curl protectively around Ellie’s tiny back, the way his thumb absentmindedly traces the hem of her blanket like it’s instinct. How even when his shoulders slump under the weight of the day and the weight of them, all of them, he carries it like it’s nothing. Like it’s everything.

Your heart squeezes tight.

He glances up through the mess of his curls and kids, eyes dark and warm like strong coffee. And when he sees the look on your face, like you’re falling in love with him all over again, his mouth lifts into a quiet smile, barely-there but full of knowing.

“Hey,” he says gently, voice just for you in a room full of chaos. “Come ‘ere.”

You cross the room, stepping around a plastic truck and a stray sock, and Joel rises slowly with a child in one arm and the other two clinging to his legs, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He shifts his weight and wraps his free arm around your waist, pulling you in close, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

You sniff, pressing a kiss to Ellie’s curls before cupping Joel’s cheek in your hand. He leans into your touch like he needs it, as he always has.

“Missed you,” he murmurs.

You press your face into his shoulder, one hand cupping Ellie’s back where she has her face mushed against him, the other resting just beneath his ribs.

Joel breathes you in, like the scent of your skin alone is enough to ground him. His nose brushes your temple as his lips graze your hairline, pressing gentle kisses to it, slow and lingering. Like he’s been waiting for this all day. Like this, you, pressed in close, wrapped around the weight of your family, is the only home that’s ever made sense.

“I missed you too,” you whisper.

Joel hums low in his chest, content and full, and then—

CRACK.

A sharp, plasticky snap draws your attention toward the floor just as Artie gasps.

“I didn’t mean to!” he cries, holding up the now two halves of what used to be his toy sword. “I was just showin’ Daddy!”

Joel sighs into your hair, the sound fond and exasperated all at once. “Alright, alright, no one’s in trouble. Just lemme see it, bud.”

Artie sniffles and shuffles closer as Joel squats down again, the movement making Ellie shift and blink blearily against his neck. “We can fix it, can’t we?”

“Yeah, we can fix it,” Joel says, inspecting the toy. “I’ll glue it after dinner. You’ll be back to fightin’ dragons by bedtime.”

That earns a quiet, “Yessss!” complete with a dramatic fist-pump from your son.

Meanwhile, Sarah’s tugging at your shirt now, her voice climbing higher with her excitement. “Mama, guess what? Guess what?”

“What, baby girl?”

She bounces on her toes like she can barely contain it, “I- I counted to a hundred today. By tens! Ten, twenty, thirty, uh… all the way! Miss Lewis said I was on fire!”

You laugh, brushing a stray hair from her cheek, “You’re on fire every day, baby.”

Sarah beams up at you, her missing front tooth making her grin look even bigger, “And we learned about mammals too! Whales are mammals, did you know that? Even though they swim!”

Joel huffs a soft laugh from where he’s crouched, glancing over at you like ‘you hearing this?’ In a soft, prideful ‘our kid loves learning’ type of way. You nod back with a fond smile.

“She told the whole class you love whales,” he murmurs, straightening with Ellie tucked against him and Artie’s arms still wrapped around his leg. “Said it was genetic.”

Sarah practically bounces out of her shoes, “Miss Lewis said I must be just like you!”

Your heart tugs a little, “That’s the best compliment I’ve ever heard.”

Joel chuckles, shifting Ellie to his other shoulder and reaching to ruffle Sarah’s hair. “Just wait ‘til she starts tellin’ people I’m the one who likes glitter.”

“You do like glitter,” you tease.

“Like hell I do,” he mutters under his breath, though his eyes are soft and gleaming as he watches all three of your babies orbit you like planets.

“C’mon,” you say, nudging Sarah’s back gently. “Let’s go wash up for dinner, little star student.”

She spins around dramatically, announcing to the room, “I’m gonna count the soap bubbles!”

Joel chuckles as he follows behind, Ellie still sleepily clutching the collar of his shirt.

You move to the kitchen, the floor warm beneath your feet as the last of the evening light pours across the counter. The table’s already half-set, the big pot of your favorite pasta sauce simmering low on the stove. A loaf of bread waits to be sliced, butter softening nearby.

Joel gently adjusts Ellie in his arms as he turns toward the hallway bathroom. “Alright, gremlins,” he calls, ushering Sarah and Artie ahead of him. “Let’s get those sticky little paws cleaned up before dinner.”

Sarah speeds off like it’s a race, and Artie happily obliges to the challenge and dashes after her. Ellie clings tighter to Joel’s neck, who mumbles something soft and unintelligible as he brushes a kiss over her temple.

“C’mon, baby girl,” he murmurs, nudging the door open with his foot. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

You hear the water run, the sound of Joel’s low voice guiding each child— “Palms too, Artie. Not just the backs,” and “Good job, Sarah, now dry off.” Ellie lets out a small whine, but Joel soothes her quickly, gently murmuring, “I know, sweetheart, just a little bit, we’re almost done.”

A few minutes later, he returns to the kitchen with a trail of kids behind him. Sarah’s already narrating her bubble count results, Artie excitedly babbling about a new dinosaur he learned about this week, and Ellie with her blanket now dragging behind her freshly clean feet. Joel crouches to guide each of them to their booster seats and chairs at the table, pressing kisses to each forehead as he goes.

Then he straightens with a groan, rubbing the small of his back, and finally turns his attention to you.

“Alright,” he says softly, catching your eye with that little smile that only ever belongs to you. “My hands are free, darlin’. Whatcha need?”

You gesture to the grocery bag and flowers that were left on the counter with a fond, teasing look, and he chuckles, walking over and picking up the bouquet, sunflowers and sprigs of fresh lavender bundled together like a warm-weather prayer. He holds it out to you, that crooked smile tugging at his lips, boyish and soft.

“For you,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to give you every beautiful thing he finds. A flush creeps up his neck, coloring his cheeks, and there’s something so endearingly bashful in the way he stands there, like he’s young again, asking you out for the first time.

You take them gently, fingers brushing his, and that small touch sparks something between you, something electric and familiar. Your smile deepens, the kind that reaches your eyes and then sinks deeper, curling around your ribs like smoke. “They’re perfect,” you say, voice a little breathier than intended.

Joel exhales through his nose like he’d been holding that moment in. His eyes track you as you move toward the sink, filling a vase while the early evening light paints the kitchen in gold. He watches the curve of your shoulder, the slope of your neck as you lean forward, and his hand drifts instinctively to the back of your waist like a tether.

“Wasn’t sure if you still liked the lavender,” he murmurs, stepping in close behind you, the warmth of his chest pressing to your back. “But I remembered you said once it helped when you were feelin’ queasy with Ellie.”

You pause, heart tightening, and glance back at him. “You remembered that?”

Joel nods, brushing his lips to your temple. “Of course, darlin’.”

His hands don’t wander far, just a palm splayed wide across your belly, thumb stroking gentle circles over the fabric of your shirt. It’s reverent and slow. His fingers curl protectively like he’s already cradling the life you only just confirmed, like his body is remembering what it was like to hold you swollen and glowing and made for this.

The tension isn’t rushed. It simmers low. It builds in the weight of his hand on your stomach and the press of his breath against your skin. The scrape of his stubble as he nuzzles into your neck and lingers there.

“Joel,” you whisper, fingers now grasping the wooden spoon, giving the pasta sauce a final stir.

“Mhm?” he hums, lips brushing your hairline.

You glance up at him, his hand still pressed low and warm over your belly. “We’ve got kids to feed.”

His nose grazes your cheek as he leans in, voice dark and honeyed with something unfinished. “I know. But don’t think for a second I’m done with you.”

You feel his words everywhere—low in your spine, deep in your belly. His hand slips away slowly, dragging across your waist as he finally steps back, eyes catching yours with a spark that promises later. A promise that curls heat through your body even as you turn toward the kitchen table.

He reaches for the plates while you grab the bread. “How many meatballs for Artie?” he asks, the quick change of tone never failing to leave you reeling.

“Three,” you answer, trying to keep your tone level as you pass him the serving tongs, “but he’ll say four, and then eat one and a half.”

Joel smirks as he spoons the specified helpings onto each plate, falling into step beside you like it’s second nature, which it is. He’s already sliding cups into tiny hands and catching the stray spoon Ellie tries to toss when she gets too excited. The soft clatter of dinner unfolding around you becomes its own rhythm. The soft thud of Sarah’s feet swinging under the table and against her chair’s leg, Artie’s constant sound effects, Ellie babbling sleepily between bites.

But even in the warmth and noise and scent of garlic bread and tomato sauce, you can feel him, his attention lingering. His touches stay just a little too long when he brushes past you for the butter. His gaze drifts over the curve of your hip when you lean to grab napkins. His voice lowers when he says your name, the way it always does when he wants to kiss you more than breathe.

Dinner starts with giggles and sauce-smeared chins and stories from preschool and first grade. But Joel hasn’t stopped looking at you like he already knows exactly how he’s going to finish what he started.

And god, you hope the kids fall asleep early.

Dinner winds down in a tangle of crumbs and giggles, pasta sauce smudged at the corners of tiny mouths and a nearly empty bread basket that Joel swears he only got a single piece from. Ellie is curled sideways in her booster seat now, humming softly to herself between little bites, her cheek smushed into one pudgy hand.

“Artie, don’t lick your plate,” you warn gently, already reaching for a napkin. “It’s not that kind of clean-up.”

“But it’s good,” he insists, licking one more stripe across the porcelain as Joel chuckles quietly into his water glass.

Sarah leans forward with the intensity only a six-year-old can muster. “Can we play outside before bath? Pleeeease? I’ll even help Ellie with her jammies after.”

You raise an eyebrow and glance at Joel, whose hand finds the small of your knee under the table like he can’t not touch you.

“Alright,” you say. “Before it gets dark.”

Cue a full-on cheer squad as chairs scrape back and the kids barrel toward the back door, leaving behind a table that’s still littered with crayons and a half-eaten carrot stick shaped like a dinosaur. You help Ellie out of her booster seat and she finds a burst of energy from who knows where and chases her older siblings out the door. You turn to follow, but Joel’s hand doesn’t move.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low and only for you as the screen door bangs open and you hear the sound of bare feet hitting grass.

You turn your head just slightly, your shoulder brushing his chest, the heat of him at your back like a pull.

Joel’s lips graze the shell of your ear, “That little dress you got on’s been drivin’ me insane since I walked through the door.”

Your breath catches.

His palm shifts higher on your back, fingers splayed wide now across the curve of your waist, thumb brushing just beneath the hemline, slow and possessive. “Keep lookin’ at me like that, mama, and you’ll be gettin’ more than a bedtime story once they’re down.”

You bite back a smile, warmth flooding your chest and sinking low, pooling between your thighs. “Mm,” you hum, steadying yourself with a hand on the counter like your knees didn’t just threaten to give out. “Then I guess you’re on bubble duty tonight, daddy.”

Joel chuckles, low and throaty, and gives your hip a playful swat before turning toward the door. “Deal,” he tosses over his shoulder, the screen creaking open. “But then you’re mine, darlin’.”

Joel steps out onto the porch and the back door creaks closed behind him. You follow barefoot, the soft swish of your dress brushing against your legs as you descend the steps beside him. The wood beneath your feet is warm from the day’s sun, the scent of fresh-cut grass and tomato vines thick in the air.

Sarah shrieks with delight somewhere near the garden bed, leaping from a rock with her plastic sword raised high. “I’m Queen of the Frogs!”

“Correction,” Artie yells back from under the swing set, “You’re Queen of the Frog Butts!”

Joel chuckles under his breath, shaking his head as he watches them, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Real poets, our kids.”

“They get it from you,” you nudge him with your shoulder. He turns just slightly, and you catch that look again, his eyes hooded and warm.

“You’re really tryin’ to start somethin’ in that little dress,” he murmurs low, just for you, lips barely brushing your ear.

You smile, sweet and dangerous, and keep your eyes on the kids, “Just existing, hun.”

He lets out a slow breath like he’s measuring his restraint second by second.

Across the yard, Ellie plops herself down in the grass and begins pulling at dandelions with quiet concentration. You head over first, grabbing the picnic blanket from the porch railing and shaking it out before spreading it near her. Joel follows behind, grabbing the bottle of bubbles and tossing it gently onto the blanket.

The kids settle into their rhythm— Sarah giving a passionate monologue to a clump of ants, Artie blowing bubbles with his whole body, Ellie quietly humming to herself as she rests her cheek on Joel’s knee. He’d sunk down behind you on the blanket, one leg stretched long beside you, the other bent for her to lean against. His arm curls instinctively around your waist when you sit, pulling you in close.

You rest your head on his shoulder, watching the golden light catch in the wisps of Ellie’s curls.

“This is nice,” you whisper.

Joel hums, dipping his chin against your temple, “Yeah, it is.”

Your fingers tangle with his over your belly, slow and absent. The soft murmur of the kids, the chirp of crickets waking up with the dusk.

By the time the sun dips low behind the trees, casting long golden fingers across the backyard, Sarah’s spinning in dizzy circles and Artie’s shirt is mysteriously soaked.

Joel stretches, “Alright, ya little mud monsters, it’s bath time.”

The chorus of nooo! rises immediately, followed by giggles as Joel lifts Artie into the air like a sack of potatoes.

You scoop Ellie into your arms with a playful sigh, “I swear she gets bigger every day.”

Ellie tucks her head under your chin and murmurs, “No baff… jus’ cuddles.”

“You can have both,” you promise, kissing her temple and carrying her inside.

Joel herds Sarah along, who’s trying to negotiate an extension to her outdoor reign, and the five of you funnel into the warm glow of your home, barefoot and sun-kissed and brimming with life.

The hallway bathroom is already half-steamed from the hot water you started running, the sound of splashing and bubble requests filling the space. Joel gets Artie ready first, lifting him into the tub while you peel off Ellie’s footie pajamas, her little curls sticking to her forehead.

“Duckies,” she demands, outstretching her arms towards where they sat on the shelf behind him.

Joel obliges, tossing in the yellow army while Sarah supervises.

You perch on the edge of the tub with a towel draped over your shoulder, sleeves rolled up, one hand splashing water gently over Ellie’s arms as she sits contentedly between her siblings. Joel kneels beside you, sleeves pushed back, working shampoo into Sarah’s hair while she chatters on about whales and classroom pets and how she’s going to “be the first paleontologist astronaut ballerina.”

“Ambitious,” Joel murmurs, glancing up at you with a crooked smile.

You bump his knee with yours under the tub and glance down at the three soaked, soapy little ones. Ellie has a duck in each hand, chewing thoughtfully on one. Artie’s humming to himself, already drowsy. Sarah’s recounting the exact moment she realized counting by tens was “basically magic.”

Joel wets a washcloth and dragging it lovingly down Ellie’s back, “They’re gonna crash hard tonight.”

His voice dips just enough to make you glance sideways.

He doesn’t look at you right away, just keeps his eyes on the kids, on the way Ellie’s lids are already fluttering and Artie’s head is tipping toward Sarah’s shoulder. But there’s a pull at the corner of his mouth, a slight shift in his tone that’s all for you.

Your heart skips.

There’s no need to ask what else he’s insinuating. Not with the heat curling low in your belly from the way he said it. Not with the way his hand slides along the edge of the tub, fingers brushing yours. Not with the way he looks at you now… steady and full of all that slow-burning hunger he’s been holding onto since you told him the news.

You two finish rinsing your soapy kiddos off.

Joel squeezes the water from the cloth and lays it gently over the edge of the tub, rising to his feet with a quiet grunt, “Alright, c’mon, little raisins. Time to get out.”

Sarah groans dramatically, “But I’m not even pruney yet!”

“Yes you are,” you say, reaching for a towel and unfolding it, “You look like a baby grandma.”

She gasps, delighted. “I do not!” But she lifts her arms anyway, letting you wrap her up in the soft towel and plant a kiss to her forehead before helping her put on her jammies before sending her off toward the hall.

Artie’s next. Joel coaxes him up with a gentle hand under his arm, bundling him in a fluffy towel and rubbing his damp curls dry and hands him off to you to put his jammies on.

Ellie resists the most, she’s still chewing on the duckie, half asleep. Joel scoops her out with practiced ease, cradling her against his bare forearm as you hand him a towel. She curls into him without protest, thumb finding her mouth, her damp curls sticking to his chest.

You watch them, heart aching a little with the sight of it. Joel presses a kiss to the crown of her head, then glances over at you with that same look from earlier, low and smoldering and already thinking about what comes next once the house is finally quiet.

You handed him her set of jammies and she complied sleepily, sticking her little arms and legs into the soft fabric and then cozying back into her daddy’s arms.

You and Joel move through putting the kids to bed like a dance. Artie’s scraped knee gets a bandaid and kissed, Ellie fights off the slumber she’s been inching towards all evening until you hum softly in the rocker, rubbing her back until she melts against you. Sarah wants one more story and Joel obliges, letting her pick a chapter book and sitting on the floor next to her bed while he reads to her.

Artie’s breathing soft and even, one arm flopped over his stuffed rabbit. Sarah is curled beneath her favorite quilt, her eyelids already fluttering. And Ellie has fallen asleep across your chest as you rock gently in the nursery chair, her little hand fisted in the collar of your shirt.

Now Joel stands in the doorway after getting a glass of water which Sarah had requested yet forgotten in the haze of sleep. He’d already made sure the nanny cam was on and connected. Now, he was just watching.

After a moment, he crosses the room quietly, kneeling down beside you so he’s eye-level with Ellie, brushing his knuckles gently over her cheek.

“She’s out,” he murmurs, his voice the kind of quiet you feel more than hear.

“She fought it,” you whisper. “Like always.”

He smiles then leans in to kiss her forehead, then yours, gently shifting her into his arms and taking her to her bed.

He crosses the room again, slower this time. And when he reaches you, he doesn’t speak, he just offers his hands, tugging you up from the rocker with care. His fingers linger at your hips, eyes searching yours for something he already knows the answer to.

You don’t look away or say a word, you just let him lead you down the hallway and into the soft hush of your shared space.

When he closes your bedroom door behind you, it’s like the rest of the world falls away.

You stand there for a moment, close but not touching, the silence between you thick with everything that’s been building since you’d called him that afternoon to share the news… tenderness, longing, the slow ache of wanting him again, always.

Joel steps into your space, hands coming up to cradle your face, brushing his thumbs along your jaw like he needs to feel every part of you.

“Y’alright?” The question is soft under his breath.

You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “I just… love you.”

His gaze softens, lashes lowering, “Yeah, baby,” his voice thick with affection, “I love you too.”

He kisses you like it’s the first time again, deep and warm and steady, like a promise. His hands find your hips, pulling you in until there’s no space left.

You breathe against his mouth, lips brushing his, “You always smell like coffee.” The scent clung to his shirt, it was faded, but there. His long days on the site and a couple cups of coffee throughout the day always lingered in some way.

He huffs a soft laugh, his hand sliding just beneath the hem of your shirt, “yeah, I know y’like my coffee breath, hun. You’ll get it in the mornin’, promise.”

You reach down between you, fingers tugging at the waistband of his jeans, your fingers sliding to unbutton them and unzip them slightly, just enough to make him groan.

“I like it when you’re like this,” you whisper, mouth brushing his jaw. “Warm and soft. All domestic and sweet… and a little bit dirty.”

His hands tighten at your hips, “Sweetheart, if you don’t stop talkin’ like that, I’m gonna bend you over the dresser and make the bed wait.”

You gasp, mock-offended, smiling into his mouth, “You’d make love to me on the carpet?”

“I’d make love to you in the fuckin’ pantry if you asked nice enough,” his lips trail down your neck, “but the bed’s softer. You deserve soft.”

“But I like it hard, baby…”

That makes him groan again, his fingers flexing against your hips like he’s holding back everything that’s already threatening to spill over.

“You say shit like that,” he mutters, voice thick and husky, “and you’re surprised I can’t keep my hands off you?”

“You never could,” you arch just enough to press your chest to his, teasing your mouth along the slope of his neck. “Not when I beg for it… not when I don’t.”

His hands slip beneath your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he walks you backward toward the bed. “That’s ‘cause you’re always fuckin’ beggin’,” he growls against your skin, “even when you’re quiet about it.”

He sets you down by the edge of the bed, taking off your dress in one smooth motion, his eyes darkening like it physically hits him to see you like this every time. That familiar awe, that heat.

“Jesus, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he whispers, almost to himself.

You reach for him in turn, pulling his shirt off, letting your hands drag along the strong lines of his chest, the soft edges of time carved into him. Your fingers trail low, through the line of coarse hair that disappears beneath his jeans, teasing at the waistband again.

He pushes you back gently onto the bed and kisses down your chest, your stomach, pausing just above your navel.

His breath fans hot over your skin as he lingers just above the waistband of your panties, hands spreading over your thighs.

“You know I’ve decided that I hate when these are in my way,” he mutters, snapping the elastic of your waistband gently against your skin.

You lift your hips in invitation, “Then do something about it.”

His fingers trace lightly up your inner thigh, you gasp when his hand finally presses where you need him most, fingers teasing just enough to make you arch. His mouth trails lower, kisses growing messier as he goes, like he’s losing control by the second.

He smirks and shakes his head lazily, then hooks his fingers under the waistband, dragging them down slowly. His eyes stay on yours the entire time like he’s daring you to squirm.

Once they’re halfway down your thighs, he pauses to press a kiss to your hipbone, then murmurs against your skin, “Always so fuckin’ eager f’me…”

He finishes peeling your panties down your legs and tosses them somewhere behind him without looking. Then his attention shifts to your bra, your chest heaving beneath it.

You arch your back and begin to reach behind you to unhook it, but he grabs your wrists, pinning your hands gently above your head, the grasp of his hand fitting both of yours in his grasp.

“Uh-uh,” he murmurs and shakes his head, voice thick. “You know better, ‘s my job.”

You let your arm fall back with a soft grin, watching as he reaches behind your arched back with that practiced ease and undoes the clasp. He drags the straps off your shoulders slowly and reverently. The moment your breasts are bare, he groans, actually groans, and dips down to mouth at one immediately, tongue flicking over your nipple before he sucks it into his mouth.

Joel lifts his head a beat later, lips glistening, voice rough. “You keep lookin’ at me like that and I’m never gonna make it past your tits.”

You grin, slow and lazy, eyelids heavy, “I don’t see the problem.”

He growls, the sound low and real in his chest, and suddenly his mouth is on yours again— hot, commanding, hungry. His tongue slides deep, claiming, his hand on your breast still teasing the peaked nipple between two fingers.

When he pulls back, you’re breathless and dazed, and his hand wraps around your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“Be good,” he murmurs, soft but firm. “Hands up. Wanna see you.”

You obey instantly, arms stretching over your head, back arching just enough to make his gaze darken.

“There she is,” he says, eyes raking over you. “My sweet girl.”

He kisses your ribs, your stomach, trailing lower, pushing your thighs apart with a slow, familiar pressure that makes your core throb.

“Can’t get enough when you always let me have you like this,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, eyes fixed between your legs like he’s starved for it. “Laid out all pretty… arms up, legs open, fuckin’ soaked…”

His palms slide beneath your thighs and hook around your knees, spreading you wider, and his mouth waters at the sight of you already glistening and dripping for him.

His lips brush the inside of your thigh. Then again, higher. He takes his time, drags it out, teasing kisses and soft bites as he works his way in. You squirm, trying to tilt your hips toward his mouth, but his grip tightens.

“Uh-uh,” he says, voice low. “You stay still for me. Let me take care of it.”

Your whole body burns. And then he licks you, one broad stroke from your entrance to your clit, and you shudder.

“Yes…”

He hums like it’s the best thing he’s tasted all week and dips in again, this time sealing his mouth over your clit, tongue moving in circles while his fingers squeeze your thighs, holding you open.

Your hands twitch above your head, but you obey. You’re good for him, just like he asked, and it only makes him moan harder into you.

“Always so sweet for me,” he groans, pulling back just enough to speak. “You know how fuckin’ good you taste?”

You sob— yes, sob, because it’s too much. The pressure, the pace, the way his mouth moves with purpose and not teasing anymore. He’s a man on a mission.

Joel shifts, sliding two fingers inside you without warning, curling them perfectly while he keeps his mouth on your clit.

You cry out, hips jerking, but he growls into you, it’s possessive, dominant, and protective even in the way he holds you down.

“That’s it,” he rasps against your skin. “Cum on my tongue, sweetheart. Want you shakin’.”

Your thighs clamp around his shoulders and your body locks up as the orgasm slams into you, sharp and full and completely his. You gasp his name, eyes squeezing shut, your whole body trembling under the intensity.

Joel keeps going. Licks you through it, groaning like a man who doesn’t give a damn about anything except finishing what he started.

Only when your legs start to twitch uncontrollably does he finally slow down, kisses gentler now, featherlight and adoring.

He pulls back, lips wet, beard glistening, looking at you like he’s proud of what he just did.

“My good girl,” his voice reverberated through you as if you’re a livewire, hanging on his every word of praise, your chest blooming in pride and satisfaction. “Did so fuckin’ good f’me.”

And he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, the same goddamn thing he’s done for over a decade now, so perfectly fine-tuned to your every desire and never failing to make you melt against him and around him.

Your orgasm is still buzzing through you, thighs trembling as Joel finally pulls his mouth away from your soaked core, lips slick and beard damp, his expression absolutely wrecked with satisfaction.

He sits back on his heels, breath heaving, and drags his hand up your inner thigh before letting it drift over your stomach to your breast then up to your jaw.

“Sweetheart,” he says, voice rough with restraint, “you look so fuckin’ good like this.”

He leans in to kiss you and it’s deep and lingering, the taste of you thick on his tongue… and then he shifts back, rising onto his knees and then stepping off of the bed.

He pushes his jeans down, just enough to free himself, his cock hard and flushed, already leaking. His hand wraps around the base as he strokes himself once, slow and deliberate, watching the way your eyes darken at the sight and the way your mouth instantly waters.

He strokes himself once, watching you. “Look at ya,” he says, wrecked. “You think I ain’t gonna give it to you good when you’re lookin’ at me like that?”

You smirk, lazy and breathless, watching the roll of his forearms, the flex of his stomach as his hand works over his cock. “Oh, I know you will,” you murmur. “You always do.”

He groans at that and crooks two fingers towards him, commanding now, “Get it wet then, baby, show me how badly you want it.”

You drop to your knees slowly in front of him, never breaking eye contact, the corners of your mouth curling up just enough to make his cock jump in anticipation.

Joel’s broad and flushed over you, but completely at your mercy, his cock thick and heavy in his hand as he watches you settle in front of him. You rest your hands on his thighs first, fingertips dragging up the denim covered muscles before you slide your mouth over the head of his cock.

His entire body jerks.

“Jesus, sweetheart…” His voice is already unraveling, one hand reaching out to cradle the back of your head.

Your mouth is warm and wet and perfect around him, tongue swirling as you take him deeper, your eyes fluttering shut as you let him fill your mouth. You hum, and he swears under his breath.

He watches, completely enraptured by the way you take him deeper into your mouth, breaching the gag reflex of your throat and nearly taking him to the base, “Fuck, darlin’, jus’ like that…”

He grips your hair tightly and pulls you from him, saliva dripping from your mouth as you’re so rudely disrupted from one of your favorite pastimes.

“Can’t give it to ya the way you need if I cum down your throat now, can I?”

You blink up at him, lips swollen and breath shaky, spit still glistening on your chin. You look utterly wrecked, and so fucking proud of it.

“Well,” you rasp, licking your lips, “you better fuckin’ fix that, Miller.”

Joel growls at that, the sound deep and primal, his jaw tight as his hands haul you up off the floor like you weigh nothing.

“You got a mouth on ya, Mrs. Miller,” he mutters, tossing you onto the bed with a roughness that makes you gasp and smile all at once.

He grabs your waist, turning you easily, one hand pushing your upper back down until your elbows hit the mattress, your ass in the air, waiting for him.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, hair a mess, chest rising fast, “You married it.”

Joel kicks off his jeans the rest of the way, gaze dragging hot and heavy over every inch of you. He presses both hands to your lower back, hovering over your ready, wanting body, then leans in to press a slow kiss to your shoulder.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “And I just can’t help but keep knockin’ ya up.”

His hand drags up the back of your thigh, palm warm and possessive, spreading you open with a grip that borders on brutal. “You carryin’ my baby again, sweetheart… fuck, best bad decision I ever made.”

You laugh breathlessly, your whole body already pulsing with anticipation. “Thought you said I was the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“I did,” he murmurs, pushing your knees even further apart, “Same thing.”

He lines himself up, and doesn’t waste any more time. He slides in slow, groaning as he fills you, inch by inch, until his hips are flush with your ass and your head tips back and a broken moan falls from your lips.

He stills, fully seated inside of you with his hands braced on your hips. “What’s that, baby?” he pants. “Where’s all that back talk now?”

You gasp, “Shut up and fuck me.”

Joel chuckles, but there’s no amusement behind it, just hunger. He pulls out halfway and slams back in, making you cry out, your forehead dropping to the bed. His hands grip your hips, bruising and greedy.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he mutters, breath rough against your spine. “Mouthy ‘til I’m buried inside a’ya.”

You whimper, trying to push back against him, but he tightens his grip and stills you. Control. He knows you love it when he takes it from you.

“Stay just like that. Let me take care of ya.”

He starts to move again— hard and deep, with no hesitation. Every thrust hits home with the kind of precision only he could give you. He knows your body too well. The angle that makes you whine. The speed that makes you shatter. His name’s already slipping from your lips in pieces.

Joel leans forward over your back, his chest brushing against your spine, the sweat of his skin warm on yours. One hand slides up, curling over your shoulder, holding you there while he drives into you, over and over, thick and relentless.

“You feel that, darlin’?” he breathes against your neck. “This pussy… you were made f’me.”

Your response is a broken moan, your fingers fisting the sheets.

He grunts as you clench around him, the rhythm faltering for just a second as he recovers. Then his hand finds your hair, fingers weaving into the strands and tugging just enough to pull your head back.

“So fuckin’ beautiful like this, my good girl, takin’ it so damn well.”

You gasp at the praise, at the rough way he holds you while still pressing kisses to your shoulder. It’s brutal, but it’s beautiful.

He adjusts his angle just slightly and you cry out, the sound ripped straight from your chest. You can feel his heavy balls slapping rhythmically against your clit and it makes you whine at the sensation,

“There it is,” he groans, pounding into that spot over and over, his voice dropping low. “Right fuckin’ there, huh?”

Your body’s shaking, you’re so fucking close, and he knows it, can feel it. He brings his arm around you and slides a hand down between your thighs, fingers circling your clit with that same confident pressure he’s used on you a thousand times before.

“Come on, baby,” he growls. “Cum f’me...”

And god, you do, your orgasm tearing through you, white-hot and blinding, making your whole body clamp down around him, white fists whitening at the harsh grip you have on the sheets as he fucks you through every wave of your release.

Joel groans deep in his chest, his rhythm faltering as he pushes in once, twice more before spilling inside you with a ragged breath, pulsing thick and warm as he fills you.

He stays there, buried deep, bent over your back and panting, one hand still between your legs, the other wrapped around your waist like he’s trying to anchor himself to you.

After a moment, he presses a kiss to your shoulder and murmurs, softer now, voice warm and reverent…

“You know I’ll never get tired of this, of you like this, right?”

You smile, cheek pressed to the mattress. “You better not. I’m your favorite bad decision, remember?”

Joel laughs, breathless and wrecked, then leans in and kisses the back of your neck. “Yeah, baby. You always will be.”

You’re still catching your breath, forehead pressed to the mattress, when Joel finally moves, easing out of you like he’s afraid to hurt you, even though he just split you open in the best way.

He exhales hard, then leans over your back to kiss your shoulder again. Then the space between your shoulder blades. Then the curve of your spine. One hand runs down your side… but then his eyes catch sight of his cum already beginning to ooze back out of you, warm and thick down your thighs.

You blink up at him over your shoulder, flushed and dazed, but your breath hitches when you feel his fingers trailing down between your legs.

“Joel—”

“Shhh,” he murmurs, kissing the small of your back. His other palm flattens across your lower belly, wide and protective, and you feel the shift in him instantly. “Fuck,” he whispers, reverent. “You’re really carryin’ my baby again…”

Your breath catches.

You twist just enough to look over your shoulder at him, and what you see floors you… his eyes glassy, jaw tight, his hand still firm on your belly like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

Then two of his thick fingers are sliding back inside of you.

“There we go,” he breathes, watching the way your body reacts to him, how easily you take his touch, even when you’re already spent. “So fuckin’ good for me. Always are.”

“I know this body so fuckin’ well,” he murmurs, kissing the curve of your spine, fingers stroking just right with each slow press. “Know every little sound you make. Know how to touch you, how to get you to fall apart f’me.”

Your breath catches, his tone intense and intimate. You fucking loved the way he talked to you… you pulsed around his fingers as they curled against the perfect spot inside of you.

He drags his fingers out just far enough to make you gasp, then sinks them back in slow and deep. Just that steady, unbearable rhythm that always ruins you.

“Joel…” you whimper, finally finding your voice again, your hips twitching and body shivering from the aftershocks and the way he won’t stop. “I can’t…”

“Yes, y’can,” he says, voice like gravel and honey. “Y’always say that, but y’always give it to me. Let me have it, baby.”

He curls his fingers again, dragging them right over that spot inside you that makes your knees go weak, and you keen, arching into his touch even as your body trembles with overstimulation.

“Come on, darlin’,” he whispers, lips ghosting over your shoulder. “Wanna feel your tight pussy clench down around me again.”

You cry out, legs shaking. “Joel, please…”

“That’s it…”

And when it hits, hot and bright and bone-deep, your entire body curls around it, your breath caught in your chest, your hands fisting the sheets again as you come undone for him all over again.

He doesn’t stop moving his fingers until he feels every last pulse of it, until your body is slack and spent and whimpering into the pillow.

Then, finally, he pulls his hand from between your legs and kisses your lower back, soft and slow, before wrapping his arms around your waist and guiding you gently onto your side, his chest warm against your back.

You can feel his smile in the kiss he presses just below your ear.

“Goddamn,” his voice thick with love and pride. “Ain’t nothin’ sweeter than you fallin’ apart like that. You spoil me, darlin’.”

You laugh weakly, a breathy, broken thing, your chest still rising and falling in uneven waves. Eyes fluttering closed for a beat, you let your head fall to the side, turning your body, your cheek brushing the warm pillow as you lay your head down and just look at him.

Joel’s lying beside you, heavy and golden in the soft light, his skin flushed and slick with sweat, muscles relaxed in that post-release sprawl. One arm tucked beneath his head, the other draped across your hip, his hand splayed wide against your lower belly, a possessive gesture he’d adopted every time he’s knocked you up or was in the process of doing so, it was like a magnet kept drawing his palm to that same spot, every time he had access to it.

There’s a crooked little smile tugging at his lips, lazy and so fucking pleased with himself.

“You’re awfully proud of yourself,” you murmur, voice hoarse and wrecked but tinged with that familiar teasing edge.

He hums and leans in close, nuzzling your shoulder with his scruffy jaw, his stubble scraping gently as he breathes you in.

“Can you blame me?” His nose trails the curve of your neck, breath hot as he murmurs against your skin. “You’re the mother of my babies. My whole damn world.”

He kisses your temple gently, “And now we’re doin’ it all over again.”

His hand curves tighter over your belly… gentle, protective, and proud. And when you glance down, you catch the way he’s looking at it, that soft focus in his eyes, like he’s picturing it already. The way you’ll swell. The way he’ll get to watch you grow all over again.

“I can’t wait to see you pregnant again, baby,” he whispers. “S’when you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your throat tightens. Your hand covers his, lacing your fingers over that same spot, holding him there like you always do.

His body shifts beside you, so broad and warm, all heavy limbs and slowing breath, the faint scent of sweat and cedar clinging to him like second skin. The bed dips beneath his weight as he props himself up on one elbow, casting you in the long shadow of his frame.

You crack one eye open and roll it, even as your lips pull into a smirk, “You’re insufferable when you’re smug.”

Joel chuckles, low and content, and trails a finger lazily over the sensitive skin of your stomach, “And yet here you are, still wearin’ that fucked-out smile I put on you. And pregnant with my baby, gonna be all swollen and sensitive…”

“You are the worst,” you breathe, voice thick with affection, your smirk deepening.

“Mmm,” he hums, dipping his head to mouth at your jaw. “You keep sayin’ that, but your thighs were shakin’ a minute ago, so I ain’t exactly convinced.”

You swat at him, laughing through your exhaustion, but he catches your hand easily, and threads your fingers with his again, pressing them to the mattress above your head.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmurs, eyes dark as they trace your face, then lower, lingering on your kiss-bitten lips. “You look too damn pretty to tease and not expect consequences.”

Your breath hitches, because of course he knows. He always knows when your mood shifts, when desire returns, subtle and slow like a tide rolling back in.

He kisses you then, long and unhurried, just mouth and breath and weight. His lips are warm and full and a little chapped, and he kisses like he touches, like he means it. Like this is just another way he says I love you.

Your arm slips around to his back, fingers pressing into the hard muscle at his shoulder blade and massaging there, he lets out an appreciative groan.

When he finally pulls back, his voice is a murmur against your lips, “That mouth still got somethin’ to say?”

You smile and brush your thumb along his jaw, “Not right now.”

Joel kisses you again, but doesn’t deepen it, just content to be against you like this. Mouths molding against each other’s, his tongue sliding against yours in that rhythmic dance only the two of you knew.

“Carryin’ my baby again,” He shakes his head in disbelief, his forehead pressed against yours, “Don’t think I’ll ever get over that.”

Your eyes flutter closed, and your fingers trace a slow, aimless pattern across his back.

“People get a visual of how bad we are at keeping our hands off of each other for the last time.”

He huffs a laugh, warm and low in his chest. “Yeah, well… I like makin’ sure people know what’s mine, I’ll make that known one way or another.”

Your nose nudges his, and your laughter is soft, but it tumbles out helpless and giddy, “You’re insatiable.”

His hand slides to your belly again, splayed wide and possessive. “Damn right I am. Look at ya,” he says, voice dropping, eyes roaming like he’s already picturing you bigger, rounder, glowing. “Can’t fuckin’ help myself when you’re like this.”

“I’m not even showing yet,” you tease, breathless from the look in his eyes alone.

“Don’t need to be,” he growls against your skin, kissing just below your ear. “Your scent changes, your skin gets warmer… you start lookin’ at me like you wanna make me ruin you all over again. Drives me outta my damn mind.”

Your breath hitches, lashes fluttering as he mouths along your throat, slow and deliberate. He’s not rushing… no, this is worship. Like he’s already mourning the days you’re about to outgrow. The last time your body will carry an additional life. The last time he gets to see you like this. On the cusp of change, of becoming, of motherhood once more.

“You keep saying this’ll be our last baby like that’s supposed to make me calm the fuck down,” he mutters, voice thick with heat, “but all it does is make me wanna memorize every moment of ya like this.”

His hand cups the underside of your belly now, gentle as ever, reverent in that way only Joel gets. “Wanna remember what you feel like before you start showin’. Then again when you do. And again when you’re round as the moon and swearin’ at me that I’m the one who did this to you.”

“You are the one who did this to me,” you whisper, laughing softly even as your voice shivers.

He growls, mouth tracing the curve of your jaw, his hips instinctively rolling closer, “You think I’ll ever let you forget that?”

His other hand ghosts over your thigh, down the back of your knee, pulling you closer until there’s nothing left between you but heat and heartbeat. His palm glides up, tracing the slope of your ribs until it’s resting just beneath your breast.

“I know you’re barely even pregnant yet,” he murmurs, voice dipped in something darker now, “but they’re already gettin’ heavier…”

You shiver as his thumb brushes over your nipple, gentle but deliberate, the sensitive bud tightening under his touch. You’re not even sure when they got sore— only that suddenly, you’re aching for more. Needy and warm and already so fucking wet again, even with his cum dripping out of you, you could tell you were getting even wetter somehow.

His gaze flicks down, jaw tight as he watches the way your breath hitches, the way your back arches for him without even thinking.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “These tits always drive me crazy.”

His thumb swipes again, slower now, circling until your nipples pebble and your thighs shift instinctively, trying to relieve the pressure building there.

You reach for his wrist, but not to stop him. To ground yourself against the heat that starts rolling off his body in waves.

“You get so worked up when I’m pregnant,” you whisper, half in awe, half teasing.

Joel’s already leaning down, already mouthing at the swell of your breast, his stubble scraping your skin. “Can’t help it,” he says, voice muffled against your skin. And when his mouth closes around your nipple, sucking gently, everything in you tightens. Your hips roll without thinking, thighs brushing his. You feel the press of him between your legs, hard again, and getting harder by the second.

He groans against your skin, a sound thick with hunger. “Jesus, baby…”

He doesn’t need your words. He’s already shifting between your thighs again, one hand braced beside your head, the other still cupping your breast.

You barely get a gasp in before he’s lining himself up again, one hand on your hip, the other fumbling beneath your thigh, opening you to him again.

“Joel,” you try, breathless.

But he’s already slipping back inside you, one hard, greedy thrust that punches the air from your lungs.

“I just…” he frowns in concentration as he bottoms out and stills for a moment, letting you adjust to him around you again, “just need you, baby… can’t fuckin’ help it.. need..” his words are stuttering out now as your walls flutter around him and he can’t stifle the groan from deep in his chest.

You cry out, head tilting back, and he follows, burying his face in your neck as he fucks into you without a shred of restraint, hands everywhere… gripping your ass, cradling your thigh, pawing at your chest like he needs to worship every part of you.

Your legs lock tighter around him in answer, heel digging into the small of his back, anchoring him to you.

Your hands roam over his back, down the ridge of his spine, nails scraping lightly as you murmur broken, and reverent things against his skin.

Your mouth finds his shoulder, teeth grazing the skin there, and he groans, rutting harder, coming apart from the feel of you alone.

One of your hands cups his jaw, tilts his head up just enough so you can kiss him messily. You taste him like you own him as his tongue meets yours, frantic and hot, and your bodies slam together again and again like they need to break apart to be whole again.

He groans against your mouth, raw and needy, then pressed his forehead to yours as if grounding himself in the press of your skin. You feel every tremble, every stuttered breath as he ruts forward, desperate and greedy for more.

“Fuck… baby, please,” the words spill out, broken and helpless, barely held together by breath. His hips move without rhythm now, his hands everywhere, gripping your thigh, dragging down your waist, fingers splayed wide across your sweat-slicked skin like he can’t get enough.

Your hands find his hair, tugging hard, and he shudders. Mouth dragging down your throat, across your shoulder. “You feel so fuckin’ good,” he pants, hips grinding in hard and deep. “Always so hungry for my cock, so needy… droolin and beggin for ‘im to split ‘er open. ”

You whimper as he talks to you so filthily, you can feel your walls pulsing around him, “Joel, don’t stop, please, don’t stop…”

His rhythm is messy now, nothing slow or patient in the way he takes you. Every sound out of his mouth was wrecked and reverent.

“Need you to cum, baby,” he mutters against your jaw, words barely strung together.

Your body, always eager to give him whatever the hell he wants, breaks open for him, body seizing with a cry caught in your throat as your walls tighten and pulse around him. Your nails dig into his back with the intensity of it.

“There,” he groans, thrusts faltering, gasping against your neck. “That’s it, fuck, such a good girl f’me.”

He finishes with a strangled moan, spilling inside you, body collapsing against yours, all heat and weight and trembling limbs. His breath stutters against your skin, heart pounding against your chest.

You both lie there for a moment, a heap of tangled limbs and spent breaths, your heartbeat thudding in your ears.

Joel lets out a low, dazed laugh against your neck. “Been going for doubles lately, knockin’ you up makes me feel young again.”

You giggle, too spent to lift your head, “You sound about a hundred years old right now.”

“M’gonna take that as gratitude,” he mumbles into your shoulder, kissing the slope of it with an exaggerated groan, "I still got it.” He slowly slips out with a mutual hiss escaping from your lips.

You hum, smug. “You got something, alright. Probably need a damn chiropractor after that.”

His hand slides over your ass, giving it a lazy squeeze, “Ain’t heard you complainin’.”

“I blacked out a little.”

He grins, lips dragging across your skin, “Yeah, I felt that.”

You sigh, boneless, stretching slightly under him. “Well, congratulations, again, daddy.”

His chest rumbles as he shifts, propping himself up on one forearm so he can look down at you. There’s sweat on his brow, pink still high on his cheeks, and his hair’s an absolute mess, but he’s glowing. Pure adoration written into every line of his face.

“Last one,” you repeat, as if you needed to remind yourself and him.

Joel leans in and kisses your forehead, your nose, then your lips, “Then I better make this count.”

You laugh, breath catching as he rolls onto his side and drapes his arm around you, tugging you in close.

“Don’t worry, old man,” you murmur against his chest. “You already have.”

“I love you,” he says, quiet but certain. “So damn much.”

You squeeze his hand back, breath catching for a beat.

“I know,” you whisper. “I love you too.”

And then, everything’s still. Just your heartbeats, tangled legs, and the soft, rhythmic rise and fall of your breath shared in the dark. The sound of home.

—

The morning light spills golden through the kitchen windows, catching on syrup-smeared plates and a half-finished second pot of coffee. The kids are outside already, shrieking and thundering through the yard, leaving a brief hush behind them like the house exhaled.

You rinse the last plate in the sink, and before you can reach for the dish towel, Joel’s already behind you, easing it from your hand and tossing it aside. His arms circle your waist, chin resting heavy on your shoulder.

“You’re in a good mood,” you murmur, smiling as his nose brushes your cheek.

“Might’ve had somethin’ to do with last night,” he drawls, voice all honey and gravel.

You huff a quiet laugh, leaning back into his chest. “Is that right?”

“‘S your fault,” his lips brush the curve of your neck as he mutters against you. “You walk around this kitchen in my shirt as if you don’t know how it makes me feel.”

Your hands come up to hold his forearms, warm and solid around you. “I let you sleep in and made your favorite pancakes.”

“Yeah,” he says, swaying you both gently side to side. “Pretty sure I married up.”

He kisses your temple, then the space just behind your ear. His stubble grazes your skin and you feel it low in your belly, all flutter and warmth and the ache that never quite leaves you when he’s this close.

You twist in his arms until you’re facing him, and he doesn’t hesitate, his lips find yours instantly.

When you pull back, your fingers are still toying with the hem of his shirt, and his are resting, of course, low on your belly. You swear he was obsessed with that part of your body now, as if he was willing the bump to start showing, for the baby to grow faster so he could witness it.

You glance down at where he’s touching you, then look up again, your voice quieter now. “You still wanna wait? Before we tell anyone?”

Joel’s eyes soften. His nose bumps yours, “I like it bein’ just ours. For a little while longer.”

You nod, lips brushing his again. “Me too.”

Joel’s thumb strokes slow across the curve of your belly, his eyes are still on you like he’s seeing more than just the here and now, like he’s picturing everything ahead.

His lips just barely touch yours again when the brief moment of peace was inevitably interrupted.

“Mooommy! Daddy! Sarah locked me out!!”

Artie’s muffled yell slices through the quiet like a siren, followed immediately by the screen door slamming, tiny footsteps pounding toward the kitchen like a herd of buffalo.

Joel sighs into your mouth, forehead falling to your shoulder, “So much for a quiet moment.”

You laugh softly, brushing his hair back with your fingers. “You got thirty uninterrupted seconds. That’s practically a miracle.”

Sarah barrels in first, beaming. “I didn’t lock him out. There is no lock on the playhouse.”

Artie storms in behind her, face scrunched with betrayal. “You held it shut!”

Joel lifts a brow, “This true, Sarah?”

Ellie waddles in last, wearing a sparkly skirt over her pajama shorts, one rain boot on and a cookie clutched in each fist, “I didn’ do anyfing.”

You blink. “Why are you holding cookies?”

She shrugs. “Found ‘em.”

Joel mutters under his breath, “We really need to hide snacks better.”

You start rounding up the troops, brushing crumbs from Ellie’s face, smoothing Sarah’s hair, helping Artie yank a twig out of his curls. Joel watches the chaos for a second, then steps in beside you, reaching for his coffee.

As the kids chatter and bicker and pull at your sleeves, he leans down, mouth near your ear, “Still glad we’re doin’ this again?”

You glance at him over your shoulder, your smile slow and sure. “With you? Always.”

His grin is boyish and a little cocky, “Damn right.”

And with that, he sets down his mug and hoists Ellie under one arm like a sack of sugar, her cookie still clutched victoriously as she squeals.

You linger there a second, hands stilling. The hum of the fridge, the creak of the screen door, the light filtering golden across the floorboards, all of it blurs behind the slow thrum in your chest.

God.

You never thought life could feel like this.

This kind of love… it crept in quiet, threaded through grocery lists and toy-strewn floors, through baby giggles and tired kisses and the rasp of his stubble brushing your cheek at the end of the day. It stitched itself into every ordinary moment until it wasn’t ordinary at all. Just yours.

You reach for the dish towel again, smile still ghosting your lips. He always says you’re the one who spoils him, but the truth is he spoiled you every moment he as yours.

That soft Texas drawl. Those hands that always know where to land. That unshakable way he looks at you, like you’re still the best thing he’s ever done, even after all these years and stretch marks and sleepless nights and three kids with now a fourth on the way.

You press your palm to your belly without thinking, protective and reverent all at once.

You still can’t believe it. This new life. This quiet little secret just the two of you are holding for now.

His hand was there just minutes ago, splayed wide, protective and possessive, as you knew it would be for months to come.

You sigh, your whole body humming with it. With the fullness of everything you’ve made together. The chaos and the comfort. The hunger and the hush. The way he always reaches for you like you’re it. Like you’re home. The same way he is.

You glance up in time to catch him looking back at you from the doorway, Ellie still in his arms, Sarah climbing his leg, Artie tugging at the hem of his shirt.

And despite the noise and the mess and the ache in your lower back from standing at the sink too long… your heart could burst with how much you love him. How much you like him. How lucky you still feel.

He grins. That soft, crooked, unbearably Joel smile.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

Sorry this took so long to get edited, going back to school in a month! So I’ve been very busy and a little brain dead but more is coming in all regards!

I love this little family, and I doubt I’ll stop here with them, buckle in for the ride!

[littledes1re]

Ugh, so so sweeeeettt

[fatherwound]

i had fully lost it at this point

[cinnxmxngxrl]

♡ Imagine Joel taking you from behind for the first time ♡

Jackson!Joel x f!Reader

Joel’s Masterlist Join the tag list

WC: 4.4k

Tags/Warnings: smut, minors DNI, unspecified but big age gap (legal), mentions of virginity loss, unprotected piv, darcyphilia, ddlg, aftercare, daddy kink, baby-talking, innocent!reader, creampie, spanking, thumb sucking/oral fixation, pussy kissing/licking, condescending joel, terms like baby girl, sweet little girl etc.

If it’s not your thing then DON’T READ AND DON’T COMPLAIN.

This is a standalone, but you might want to check previous parts♡

Joel teaches you how to go down on him

Joel takes your virginity

You woke up aching. Not just between your legs, though that was part of it, a reminder of everything that had happened. Slowly, the memories came crawling back, you’d had your first time with Joel last night… lost your virginity to him. He’d been so incredibly sweet, so patient, guiding you all the way through, making sure you were okay at all moments. He’d kissed you through it, murmured soft praise into your skin, his hands had been steady even when yours trembled. And the way he touched you, God, it was like every inch of your body was something sacred, he’d given you such pleasure you’d never experienced before.

But now your thighs were sore, and the space between them was still swollen and tender. It felt like something had broken open inside you, like he had ripped you open and now every part of your body was trying to go back to where they belonged.

Joel was already awake beside you, watching you with those intense eyes of his.

“Mornin’, baby,” he said, voice low but gentle, like he was talking to a scared kid. “Y’alright?”

You barely nodded, biting your lip. “Hurts, Joel.”

He sighed, his fingers moving to cradle your cheek, his soft thumb trying to soothe you through the pain.

“Ya wanna talk bout it? Tell daddy what hurts?”

You nodded again, your voice barely a whisper. “My hips… and… down there,” you said, feeling your cheeks burning from embarrassment.

Joel made a low sound, a half growl, half laugh.

"You gotta name it baby, I ain’t no goddamn psychic." He laughed. Of course he knew what part of your body ache, but he just wanted to hear you saying it, he wanted to hear yor soft and innocent voice saying he’d wrecked you so bad that your cunt was sore.

"My… pussy..." You replied shyly, feeling the heat bloom in your cheeks.

“Your pussy, baby? That what hurts? Well that makes sense, y’just got stretched open like a goddamn flower by me. It’s gonna be tender down there for a while.”

He gave your thigh a gentle squeeze and pressed his lips against your forehead. "It’s all normal, baby. That was your first time, ain’t no shame in that. You just opened up for me, lemme take you like that. Took a big step, n’ now your body’s tellin’ you bout it.”

You blinked back tears and Joel shook his head, his voice thick with that strange mix of rough love and softness. You tried so hard to hold back those tears, but your body was sore and overwhelmed. And the way Joel spoke to you—so sweet and tender—telling you that you were a fragile flower just opening for the first time… that made everything inside you feel raw and unbearably emotional.

“Don’tcha go feelin’ bad, alright? You did everythin’ right. You were brave. So goddamn good f’me.”

He helped you sit up, moving slow and careful so nothing twisted wrong, so the pain between your legs wouldn’t worsen. Then he got up, heading for the kitchen.

“I’m gonna make you some tea,” he said over his shoulder. “You gotta keep y’self hydrated, yeah? You just rest, babygirl. Let daddy take care o’you.”

When he returned minutes later with a steaming mug, he sat beside you and pressed it into your hands. “Here,” he said softly. “Take small sips. ‘M watchin’ you.”

You smiled weakly, taking little sips of the tea he’d made you, but before you could say anything he kissed your cheek, your jaw, then slid down beneath the blankets.

“Daddy… W-what are you doing—?”

“Gonna take a look, babygirl,” he muttered. “You don’t get to take my cock like that for the first time and not have daddy check on his lil’ hole in the mornin’.”

He pushed the covers up and slipped down between your thighs, spreading your legs open with maddening slowness, making you gasp when the cold air hit your still-wet folds. Joel groaned softly when he saw the state of you.

“Jeeesus, baby…”

Your pussy was red, puffy, swollen from being pounded the night before, even if he’d tried to be gentle, you’d been really stretched, and so he wasn’t surprised to see the state of your poor cunt. His cum was still inside you, dripping out slowly, sliding over your folds in thick, creamy globs.

Joel exhaled a low, shaky breath. His voice went syrupy-sweet. “Oh, angel. Look at this poor lil’ pussy. You’re real sore, huh?”

You squirmed again, cheeks getting hotter by the second. “Feels weird…”

“I bet it does,” he murmured. “daddy left you ruined.”

He kissed your thigh, then the other, taking his time, whispering praises like he was talking to a baby with a scraped knee. “You did such a good job, baby. Took it all… let daddy be the first. I know it was too rough but m’gonna kiss it better.”

Your breath caught when he brushed his thumbs gently along your folds, he was barely touching you, but just that was enough to make you shiver from how overstimulated you still were from last night. He then leaned in and pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss right to your clit.

“Nggghh, daddy.” You whimpered.

“Mmm, still twitchin’ for me. Still swollen. Poor thing,” he kissed you again, lower now, his lips felt warm and soft on your sore entrance. “Thassit, let daddy soothe it. Just wanna make it better.”

He mouthed at you so very gently, his tongue was just flicking lazily, with feather-light licks over your raw folds, he wasn’t trying to make you cum, that wasn’t his goal right now, he knew your body was too exhausted and too used, to handle another orgasm, what you needed was just the warmth of his tongue to soothe you.

Your body melted into the mattress. “Feels… nice,” you whispered.

Joel smiled against your pussy, murmuring praise between every kiss. “There’s my good girl. Bein’ so brave after gettin’ wrecked.”

He sucked delicately on your clit, just once was enough to get you to let out a high little sound and twitch your legs with over-sensibility.

“Shhh, baby. Not tryin’ to get you all worked up again. Daddy’s just takin’ care o’you.”

He pressed one last, lingering kiss to your sore, used hole before pulling the blankets back over your legs and crawling back up your body.

You looked at him, voice soft and small. “Does it always hurt that much the first time?”

Joel’s eyes met yours. “For some girls, yeah. You were real tight, baby. I tried to go slow, but… guess even slow, ’m a lot to take, huh?”

You blushed and smiled with embarrasment. “You are.”

He leaned in and kissed your temple. “But you took me anyway. All of me. You did so good.”

You bit your lip, feeling how hot your cheeks still were. “So… does that mean I’m your big girl now?”

Joel stilled for a second and then he smiled with dark eyes. “Oh, baby,” he said with his soft, almost mocking, voice. “You wanna know if you’re my big girl now that you took my cock?”

You nodded slowly as Joel leaned in to whisper in your ear. “You’re my good girl. My brave girl. My sweet, innocent little thing who let me stretch her open for the first time. But you ain’t my big girl yet, angel. Not ‘til you can take it nice and rough f’me. Then we’ll talk about bein’ big.”

Your mouth fell open, part of you, even being sore, was still hoping for more, for feeling that delicious and maddening stretch again.

Joel smirked, kissing your jaw. “F’now,” he said, more gently, “you’re my sore lil’ thing. You’ll be achy for a bit, but I’ll help. Gonna rub you down after this, alright? You stay in bed and I’ll cook, bring you water, tuck you in. My baby doesn’t lift a finger today. Let daddy take care of his baby girl.”

....

You’d stayed curled in Joel’s lap the entire day, tucked beneath his chin, your fingers tangled in the front of his shirt. He hadn’t let go of you for a second. And maybe it was the safety of his arms, or the way he kept pressing kisses into your hair, maybe it was how you could still hear the echo of his voice in your head repeating all those beautiful and filthy words he’d whispered last night, but something started stirring in your belly, you could named it now, you knew the feeling, it was arousal, you were turned on again. You shifted slightly, just enough to press your thigh between his, wanting to check if he was feeling the same way, if he was hard and as desperate for you as you were for him.

Joel’s breath hitched, his hand slid up your back in slow motions. “What’s that for, huh?”

You kissed him on the corner of his mouth. “Just wanted to feel you.”

Joel tilted his head toward you, catching your mouth with his, the kiss was slow, he didn’t rush it, just let the heat between your mouths build. Every second that passed, the kiss turned deeper, he tangled his hand in your hair, keeping the other one low on your spine to anchor you, keeping you pressed to him.

You whimpered into his mouth, the heath in between your thighs was unberable now, you desperately needed that relief he gave you last night.

“Easy,” Joel murmured, lips brushing yours. “Still sore, ain’t you?”

“… A little.”

Joel smiled faintly, leaning back enough to cup your cheeks in his hands. “You feelin’ needy again, baby?”

Your cheeks went hot with shame for being so open about how aroused you were. “Maybe.”

“My poor baby squirmin’.”He chuckled, a low sound coming from his chest. “You really are my baby girl.”

You kissed him again before you lost your nerve. Joel let you take the lead this time, his lips remained soft and open, letting you explore him, taste him, press as deep as you wanted. You clumsily rocked your hips against his thigh, causing him to grunt in response.

“Aww, angel,” he cooed against your lips. “You tryin’ to get some cock again? Even though you’re all tender an’ puffy down there?”

You pulled back just slightly, you face was flushed and you were panting. “Joel…”

He kissed the corner of your mouth. “What, baby?”

“I really want to do it again.”

Joel stilled. Oh dear Lord, you were killing him without even realizing it, you could feel his hands twitch where they held you. You, all sweet and tender but still asking for more, still asking for him… that was too much for his poor old heart.

He sat back a little more, looking at you with those deep, dark eyes. “Say it again.”

You swallowed hard. “I want to do it again.”

His jaw flexed. “You sure?”

You nodded quickly. “Please.”

Joel kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your jaw. “You sweet lil’ thing, look at ya. Still sore, still cryin’ about takin’ my cock, and now you wanna do it again.”

You whimpered. “Mhhhm.”

“You want your man’s cock back inside that tight lil’ pussy? Want daddy’s cock inside again?”

You buried your face in his neck, ashamed for having no to almost beg him to fuck you. “Jooooeel—” You whine.

“Aww, baby, don’t hide. You want to be a big girl? Then say it.”

You hesitated, he was so blunt and crude all the time, but for you it was still difficult to say such words, “I… I want your cock, Joel.”

He growled low, pleased with himself for getting you to say those words. Joel knew how easily you got embarrased, how much you struggled to be blunt and say dirty words. “That’s my girl. You want this old man’s cock again, don’t cha?”

Your cheeks burned a little more. “Jooeel… pleeease”

“You wanna be full, baby? Hmm?” His voice turned into a slow, Southern purr, thick with praise and desperation as his hunger for you grew stronger, but he was enjoying this too much to stop, he loved watching you squirming and begging. “You want your daddy to fuck that sweet lil’ cunt again? Fill you up real nice?”

You nodded, your lips parted to make a little whiny sound. “Want it, daddy.”

"Daddy wants to fuck you from behind, baby. Is that okay?"

You nodded again. You needed him so bad, in however position he wanted it, as long as he sunk that glorious dick inside you again.

"Attagirl," Joel whispered while kissing your cheek. "Wanna see that perfect little ass up in the air."

Joel flipped you gently onto your stomach, guiding your posture, so your chest would be pressed agaisnt the matress, helping you arch your back by pulling your hips up and spreading your legs wide to make space for him behind you.

“Ass up, baby. There ya go. Just like that.”

He peeled your panties off, already soaked through at the center, and spread your legs open even more, his big hands pushing your thighs apart like he owned every inch of you. You were still flushed, still a little swollen and raw from the night before, your bare pussy glistening, lips parted just enough to show how used you still were. He ran a thumb gently down your slit, slow and possessive. “Aww, look at that. Goddamn, baby. So wet, she missed me, huh? Missed daddy’s cock in this cute lil’ pussy?”

You nodded, eyes wide, lips trembling. “It’s yours, daddy.”

“Damn right it is.” He leaned down to kiss your shoulder. “Little nervous, ain’t cha?”

You nodded again and Joel chuckled low against your skin, letting his hand brush the curve of your ass. “Course you are,” he murmured. “First time like this always gets girls shaky.”

You whimpered, the anticipation for what was to come was killing you.

“Shhh,” he cooed. “I got cha, baby. Gonna be real gentle. At first.”

His hand found yours, fingers intertwined with yours in an attempt to calm your nerves, as he kissed the side of your neck.

“Now this might feel a little different,” he said. “A little deeper. You lemme know if it’s too much.”

He took his time to line himself up, the fat head of his cock sliding slick and slow through your folds. You whimpered when he pressed against your entrance, he hadn’t even pushed in yet, and you were already feeling dizzy. You weren’t feeling extremely nervous though, you were still new at this, it was only your second time, but you’d already taken him the night before, and you knew you could take him again, you wanted it more than anything.

He eased forward, slow and steady, the thick length of him pressing into you inch by inch, making your breath hitch with that first thrust of his hips. The stretch burned, but it was perfect.

“Thassit, baby… Good girl, you’re doin’ so good f’me,” he murmured as he kept pushing deeper. “Almost there, baby, just a lil’ more… takin’ me so fuckin’ well.”

You whimpered, your voice was muffled in the pillow, as he bottomed out, fully seated inside you now. So deep it felt like he was carved into your cunt.

“Oh god, Joel—”

It hurt a little, okay, maybe a bit more than a little. Your pussy was still trying to figure out how to take such an invasive grith, how to stretch so your inner walls could adjust to his size. But even through the pain it still felt incredibly good, out-of-this-world good. It was so hot, so new, the veins of his cock were dragging all your sensitive nerves, and you could swear his tip was already kissing your cervix even when he wasn’t all the way in yet.

“I know, baby,” Joel groaned behind you. “Fuck, that’s deep, ain’t it?”

You nodded frantically.

“Belly-down makes it real tight. Fucks you different. You feelin’ full?”

“Mhhm,” you whimpered.

“Thassit,” he cooed, pressing deeper still, his hips flush to your ass now. “You’re takin’ it so good. Like your little body was made for this.”

You whimpered again as he started to move with slow, grinding thrusts, every drag of his cock was making your whole body tighten around him. It wasn’t fast, and he wasn’t being particulary rough. But holy fuck, the pressure and the stretch were still there as a reminder of how deep inside you he was.

“It’s a lot, huh?” Joel murmured in your ear. “Don’t worry. I’ll teach you how to take it like this.”

“S-so deep… Joel, it’s so much—”

“I know, baby. I know. Just take it. You can take it, can’t you? You wanted to be daddy’s big girl, then prove me you are.” His hands gripped your hips tighter, guiding you into each thrust like he was teaching your body how to move with his, how to fit around him like you were made for it.

You nodded and the tears started slipping from the corner of your eyes, Joel kissed the back of your neck with his sweet lips.

“You cryin’ already?” he said softly, smug. “Poor little thing, takin’ it so deep she don’t know what to do.”

He reached between your legs and started rubbing slow, tight circles over your achey clit, fingers practiced, like they knew exactly what they were doing. You gasped at the contact, already sensitive, still sore from the night before, and the added stimulation from his fingers made your hips jerk. He started to fuck into you harder, rougher, and meaner, as if he’d grown tired of being gentle with you. Each thrust was driving the air from your lungs as the movement of his fingers matched the now punishing rhythm of his hips.

"S’sorry, baby, but daddy needs it a bit rougher now, yeah? Can you take it a bit harder for me?”

You whimpered, a soft desperate sound leaving your lips as you nodded quickly, eager to please him in however way he wanted. “Y-yes… please."

You wanted to feel what it was like when Joel stopped holding back, wanted to see him lose control because of you, to be good enough to drive him wild.

Joel let out a low, dark sound from deep in his chest. “That’s my girl.”

And then he snapped his hips forward, slamming into you so deep and hard that you cried out, your body jolting under the sudden force of his thrusts. There was no gentleness anymore in the way he moved, just raw desire, his cock pounding into you like he was trying to leave a mark on your very soul.

“Fuuuck yes,” Joel groaned. “You’re daddy’s little toy, huh?”

You sobbed into the pillow, overwhelmed already, but you didn’t want it to stop, you needed him to keep going, no matter how hard or rough he was.

“Say it,” he snapped, thrusting so hard your hips bounced. “Say what you are.”

“Daddy’s—daddy’s toy,” you choked. “Yours… only yours.”

He grunted, slapping your ass hard, the impact from his hand made your body jolt forward, and the sudden wave of heat spread from your asher through the rest of your body.

“That’s right. My pussy. My mess. My fuckin’ hole.”

He spanked you again, harder, making you cry out as your slick sprayed from the force of it. His palm came down again, again, until your ass was red and shaking, feeling the overwhelmed sting that almost borderline on pain.

Then his hand fisted in your hair and yanked your head back. “Look at cha,” he panted. “Cryin’. You’re fuckin’ crying for it, babygirl.”

Your cries were breathless, just a bunch of high-pitched sobs that got louder with every bounce of your body.

“You fuckin’ love it when I break you. Love bein’ daddy’s dumb little baby, don’t cha?” Joel spat.

You nodded, completely gone, incapable of doing anything but nod, cry, and take everything he gave you. He leaned down, pressed his chest to your back, with one hand wrapping around your throat while the other gripped your hip tight.

“Gonna fuck you dumb,” he growled. “Split this tight fuckin’ pussy til you can’t speak. Gonna stuff ya full, baby. Want that?”

He slammed into you over and over, his cock slapping against your drenched folds, your cunt gripping him like it wanted to keep him forever. His full-body thrusts had the bed shaking, the headboard creaking, your cunt gushing around him harder and harder.

“Fuckin’ look at you, takin’ it like that, so fuckin’ tight ‘round me, suckin’ me back in every time. You love this, don’t you? Love bein’ daddy’s good little fucktoy.”

You sobbed out a moan, your brain was barely hanging on, all your words were dissolving into moans and needy whines.

Joel groaned. “You’re milkin’ me, baby. Pussy’s squeezin’ so tight.”

You whimpered into the pillow, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. You thought it couldn’t get any deeper than last night, but you were so wrong, he was even deeper inside you now, filling every inch, every nerve ending. You could feel him pressing into places only he could reach, his control was absolute, your body was completely his.

“I know,” he soothed. “I know it’s a lot. But you’re takin’ it. You’re takin’ all o’me like such a big girl. “You like that, baby? Like feelin’ me take what’s mine?”

“Y-yes—d-daddy—p-please don’t stop!"

“You feel this?” he growled, emphasizing his words with a violent thrust that knocked the air out of your lungs. “That’s how it feels when your man fucks you for real.”

Joel didn’t stop for a second. You didn’t even know how he had so much energy in that old, worn-down body, but somehow, his pace never faltered. It was like he’d gone into autopilot, like your pussy was the only thing keeping him alive and functioning. In this moment, he didn’t feel his weak knees, didn’t feel the constant ache in his lower back. All he felt was you, the tight, wet heat of you gripping him, the way your whimpers turned into broken sobs every time he bottomed out.

"Say you love it," Joel growled behind you. "Say you love how this cock stretched you out."

"I love it," you sobbed. "L-Love h-how y-you s-stretch m-me."

He kept fucking into you with those deep, hungry thrusts, each one more possessive than the last, hips smacking against your ass with bruising force, again and again, until your voice gave out completely and you could only sob in shattered little gasps.

“You gonna cum?” he hissed. “Come on, baby. Let daddy feel you.”

You shattered around him with a sob, your climax hit suddenly, hard and hot, your back arching like a cat, your cries being muffled in the pillow. Joel groaned loud and slammed in deep, holding himself there as he came hard too, spilling every last drop of his warm and thick cum inside you with a low, “Ohhhh fuuuuck, baby. Take it all, lemme fill ya up.”

You collapsed forward, panting, your whole body limp and so utterly wrecked. Joel kissed your back, your shoulder, your hair while still deep inside your spent cunt, he just lay there, covering you, softening inside you, one hand petting your thigh. You were still crying with soft, hiccupy sobs.

“M’proud of you,” he whispered. “So fuckin’ proud. My big girl.”

You turned your face to the side, your wet eyes fluttering shut. “D-did I really do good, daddy?”

Joel chuckled softly, still buried to the hilt. “You did perfect, baby. First time on your belly and you took it like a fuckin’ dream.”

He drifted his eyes lower, taking in the sight of your spent cunt.

"Oh goddamn, baby… look at all this tryin’ to escape, pretty lil’ hole can’t even hold it all" Joel muttered, his voice was thick with pride as he watched the ropes of cum sliding slowly from your stretched pussy. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Can’t be lettin’ that go to waste.”

You gasped softly as you felt the delicate pressure of Joel’s fingers, gathering the slick cum dripping from your cunt. And then, with that same gentle care, he pushed it right back inside, his fingers sinking into your sensitive hole.

“There we go,” he murmured, his fingers curling, pressing deeper, inside you, making sure every drop stayed where it belonged. “That’s better. Keep it all in, baby—keep me in you.”

You were still crying a little, sobbing even after he collapsed beside you, his cock wet and shining with the mess he’d left inside you. Your body trembled in tiny waves, the backs of your thighs were sticky with cum, your ass was red and throbbing from his palm, and your pussy was sore, used, stretched open, pulsing from the rough fucking he’d given you.

“Hey, hey, baby. No, c’mere. C’mere, daddy’s got you.”

You hiccuped as he gathered you into his arms, big hands cradling you, dragging you onto his chest, tucking your head under his chin. You melted into him instantly, he was so warm and he made you feel so safe.

“I-I don’t—I can’t stop—” you whispered, voice tiny and cracked as your tears ran down your cheeks.

Joel kissed your temple over and over, his voice was full of guilt. “I know, babygirl. I know. You’re alright, daddy’s got you now.”

“‘M okay… It—It was—It was just so much.”

Joel exhaled a shaky breath of relief. “Ya better tell daddy when it’s too much, yeah?”

You nodded into his chest.

“You were perfect, baby. Took it so fuckin’ well. You made daddy feel so good. Always do.”

You whimpered softly, feeling your throat raw from crying and screaming. Joel tilted your chin up gently with two fingers. “You want somethin’ to calm down, angel?” he asked softly.

Your lip quivered again, you knew exactly what you needed. “…Can I suck daddy’s finger?”

Joel nearly melted right there, he loved having you falling asleep sucking on his thumb. “Oh, baby. ‘Course you can. You want your pacifier, huh? Need somethin’ in your mouth to soothe you down?”

You nodded, desperate for that comfort you were seeking, Joel smiled gently and then brought his hand up, slipping one thick, warm finger into your mouth.

“There you go, babygirl,” he murmured. “Just like that. Suck on daddy’s finger, yeah? Settle that sweet lil’ brain down.”

You wrapped your lips around it immediately, and the soft suckling noises began to fill the quiet room. Your tongue curled around the pad of his thumb, and Joel groaned low in his chest.

“Look at you. Still so needy, even after cryin’ like that. You just love bein’ my baby, don’t cha?”

You nodded faintly around his finger. His other hand rubbed your back, his bare chest warm against your cheek.

“You cried so pretty,” he added, kissing your hair. “Made such beautiful little sounds while daddy fucked you full. Could feel your whole body shakin’. You just needed me, didn’t you?”

You hummed around his finger, your tears finally slowing.

“That’s what I’m here for, baby. To take care of every part of you..”

You sucked on his finger slower now, eyelids drooping as you felt your body falling into full relaxation, allowing yourself to fall sleep in his arms. Joel tucked the blanket around you both and let his hand stroke your side, grounding you with every gentle pass.

“You rest, babygirl,” he whispered. “You’re daddy’s good girl. My perfect baby. I’m not lettin’ you go.”

Join the tag list

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love you gave to the two previous parts!! I’m so glad you enjoyed them🩷🩷 Hope you like this one as well, your likes, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated.

As I wrap this up, I’m also diving into a new, long-ish series I’ve had in mind for a while. A little angsty, a little smutty, with the grumpy!Joel and sunshine!Reader trope. I’m so excited about it and can’t wait to finish the first part and share it with you all!!

tag list: @unforgivemn @puduvallee @gorzelnia-blog @conrzd @applebloom928 @glitterspark @imjustaprettyyprincess @mani-pedro @jettia @sunnyssimming @sethell @thescxrpio @cowboylikejoha @dugiioh @crimsonxcobra @twigleektribute23 @alexxavicry @thievin-stealing @tearsweetenedtea @serenity-1221

dividers by: @/anitalenia

[brokenmemoriesblog]

Uhm yes! 🫣

[stylesispunk]

The days of you and I

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

series summary: After Abby's brutal attack, the aftermath leaves Joel, Ellie, and you forever changed. Joel wakes haunted by the man he used to be and the shadow he’s become. Wracked with guilt and convinced he no longer will be the same, he pushes you away, even as it breaks him to let you go.

warnings: Graphic violence, mentions of blood, emotional trauma, angst, self-loathing, guilt, depressive thoughts, isolation, mentions of death, nightmares, survivor's guilt, fluff. It contains spoilers from season 2 of The Last of Us.

Remember this series stands as a sequel to this one shot "what remains of us"

A/N: I don't know if this one is a proper fic about the sadness Joel Miller caused me. But I've been thinking about healing and the long process it takes to get back to what you were or how it is to embrace a new self, and in this one, I would like to imagine what the aftermath of the events that happened to him is. By the way, I'm also moving to AO3 soon :)

chapters:

chapter 1: The aftermath

chapter 2: The weight of what remains

chapter 3: What we used to be

chapter 4: the landslide

chapter 5: The ache of you

chapter 6: screams from the crypt

chapter 7: Borrowed Time

chapter 8: if I ever were to lose you

chapter 9: Ashes between us

epilogue

moodboard + playlist

[bellaxgiornata]

Take Me to Where Your Heart Is Chapter One

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!biker!Reader Word Count: 3k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Fic Masterlist]

warnings/tags: 18+; bisexual!Reader, canon-typical violence, canon-divergence, sexual content/smut, angst, MC president!Reader, Tara drama 

After the Insurgents MC unanimously vote in a deal with the IRA to help distribute their guns east, your club ends up in a partnership with SAMCRO. You're prepared to deal with their inevitable lack of faith in your leadership as a female and the backlash of a potential turf war with the Hellspawn Outlaws. But you're not prepared for your new partner to stir up things you've never let yourself feel before, or for how much you care when his ex returns to Charming.

a/n: This is going to be a drama-filled fic where Jax meets a woman who is quite literally his equal in so many ways. There's a bit more info on Reader in the Series Masterlist, but otherwise, I always strive to keep things as inclusive and physically description-less as possible so everyone can hopefully enjoy. Feedback is always appreciated!

series tag list: @kmc1989 @secretlysamcro @thedreadandthefugitivemind @the-jer-bear @tendertulip @latinakitty17

With a finger running along the rim of his glass of whiskey, Jax’s mind spun with a hundred different thoughts while he sat at the bar. Just outside of the clubhouse, the sound of McCormick’s SUV beginning to pull out of the Sons’ compound rumbled over the growing silence left lingering in the stateside Irish delegate's wake. 

All of the Sons sat scattered around the main room of the clubhouse, but not a single one of them had commented on the news that McCormick had just dropped on them. One look at all of the solemn expressions in the room told Jax everything he needed to know–this was big. It was serious. 

Shit was changing.

The Irish wanted an expansion. McCormick had made a surprise visit out to Charming just to inform the Sons that the Irish Kings were pushing their guns out further east after picking up buyers in the mafia near Chicago. But the Sons’ reach and current partnerships clearly didn't extend quite that far, an issue that the Irish had already been working through on their end. Without a word of warning, they'd taken it upon themselves to stake out an additional business partnership, not bothering to obtain the Sons’ input or approval–something that pissed off Jax. But there wasn't a single fucking thing he could do about it, the deal had been made and set.

The Irish had apparently decided to bring a nearby outlaw motorcycle club into the decades-long arrangement behind the Sons’ backs. They'd chosen to recruit the Insurgents MC. All Jax knew about them was that they were an expansive club, an MC which was larger than the Sons of Anarchy themselves, whose territory and charters expanded out east and towards Chicago where the Irish had made new ties with the Italians. 

Neither Jax or any of the other Sons had ever worked with or had contact with the Insurgents. But Jax was aware that the mother charter's location was in a small town closer to Reno, Nevada–about two hours away from the Sons in Charming. While the Sons had never had beef with their club, they'd also never had a reason to do business with them, either. Which meant Jax knew next to nothing about their new business partners.

Expelling a rough breath at a table near the bar, the sound drew Jax’s eye over to where Bobby sat with an unhappy Happy. One of Bobby’s large hands combed through his dark beard as he finally turned his attention over to where Jax was sitting. That grim expression remained on his face when their eyes met.

“This is gonna cause some serious problems,” he warned Jax, finally breaking the lingering silence. “The Irish are asking us to distribute right through Hellspawn territory. That's gonna bring heat down on the Insurgents and us by association, Jax. You realize that, right?”

Jax's jaw tightened at Bobby’s words, his hand leaving his glass, his fingers instead beginning to absently run back and forth along his mouth as his mind continued to jump from one potential problem straight to the next. He already had a feeling that this new expansion wasn't just about finding a way to run the guns out east, but about giving this new MC the Irish had forced on the Sons the backup they'd need to handle the potential fallout of this Irish and Italian deal. This wasn't going to be some easy new cash flow in exchange for just a bit more work, it was going to be dangerous. There would be repercussions. 

“This is gonna stir up some shit,” Chibs agreed, looking farther down from where he sat at the bar to Jax. “Smells like the start of a gang war. Hellspawn aren’t a small-time club, Jackie boy.”

A curse fell sharply out of Jax’s mouth, the hand running over his lips as he'd been thinking roughly coming down hard onto the bar with a loud smack. The amber liquor in his glass shifted at the impact as Jax grit his teeth again.

“So they're gonna be out for blood,” Jax spat. “And we don't even know if this other MC the damn Irish got us partnered with is gonna be any fuckin’ use to us in a war like this against the Hellspawns. And there ain’t shit we can do about it.”

Tig's foot came out in his aggravated pacing, frustratedly kicking the toe of his boot at the leg of a chair. The chair jolted onto its back legs at the impact before toppling over with a loud clatter that echoed through the palpable tension in the room. With a grunt from behind Jax, Opie pulled a cigarette out from the pack inside of his kutte and lit it, taking a deep drag as the scowl remained on his face. The weight of what was happening–which was entirely out of all of their damn hands–hung heavy over the men.

“T.O. has done business with them before,” Bobby said slowly. His eyes narrowed somewhat in contemplation as he stared down at the beer bottle on the table in front of him. “I remember him mentioning the Insurgents a few months back.” Shifting his focus, his attention landed back on Jax. “You should call him. See what he knows about this club. It'd at least give us some intel on who the hell we’re gonna be workin’ with.”

Sighing in frustration, Jax knew Bobby had a point. They shouldn’t be walking into this whole arrangement entirely blind and ignorant of their new alliance. Reaching a hand into the pocket inside of his kutte, Jax pulled out his cell phone. Quietly scrolling through his list of contacts as the weight of the Sons’ eyes fell on him, Jax searched for the number of the Grim Bastard's president. Once he found it, he pushed the button and dialed T.O. before placing the call on speakerphone. Jax set his phone down onto the bar while it rang, the noise cutting through the heavy silence of the clubhouse. It took a few rings before T.O. finally answered.

“Jax, brother, ‘sup?” T.O.’s deep voice greeted over the line. “Somethin’ going on?”

“Nah, man, everything’s good,” Jax replied, not wanting to bring the Sons’ bullshit to the Grim Bastards. They didn't need the details. “Just found ourselves in a new business arrangement against our will, if you feel me.” He paused, one ringed hand running over his slicked back hair as he stared at the phone on the bar in front of him. “Bobby mentioned you guys worked with the Insurgents in the past. That true?”

“Yeah,” T.O. easily answered. “Had a few deals with ‘em for a bit. Only worked with the mother charter out near Sierra Heights, though. Never met any of the others.”

“What do you know about them?” Jax asked curiously. He rested his elbows along the bar counter, leaning over it as he listened carefully to T.O. “They good guys to work with?”

An amused, rumbling chuckle met Jax’s question almost immediately. Jax’s eyes narrowed at the unexpected reaction, his gaze shifting over to Opie still standing nearby. He raised a silent, questioning brow at his vice president, but Opie only shrugged and shook his head in response before taking another drag on his cigarette. Pressing his lips together in annoyance, Jax focused back down on the phone.

“What?” Jax asked, trying to push back his irritation. “They that bad to work with or somethin’, man?”

“No, no,” T.O. answered quickly, still chuckling over the line. “Definitely nothin’ like that. They're all good, Jax. Loyal as hell and incredibly capable. It's just…they're not all good guys. Y'know?”

Jax's eyebrows briefly tugged together at that. The fuck was that supposed to mean? He'd said it like Jax should have known what he was getting at, which was only beginning to irritate him further after McCormick's visit.

“So what, there's one piece of shit running with ‘em or somethin’?” Jax pressed. “That what you're sayin’?”

“No, I'm sayin’ their MC isn't all men,” T.O. explained, clearly amused at Jax’s ignorance. “They got a female president, man. You really never heard ‘bout her before?”

Jax straightened in his seat at the information, his brows knitting tightly together as he tried to process what he’d just heard. There was a fucking girl running an outlaw MC? And the goddamn Irish were stupid enough to bring them into their partnership? Were they trying to kill both clubs and their deal with this dumbass bullshit all at once?

Looking away from his phone, Jax's eyes ran over each of the Sons. Everyone met his gaze with a similar mixture of confusion, concern, and disbelief. At the far end of the bar, Jax noticed Juice grab his laptop and flip it open, his fingers flying across the keyboard now. No doubt he was trying to see what he could pull up on the Insurgents after that.

“Never heard of some little girl running a club before, no,” Jax replied bitterly, focusing back on the phone call. 

T.O. huffed out a breath over his end of the line. “Jax, brother, I don't recommend disrespectin’ her, or talkin’ down to her just because she's a woman,” he warned. “She's not one to mess with. She might be the daughter of the entire club's founder, but lemme tell you, she didn't get her position because of her daddy. She damn well earned it, man. That crazy broad is ruthless and dangerous.”

The look of utter confusion and disbelief remained on Jax’s face, a soft breath passing between his lips. T.O. had to be shitting him, right? Some girl was a ruthless and dangerous leader? Running an entire motorcycle club on her own? Keeping a bunch of violent men in line? That sounded like some fucking made up bullshit. How had he never even heard of her before if that was true?

“A girl?” Jax repeated incredulously. “Seriously?”

“Goes by Harbinger,” T.O. added. “Maybe you’ve heard that name before?”

That gave Jax pause, his entire body stiffening against the bar at the sound of it. He’d heard that one thrown around a couple of times in passing, aware that it was someone connected to the Insurgents, but he’d never heard that the Harbinger was a woman. The Harbinger had a…serious reputation. There was no way that was a goddamn chick.

“Yeah, I have,” Jax agreed slowly, shaking his head at his phone. “But…that can’t be right, man. The Harbinger is not a name spoken lightly. How the fuck is that some chick?”

T.O. snorted at the question, the sound once more causing Jax’s lips to curl downwards in annoyance. As if it wasn't bad enough that the Irish had dumped this all onto his lap without warning, now he was going to be working alongside some female biker president that Jax couldn't possibly believe was as capable as he was being told.

“‘Cause she ain't just some chick, Jax,” T.O. replied. “Got a hell of a good crew backin’ her, too. Don't let first impressions fool you. If you're workin’ with her, she's one hell of an ally to have on your side, brother.”

Jax sighed in resignation, glancing around the clubhouse at the other Sons again. They all appeared to be feeling the same way he was about the information–uncomfortable and pissed. Rubbing a hand across his forehead, he knew there wasn't much more he could do here, not unless this Harbinger fucked up enough for the Irish to want to cut ties with her club. Which Jax found himself already secretly hoping would happen. 

“Suppose if you're gonna vouch for them, I gotta be…open-minded,” Jax said, the word coming out like it tasted sour. 

“Relax, man,” T.O. soothed over the phone. “She's good. And y'know, you might even think she's fun. Can throw back liquor with the best of us. Gotta wild side just like the rest of us, too–so long as you don't go gettin’ on her bad side.”

“Bad side?” Jax repeated, his eyes narrowing at his phone.

“Yeah, you don't wanna end up there. Trust me, man. Just don't piss her off,” T.O. forewarned him. “She doesn’t tolerate disrespect. But then again, who the fuck does, am I right?”

Not feeling much better about the entire arrangement even after the call, Jax exchanged goodbyes with the Grim Bastards’ president before hanging up his phone. Another look around the clubhouse at his brothers had Jax growing even more aware of the fact that none of them felt much more confident in the new situation they’d just been thrown into by the Irish, either. But before Jax could try to address the guys, Juice's head popped up from over the top of his laptop across the room, a wide grin spread across his face. Feeling his irritation only further rising, Jax shifted in his chair and focused his attention on Juice.

“What?” Jax snapped.

“Found them,” Juice answered, undeterred by his president's attitude. “Their club owns a towing and collision repair shop out in Sierra Heights.”

“Okay, so why the fuck are ya grinnin’ like that?” Chibs shot back at him. “Ya want a pat on the back for your Googlin' skills, brother?”

Juice shook his head, that grin on his face only growing wider and more ridiculous by the second. He turned his laptop around on the bar, the screen now facing the rest of the members in the clubhouse. Without a word, Jax leaned forward along the bartop, his eyes dropping down to the screen and what Juice had been trying to show them.

A low whistle rang out from Tig almost instantly, his pacing finally coming to an abrupt halt beside the bar. Juice only bobbed his head in a nod of agreement with Tig. Because on the screen of his laptop was the image of an attractive woman standing in front of what was clearly the business Juice had said your club ran–the legitimate one. Sierra Heights Towing and Collision Repair.

“Christ, is that the girl?” Chibs questioned in surprise.

“Yeah,” Juice replied, that goofy grin still on his face. “That’s the Insurgents’ president.”

Jax’s eyes ran over the countless visible tattoos beneath the sleeves of the shirt you were wearing in the photo. He couldn’t exactly deny the obvious confidence in the way you held yourself, and despite the fact that this photo was meant to be some sort of professional headshot for your business’ website, he also couldn't deny how attractive he found you at first glance. You were someone he’d have noticed stepping into the clubhouse within a matter of seconds, someone who clearly held a presence, someone Jax would have found himself approaching in different circumstances. But how fuckable Jax found you wasn't exactly what mattered in this situation. You were going to be his new business partner and ally, but you looked more like someone he’d want to keep warming his bed instead.

“That broad is the one runnin’ an MC and cutting deals with the Irish?” Tig asked, walking closer to the laptop screen as if he was drawn to it. He shook his head in disbelief, one hand reaching out to touch the image gently with his fingertips, as if he was actually touching you instead of the picture on the screen. A second later, his head darted over his shoulder as he focused on Jax with an almost desperate look on his face. “Jax, brother,” he practically pleaded, “we gotta meet her. Just look at her.”

A frown curled Jax’s lips downwards as he met Tig's gaze. “So she's hot, so what?” he shot back. “You wanna meet her cause you think she's gonna flash the Hellspawn her tits and subdue them into backing off of us? Think she can suck their cocks and fix all our problems for the Irish, Tig?”

For a moment, Tig paused as his head tilted to the side, looking like he was contemplating if they could have you do exactly that. With a roll of his eyes, Jax picked up his glass of whiskey from the bar, the glass pausing halfway to his mouth.

“C’mon, man. Get your goddamn head on straight. We're gonna meet her soon anyway,” he pointed out bitterly. “You heard McCormick. He's setting up somethin’ soon with both clubs. Wants us to get along.” 

Raising his glass to his lips, Jax took a deep drink from it, feeling the alcohol burn on its way down. His eyes swept around the room at his men once more, his own expression hardening at the way they kept glancing back at Juice’s laptop screen to the image of you, curiosity and interest now written on their faces. 

“I wanna meet her and find out how goddamn capable she is for myself,” Jax stated sharply, lowering his glass back to the bar. “With what we're about to get tangled up in ‘cause of the damn Irish, I'd hope that's what you all are focused on, too. Not how much you’re thinkin’ about trying to get her into your goddamn beds.”

Pushing his chair back from the bar, Jax rose to his feet in irritation. He couldn't sit here and watch his men act like this over a fucking photo. Heading straight to the chapel, Jax was dreading working alongside this female president already. There was no way in hell you had what it took to survive in the kind of world Jax had grown up in, the one he'd spent his life learning to navigate. He figured it wouldn't be long before the Irish realized their mistake with bringing your ass into things and kicked you back to the outside.

As Jax pushed open one of the doors to the chapel, he overheard Tig talking to the other Sons behind him. Jax grit his teeth at the almost wistful tone of the man’s voice.

“Just imagine that beautiful creature covered in blood,” he told the others. “Riding a Harley.”

With an agitated grunt, Jax slammed the door of the chapel shut behind him.

[gutsby]

Endgame

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Your dad knows. Now what?

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (f!receiving). Age gap. Daddy kink. Breeding kink. Semi-public sex. Creampie. Squirting. Belly bulge. Drinking and drug use. They’re horny and IN LOVE, your honor. Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—please read at your own risk!

Note: This is the song I see Tess and Reader dancing to LOL

Word count: 16.5k

dividers by the lovely @saradika 💞

You looked beautiful walking down the aisle.

Really, in this floor-length gown, bouquet poised comfortably in front of you, and your hair styled to perfection, Joel Miller was certain he’d never seen a prettier sight in his life. You were walking to him, smiling.

He stood at the end of that aisle, in front of all your family and friends, sweating bullets and in disbelief.

Now would be a terrible time for his dick to get hard.

What with the way the lace and tulle were hugging your frame and how fitted those fucking black slacks were on the outline of his own lower half, he could probably be fully erect and showing everybody in attendance just how attracted he was to you now, and then what would happen? The wedding would get cancelled? Postponed?

Sorry folks, the man of the hour has a boner the size of Texas tucked under his briefs; can he get a day to relax?

No, he’d need a week for that, at least.

Seven full days of doing nothing but fucking you straight through the mattress could put a dent in the hard-on he was about to be sporting. He was a terrible person for it.

Still, you beamed at him with a look that said you’d love him for the rest of your life, and that was all that mattered in the moment. It was most of what consumed Joel’s thoughts as you made the procession toward him.

For better, for worse.

For richer, for poorer.

In sickness and in health.

To love and to—

“Fuck,” Joel muttered under his breath.

Beside him, his best friend—your father—shot him a look

That gaze told him everything he needed to know. Essentially: ‘Stop eyefucking my kid or I’ll kill you.’

And Joel knew he meant it.

He had the scar on his right temple to prove it. A mostly healed orbital fracture that still gave his old, weathered face a tougher look these days. Bruises gone but not entirely forgotten. The memory of his friend holding his head underwater for at least a minute, maybe longer.

That was after Mark had caught him kissing you once.

The first time he ever came to learn that his friend had been fucking his daughter for the last several months.

Mark had almost murdered him that day.

Now, he was standing beside him on his wedding day.

Joel blinked, and someone was clearing their throat. He couldn’t be sure how much time had passed, but he sensed it was probably time for him to grab the rings.

Then hand them over to his friend.

Since, you know, it was Mark’s big day.

Joel was just the best man, and you were one of the bridesmaids now standing across the way from him. Your expression was lax, to the point of looking almost bored, and Joel didn’t miss the way your brows raised slightly while you watched the ring exchange take place in front of you. Slyly, your eyes flitted to his; your lips twitched.

Dad and Helen picked the ugliest fucking bands, huh?

Joel had to bite back a smirk seeing that.

You were right. This was weird: begrudgingly accepting parts in the wedding of your father and his first love-former mistress and pretending like it wasn’t odd.

Given the fact that your dad had very begrudgingly accepted you and Joel as a couple after almost six months together, though, he wasn’t about to complain. No one could have predicted that the man who had beat him mercilessly in the ocean with a travel mug and almost put him in a coma would now have him as his best man and invite him out to dinner on a semi-regular basis. Joel would say this arrangement was just fine.

Ideal, even.

Right up until the time he’d divulge to his friend that he planned on marrying you someday, this would be great.

Mark was open-minded, and he tolerated having Joel around for now dating his only daughter, but that was mostly because you’d refused to see or speak to your dad in the weeks following his little ‘outburst’ in Galveston. After Joel had been concussed and kept in the hospital for close to a week pending a neuro eval, you’d sworn you would never let your father near you until he’d apologized to Joel and ‘calmed the fuck down.’

Joel reckoned that his friend seemed pretty sedate as he kissed his bride and turned toward the crowd, celebrating the vows they’d just taken.

You cheered with them.

You smiled sweetly enough, clapping and looking as breathtaking as he’d ever seen you, and your gaze lingered with them for maybe ten, fifteen seconds.

Then it drifted back to him.

It always went back to him, and Joel would never get used to it for as long as he lived. With a smile that was almost forlorn and fingers that were practically itching to put a ring on yours, he clapped, too, and he watched you.

Before he knew it, the ceremony was over.

The real party didn’t start until ten o’clock.

After a brief intermission spent traveling to the reception hall on the outskirts of Austin and pregaming hard with Tommy and Tess all the way, you feared you might topple over before ever setting foot on the property. You cradled a miniature green BuzzBall in your left hand and a flask of something strong and cheap in your right. Your dad just got married again, and you planned to drink until that stopped feeling weird to say. Just like your father probably thought each time he looked at you and Joel.

Fuck it. That was a problem to consider for another day. Right now, if you could get Joel to quit looking at you so strangely and try to enjoy this completely free boozefest, you’d be much better off. If you could decipher that look, and maybe stop worrying about the way the maid of honor—Helen’s sister—kept ogling him, you’d be set.

Tess hooked an arm around your neck and pulled you close. Her grin was wide and easy, and her eyes were semi-glazed as they scanned your immediate surroundings. You were just strolling in, the rest of the wedding party not too far behind, and music was blaring inside the rustic, spacious barn-turned-reception-venue.

“Odds of me nailing someone tonight…?” she started.

“Did F.E.D.R.A. abstinence camp teach you nothing?”

You made an effort to sound serious, but then the façade cracked in less than a second. Just remembering the time Tommy Miller had shipped you and Joel off to an anti-sex retreat, where you and Tess had met, was enough to send you both giggling your asses off. You had a sneaking suspicion your friend’s laughter was from more than just the booze, though, if you’d had to guess.

“Dude, are you fucking high?” you whispered, shrill.

Tess put a finger to her lips, as if keeping the truth secret, and you shoved her off. Playfully. Begging.

“Coke? Weed? Addy? I need you to share.”

And though you’d been trying to wean yourself off the party drugs before graduating college, tonight was different. You were letting loose more than you normally would, drunk on bottom-shelf spirits and changed into a tight, bright pink bodycon dress you’d recycled from a frat semi-formal years ago. You were teetering on heels.

“I can get y’all weed,” Tommy supplied in a second, sidling up next to you. “Gimme five and we’ll be good.”

You shot him a sidelong look, curious. The man had been livelier and brighter than you’d seen him in years since proposing to Maria a few weeks back. It made sense.

“Yeah, Dad? You got the hookup?” you teased.

“Fuck off,” Tommy chuckled, barely hiding his smirk.

Then he held up his hand, as if to say five minutes, and you believed him. He disappeared somewhere down a nearby hallway, and at the same time, the DJ at the front of the room made a too-smooth transition from one yacht rock classic to another. It reminded you of the time you’d celebrated your dad’s fifty-first birthday on a boat, and absently, you wondered whether Joel might not be available for a repeat partaking in what you did on the bridge deck together. You looked around, gravitating with Tess toward the open dance floor while you did.

Grinding to a Boz Scaggs song while everybody else was just starting to get their bearings arguably wasn’t your hottest look, but right now, neither one of you cared.

You took the center of the room while the rest of the massive group filtered in, both your family and friends and Helen’s all around, and the crowd grew quickly. String lights looped between beams overhead bathed the space in a warm yellow glow, and you knew that you could get used to this scene easily. You liked the music being played, and you loved the feeling coursing gently through your veins. The only thing that would make this moment better is if you could spot the elusive best man.

You’d agreed to keep it lowkey. Try not to make your father’s big day about you and Joel and your no-longer-secret relationship while you celebrated this occasion. But it was hard. You hadn’t been able to help but notice that Joel was treading around you a little differently than before, as if he were being extra careful not to say or do anything that might draw negative attention. That might’ve been because this was your first full-family event since you’d first started dating out in the open, and it was probably freaking Joel out a little. How do you explain dating the groom’s daughter, who also happens to be decades younger than you? What were the rules?

Apparently, Joel’s M.O. had been to stare at you intently for half the wedding ceremony, smiling in a strange and appreciative and partly inscrutable way, and then make himself scarce after. Leading you to wonder if maybe…

No, he was committed.

He was definitely committed.

Your future and his might not have been entirely secure, seeing as you were graduating in less than a month and were still waiting to see if you’d gotten that job in Austin or would have to keep searching—possibly even move out of state if you couldn’t lock down the right position.

It was scary. Growing, moving, changing in ways you couldn’t fully anticipate. Even as you bumped and grinded mindlessly with Tess, shoulders loose and hips swaying without any concern for the people dancing around you, you still worried. You always had that fear.

“I just love him so much,” you mumbled softly into Tess’s ear. The tunes had shifted to something old and country-western, and your heart swelled a little at the sound of it.

“I can tell.” Tess grinned, turning her head.

She didn’t need to say anything beyond that. Your friend clasped your hand in hers and made you do a spin, and without thinking, you did it. It made you kind of woozy.

Maybe weed was off the table.

Maybe you could enjoy this night without a medley of odd intoxicants, and you and Joel could just drive off into the night, head back to his place, and show each other just how much you loved each other, even if the next few months were the furthest thing from decided right now.

You hoped it would be enough; as you drifted toward a buffet table chock-full of hors d’oeuvres and started feasting with Tess, you really hoped that it would last.

With Joel, maybe a future wasn’t impossible. Maybe—

“—these fucking Rice Krispies are insane,” Tess cut in.

You inhaled another big, sugary clump and agreed. Your hands had been in just about every dish on this table, and, not surprisingly, it had been the sweet baked treats that kept your attention. You were devouring the shit, oblivious to any judging looks from the other guests.

Tess stuffed another in her mouth and moaned.

“If I could fuck a baked good…” you trailed off.

At the same time, a new person appeared beside you. Her face was flushed, and she was dressed just as you had been before—wearing a floor-length, mint green frock that sort of reminded you of a dentist’s office—as, apparently, she didn’t mind getting a little bit sweaty in the bridesmaid gown. She looked stunning anyway, and her face was radiant looking over the table. Then at Tess.

Her name was Sue. She was Helen’s cousin and undeniably one of the coolest people in that family.

She fucking hated the rings, too.

And some of the food, apparently.

“The Fettuccine Alfredo tastes like ass,” she remarked as soon as she’d gotten close enough for you and Tess to hear her over the music. “Anything OK to eat over here?”

“Rice Krispies,” Tess answered her through a mouthful.

Then she offered her one, and you got the sense that your friend just might get what she was hoping for earlier. Sue met her gaze with a grin and took the treat.

“Lovely. Thanks.” Then she took a big bite.

You peered curiously over her shoulder, for some reason feeling like something was around, though you weren’t sure what. Call it a sixth sense—or else just paranoia.

“Lucy really wants that guy, I think.”

Sue had just swallowed and was turning away, following your gaze to where it had conveniently landed on her cousin, the MOH. Your stomach churned for no discernible reason when you finally saw Joel beside her.

He wasn’t even looking at her.

He seemed bored to be standing, rolling a shoulder in his taut, precisely-tailored suit jacket and shifting a flute of champagne from one hand into the other. He looked debonair, completely in keeping with his surroundings.

To your dismay, you realized he also looked incredible standing next to Lucy, who was then wearing a long, strapless, cerulean dress and had her gaze latched onto him. Maybe because of this, and wanting to stifle that thought, you replied to Sue as honestly as you could.

“I don’t blame her. Such a hunk, isn’t he?”

That was the understatement of the century.

By the look in Lucy’s eyes, she wanted to eat him alive.

“She’s a matchmaker, I mean. Got this swanky, fun ass job in New York City and is always looking for recruits—even if they’re out here. You’d be amazed how many people would be willing to do long distance for a man like him.” And with a stab of her pointer finger in Joel’s direction, Sue indicated that you had the complete package on your hands. As if you didn’t already know it.

“Oh,” you said, pretending to mull the thought over.

“Well, Joel’s actually her—” Tess started to say.

“Daddy!” you gasped, caught off-guard.

Just then, the groom materialized beside you. Your dad was sweating, toting two beers in one hand and looking like he’d just run a mile. His bow tie was loose, and he had a dazed, sunny expression on his face. He sighed.

“My darlin’ daughter,” he slurred, all tender adulation.

The motherfucker was drunk.

Maybe buzzed off of something else.

“Hi, Dad,” you greeted him. You smothered a smile when he mauled you with a hug and almost dropped his beers.

“Great party, huh? I oughta do this shit more often.”

“Get…married?” Sue replied. Hopefully not again…

“Yeah,” your dad barked a laugh. “‘S’fun, ain’t it?”

“My cousin Lucy makes it happen for a living.”

“No shit!”

And if your skull weren’t throbbing so hard, you probably would’ve paid attention to the rest of that conversation. It went on for another five, ten, maybe even twenty-five minutes before you realized you hadn’t been tuning in. You were too busy watching Joel, seeing him occasionally talk to Lucy and feeling irrationally…off. Not that you suspected the two of anything but that she looked so damn good next to him. She was probably fifteen years older than you and seemed to fit your boyfriend in a way that you never thought possible. As it was, whatever you’d had to drink before seemed to be taking a double effect and then some; your head swam.

It felt like you were starting to float, almost.

You rubbed at your temples and blinked twice.

And, right as you were contemplating taking a step away for a breather of some kind, you heard your dad’s voice loud above all the rest of the crowd and the music then:

“She single herself? She looks to be about…Joel’s age.”

He didn’t even try to hide it.

He was drunk and trying to pawn his friend off—jokingly, of course. Using just enough humor in his tone not to piss you off completely, but you knew that he meant it.

You shook your head. It felt even lighter than it had before, and your fingers had begun to tingle with some discomfort. Venturing a step back, and cocking your head sideways toward the exit as you mapped out your impending escape, you felt a presence behind you.

“Wade!” A grin spread across your father’s face.

You turned and saw him. This wasn’t a complete surprise, as you’d spotted the man at the ceremony before—his family and yours had always been close, and he’d apparently had some spare time to visit—but your body was in shambles. Your heart rate had kicked up.

You weren’t sure what else to do, so you reached for the arm of your old childhood best friend, who was now standing beside you, and you tugged it lightly. Your stomach clenched for reasons unknown to you, and completely unrelated to the man whose elbow you were holding, and then you leaned over. Your voice was low.

“Hey, Wade. Wanna, uh…go outside for a sec?”

Two brows jumped up, and he nodded.

Before long, the two of you were strolling outside the building, through the two huge double doors and then drawing toward the patio in the back. You could only imagine what Tess and your father were thinking, knowing better than anyone else what this looked like.

Right now, it felt like your brain was a big pile of mush.

You just needed a stable body. Someone to lean on as you headed outside and possibly yakked your guts out.

Wade crouched as soon as you did. You took a pit stop right by the closest patio table, and, squatting and squeezing your eyes shut as a light wave of nausea washed over you, you could hear his voice beside you.

“You alright? You—shit, should I go get someone?”

Probably Joel.

If he weren’t currently getting needled into taking some sweet, amazing, age-appropriate woman from NYC out for dinner next week, you’d say you would love to have him here. You were also sincerely hoping your father would shut the fuck up about your relationship and just try to accept that you and Joel were staying together.

Maybe.

For now.

If you ever got this fucking job offe—

“You need a minute? Water or anything?” Wade asked.

With his hand resting on your back and his words wonderfully soft in comparison to the blaring music indoors and the constant ringing in your ears, he was a comfort. You shook your head, and you tried to stand up.

He helped you. You took a seat, gingerly, and breathed in.

The softest, slightest giggle followed it.

“Want me to get your dad?” Wade pressed, sitting too.

Something rich and smooth started to pool in your chest. Your lungs expanded again, and it was like a gust of wind had filled them up with new feeling—a lightness.

Your head quit pulsing as much. In its place, there was a faint spreading of heat, from the base of your skull to the top. You didn’t know what to make of that, except to say:

“Wade?”

“Yeah?”

“Did…Dad ask you to ask me out at any point tonight?”

You met his gaze and tried not to smile. Wade paused.

“Well…” he started.

“Shit.”

“He might’ve mentioned it, like…once,” he went on, a little bit sheepish. “Said you were dating some old guy.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

His best friend.

If Joel Miller was such a great guy, why couldn’t he be good for you? Why couldn’t your dad just…move on?

“How old are we talking, anyway?” Wade hummed.

“Almost…Almost as old as my dad. His friend.”

Wade’s eyes widened.

“Well, goddamn. Is it Tommy?”

“Nope. His brother, Joel, actually.”

“That is beekeeping age, dude. Damn.”

And as your friend said it, you noticed that his expression softened. His eyes shone. Your own concealed grin from before snuck in a tiny bit. Your head continued to spin.

Wade grinned, too, and then your resolve evaporated.

You couldn’t help but laugh: “Fuck off. Seriously.”

“You’re the one bangin’ the Crypt Keeper.”

“Say that again and I’ll kill you, Pritchett.”

But you and him both were already dissolving into giggles. Just like when you were kids. It was simple and easy, without a hint of there being anything more to it.

You laughed longer than you probably needed to, but your head and your mind within it were just so light. A heady feeling shrouded your senses, and the evening air around you seemed to prick at your skin. Every inch of moonlight shining down on the patio felt brighter, too.

You sat side-by-side and stared out at the dark, vast expanse of land beyond the yard. The rolling hills. Your mouth was dry, so you tried swallowing a couple times, even licked at your lips once. Wade cleared his throat.

“I should’ve known it was Joel,” he resumed presently. Amusement lingering in his tone. “The way he was staring at you every other second of the ceremony…”

“Like I had a big stain on my dress?” you teased.

“Like he was head over heels in love with you.”

When he said it, Wade’s voice was still light. His words didn’t harbor any particularly heavy feelings, and after you tilted your head to him, you found the man smiling.

“You know I’m right,” he said simply.

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you stayed quiet. Another soft, cooling rush rolled in, and you couldn’t quite tell whether it was a breeze or something deeper, beneath your skin. You’d never had somebody tell you a thing like that; silently, you wondered how obvious it was

And if Joel wasn’t ready to do this openly, in front of everyone you knew, well…what would you do about it?

What could you do if he ended up changing his mind?

You blinked twice and tried to brush those thoughts aside. As if reading your mind, or maybe just wanting to head back into the party, Wade stood. He held out a hand to you, wiggling his fingers in a beckoning gesture.

“Wanna come?”

“I’m alright. Be just a few minutes.”

You didn’t need to communicate that you wanted the alone time; Wade went back in. You were glad of it, no matter how much you enjoyed your friend’s company, and for the first time that night, you really missed Joel. Selfishly, you wanted him all to yourself, and you wanted those other folks inside to know that you were together.

Not just friends. Not just fuckbuddies. Committed.

In love, like Wade had said.

Perched on an old wooden bench as you were, you pulled your knees to your chest. You crossed your ankles, and then you rested your chin on one of your knees, peering out across the broad, darkened, and sweeping horizon. Your vision might’ve undulated a little, and your tongue could’ve felt as dry as crumbling parchment in your mouth, but your overall mood was one of gentle quiescence. You blinked slowly, and you sighed.

Waiting.

Joel wouldn’t waste another second.

He was sick of waiting, tired of having to pretend to give a shit about whatever the person in front of him was saying—most of the time, it had been a relative, a friend of a friend of a friend, or else a woman with a big, hopeful smile, looking to find an opening to give him their number. He wasn’t new to the world of weddings, had been to dozens and dozens over the course of his life, but this time, unlike any other occasion, he’d come with a date. You. The urge to be close again was painful.

Why he’d decided to let you mingle and make rounds on your own in the first place was no mystery to him. Joel saw how happy you looked with Tess, how carefree and full of life you always seemed in environments like these, and then he noticed how many looks you and him had gotten at the wedding. None of them were approving.

Joel didn’t have time to think about that now, though. Even if the faces of the people closest to you, including your own father, still followed him around like a shadow and plagued his every other waking moment, he had made up his mind not to worry again until you were back.

Together.

Touching.

Possibly—

“Fucking—” Tommy paused to catch his breath, falling right into step with Joel before he picked the pace up. “—nuts. This wedding is fucking insane, ain’t it, Joel?”

“I guess.”

His head was thrumming with a strange feeling, as if he couldn’t quite get his bearings like he normally could. About an hour ago, after one glass of champagne, he’d decided to stop drinking. Now he was blinking through a haze and searching the venue desperately for you, with his brother being a pain in the ass trotting alongside him.

“There she is, lovebird,” Tommy said suddenly.

Joel breathed a sigh of relief seeing you in the crowd.

At the center of the dance floor, just parting ways with your dad after what looked to be a quick father-daughter dance, your gait was decided and stiff. Your shoulders were squared, and you moved through the throngs of wedding-goers as if your mind were a hundred miles away. Fortunately, your path led you straight to them.

“Baby,” Joel started, reaching for you.

You paused, as if caught off-guard, then blinked.

“Dad is…such an asshole sometimes,” you said vaguely.

Weakly.

Joel’s chest tightened at the sound, and his fingers threaded through yours instinctively. He wanted to lift your hand to his mouth and press a reassuring kiss there—though, getting the sense it might not go over too well around the present crowd, he didn’t. He tried to speak.

Tommy talked over him, “Your dad bein’ a menace?”

“Spewing absolute fucking nonsense.”

“Like what?”

Those words came from Joel, concerned.

Briefly, your gaze flitted to his, and the mist before his eyes thinned a little. He still felt light-headed, but it was more akin to a need. Desire. Wanting to protect you here.

“Making stupid comments about me and…Joel.” You gestured toward him, movements jerky. “More backhanded bullshit. Jokes. And he is so high.”

Tommy perked up at that.

“But your dad doesn’t smoke.”

“I know! I have no idea how he—”

Shortly, his brother was turning to him.

“Joel, what did you do with the Rice Krispies I gave you?”

Joel frowned. Knit his brows and didn’t have to think.

“I set them out for the other guests to have. I—”

“Fuck!” Tommy swore. “Are you shittin’ me?”

“No. Why?”

“Those were my fuckin’ edibles, man!”

His brother’s whole expression blanched. His eyes all but bulged out of his head, and he turned around quick, probably to find the table where his goods had been stashed. Then, swiftly, he pivoted right back to you.

“You had some, too?” Tommy asked.

“Me, Tess, Sue—” you started.

“I’m gonna shit myself.”

Then he was off.

It had all happened so fast, Joel didn’t know what to say. The weed would certainly explain the haze that had settled over his mind, the uptick of his heart rate, and the heightened degree of panic when it came to hearing about your dad. In a very faint silver lining, at least the reception was adults-only—the youth were in no danger of getting baked, and it looked like the treats had only been passed around your immediate group. It didn’t alleviate every concern, as evidenced by your present expression, but at least you were both OK. For now.

Joel leaned down to press a kiss to your hand like he’d wanted to before, but you constricted your grip before he could. You tugged him sideways, over toward an exit.

“We’re leaving.”

And though that tone seemed to brook no argument, Joel slowed. He let you lead him through the space, out the front doors and into the warm summer night, but when you made it three or four steps outside, he dug his heels into the ground. He squeezed your hand gently.

“Sweet pea…”

“I’m just sick of him, Joel! He said he’d made his peace with this—with us—and like a fucking idiot, I believed him. Now he’s doing what he always does, and he’s going back on his word. Treating us like we’re…we’re…”

“Naïve?” Joel finished for you.

“Like we’re stupid for trying to do this!”

You’d said it with such force, releasing his hand and throwing your own in the air with a helpless, angry look. It was clear that tensions were high; no doubt elevated by the influence of drugs, but also just disgust with your father. The problem went deeper. Joel watched you with a tender gaze, wanting to take that pain away from you.

“Am I stupid?” you asked. “Am I stupid for thinking we—”

“Darlin’, don’t even say that. Please. We’re alright.”

“We can’t even kiss in front of people, Joel!”

Those words were steeped in indignation. For half a second, Joel suspected the feeling might be directed toward him, but then your features softened. Quickly. The anger melded to hurt, and you shook your head.

Your voice was hoarse when you resumed.

“You look better with her. Like you…fit.”

That left Joel gobsmacked for more than just a moment. He couldn’t even process what you’d said, where it had come from, or who on earth you might’ve been talking about then, when you went on, heedless. He swallowed.

“Girls close to your age, like Lucy—”

“Are you serious?”

He blinked.

You were being sincere. His whole body tensed, and in a movement that seemed more autonomic than conscious, he scowled. He straightened up, his suit jacket suddenly feeling three sizes too small, and he shook his head at you. For a moment, he showed his age.

“Now I know you ain’t thinkin’ straight,” he started, voice stern like a father’s. The two of you were buzzed, amped up, angrier than normal, and Joel shortly felt as if it were his job to make things clearer. To show you how he felt. “After everything we’ve been through already, you’re gonna stand there an’ tell me I would be better off with somebody else? Someone a little closer to me in age?”

Your lip trembled, but you nodded your head.

“Y-Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know, it’s just—”

“Do you even hear yourself right now?”

“I’m just saying it might be easier!”

“What, if I loved someone older?

“Dad seems to think it’d be—”

That snapped Joel’s resolve.

Before that, he’d been trying to rein in his frustration, try not to let it break loose on you. But with the mention of your father—the same man you’d just been vilifying left and right—he couldn’t stay silent. He wouldn’t be calm.

The man could do little more than grit his teeth and take your hand. Not pressing too hard, he still led you away, firmly, and his strides didn’t slow until he reached another spot outdoors, closer to the parking lot.

Shortly, you were against a wall. Joel pushed you up and nudged you back, your spine pressed flat to the surface with the sounds of the reception humming behind you.

Your legs didn’t wrap around his waist immediately; instead, they parted, just far enough to allow him between, and you reached up softly to cup his face.

You wanted to kiss him—it was the most natural thing.

Tightening his grip on your hips, Joel edged you further back. You slid into the shadows, away from two wide-open doors, and in this position, he reckoned you could hear him better. He was glad of this when he leaned in.

With a slight sneer in his tone: “Yeah? Dad thinks so?”

“Joel.”

His name was more like a breath. Or a moan. Your legs spread even wider, about to draw him in at any moment.

“Good thing daddy knows better than him. C’mere.”

In a blink, his lips were trailing across your cheek. Grazing your mouth. Feeling you out while you tipped your chin up to him, asking the man wordlessly for more.

Joel knew you well enough to sense when you were needy. It was clear as day when his hands slid up your thighs, taking the material of your hot pink dress with them and pulling tight. He reached between your legs, and your breath audibly hitched. You panted for him.

“Joel. Please.”

“You think someone else would ‘fit’ me better? Hm?” Joel echoed your words from earlier and watched you wince a little. Eager as you were, you didn’t want to fight.

Not anymore.

Joel obliged you, and he tugged your panties to the side.

He undid his belt, buckle, and zip in fewer than five seconds, and then he stepped even closer to you. He didn’t wait for you to try and jump up; he gripped your right leg and nudged it up. He hooked it comfortably around him and held your gaze as he angled himself.

The blunt head of his cock swiped through your heat maybe once or twice, and Joel could feel from those movements alone that you were soaked. Desire dripped from your center and coated him, and he couldn’t help but glance down. He watched your folds flare with each rutting motion, and he could hear it, too. Little whimpers matched the noises of your body meeting his, and Joel decided then that he wouldn’t make you wait any longer.

He sank in.

He didn’t need to be stern; from the way your body was open to him, hole aching and needy and wet, he pressed his hips once and was able to slide his cock in gently. This, contrasted with his words, was something else.

His voice was low and guttural as he murmured:

“I’d say we fit just fine. Don’t you think so?”

And as if to punctuate his remark, he drove in to the hilt. He shoved his cock so deep that he swore you’d be able to feel him in your throat, and then he held it. He looked up from the sight of your cunt getting stuffed with him, and he saw your mouth pop open. A strangled moan succeeded that look, along with a, ‘Fuck me, Joel.’

“That ain’t no answer.”

He withdrew to the tip. Fucked in again.

Your thigh trembled against his side as you reached up and squeezed his shoulder, a deeper moan spilling out. This only propelled Joel to pose his question again, lower

“C’mon. Say it. Ain’t—” A firm withdrawal. A sharp thrust. “—one fuckin’ pussy’ll fit me better’n yours. You know it.”

“B-But—”

“Ain’t just sex, neither. You mean everything to me.”

Joel could see the effect his words were having; in addition to the whimpers and the whines, your gaze was holding his own in the softest, rawest look. Your grip tightened on his white starched collar, and the neediness that Joel had seen before seemed to seep through your fingers. You held him close while he fucked you hard against the wall, and he would be lying if that feeling didn’t drive him insane: knowing that you needed him.

He would make you his wife someday.

That was why what you’d said had thrown him off as much as it did. He wasn’t expecting it—was too busy dreaming up all the different ways you two would be painting your babies’ nursery, taking road trips out to the beach or Santa Fe or any number of your new favorite vacation spots you would no doubt accumulate over the years. He was thinking long-term, and here you were, wondering whether he might not want somebody else.

He would show you what he wanted.

He could feel the way your back started to arch off the warm, wooden wall and how your pussy squeezed him tighter. He could feel each pulse; he relished it, and he fucked you deeper. No doubt, if someone were to walk outside the reception hall, take four or five steps to the left and turn their head, you’d be caught. You’d be entirely fucked, standing with your bodies mashed together and your clothes all thrown askew. Try as he might to have styled his hair that morning and kept it manageable, now, it was disheveled and wild. Damp and dark and gray as it had ever looked, grayer than the first time you’d ever done this. Absently, Joel wondered if you’d still love him after all those hairs had gone white.

As if in reply, you pulled him close for a kiss. You tugged the short, dampened curls at the nape of his neck, and you angled your hips. You accepted each thrust while he mumbled against your mouth, in between sloppy kisses.

“Feel me in here, baby?”

His free hand slid to your belly. The fingers splayed out.

“That’s where I belong.”

Another stroke. A soft and slow circling of his palm.

Faintly, he could feel the outline of his cock beneath your skin, and he knew you felt it, too. He sensed this from the way your eyelids fluttered and your walls clamped tighter around him, as if your cunt were trying to suck him in as deep as he could go. Joel wasn’t so mean as to deny you that feeling, so he went on. Kept talking gently as he did.

Perhaps owing to the high or the anxiety he’d been feeling all evening, the sublime ecstasy of being sheathed so far inside you, or else his most primal instincts kicking in, Joel’s thoughts were unyielding. They refused to be ignored, turning swiftly into words.

“Stay with me.”

The same ones had been plaguing him all day. Watching you walk down the aisle, smile and bat those pretty lashes at him, standing there completely oblivious to how badly he wanted this forever. It overpowered him.

He couldn’t resist the temptation to tell you all the rest.

While his hand traveled from your belly to cup your face, and your own pleasure continued to mount inside you at the steady cadence of his thrusts, Joel leaned in. His nose brushed yours, and he felt your breath hitch.

“Marry me.”

And, as if on cue, a spasm followed it. Not so much a squeeze but a sharp, concerted seizing of muscles more intense than Joel had ever felt it before, and your jaw went lax. Your lips parted just in time for him to kiss you again, work your tongue with his own, and keep mumbling those words over and over and over again.

You let him say it; you didn’t push him away or make fists in his suit jacket, telling him it was too soon, you weren’t ready. The truth was, you probably weren’t right now, but you likely knew that Joel was saying it to let you know. The reassurance was something you needed, and finally, it seemed, you found your voice again. It was soft.

“I—I want to. I want you, Joel.”

Your eyes were glazed, and your expression was strained in the midst of what looked to be the most dizzying climax of your life—Joel could feel the pulses continue to work themselves down his dick as he fucked you through it. Your arms wound around his neck. You nodded slowly.

Salt-and-pepper stubble tickled your cheeks with every movement. Wrinkled, sun-spotted skin made a stark contrast to your own, a belly that was broad and soft and slightly rounded over the place where his belt normally sat rested flush against your front. He’d never felt so close watching your gaze latch onto his. His balls ached.

“I want your babies someday, too,” you whispered softly.

There was a smile in your tone as you said it, and Joel could only groan. Of course you had to tell him that now.

“I’ll give you one right here,” he panted. “Right now.”

“Gotta graduate first. Get a real job,” you giggled.

“You’ll be on maternity leave your whole career.”

Joel didn’t mean it, really—he wanted you to achieve your goals, same as he always did—but the thought of you carrying his kid was tempting. It made his hips rut forward, cockhead nudging your cervix with a question.

A plea.

As fast as this had all played out, it didn’t seem you were keen on keeping him waiting for much longer. Your fingers threaded through his grays and pulled gently again. Your lips grazed his own, and your smile grew.

“C’mon then, old man. Show me.”

And he did.

Feeling maybe fifteen or twenty years younger than he was, and momentarily forgetting that you were the daughter of his best friend—the man whose wedding reception was taking place behind that very wall—he let his mind go blank. He felt his cock seize the reins and then empty himself inside, buried as deep as possible.

Idly, he hoped that it would stick.

Your shared reckless, wanton words may have been partly a product of how needy and horny you both were, but maybe there was more to it. Maybe you wouldn’t ask him to buy a Plan B tomorrow morning and just let it be.

He couldn’t wait for the day you met his gaze with a look of pure excitement, practically overflowing with joy as you told him it worked. Maybe that wouldn’t happen for months, or years, or however long you needed to feel secure in that decision, but Joel knew he’d be patient.

He’d be everything you needed and more. With ropes of his cum painting your insides and his cock pulsing gently, lips caressing you all over, he knew that it was only a matter of time. His friend would come around.

In the meantime, Joel decided he was done hiding.

After you’d adjusted your clothes and proceeded to take up residence at a nearby table, Joel pulling you into his lap and stroking your hair until your breaths had finally quieted against his chest, he led you inside. He held your hand all the way to the center of the room, where the crowd on the dance floor was just then starting to thin. It was clear you’d be visible to everyone there, and he watched your eyes dart left and right before flitting to his

Two big, callused palms held your waist. He moved at an easy pace, falling in time with the few couples that were dancing around you. More than once, he nudged your nose with his own, and his words reached you gently.

Most were notes of reassurance. Others were mumbled ‘I love yous’ and ‘Can you believe this is gonna be us someday, tyin’ the knot in front of all these people?’

That seemed to quiet your anxiety, at least for now. Even when he leaned down to take your lips in a kiss, when his fingers slid down and rested just above your rear end, you didn’t balk. If anything, you leaned closer to him.

The warmth of your body beneath his touch and the love etched in every feature was promise enough; he showed you the same, and when, at length, you decided it was time to call it a night, he didn’t hesitate. He led you off, his brain still buzzing on a high and the taste of your lips.

He didn’t register the look the groom gave him for long.

It might’ve lasted for a second or the whole time he was dancing with you. Leaving with you. He had the sense that that gaze was there, but the realization was as quick as anything to leave him. Joel might’ve decided to leave that well enough alone and simply slide out a side door, but then he remembered that this was his oldest friend. For as long as Joel could remember, Mark was a friend.

The man might’ve tried to drown him at one point, but that was all water under the bridge, both literally and figuratively. Still holding your hand in his, he diverted your course toward your father. He tried forcing a smile.

Your grip tightened on approaching. You frowned a bit.

Joel tried keeping his tone as casual as it could be.

“Hey, man—”

Your daughter calls me daddy, too. My cum is dripping out of her cunt right now, and you don’t even know it.

“—congratulations again. Give my best to Helen.”

After he said it, though, it was almost as if your dad had heard the words that he was thinking in between; his brows drew together, and his expression visibly hardened

Joel stuck out his free hand to him. Mark didn’t take it.

Instead, his friend’s gaze drifted to you beside him.

In the blink of an eye, the words were falling out.

“Are we done here, pumpkin?” he asked you.

And that tone was undeniably calm—so much so that Joel had to do a double take just to make sure that he heard him properly. Your grip constricted even tighter.

“Done?” Your own tone was flat. Puzzled. “With…what?”

Your father gestured between you and Joel, and slowly, his mouth curved into a smile. It was slight and sardonic. Those eyes holding yours were evidently meant to mock.

“This,” Mark answered simply. “Are we done?”

“I don’t—” you started, blinking.

“Mark.”

As soon as Joel spoke, his friend’s gaze—clearly inebriated—darted to him. It seemed more like a snarl.

Then, glancing back at you: “I’d say you’ve punished me more than enough now, sweetheart. You can stop fucking my friend to make me mad. It worked.”

His words were both scathing and reductive.

Summing up your entire relationship to such a sentence as that, including an accusation that you were doing it all just for him, was absurd. The tone of it floored Joel, too.

And yet he couldn’t do a thing, because you were speaking next. Your hand unclasped from his swiftly.

“You don’t even know what the fuck this is,” you spat.

“Oh, don’t I? I was a bad dad, I know that. An absent one. This is your way of showing that, by making sure my life is a living hell as long as you’re here, being used by him!”

And then his friend pointed, so as not to be misunderstood in the slightest. Your eyes widened.

You looked as if you were trapped between fleeing and just shoving the guy off his feet, as hard as you could.

You settled on a simple, scornful, “Fuck you.”

“You know I’m right. You can’t deny it.”

“We love each other, Dad. That’s it.”

And though Joel knew it wasn’t his place—this seemed more like a conversation between father and daughter, not for the boyfriend wanting to prove himself in some way—he tried chiming in anyway. He opened his mouth to speak, and at the same time, he saw your dad sneer.

“And if you believe that, you’re just as dumb as your mother. Nothing better than a stupid fucking slut.”

The next moment escaped him; it all happened so fast.

You grabbed a full, cold drink off the closest table, and you flung it directly in your father’s face. You let the cup jump from your hand and strike his nose in the process.

Then you turned and left.

It was as simple and as ugly as that.

Trailing behind you, briefly casting one stunned look over his shoulder toward his friend, where it seemed everyone else in the reception hall was staring as well, he saw the look on his face. He read the shock and pain clear as day.

Frankly, Joel no longer gave a fuck.

Hours later, your dad’s words still stung to remember.

Days later, they made it a little more difficult to eat.

Weeks later, on the morning that was supposed to mark the culmination of your entire academic career to date, you found yourself slumped on the floor of a bathroom stall, still dressed in your crimson cap and gown, and you wished that you were, for once in your life, able to make a decision that didn’t end up hurting someone. You also sincerely hoped this nausea was just a passing phase.

You got on your knees and threw up in the toilet again.

Outside, a soft voice cut in over the hum of fluorescents.

“You want me to get Joel? He’s been worried about you.”

“No.”

Your reply was almost too quick. You held your hair tight and shook your head, as if your roommate could somehow see it, and then you tried again, quieter.

“I’m—I’m alright. Just give me five minutes.”

As it turned out, you needed twenty.

When you reemerged from the bathroom, expression drained and skin sweating a lot more than it probably should have been, you expected to find Joel chatting with Aly’s parents. Cracking jokes with Dallas. Maybe checking his phone for the time, because your flight back to Austin was leaving that afternoon. You’d barely managed to get your dorm packed up in time, and you felt sick for almost all of it. The graduation ceremony was just the cherry on top. Of course, your dad wasn’t there.

That, you’d anticipated. You told him not to come.

What you weren’t planning to see was Joel standing outside the bathroom with his hands crammed full of pills—DayQuil, Dramamine, Advil, any bottle or brand you could think of, he had. He also wore a wan expression.

It almost matched yours, although you weren’t about to share that the reason for your sickly tinge was due to nonstop vomiting. It seemed you’d been feeling that way ever since your father had kicked you out of your childhood home and told you to live with Joel.

He hadn’t said those words, but ‘stupid fucking slut’ had had all of the same effect. Since then, you’d been scarce.

Sick as a dog and trying to convince yourself that it was simply issues with your old man making you feel like this.

It couldn’t have been anything other than that, because you had just graduated college, were still waiting on not one, but three callbacks for jobs in and around Austin, and your lease at your first apartment started next week. Your life was just beginning to look a little brighter, with Joel by your side and cheering you on every step of the way, and you couldn’t stand the thought of it changing.

You waved the medicine off as soon as you saw it.

“Joel, I’m fine. Really.” You tried forcing a smile.

“I just got it from Aly’s mom and a couple other parents around—had some Advil in my car, and we could go to Walgreens before we hit the airport. Do you need me t—”

“No. I feel much better now. Just had to sit for a little,” you cut him off, standing on tip-toes to kiss his nose.

“We sat for the last two hours,” Joel said, frowning.

Pretending not to hear that last remark, you turned to Aly. You stretched your arms out to your best friend and now former-roommate, and you tried not to look too sad.

You clearly failed miserably at that, because Aly scoffed.

“Don’t gimme that look,” she said, hauling you into the biggest, tightest hug that very nearly reawakened your nausea. “I’m gonna come and visit ‘til you’re sick of me. Seriously. Joel’s just gonna have to suck it up for now.”

“Oh, he will,” you murmured, half-smirking and half-wanting to cry. Everything made you teary these days.

You weren’t ready to say good-bye to anyone. Anything. This period of transition was difficult enough without having to move back home not having your old home, and now parting ways with your closest friend on a random sunny Saturday afternoon like it was nothing.

The waterworks were close, but you managed to keep them at bay through sheer force of will. You drew back.

“Don’t open this until you’re home,” Aly said suddenly.

Then she was pushing a makeup bag in your direction.

It didn’t look like anything out of the ordinary, as simple and nondescript as the little gold pouch happened to be, but you had no idea why she was handing it over to you.

You cocked a brow, accepting it with a puzzled look.

“What’s this f—” you started to say.

“For later. After you’ve settled in, and if things don’t…”

Aly paused, choosing words carefully before going on:

“If another ‘friend’ doesn’t come to visit you in a month.”

And although she was smiling while she said it, the implications were plain as day—and you didn’t like it.

You groaned.

“Aly, I am not—”

“I’m not saying you are! Just to be extra safe.”

“I had my friend two weeks ago. That’s not the problem.”

“You bled for one day. Didn’t even fill a tampon you said.”

“And I took Plan B the last time we…and, I mean, we’ve been using condoms every single time ever since then.”

You hated that this would be your last topic of discussion with your friend. At the same time, you knew that it was entirely true to her always looking out for you. She’d seen you sick as anything these last couple weeks, and it was only natural for her to be concerned. She probably figured that you wouldn’t buy whatever was stashed in this bag yourself, so she went ahead and did it for you.

You hoped you wouldn’t need to use it.

You hugged her again and wanted to stay.

After Dallas had assailed you with a similarly suffocating hug to your first, nearly crushing two ribs in the process, and you’d said your good-byes to the rest of the family and a few other friends, you regrouped with Joel. You headed out to the parking lot with him, taking off your cap and unzipping your gown to reveal a short white dress underneath. The afternoon heat was blistering.

Joel eyed you up and down once.

Twice.

He smiled and pulled you into his side as you walked.

“How’s it feel to be an official college grad, darlin’?”

As soon as his hand landed on your waist and pulled you in—when you felt the warmth of his breath on the top of your head before he placed a soft, affectionate kiss there—you couldn’t help it. The sun was shining too bright, and the stomach that you’d sworn was far too empty by now to heave again evidently had had a mind of its own.

You turned and puked on a Porsche.

Joel never knew fatherhood could be so difficult.

Standing in the old, half-dilapidated kitchen of his grandfather’s home, staring through the screen door leading out to the yard, he looked long and hard at the overgrown child sitting politely on the back porch steps.

Her eyes shone with a sweetness that he couldn’t ignore.

“You ain’t sleepin’ in here. I don’t care what Mama said.”

The big, brown eyes blinked up at him. The head cocked.

“And don’t be actin’ all mopey ‘bout it, neither. We’ve been feedin’ you, keepin’ you clean this whole month, tryin’ to find your real family in the meanwhile, and what’s the thanks we get? A steamin’ pile of shit in the living room. You ain’t spendin’ the night again, capiche?”

The kid scowled. She bared her teeth once in frustration.

Then her tail shortly quit wagging, as if she’d actually understood the meaning of his words, and she slumped.

With her head now resting on her front paws in a patch of grass off to the side, the inky black night beyond consuming everything but the little swath of light emitted from the bulb overhead, she watched him.

She huffed through her nose, clearly annoyed.

“Billie!” a voice sing-songed from inside.

That sound came from behind Joel, somewhere in the bedroom. It made the ears of his yappy, furry friend perk up, and no sooner had it rang out than the dog was padding back up the steps and right to the door.

With an expectant, See?-I’m-Fine look, she peered up.

“Go. Away,” Joel ordered, tone stern and authoritative.

Or at least trying to be. He couldn’t deny those eyes were his fucking kryptonite, and the longer he stood there watching her, the more his will began to crumble.

Then a hip bumped his. A flash of something in his periphery, and suddenly, you were slotted in between him and the door, ogling the ratty ball of fur on the deck.

You swung the door open at once.

“C’mere, sweet girl,” you crooned.

The lab bounded happily inside, sidling right up to you with her head held high. If Joel hadn’t known any better, he could’ve sworn he saw the little beast grin over at him.

Beaming somewhat smugly, as if to say, ‘I told you so.’

“That thing is not sleeping in here,” Joel huffed.

You turned to him, crouched by the dog.

“Says who?” you asked him.

“Says me. Damn dog already pissed and crapped and—”

“She’s just a baby, Joel. We can potty train her.” Then, scratching her behind the ears again. “Right, Billie?”

Joel put his hands on his hips, paternal consternation painted all over his face. He hated having to do this.

“You know we can’t be givin’ her no names, baby. It’ll just make it harder when we gotta give her back to her folks.”

You deflated a little hearing that. Kneeling on linoleum in an oversized gray tee that had once belonged to him, hand stroking over the yellow fur with an almost mournful touch, you chewed your bottom lip.

“Well, what if…what if we were her family?”

It just wasn’t realistic for the time being. You’d be moving into your apartment next week—and of course, the complex had a strict ‘No Pets’ policy—you were still on the hunt for a job, his own workload was getting heavier and heavier by the day, and you both had a busy month ahead. From Tommy and Maria’s destination wedding in just a few short weeks to the Billy Joel concert he’d bought tickets for and a million other things, it wasn’t wise at all to be taking on the responsibility of a pet.

Joel said as much by crouching beside you and the dog and stroking the lab’s back. He tried to use the gentlest tone he could muster up while he looked you in the eye.

“We agreed this was just a temporary thing, sweet pea.”

“You can’t always…plan for this stuff, though, right?”

You peered back up at him, and he sighed.

“No. No, you can’t. But with the place we’re at right now, I don’t think it’d be fair to either of us—or to this sweet little puppy—if we tried growing our home right now. We just don’t have the time to care for a dog. And I know you’d wanna be the best Mama you could possibly be.”

Joel expected that to get an understanding reaction out of you. A slow nod of your head, a little twitch of your lips to say that you saw what he meant and that you agreed with him—a pet just wasn’t in the cards for you right now

Instead, you burst into tears.

You rose to your feet and proceeded to flee the kitchen, hand over your face and sobs quick to rack through you.

Joel sat there, stunned for several seconds before the realization could even fully dawn on him. The dog beside him whined. She tilted her head to the left and watched the door where you’d gone out of, and then she stood up herself, about to follow you out. Joel shortly stopped her.

“Stay,” he commanded.

This time, thankfully, the lab obeyed.

She didn’t seem thrilled at the prospect of missing out on all the action, but she was wise enough not to try any stunts. With a little huff, she plopped down on the floor and watched him leave, same as she had done with you.

Joel’s head was whirring with too many thoughts at once to worry himself with anything else at the moment. He lumbered into the bedroom that he shared with you and looked around—you couldn’t be found on the bed, in the reading nook, packing clothes and going, so he figured…

“Honey?” Joel knocked loudly on the bathroom door.

He waited a second and heard nothing. Instinct told him not to barge in immediately, but curiosity and worry both seized him in a chokehold at once. He put his hand on the doorknob, and, following another brief pause—after calling your name and getting no answer—he walked in.

When he did, you were already turning from the sink.

Your eyes were clear, and your cheeks were dry; all that was left to remind him that you’d just broke down crying in front of him a minute or two ago was a faint ring of pink around your irises. That part you couldn’t mask.

The rest was an uncanny performance, though.

You forced a smile and tried breezing past him in the doorframe. Muttered something about this ‘ridiculous PMS’ and how ‘emotional these hormones make you.’

Joel didn’t believe a syllable of what you said—and even if your outburst were due in part to hormones, he wanted to know how he could help. Make you feel better. He took you by the shoulders before you could pass, and he stopped you in the door. He pressed your back gently to the wooden frame to make you meet his look in turn.

“Talk to me, sweetheart. What was that?” He tried making his voice sound as soft and calm as possible.

Then you smiled again. Practically leered in his face.

“I just get in these moods. You know I do. I really—”

“What? You think I’m stupid now or somethin’?”

And Joel didn’t intend for those words to come off so abrasive, but the circumstances—that plastic painted grin twisting so casually at the corners of your lips—had him fit to be tied, and that irritation was only growing by the second. His grip slid down to your upper arms, firm.

He hated being so fatherly, but he knew he had to say it.

“You and me, we’re gonna talk this over like two adults. Only way to work things out is communication. Now s—”

“I might be pregnant.”

You spoke, and in the same instant, his lower back broke.

That was what it felt like, anyway—every time he got a muscle spasm at this age, it felt like someone had taken a cattle prod to his spine and had a field day with it. Like his vertebrae were composed of the same material found in glow sticks, and somebody much, much bigger than him had just snapped that motherfucker in two, it—

“Shiiiiiiit, shit, shit,” Joel cursed over and over.

You froze. Your mouth fell open.

“I knew it. I…fucking knew it.”

That was an accusation.

A charge, more like.

Joel’s eyes widened, both with the pain blossoming from his lower back and the realization that you thought that his reaction stemmed from being disappointed about you possibly having his child. Your eyes welled up with tears all over again, this time shameless and staying put.

You turned and strode off just as he reached for you.

Joel couldn’t move far or fast in his present condition, so he placed a hand on the small of his back and wobbled behind you, wincing a little as he called out your name.

“Baby!”

“Said you wanted a whole brood of kids seconds before shooting your load in me, but the second I mention a pet, suddenly I’m the crazy one. Forget about your baby batter actually fucking doing its job and maybe knock—”

“Sweet pea, listen to me. Please.”

You were throwing clothes into a suitcase. The two of you had only planned to spend the weekend at his granddad’s, so you didn’t have very much to pack.

“I’ve heard enough.” You rubbed your bleary eyes.

Tears were flowing freely down your cheeks now, and Joel was rounding the edge of the bed, pain still radiating up his back and a million emotions coursing through him at once. Almost simultaneously, another spasm hit, and this time, it all but bowled him over.

Joel found himself crouched by the bed where you were busy chucking shirts, skirts, panties, and socks into your bag, and his whole lower back suddenly seized with pain.

Fuck middle age.

“Joel?”

Just as quick, you stopped what you were doing.

“Joel, oh—oh fuck, are you having a stroke?!”

Now it was his turn to feel taken aback.

Gripping the old, flimsy bedspread in one hand and his back in the other, Joel shook his head fiercely. Quickly.

“N-No. No, hon, I’m fine.”

He felt a million years old.

You rushed to his side, not a crack in your joints as you squatted. Your tone changed completely, and your hand started rubbing circles in his back. Thankfully, it wasn’t where he was hurting, and he could manage, hoarsely:

“Just my back. Are—Are we havin’ a baby, darlin’?”

“I have no idea! Are you dying on me, Miller?”

“Not quite—”

“Because if you are, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Those words were harsh, but the voice that spoke them was alarmingly small. Soft. Your eyes were as wide as saucers, and you couldn’t stop touching him the second you suspected that something was amiss. Your anger vanished. Joel took one, long look at you then and almost forgot the agony he was in. His lips twitched.

“Y’ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easy. Just…back spasms.”

“What?”

“Happens when you’re over the age of forty and exist.”

“So you should be used to it, after a hundred years?”

Little shit.

You were helping him to his feet. Making him sit on the bed. Joel couldn’t help the little grunt of amusement that pushed out of his chest, but he also wasn’t in the mood to be humorous. His head was still throbbing. Spinning.

“S’why I was cussin’ up a storm right after you told me…it was just my damn back. You know, darlin’, you know…” Now his own voice was failing him. Joel was short of breath and sitting up from the headboard, trying to hold you in some way. Luckily, you let him take your hands. “Ain’t a soul on this earth I’d rather start a family with…”

When he squeezed your palms, you pressed back gently.

You didn’t retreat, but your voice wasn’t quite the same. Your eyes met his, almost hesitating, still glossy and wet.

“But you don’t even want a…a dog together. You said—”

“I know.” Joel winced, now regretting his choice of words earlier. “I know I said that we were busy, and maybe we don’t have all the resources right now to make it…easy.”

He had to pause, and perhaps you thought it was for effect, or because his back was still hurting him some, but the truth was that it had just started to dawn on him. His throat grew tight; he couldn’t swallow, and suddenly, it was his own eyes blinking fast. Stinging with emotion.

“But a baby?”

His voice splintered with that last word. He tried, although he couldn’t bring himself to go on just yet.

“I—I don’t know for sure,” you interjected, hurried. “Haven’t taken a test or anything. It’s just been weeks since I was supposed to have my period, and I’ve felt…”

The two of you were perched on the edge of the bed, and across from him, Joel saw your face looking pensive. His eyes rounded with a realization, memories flooding back.

“At graduation. You were sick,” he murmured. “You…?”

You chewed at the inside of your cheek.

“I’d been sick. Aly bought me a test.”

“But you didn’t take it?”

“No. I was too scared.”

You looked like you might’ve been about to say more, when, at length, your brows pinched, and your whole expression looked like it was about to cave in on itself. Like you couldn’t control the wave of emotion rolling in.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

Joel wrapped you in his arms, and you started to sob.

Not like that slight, tight-lipped flow of tears that had started and ended before he could even blink; this one was long and poured straight into his chest, like a weight that was being stripped off of your back brick-by-brick.

You’d talked about babies before. You’d met his gaze with a bright, twinkling look in your own and told him you couldn’t wait. In softer, sensual, at-times spontaneous moments, you had sex and let him finish inside you, and you both went wild at the thought of his seed maybe sticking, but this? The reality was a different thing.

Joel let you cry as long as you needed, and he stroked your hair. He leaned back against the headboard, you safe and secure in his grasp, and he told you the truth.

“I love you,” he said, soft. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere, hear?”

You proceeded to sniffle, fisting his shirt, “But you…”

“Want this. Want you. Want the baby. The dog, the house, and the yard with the white picket fence. Everything you can think of, with you, I want.”

Another brief pause, and you peered up.

Joel went on without having to think.

“I only said what I said before ‘cause I thought it was the right thing to do. You’re just startin’ out in life, and I’m old as dirt, itchin’ to settle down and have you all to myself. But I know you’ve got stuff to figure out, like what you wanna be and where you wanna go, and I just want whatever that is to be your decision. Your choice.”

Those last words seemed to leave an impression. You blinked slowly, and then you sniffled again, thinking.

“Whether it’s a baby, this dog, a house, or anything else, you and me have all the time in the world to figure it out.”

Perhaps unconsciously, your hand then drifted to rest on your belly. The sight of it made Joel’s heart not only swell but want to burst in his chest, and he had to rein in his every impulse just to kiss your forehead and stay calm.

It was hard.

You searched his gaze.

“Whatever it is, I want it to be with you, Joel,” you said.

And when you tilted your chin up half a degree to press your lips to his, it was over. He kissed you deeply, with a feeling that would’ve almost surprised him if it weren’t so thoroughly embedded in his body by now. Every inch of him needed you, and every inch of him wanted to protect you, to keep you safe, and make sure that you knew he was ready to take this step. If you were ready.

Staring into your eyes after the two of you had pulled apart, both still sniffling and shedding some tears and laughing every now and then at how insane this was to be going through, Joel hoped that you would be ready.

“I love you, Miller,” you mumbled gently against his lips.

“I love you more,” he muttered back, and he meant it.

He was ready.

It all came down to Boston, the Bronco, and Billy Joel.

The singer’s namesake, a perpetually happy-go-lucky yellow lab, now sat between you and Joel in the front seat of the old car, panting loud. You didn’t blame her.

Currently, it was 103 degrees at the start of another blistering Austin heatwave, and the Bronco’s A/C was shot to shit. Your furry friend was keeping a brave face, but deep down, you knew she was dying inside listening to the Piano Man while waiting for her dad to pick up the pace. You couldn’t deny you were silently missing the winters in Massachusetts and wishing Joel was a little bit quicker with dressing. Beside you and Billie, in the driver’s seat, he was lacing up his left shoe.

He wore loafers, a crisp white polo, and khaki shorts.

The man had never looked more like a dad in his life; later today, you’d be finding out for certain if he was.

Seven days ago, you’d decided to wait a week before taking an at-home pregnancy test. Seven whole days hoping for that bloody chaos you’d come to despise the majority of your life—and still, to the present moment, nothing. You’d just parked outside Tommy and Maria’s house, planning to spend the afternoon celebrating them closing on said house, getting married in less than a month, and Maria landing a big promotion at her job.

You know, adult stuff.

Marriage, home ownership, career success, the whole nine yards. The only place you and Joel might’ve had them beat was a kid, but even that wasn’t a sure thing.

You wouldn’t tell anyone until it was, and once it was—if it was—you reckoned you’d be an absolute fucking mess.

You were already half-insane over the prospect of being a mother, much less learning that you were. At the same time, irrationally, you couldn’t keep your hands off Joel.

It was like the man had become a fucking drug lately.

Your sex drive was already through the roof as it was, and you’d always been wildly attracted to him before, but this was new. It was different. Nothing had ever made you more feral or needy than…whatever the fuck this was.

Presently, Joel hiked up his shorts even higher on one leg and opened the driver’s side door. He propped his foot up, about to try and fix the laces again, when Billie dove across his lap. She tore off down the lawn like her tail was on fire all the way to the backyard, where the sounds of the barbecue could no doubt be heard to her.

“Damn dog,” Joel muttered. He smiled saying it, though.

You were too busy ogling how big his thighs looked straining against cotton, wanting to take a bite out of one

Right as he fixed the wayward loafer laces and turned to say something to the effect of, ‘You ready, sweet pea?’, you reached over him and slammed the car door shut. You pulled—no, wrenched—your panties down your legs from under the hem of your red gingham dress and then straddled Joel’s lap. Then you changed your mind. You pried yourself off the old man and made your way into the backseat, where you two would have some room.

“You comin’?” You pouted up at him in the rearview.

It took Joel a half-second to process. He blinked.

“In…in the driveway?” He looked around briefly.

You knew the question, as well as the momentary bout of bewilderment, was mostly perfunctory; he’d gotten used to you needing him at all hours of the day, in the most unconventional places. This wasn’t the weirdest spot you’d done it by a long shot. Not even in the last week.

“This was the first place we ever had sex, y’know,” you said, batting your lashes at him sweetly. Teasing him. “Back when you defiled me coming home from college.”

“That ain’t how I remember it.” And Joel was already coming after you. Clambering over the front seats.

Then he was under you, lying down a little awkwardly with his gigantic frame taking up most of the space in the backseat. You sat on his belly. Lifted your dress skirt.

“You jumped me, didn’t ya, pretty girl?” Joel smirked.

“Might have. I was horny,” you replied, smiling, too.

Vaguely, you recalled calling him daddy in the lobby of that seedy backcountry motel, and the rest was history.

Now you were undoing his clothes again. Taking him out, same as you’d helped him do on that first night, and the overwhelming heat in the vehicle today hardly bothered you at all. You were reminiscing—brushing his bare tip between your thighs and smearing your wetness with him. You straddled his hips and looked around you both.

“My purse.” You reached over, mumbling, “Condoms.”

Joel grabbed your thighs and nudged you up his body before you could make it far. While fucking with rubbers and having him inside was the first thing on your mind, something else was on his. He angled you over his face.

Feeling stubble on your inner thighs, you whimpered.

“Y’let daddy have a taste first, right?” Joel hummed.

You had.

You and Joel had played a game of ‘Too Hot,’ and he’d topped it off by finishing you off with his lips and tongue. In keeping with tradition, it seemed only fair to give him the chance to do it again, but you were impatient, too.

The headrest beside you got a hard squeeze, shortly. Your fingers curled into the cushion as you grit your teeth together and Joel’s tongue swiped up your slit.

Damn, he felt good.

You hadn’t even needed the foreplay, and here he was, licking through your folds like this was the key to his own happiness. Like nothing would make him more content.

At length, you looked down and watched him do it. You scanned the tanned, weathered plane of Joel’s forehead, every wrinkle and sunspot and sign of aging that you had come to love over the last months, and you whined again

His tongue stroked you methodically and deliberately. He coaxed your clit with just the tip and then sucked the little nub between two soft and plush lips. Everything about the pressure was delectable, from the warmth of his mouth to the way you felt the grays in his stubble tease your skin to how expertly he worked you over. Pleasure mounted, and Joel’s efforts increased, too.

He let you fuck his face. You rode it, basically, but with even more force from how he’d grip the sides of your legs and rut your hips hard over his waiting, open mouth.

Even lying supine under you, Joel was always in control. You loved not having to think a damn thing while he was pleasuring you like this—or in any position, really—and you could just shut off your brain. You’d hold the headrest in one hand and a clump of dark, silver-streaked hair in the other, and simply breathe. Hiccup, moan, curse aloud occasionally, all of it in a good way.

You were a good girl with some raging, yet-unexplained hormones coursing through your body that made you want to scream. So you did. With a thick, damp beard between your thighs and a tongue moving relentlessly through your sensitive heat, big hands leaving imprints on your hips and thighs, and a smirk searing against your center the whole time, you let out a cry that was primal.

Feral.

Your legs trembled against Joel’s face as you came, and your body couldn’t hold you upright for long after it hit. You slumped forward, into the window, and cried again.

Insatiable, too, it seemed.

Body still tight, your hips continued to rut mindlessly as if waiting for something more that you couldn’t decipher.

This time, Joel was moving out from under you. He worked an arm around your front, gently, and then, positioned behind you, slid his fingers inside your pussy.

He pumped his index and middle fingers once, twice, stretching your still-pulsing walls around them before pulling back out. Like he could tell there was something else you needed to release, he pulled you into his lap and had you sit. He repositioned you both to sit facing the front of the car, and your legs draped lazily over his.

He pushed his fingers inside you again.

Still only two, but curving them upward to pet the ridged wall of flesh and get in deeper, he kissed your shoulder. He made a rhythm of it, easily, and worked you back up to a high you didn’t even know that you needed. When you climaxed again, this time over thick, callused fingers, the lightest stream followed it. Joel made you squirt, and he didn’t stop moving his hand until it had all come out.

Then he kissed your shoulder again, lips soft and wet.

“Better?”

“Y-Yeah.”

Boneless as you felt, you still managed to turn around. Your eyes must’ve been glazed, the heady warmth of your first and second orgasms still thrumming through your veins, and you smiled softly at Joel. He smiled back.

Now he’d let you have him.

He was wise like that—old and sage and more experienced in sex than you by decades. You sometimes forgot about that. It was in moments like these that he was able to remind you: fucked out as he had you, needy as you’d been all day, he could show you just what your body could take, and what it might give to him in return.

When he filled you, it felt a little bit like coming home.

Joel must have snagged a Trojan from out of his shorts pocket and put it on while you were coming down from your high, and you didn’t mind at all. Latex-covered or not, every inch of him was precious going in, and you appreciated the consideration for your present state.

Just to be safe.

Unlike the first time you’d done this, up in the front seat of the Bronco, you and Joel were now familiar with each other. His cock stretched your pulsing wet hole, and the only words out of his mouth for the longest time were ‘I love you’ and ‘This feel alright?’ Nothing else was said until Joel felt certain you were comfortable having him there, hands secure around your hips and eyes following your every movement. He watched you hiccup and nod.

“‘M’alright. Start movin’, daddy, please,” you whined.

He knew you, and you knew him, almost too well.

Instead of gratifying you immediately, Joel lifted one broad and callused palm and cradled the back of your head with it. His brown eyes twinkled, and you could see that he was serious about taking care of you. He had to.

“My baby ain’t sore?” he asked, pointedly. “Ain’t hurt?”

“No, sir.”

You saw a flicker of heat leap to his gaze on hearing that. He let you snake your arms around his neck and wriggle your hips a little, taking in his heft and his girth as best you could. Your walls clenched involuntarily, and fuck if it didn’t feel a bit like suffocating. He was always so big.

Joel stretched you, dove to the sweetest depths of your body, and made you full. He only started moving when he saw that you were ready; then it was all soft, gentle thrusts and tender kisses. Digging deep to find that special spot inside you and hitting it repeatedly with the head of his cock. Hypersensitized as you were, it felt like every throbbing inch was in all the way to your lungs, and you couldn’t have been happier. Your head lolled forward into the crook of Joel’s neck then, and you soaked him in

“That’s a good girl,” Joel hummed. Now rubbing your back while he pistoned his cock in and out of you rhythmically. “That’s my girl. Always so sweet f’me.”

You were leaking around him, too.

Slick smeared your groin and Joel’s and made for the most obscene sorts of noises as you fucked. It practically flattened the wiry grays at the base of the old man’s abdomen, making his whole happy trail and thatch of hair beneath it a dampened mess. On top of everything, you and him were sweating. Your mouths were wet with a mix of spit and that same, tangy arousal that Joel had tongued out of your cunt, and you hummed at the taste.

Then he made things even wetter when he licked his thumb. Joel held it up, as if asking you to inspect it.

“Suck.”

The command was simple; you followed it.

While he continued to fuck up into you from below, hips grinding at a steady, gentle cadence, he pressed his thumb into your mouth. You took it in to the knuckle.

From all the months you two had been having sex, you already knew what this was for. You bobbed your head, gaze plastered to his, and you whimpered a little. You licked the warm, ridged skin and curled your tongue.

Joel groaned, and then the thumb was out. He had you leaning back, hands bracing yourself on his meaty thighs, while he lowered his touch to rub your clit.

In contrast to his languid thrusts, the little circles he made on your throbbing bundle of nerves were both fast and tight. Pressing, just like you liked them. Seeing how your head fell back on a long, protracted moan, Joel could no doubt tell that you were almost at your peak.

“C’mon, pretty girl, one more for daddy. Wanna feel it.”

Your legs trembled. Your walls tightened around him.

You were so fucking close to that devastating precipice that all you could do was whimper and whine and rut your hips against the stab of Joel’s impossibly thick cock, wanting release more than the air you breathed.

Then Joel leaned forward.

Tilting your face back up to him, pressing your nose to his nose and fucking so deep in your guts that he was almost touching your cervix, he nodded once. Knowing.

“How’s that feel, mama?”

And his cock sank even deeper.

The response in you was immediate and instinctive.

Overwhelmed as you’d been all this time, agonizing through every waking hour over how a pregnancy would completely upend your life, you felt your walls cling to Joel’s cock and pulse around him. It must have been something primal and senseless inside you, because as soon as he’d said those words, you were reaching climax.

The feeling was deep. Sweet. Dizzying to your every sense as Joel Miller met your gaze in earnest and split you down his big, throbbing cock. His thrusts sped up, and he didn’t hesitate to say it again as you came apart.

“That feel good, mama? This pussy feel nice an’ full?”

“Joel.”

His name crawled through your teeth, choked, and your cunt spasmed again. Your body milked him desperately.

“I bet she does. Loves gettin’ stretched by this cock.”

“Daddy.”

Your gaze was almost pained with how good it all felt. Pulling Joel closer to you, you panted into his mouth.

He grinned.

“Gonna make her real full someday—” he started.

“Today,” you interrupted. Chest heaving. “Now.”

“Wh—”

“Maybe you already made me a mama, Joel.”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them. Joel’s cock throbbed inside you, and his jaw slackened.

Then you felt him twitch again. His grip tightened.

He flipped you onto your back along the seat.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you breathed.

Another jerk. Another shuddering groan.

Without further warning, Joel’s hips stilled in place, and his eyes closed. Your legs wrapped around his lower half and tilted up to give him access, exactly like he deserved. Warmth spread in the next second, filling the latex barrier between your bodies, and you sighed.

You wished it were in you, sticky and wet.

“I—I took a test.”

Joel’s eyes snapped open.

His body lifted from yours immediately, up on his elbows, and his gaze searched your face for a better explanation.

“Four, actually,” you went on, starting to sit up with him.

Joel’s whole expression turned to stone before your eyes. Completely transformed from the strain and the bliss of his last release, the man now looked as if you’d just grown a second head. He was stunned into silence.

Then he was pulling out. Discarding the used rubber. Running fingers through his hair and moving carefully.

“Are…are you…?” he stammered. “Baby, are we…?”

You were about to answer him. You were smoothing down the front of your dress and then trying to tame your hair, but both efforts were futile. Your hands shook.

“Well, I—”

THUMP.

Thump, thump, thump.

“No sex allowed in my driveway!”

Tommy Miller beat on the window directly behind you, and you jumped. Thankfully, Joel had already zipped up.

Still, the older brother groaned.

“Would you give us a minute, dickhead?” he growled.

“No,” Tommy snapped back, tone defiant. Slamming his palm on the pane once more. “I can’t even see inside here ‘cause y’all’ve been steamin’ it up! It’s sickening.”

Gingerly, you turned and rolled the window down—cranking the thing, since Joel’s vehicle was so old.

When you met Tommy’s face, you half-expected a frown. Instead, he had on a triumphant look, like, ‘Ha. Got y’all.’

You could feel Joel’s middle finger itching to flick him off.

Beside Tommy, to your surprise—and embarrassment—you saw Maria. A hint of amusement raised her brows.

“We got a rack of ribs and a couple burgers smothered with pickles, just like you asked for,” she told you sweetly

Your cheeks heated remembering that special request.

Before you could speak, Maria went on, grinning: “Are you sure you’re not pregnant? My sister had the same cravings with her last two. Put pickles on everything.”

Joel might’ve choked on his spit. You heard him cough, right as your own throat tightened to the point of closing.

Tommy took that as his cue to interject.

“Holy shit, y’all are fuckin’ pregnant.”

As he laughed, Joel snapped:

“Don’t even start, Tomm—”

“I’m gonna be an uncle!”

While Tommy turned to shoot a too-smug, beaming look over at Maria, you were already climbing back into the front seat. Joel followed, and his expression was grim.

His brother stuck his head in through the back window.

“Tommy if it’s a boy, Tammy if it’s a girl—how ‘bout it?”

You leaned and reached for your purse. Rifling through it, you could feel Joel’s eyes on you. They were questioning.

More than a little bit scared.

His brother chattered on, oblivious.

“Won’t be long before you gotta buy diapers for the baby and him, I reckon.” Tommy gestured to Joel with a wink.

You said nothing. Your hands were too busy collecting four plastics sticks out of a Ziploc baggie in your tote.

Clearly, the man outside hadn’t had his fill of poking fun at his big brother yet, and was still waiting on a reaction, because he leaned even further into the Bronco, leering.

“What? No comeback?” he goaded you both teasingly.

While you didn’t retrieve your latest find from out of your bag, worried Tommy might see it, you did turn and smile.

This time, you made sure he heard you, loud and clear:

“Tommy, if I wanted my comeback, I would’ve wiped it off your brother’s chin. Now go get me a burger, please.”

Strangely, you’d never felt more certain—or starved for the biggest helping of barbecue, burgers, and pickles—in your life. It almost seemed like the nail in the coffin, this craving, and then Tommy and Maria saying it outright.

You had to be pregnant, surely.

You had to meet Joel’s gaze, hand still inside your purse. His brother laughed like the good sport he was, Maria chuckled and shook her head, and then the two of them were making their way back to the party in the backyard, where you and Joel would no doubt find yourselves later.

After you figured this shit out.

After you shared with Joel what you had already done.

“Darlin’,” Joel started, voice wavering the slightest bit. Then, lowering even more to say it: “Are you pregnant?”

“I don’t know.”

Slowly, you lifted the little plastic bag out of your purse, making sure to keep your grip covering most of it. You didn’t show it to Joel immediately, but his gaze was near.

Brown eyes widened. The lines around his mouth grew more pronounced as he gnawed the inside of his cheek.

“Is that…?”

“I took four tests right before we left. I know you’re supposed to check immediately, and the results might not be accurate anymore, but I…I wanted to wait first,” you said, hold tightening even more. “Didn’t wanna find out until you were there with me. Then I got…distracted, seeing you in your shorts earlier, and…anyway, I bought some others, so we can go inside and take the test ag—”

“Let’s check ‘em anyway. If that—if that’s OK with you.”

Joel sounded so hopeful, blinking a little more quickly.

He wanted to know now, despite being scared as you.

You opened the bag and nodded back at him.

“I didn’t want it to ruin the afternoon…”

You’d just taken the tests out, still holding them low so you couldn’t see them yet, when Joel’s eyes jumped to yours. His hands shortly followed, and before long, he was cupping your cheeks. Holding your gaze intently.

“Y’think findin’ out news like that is gonna ruin my day?” His tone was steeped in disbelief, and he was already shaking his head. “Don’t ever think that, baby. Please.”

And he looked so sure of it. Every worn line in his face, every disheveled salt-and-pepper lock of hair, every soft rise and fall of his chest under that bright, white, sweat-dampened polo—the man seemed secure as anything.

Your bottom lip trembled, and you winced to keep the tears at bay. You really tried, but a few slid out anyway.

“I’m scared,” you whispered.

“I know.” Joel swiped the moisture with his thumbs, and he drew even closer to kiss your forehead, pressing gently. “It’s OK. This is still your choice, remember?”

You set the tests on the dashboard. You didn’t look over. When Joel lifted his palms to start kissing the tears that had streaked down your face, you only broke down more.

Fucking hormones.

“Either way it goes, I’m gonna be here. No matter what,” Joel assured you. In between soft pecks, he was smiling.

Despite your tears, you tried smiling back.

Choking out a laugh when his stubble tickled your face.

“Baby or no baby?” you sniffled up at him.

“No matter what,” Joel repeated.

“You mean it?”

“Sweet pea, someday soon I’m gonna make you my w—”

Suddenly, another knock interrupted Joel’s speech. It was gentler than the last, though evidently hard enough.

You turned, and it felt like your face went up in flames.

Joel and you weren’t doing anything, and still, a look from that man made it feel like you’d just been caught red-handed, and nothing would likely ever change that.

Your dad had made it that way.

He was standing outside the Bronco on Joel’s side, resting a hand on the roof and leaning into the window.

And though you couldn’t quite read his look through the glare of the midafternoon sun, it was clear he looked like shit. His face was drawn, expression limp, and the eyes that stared into the car were as hollow and desolate as you’d ever seen them. It was like looking down into a pit.

Your stomach turned inside you.

At just the sight of him, you felt nauseous again.

It’d been almost a month since you’d last spoken to your father face-to-face. On that occasion, he’d called you a ‘stupid fucking slut’ and tried carrying on like nothing.

Evidently, the same memory was running through Joel’s head, as he pushed out of the car in the next second. He didn’t hesitate to shove your dad away with the door and meet him head-on, just to force the man backward again

With an expression that was flinty and stern, finger pointed directly at your father’s chest, he spoke low.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Listen, I know—”

“Go home.”

Joel’s words brooked no argument. They didn’t show him to be openly hostile or irate, just steady in his appraisal. Firm in the belief your dad needed to fuck off.

Mark peered around his shoulder anyway.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. For everything.”

Inwardly, you cringed. On the outside, you had to keep up a front like you weren’t about to break down again.

First the pregnancy shit, now back to this.

Would it ever end with him and Joel?

“Dad. Please go,” you choked out.

He only drew closer. That prompted Joel to take a step that way as well, blocking your father from gaining too much on the Bronco. Of course, it wasn’t a perfect wall.

Your dad managed to snake toward the open doorway.

As soon as he did, Joel made sure to spare him no effort: he took hold of the man’s collar, arm hard across his chest, and thrust him up against the side of the car. The motion rattled the whole frame of the old Bronco, and out of habit, you leapt toward it. You stopped halfway across the center console, gaze darting to Joel’s, and your lips parted. You were already shaking your head.

Watching yet another violent scene unfold wasn’t high on your list of priorities. Fortunately, your dad didn’t budge an inch to resist and instead only turned his head.

“Sweetheart,” he tried again, voice a touch more hoarse this time around. Pleading. “I didn’t mean nothin’ I said.”

Joel lowered his arm, but he didn’t release the collar. With a firm grip, he kept your dad pinned to the spot.

“Which part? Those ugly fuckin’ names that you called her, or sayin’ she’d be better off without me?” he pressed

Your father coughed. The force must’ve been a lot.

“I mean, all of it. Really. I regret everything I sai—”

“And you think I’m doing this to piss you off. Like Joel is some sort of ploy to make your life miserable,” you cut in.

“I know he ain’t. Not from the way you two have been…” Your father trailed off, as if the words were too weighty on his tongue. He tore his gaze from you and Joel and opted to stare off someplace else inside the Bronco then. “From how you look at him, and he looks at you, it just…”

Silence. More inarticulable blinks and a heavy swallow.

“You’ll always be my little girl, and it’s just hard seein’…”

At the same time, his gaze landed on one particular spot and froze in place. His body stiffened, and with it, the grip on his collar constricted, too. Joel clearly didn’t notice the path of your dad’s vision, and he frowned.

“Mark—” he started, low.

“What—What the fuck is that?”

Your gaze and Joel’s snapped in time to follow his look.

As soon as you did, your heart plummeted to your feet. Joel was still holding onto your father’s shirt like he could’ve swung at him at any moment, but then it was as if you could feel his whole demeanor shift. You weren’t watching his face, but you could see those eyes widen.

Joel stared, dumbstruck.

Your father raised his voice.

With the attention of everyone now glued to the four tests sitting out on the dash, it rang loud as anything:

“You’re fucking pregnant?!”

Well.

At least the waiting game was over.

[shellshocklove]

brat! | joel miller

pairing/AU: joel miller x brat!female!reader – no outbreak

summary: joel is having a brat summer.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! age gap, enemies to lovers vibes? swearing, drinking of alcohol, smoking of cigarettes, reader wears a dress, heels and lipstick but otherwise no other descriptions, use of pet names, brat tamer!joel, dom!joel, manhandling, a little exhibitionism? fingering, choking, spitting, a little dacryphilia, oral (m receiving), cock worship, spanking, degradation (whore, slut), some sub space territory, unprotected sex (don’t do it!!), creampie, one use of the word ‘daddy’, no use of y/n

a/n: this was fun! and naughtier than i thought it was gonna be 💀 i’ve never written a reader so far removed from my own personality lol and i’m kind of obsessed with how this turned out. anyways stream brat by charlie xcx and happy reading! <3

main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

Blitzes of red, green, and blue danced before your eyes. The beating in your temples in tune with the bass vibrating in your chest. Around you the faceless bodies moved in slow motion. The heat rose around you as the sweat clung to your skin.

You’re sure you’ve lost your friends. Well, not lost lost. They were in the dancing crowd somewhere. Behind you, the same ugly guy had been rubbing up against you for a minute too long. You knew because you’d tipped your head back once and his borderline bowl cut hair, polo shirt with deep sweat rings under his arms, and tan chinos, were not it.

His breath stank of tequila when he leaned into your ear, “Hey,” he slurred, “wanna get out of here?”

And that had been your cue to leave.

With a scoff, you turned around to get a good look at him. You’d sized him up, made a show of it, and laughed in his face. Then you pushed your way through the crowd, coming up for air by the bar.

The earlier buzz you’d been sailing on, had weaned off a long time ago. It had been last minute, you weren’t even going out tonight, just having dinner with your childhood friends while you were home for the summer. But then one of them had ordered shots for the table just as the last plate had been cleared, and soon you were at the club cruising on a couple of glasses of wine and a lousy shot. Not that it mattered, usually you ended up twirling some sorry man around your finger long enough to get yourself a couple of rounds, before you’d excuse yourself to the ladies’ room and leave with your friends.

Looking down the bar, you searched for tonight’s victim.

To your right a group of girls huddled around the edge, waiting for their own drinks by the looks of it.

Not them.

Down to your left, a boy with a face full of acne fumbled with his card as he paid for a round of beers. He didn’t even look old enough to be in here, but that wasn’t your problem. You had to hold back a laugh as you watched him struggle to figure out how to carry the five beers he’d ordered back to his friends. He ended up gathering them in a circle to wrap his hands around, and you’d seen this go wrong plenty of times to feel the pull of an amused smile on your lips.

When he’d vanished into the crowd, your eyes flicked back to the bar, to the man sitting there– and he was a man. Probably somewhere in his fifties you reckoned, but he looked gorgeous. A real dilf. Your interest was piqued.

You slid down the bar.

He didn’t look particularly amused where he sat at a bar stool, nursing a beer in his hands. Who sits at the bar in the club? He looked nice. Brown hair, dark jeans, and a grey t-shirt stretched deliciously over his chest. When you got closer you could see a flannel resting beside him on the bar.

Is this what older men wear to the club these days?

He didn’t seem to notice you as you sat down next to him – either that, or he ignored you. You kinda wished for the latter, it would make it more fun.

You gave him a few more minutes of silence, of your presence, to see if he’d say something to you. When he didn’t you asked him over the music, “Aren’t you gonna buy me a drink?”

You said it innocently, but like it was obvious and he hadn’t caught on yet. His head turned towards you, still unamused, but with his eyebrow raised.

Okay, you could work with that.

You didn’t say anything as he studied you, drank you in like you’d done to him from afar. You felt his gaze over your clinging dress, your bare shoulders, before they found your eyes.

Something tickled in your core, and you were reminded of how long it had been since you’d been properly fucked– fucked by someone who wasn’t some drunk guy at your college’s parties, but fucked by someone who knew what they were doing.

The man turned towards you; a smile tickling the corner of his mouth.

“Does that usually work f’you, sweetheart?”

You weren’t expecting his rebuttal, but you liked it. He wasn’t some boy who’d trip over himself for the privilege of being in the presence of you. The boys – they made it too easy – but this man would make you work for it.

Putting on your most saccharine smile you slid closer to him, “You looked so lonely over here– thought I’d keep you company.”

A scoffing laugh escaped him, and his head dipped, “’s that so?” His eyes found yours again.

“Haven’t seen you here before,” you ignored his question, and brushed your heeled foot up the length of his calf.

“Ain’t ever been here before,” he kept his eyes on your face, his drawl pulling at the words and twisting up your insides.

“So, a virgin, huh?” you teased, and that seemed to amuse him.

“What– you’re here to pop my cherry?”

This time an amused smile pulled at your face. You liked this man. “Not without a drink first,” your foot slid down his calf, “what do you take me for?”

A bright sense of pride filled your chest when you made him laugh, filling you up with confidence.

“D’you want me to answer that?” he rebutted.

He didn’t say it with any malice, it was teasing and playful, and it pulled at the veil inside you. A genuine smile pulled at the corners of your mouth, “Probably not.”

“What can I getcha, then, sweetheart?”

“G&T?” you said, and bit down on your bottom lip coquettishly.

Turning away from you, the man got the attention of the bartender. You watched his profile, followed the line of his jaw, the shape of his nose. You decided then and there that your night was gonna end in this man’s bed.

“Sooo,” you sang, when you’d gotten your drink, “first time here, huh?” The man just nodded, before he sipped his beer.  

Not much of a talker, huh?

“You here alone, or? With the wife maybe?”

That pulled a laugh from him. “I’m here with my lil’ brother… bachelor party,” he shook his head, like he couldn’t believe he’d gotten dragged in here, “he’s gettin’ married next month.”

“Ah,” you nodded and took a sip of your drink. “So, where are you heading next? A strip club?” you teased.

The man just shot you an unimpressed look, and you thought about how you’d never seen a man look so out of place, ever.

“What? The wife won’t let you?”

A sharp huff escaped him, “Ain’t got no wife no more,” he said matter-of-factly.

You took another sip of your drink to hide the smile from forming.

Bingo.

“I take it you’re a man who does what he wants, then?” you said it innocently, and subtly slid your hand over his knee. His eyes caught yours at the touch, and you swore you saw something change in them.

You’d hooked him now, all you had to do was reel him in.

He turned his body towards you – he did it slowly, like every muscle he moved had been calculated beforehand. Then he leaned in closer, his hot breath huffing against your ear.

“Takes one to know one, ain’t that right?”

Under your skin, you buzzed, your heart beating out of your chest at the new proximity. You had to stay cool, play it off, act unbothered. So, you pulled away slightly, and turned your head to meet his eyes.

“What?” he challenged with a raise of an eyebrow, “Ain’t used to people talkin’ back?”

When you didn’t say anything right away, a smug grin coated his lips, “Yeah, I know girls like you.”

“There’s no girls like me,” you argued back, his confidence both pissing you off, and turning you on at the same time.

“Oh, but there are– Spoiled daddy’s girls who ain’t had anyone tellin’ them no their whole life. They do what they want, and play with who they want– I know a brat when I see one.”

Your eyes narrowed at him as he pulled away, that infuriating smug grin not going anywhere. The worst part was that he was right, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“But you like that don’t you?” you challenged, “I bet you live in some sad house in a sleepy suburban cul-de-sac, go to the same boring job every day, and wish your wife never left you.”

A flash of hurt could be seen across his face as those last words left your lips, and you thought you’d maybe gone too far. A beat of silence passed between you, the buzzing beat of the club music keeping the tune of the tension building.

You were about to apologize when he finally spoke, “You’re a rude one, aren’t ya?”

His voice didn’t sound as hurt as you’d thought, and you realize he was playing your game. You almost had him.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” you challenged, hammering the final nail in the coffin.

“That depends on you, sweetheart.”

Outside the club, Joel (the man had finally introduced himself) leaned against the bricks of the alley as you fished a cigarette from your purse. According to your phone, your uber would be there in ten minutes. The fresh air had sobered you up slightly, exchanging the buzzing alcohol in your veins with excitement.

You didn’t know what you were in for.

Over your skin, you felt his gaze roll over you, and you let him look. Let him study your body filling out your sheer, white, almost see-through dress. You didn’t offer him a cigarette; he’d have to ask for it himself, or take it, if he wanted a drag.

“So,” you took a drag of your cigarette, savoring the first tar-y breath, before exhaling through your nose, “where are you taking me?”

Joel shifted his weight against the bricks as his arms crossed over his wide chest. “Whatchu call it? My sad house?” he said, his voice bordering on cold if it wasn’t for the smug smile covering his features.

You gave him a sultry look as you stepped closer, crossing one heeled foot in front of the other, slowly.

“Mmm,” you hummed, as you tilted your head with an uninterested face, “Sounds fucking boring to me.” Your finger climbed up his chest, eyes traveling from his chest to his face. His stern face gave nothing away, as you took another drag of your cigarette and blew the smoke in his face.

Finally, he’d had enough. His large hand wrapped around your wrist, and tightened, before he turned you around and pushed you up against the wall. You let out an exaggerated huff as your body hit the bricks, your cigarette slipping from your fingers. He pushed himself up against you, and you couldn’t contain the satisfied grin on your face, pleased to have pushed his buttons enough to finally act.

“Oh, I’ll show you boring, brat.”

A rough hand danced up the side of your thigh and under the hem of your dress. Challenging him, you squirmed against the grip of his other hand around your wrist.

“Nuh-uh,” he shook his head, and he was so close now you felt his breath ghost over your lips. With a twist of your arm, he pinned it behind your back, Joel now completely in control, and a buzz of arousal spread through your body at the thought.

“You listen’ up now, and I’m only gonna say it once: you’re gonna do as I say, when I say it, and no talkin’ back, we clear?” His voice was stern, but his dark brown eyes gave him away; how they’d widened with lust, blown out and dark. Your panties already soaked at the thought of what he had in mind for you tonight.

“Yes,” you said playfully, biting down at your bottom lip through a smile.

“Yes, sir,” he corrected as his rough hand on your thigh slid closer and closer to the seam of your thong. “Good girls who do as they’re told get rewarded, you understand?”

You nodded, sucking in a breath as you felt his fingers brush over your clit lightly. He was testing you now, teasing you, and pushing your buttons. You felt like you were on fire, burning from arousal; it licked up your thighs and flickered bright in your core.

Where was that fucking uber?

“But you ain’t no good girl,” he snickered, sliding his hand past your panties, “teasin’ me– tryna provoke me,” he shook his head, and a slick sound of your arousal could be heard as he worked two thick fingers through your wet folds.  

His finger poked at your hole where it ached for him. The thick tension between you weighed heavy with arousal as Joel leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Imma have to punish you for that, baby, put you in your place.”

A gasp left your lips as he pressed two fingers inside. The stretch stung slightly, but you welcomed the pain, liked it. A satisfied grin blossomed over your face as he started moving his fingers. They felt so good inside of you, so thick, almost like a cock, and the way his palm rubbed against your clit– it gave you just enough stimulation to push you towards the edge of an orgasm.

“Look at you, slut,” his breath was hot as he whispered in your ear, “so desperate to get fucked.”

A strangled moan escaped your throat, and you couldn’t help but grind against his fingers to chase the pleasure he was giving you. The degrading words and humiliation only made you wetter. Joel couldn’t get any more perfect– so far, he'd played his part to the T.

“In your– fuck!” You moaned as the pad of his fingers brushed up against your g-spot. Just a little more now, and he’d have you coming on his fingers.

“Didn’t hear you, sweetheart, y’need to speak up,” he taunted, continuing the pace of his fingers.

“In your d-dreams, old man,” you tried to spit out, but the pleasure he gave you was taking over, making you stumble over your words.

Quickly, Joel withdrew his fingers, sliding them up the front of your cunt, giving your clit a slap, before he backed off completely. You gasped; face pulled tight in a disappointed frown.

“What the fuck!?”

And then he fucking laughed, fucking laughed at you.

“I already told you, sweetheart, only good girls get rewarded.”

He stepped closer again, his hand cupping your cheek while the other pressed the fingers coated in your arousal to your lips. “Clean up your mess, and we’ll see ‘bout that reward.”

Parting your lips, he stuffed his fingers inside your mouth. They tasted of you, a sweet-salty taste. You closed your lips around them, and sucked, letting your tongue tease around his fingers the way you’d tease his cock. “That’s it, good girl,” he grinned, and it sparked a small flame of pride in your chest.

When he was pleased with you, he slipped his fingers from your mouth. He let them glide over your lips, smearing your lipstick and coating your lips in your own saliva as a set of headlights illuminated the street. Then, he patted your cheek, nodding towards what you assumed was your uber as it rolled to a stop in front of you, “Go on, get in the uber.”

In the uber Joel was quiet, ignoring you as were forced to make small talk with the driver (you’d give him a bad review just for that). When you thought the small talk had been torture enough, Joel slid his hand up your thigh, resting his big palm right at the seam of your leg as he looked out the window. If your panties weren’t already soaked from what he’d done to you in the alleyway of the club, then they definitely were now as the anticipation only grew.

Joel’s house wasn’t sad at all. It was quaint, and suburban, but homey. Nice. No expensive designer furniture, but sturdy and of good quality either way. He had no rare art, but a decent amount of family photos and what looked like a child’s drawings. You stopped in the middle of the stairs to admire them. In one of them Joel looked as old as you were now, with a baby in his arms, in another he had his arm around the shoulders of another man who looked a lot like him, just with darker hair. His brother probably, the one getting married. The little baby was a little girl, and she grew up in front of you; birthday parties, first days of school, soccer uniforms. Your eyes landed on a photo of her in a graduation cap with Joel and the other man at her side, grinning wide with a college diploma in her hands. This man wasn’t who you’d thought. He had a family– a daughter your age. The wall of memories squeezed at your heart, made something inside you always kept hidden break forth–

“You comin’?”

Joel waited at the top of the stairs for you, his face pulled into a confused frown. You skipped up the stairs, happy to have left your heels by his door. When you got to the top, you pushed at his chest, “Just looking at your sad things.” With a roll of his eyes, he led you to his bedroom.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered, but his voice was distant, the bite from the club was gone.

It felt like the perfect opportunity to play with him.

“No,” you blinked innocently, your eyes wide as you watched him unbutton his green flannel, “you’ll have to make me.”

He let out a laugh that sounded more like a sigh, “I’m serious, sweetheart, I need to talk to you first.”

Talk?

“You can’t get it up, is that it? You’re too old?” you teased but sat down at the bed either way.

“You really are mean, aren’t ya?” His laugh sounded like a surrender. “A man wantin’ to be a gentleman and establish boundaries before he ruins her, and this is what he gets?”

Shaking his head, he walked closer, and cupped your head in his hands. “I plan on bein’ rough with ya, sweetheart, and I think that’s what you want too, isn’t it? Get fucked so hard you can’t think?” You nodded your head in his arms, the velvet bass of his voice going straight to your core.

“Listen’ closely– if I do anythin’ you don’t like, you say ‘red’ and we stop, and if you can’t speak then you pinch me, you hear?”

You nodded again.

“Words, baby, need y’to say it with that pretty voice.” His thumbs brushed over your cheek.

You nodded again, “Yes, sir… if I want you to stop, I say ‘red’, or pinch you.”

“Good girl,” he praised, “Anythin’ else?”

“Um…” Your front teeth caught on your bottom lip, “I’m on birth control– you can come inside me if you want.”

A noise rumbled in Joel’s chest. “Such a naughty girl,” his thumb brushed over the plump of your lips, “letting a stranger come inside her, huh?”

You nodded again, a wicked smile breaking against his thumb before you opened your mouth, and bit down. Not hard, just enough to pull a reaction from him, and you did.

Like a switch, the warm whiskey eyes faded into a deep black. The grip on your chin slid downwards, where it found your neck. He didn’t squeeze, but his grip wasn’t gentle either, holding you in place like a warning.

“You ought to treat me with more respect, brat…” he spat, his thumb digging into the column of your neck, “Apologize for your rude behavior.”

Against his hand, you shook your head to the best of your abilities, his grip tightening with your movement. You wished he’d choke you properly, make your head all fuzzy and empty– filled with nothing except for him.

“No.”

His face turned to stone above you, and you felt a giddiness flutter in your stomach.

 He didn’t like that.  

In one quick motion his hand was ripped from your throat as he stepped away. He didn’t look at you as he sighed, his hands falling to his belt buckle, sharp metal clinking.

Taking advantage of the moment, you admired the man before you. How big and broad he was. How his t-shirt stretched tight over his broad chest, biceps bulging against the woven fabric. You studied his hands as they fiddled with his buckle, thought about how good they’d felt inside you earlier, the pleasurable sting as they’d stretched you out.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered, voice cold.

When you didn’t move, he took matters into his own hands.

“Get. On. Your. Fuckin’. Knees.”

His grip around your wrist was tight, as he pushed you down. The hardwood floor dug into your knees as he manhandled you, sure to bruise tomorrow. He stood his ground in front of you, legs slightly parted as you were now eye level with his inviting bulge. He was big, and you felt your eyes widen. Even hidden away in his jeans you could see it, see the length of his hard cock strain against his thigh – it made your mouth water as you squeezed your thighs together.

“Look me in the eyes,” he told you, and your eyes flicked upwards – obedient for once. “Eyes up here at all times– Don’t you fuckin’ dare look away.”

He made it hard to do as he’d ordered, popping the button on his jeans, and pulling the zipper down. You wanted to see his cock, touch it, feel it inside you. He couldn’t possibly expect you to not look when it was right there.

"Disobedient slut.” 

The slap came quicker than the stolen glance, and your hand came up to graze your cheek on pure instinct. It stung under your palm, like a thousand little knives.

“What did I jus’ say?” He spat out the question, his hand gripping your chin to force eye contact.

“Look away?” you tried, your voice rising an octave.

“Open your fuckin’ mouth,” he sighed, leaning closer, “I ain’t wanna hear any more of your fuckin’ attitude.”

His grip tightened on your chin and your mouth dropped open by itself, “Open your mouth– that’s it… wider, just like that.”

Then he spat, right into your mouth.

You flinched at the suddenness of it, but Joel’s grip on your chin held you still– kept your mouth open, as you felt his spit slide further and further into your throat. You had a feeling you shouldn’t swallow until he told you, so you didn’t, your head pliant in his hand as you let him study you. A wide grin spread across his face as he moved your head from one side to the other, his rough fingers denting into your skin as you waited for your next command.

“Swallow, brat.”

He let go of your face, and you closed your mouth, swallowing down his spit with an audible gulp. “Good girl,” he muttered and stood tall, hooking his fingers into the waistband of his jeans.

The rough sound of denim against skin filled your ears as he freed himself. You were on your best behavior now, gathering your hands in your lap, sitting pretty for him as you locked eyes with him coquettishly.

“That’s better,” he said, “Actin’ like a proper good girl now,” he praised.

It took everything in you not to look, as he stepped closer.

With a fist tight around his cock, he brought the head to your mouth. He tapped it on your lips, smearing the precum beading at the tip and ruined your lipstick.

You wanted to taste him so badly, but he couldn’t know that. Pinching your lips together, you shook your head with wide coquettish eyes. His eyebrows pinched together in a frown, eyes narrowing at you as he pushed his cock against your lips.

“Open that pretty fuckin’ mouth, f’me,” he ordered.

Pretty. He called you pretty, and it was enough for you, you gathered, and stretched your mouth open for him.

“That’s it, wider.”

You twitched in surprise as he slapped the length against your tongue. It was heavy on your tongue, the salty taste of his precum mixing with your saliva as he rubbed the head over your tongue, in and out, in and out – coating his big cock in your saliva, “just like that, baby, get it nice ‘nd wet.”

Closing your lips around the mushroom tip, you ran your tongue around it in circles, teasing the underside and the slit, before you tipped your head back. His cock bobbed in front of you obscenely, a frown formed on his face again and you knew he was about to tell you off.

Gathering a blob of saliva in your mouth, you spat on his cock instead. A low humming laugh rumbled from Joel’s chest, as he collected your spit and rubbed it in over his shaft in slow strokes. The spit dripped down, down over your front where you felt it darken the fabric of your dress. Subtly, you reached your hands behind your back to pull at the zipper.

“Yeah, that’s right, get those pretty tits out f’me.”

He let you maneuver out of your dress while he stroked his cock slowly in front of your face, and finally, you could get a good look at him. He was bigger than you’d thought from his bulge. Veins lining his thick shaft as you watched the way his fist moved up, massaging the tip gently, and down again in a slow, steady rhythm. At the base unruly curls of dark hair shone in the spit gathering, and you let your eyes wander downward to his balls where they hung heavy.

You wanted to taste them, too.

With your dress discarded on the floor beside you, you sat up slightly, spreading your legs and tucking your calves up to your thighs. Almost naked, safe for the thong splitting your cheeks, you arched your back slightly, making sure he got a good view of your ass.

A groan rumbled in Joel’s chest, and a hand came down on your head, “You want my cock, don’t you, slut?” he spat, slapping his cock on your right cheek, spreading your spit on your skin.

“Do you make all your girls wait this long or is it just me?” you tutted, almost rolling your eyes at him.

“There’s that fuckin’ attitude again.”

Slapping his cock harder against your cheek, he leaned forward letting a blob of spit drip from his own lips, coating both his cock and your face as he rubbed it in with his cock.

It was obscene, degrading, and you’d never been wetter.

In desperation to taste him again, you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out. The hand he’d used to stroke himself, wrapped around your skull, caging his cock between his hand and your face as he started thrusting against your face, his heavy balls rubbing against your chin with every slow push.

It was messy, sloppy, and wet. He held your head steady with his other hand, while he continued rubbing his cock over your cheek, nose, and forehead. His spit mixed with your own as you lapped at the underside of his cock; trying to taste as much of him as he’d give you.

“You dirty little whore,” he smiled, “You like that don’t you?”

Under him you whimpered, clit pulsing with want as he made you his plaything, did what he wanted with you.

“Yeah,” you moaned unabashedly, licking greedily at the underside of his cock.

At that, he laughed, and the grip on your head loosened as he pulled back. You only had time to take a deep breath before he stuffed his cock down your throat. It was abrupt, and harsh – the hefty length of him making room for himself inside your mouth.

You couldn’t fit him all inside, gagging as the head of him hit the back of your throat. He held you there still, one second, two seconds, three seconds. Your hand found his thigh where you tapped at him, and finally he pulled away.

You gasped for air, your breath wet with spit as small tears pricked at your eyes. His hand landed on top of your head again, grounding you to the moment as he searched your eyes, checking in.

No, you tried to convey, you’re not too rough.

Pleased, his cock bumped against your lips again, and you dropped your mouth open for him again.

“That’s it,” he murmured, thrusting his cock back in your mouth, “let’me fuck that throat open.”

Dropping your jaw, you tried to make room for him in your mouth. It wasn’t easy, your lips stretched wide around the girth of him as you tried to calm yourself, to open your throat for him to abuse. His cock was easily the biggest cock you’d ever sucked, and you told yourself you needed to relax.

He pressed himself deeper, and you let out a whimper. “Work with me, slut, hold still.”

Trying your best to obey, you breathed through your nose, staving off your gag reflex the best you could as the head knocked at the back of your throat. His other hand cupped your chin, keeping your head still between his large hands. A tear rolled down your cheek when he rutted into your mouth, testing the waters.

“Good girl,” he praised, fucking gently into your mouth. Saliva gathered in your mouth, drooling down your chin with each thrust. “Such a fuckin’ mess– Look me in the eye as I fuck your throat.”

Your hand wrapped around his wrist, keeping you steady as you locked eyes with him. It was difficult, tears clouding him in a vignette, but you did as you were told. He studied you closely, tested your boundaries, completely in control.

You gasped for air when he finally pulled back again. A wet string of saliva connecting your lips to the tip of his cock. A proud smirk coated his lips, while his hand stroked your head in praise.

The small moment of relief passed quickly, and soon his cock was back in your throat, bruising it in a steady rhythm.

“Take that fuckin’ cock all the way down your throat, whore,” he spat, his thrust a little rougher now that he knew you could take it.

He had you at his mercy now as he ruined you. Ruined your throat, ruined your body, ruined you for other men. Tears mixed with snot, which mixed with spit as it ran down your chin, dripping lewdly onto your tits where it made a mess.

Over you, Joel rambled.

“Good fuckin’ slut.”

“Choke on that big fuckin’ cock.”

“You love it don’t you?”

And you did, you loved it. Joel made you feel useful for once in a life – a fucked up thought, but then again you never said you weren’t fucked up. Joel’s words were filthy and dirty, and as humiliating as they were he made you feel wanted.

You just wanted to be wanted.

Another gasp of air filled your lungs as he slipped from your mouth. His grip on your head was tighter now, his cock throbbing in front of you. As much as you wanted him to fuck you, you wouldn’t complain if he came down your throat. He’d given you so much already.

“Fuck,” he whispered and let go of your head.

You took the opportunity to catch your breath, sniffling as you wiped at the snot that clogged up your nose. His hand came down to squeeze at the base of himself, clearly staving off his orgasm.

“What,” you croaked, your voice hoarse after his assault on your throat, “you’re so old you can’t come now?”

His eyes darkened as they locked with yours, and a giddy bouncing feeling twisted in on itself in your tummy. You wanted to see what he’d do to you– how he’d fuck you, and if you’d have to push his buttons to see it, you gladly push the big red button.

His hand wrapped around your bicep, digging into the skin as he dragged you to your feet and pushed you towards the bed.

“Still a fuckin’ brat I see,” he spat, “We can’t have that can we?”

Putting on your best puppy dog eyes, you bit down on your bottom lip. “Who me?” you said innocently.

“Bend over, slut,” he ordered, his voice coated in a tone that said he was fed up with your bullshit. Strong arms turned you around, manhandling you, and pushed your front down on his bed, “’nd spread your fuckin’ legs.”

With a kick to your ankles, he forced your legs open. Tipping your head up, you locked eyes with your reflection in the window, like a camera lens capturing your ruin at Joel’s hand. He hovered over you, his eyes trailing over your naked body, laid out for him to take.

The first smack came quickly, hard, and brutal on your ass cheek. It made you jump, the muscles in your ass clenching as you tried to reel yourself in. Joel’s rough hand soothed over the burn immediately, and you turned your neck to find his eyes.

“I wanna hear an apology from you, brat,” he said calmly, one finger hooking into the lace of your thong.

You shook your head. Stubborn. “No.”

His head fell between his shoulders, while his finger hooked in your thong tightened its grip, and with a hard tug, he ripped it in two.

“Then I’m gonna have to punish ya.” He said it with a deep sigh, like he had no other choice.

You couldn’t hide the excitement that filled you at those words, your cunt now dripping with need. A need for Joel.

With the scrap of your thong now discarded his hand danced over your ass. You tried not to hold your breath, but he drew it out, and you couldn’t help it. The tension in the air so thick, you couldn’t focus.

Smack!

He spanked your other cheek hard, and the tension was released with a whimper. A tickling feeling of pins and needles spread through your cheek.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

They came in quick procession, your hands gripping the sheets for a lifeline as he put you in your place. Moans fell from your lips without abandon, and you felt yourself drip down your legs.

Smack!

“Look how wet you are,” he noticed, running a finger through your seam, “You like it? Only desperate whores like to get spanked.”

He leaned over you, his soft belly (when had he removed his shirt?) pressed against your back, coarse hair tickling your skin, as you felt his hard cock rub up against your sore ass.

“But that’s what you are, ain’t you? A desperate fucking whore.” His breath in your ear, had goosebumps erupt down your spine, and you sobbed out a whine.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he whispered, and pulled away – taking his warmth with him.

Smack!

Tears pushed their way behind your eyes, not because you didn’t like it, but it stung like a motherfucker. Joel wasn’t all brutal, he rubbed your skin between hits, but fuck if it didn’t also hurt with pleasure.

“Say you’re sorry,” he demanded.

Turning around you shook your head, big wide eyes watching him as he spanked you again.

Smack!

“You’re tearing up, little girl– It stings doesn’t it?” he asked, voice laced with fake pity.

You nodded.

“Well, maybe you should be a good girl then– say you’re sorry.”

Smack!

“I’m sorry!” you blurted out, voice cracking.

Finally.

Joel stopped immediately, his hand twisting around your waist to flip you on your back. His eyes danced over your body, almost tenderly but still full of lust. His hand moved up and down your sides, down the thick of your thigh before they gripped your ankles and tugged.

A squeal escaped you as he manhandled you, his large hands cupping your face while he fitted himself between your legs. “Good girl,” he cooed, thumbs stroking your cheeks, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You shook your head in his hands, popping your lip out in an innocent pout.

“No,” he cooed, removing a hand to fit between your bodies.

You gasped when you felt the head of his cock bump your clit, the first real stimulation you’d had since you’d left the ally by the club. Your hips bucked by themselves, chasing the friction of his touch.

“Who owns this cunt?” he asked you, dark eyes staring into yours as he dragged his cock through your soaked folds.

“You do, sir,” you sighed immediately, your whole body aching for him.

A wide wicked grin spread across his face, “Lookit you bein’ such a good girl– finally know your place, huh?”

With no warning, you felt the blunt head of him press at your opening, and then Joel pushed inside you. Your mouth parted in a gasp at the intrusion; eyes glazed over in bliss as you felt yourself get split in two around the girth of his cock. He was so big, filling you up inch by inch, a heavy pressure poking at the deepest part of yourself.

“There you go, baby– you jus’ take it. Take all that cock inside,” he grunted, eyebrows pinched tight.

All you could do was moan as you felt him bottom out inside you, “Shit,” you gasped, “So fuckin’ big.”

“I know, baby, you’re doin’ so good f’me,” he praised, starting to rock his hips into you.

He picked up the pace quickly when he was sure you could take it, splitting you open on his cock as he made you takeit. Under him you could feel yourself float away in the pleasure. His hand came up to wrap around your neck and a big smile spread across your face.

You felt so warm. Joel felt so fucking good.

He reduced you to a puddle, a puddle of pleasure and ecstasy. It was better than any drug you’d ever taken. Better than the first day of summer vacation. Better than anything you’d ever known. The sound of skin against skin faded away into a tranquil rhythm of pleasure. You belonged to him now, lived only for him and the way his cock felt inside you.

“Feel how deep that is?” he asked you, somehow having maneuvered your knees to press into your chest.

You couldn’t do anything other than nod, desperate and whiny. You needed to fucking come. Inside you, his cock bumped into a spot no other man had reached before, and a fluttering feeling coiled itself in your core.

You were so close now.

“Joel,” you gasped, searching for the words as he continued his pace, balls slapping hard against your ass.

“No,” he told you, teeth gritted, “You hold it, slut, you hold it ‘till I give you permission.”

Later, a thought of how he’d had you so close to coming without even a tap at your clit would graze you, but in this moment your thought were only filled with Joel. A hand found his bicep, you needed something to hold on to or you’d burst, and squeezed. Above you Joel’s groans and moans got louder.

“Hold it.”

Tears streamed down your face, as you heaved for breath. You were right there, right on the edge now.

Please, Joel, please, sir, please.

“Come.”

Arching your back off the mattress, you shook as you finally tipped over the edge of bliss. The sounds escaping your throat weren’t your own, they were someone else’s, someone possessed with pleasure.

A “Thank you,” fell from your lips, but you don’t think he heard you. Above you, Joel’s movement became more and more erratic, thrusting himself deeper and deeper before a loud groan vibrated through his chest.

“You take it,” he growled, “take all that fuckin’ cum inside.”

He slammed his hips hard against you, pushing himself as deep as he could inside you, and came with a loud primal groan. His cock twitched within your walls as he emptied himself inside your cunt, the warmth of him filled you up as he painted your walls with cum.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he mumbled, burying his face in your neck, “That cum feels so good inside, don’t it?” he cooed, and you nodded, your hands tangling in his hair. He pulled back and thrusted inside you again, fucking his cum deeper inside.

He stayed inside you as you both caught your breaths. His weight felt good on you, you were safe, as you floated somewhere between reality and a space you’d never been pushed to before.

And you missed him when he pulled away, sliding his half-hard cock from your fucked out cunt, dragging you with him up the bed. You reached for him, laying your hand open against his sheets, but he didn't see it, eyes mesmerized by his spend dripping out of you. His fingers slid through the mess, pushing his cum back inside as his eyes found yours.

Then something in the air shifted, and whatever had come over you, was gone. His fingers left streaks of wetness down the inside of your thigh as he pulled away. For the first time in your life, you didn’t know what to say.

You were ruined now – he’d ruined you for everyone who wasn’t him.

You sat up, turning your head over your shoulder to watch him, watch how his eyes trailed your body.

“Smoke?” you asked, your voice more unsteady than you’d thought.

Joel shook his head as you slung your feet off the bed to find your purse. He sat up against the pillows resting against his broken bed frame. Your eyes raked over his naked body as you fished a cigarette from your packet; drank in his strong arms, his wide chest and followed the dark hair of his happy trail down his belly to his soft cock between his thighs, still coated in your combined cum. Between your legs you could still feel his thick spend leak out of you.

You brought the cigarette to your lips, and just as you were about to light up Joel’s rough voice spoke, “Out the window,” he ordered with a nod in the direction of the window.

Everything was back to how it was before.

A dramatic huff escaped you, “All right…” you muttered.

You felt too heavy– he’d messed with your head; made you show him the real you. He couldn’t see that. So instead, you put your mask back on, turning to face the window to conceal the mischievous smile threating to spill across your face.

“Daddy.”

Behind you, as you cracked open the window, you heard the bed creak. You played it cool, lighting your cigarette and blowing the smoke out the window.

Joel’s breath teased at the back of your neck and over your bare shoulder, making goosebumps dance down your spine, “Thought I’d fucked the attitude out of ya,” his voice was stern.

“Guess I was wrong.”

part two -> here!

i hope someone liked this? a comment telling me your favorite part is always welcome, and my ask box is always open to chat <3 other than that thank you for reading!!

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[vanishintoyoubby]

it was one of the first OS's I read by Joel and I can't forget it, I went back to reread it and add it to my list and if you are reading this I MANDATE YOU TO READ IT. RIGHT NOW. YOU WILL THANK ME.

this joel brings me to my knees, i love how he treats his girl. best smut i've ever read in my whole fucking life. i'm not exaggerating. it's not just smut, IT'S EVERYTHING. her writing is wonderful, masterpiece. chef's kiss.

I MISS THEM.

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

[shellshocklove]

wow thank you so much for reading lovely!! 🥹💚