I have decided to begin posting the story I have been writing.
If anyone is interested in beta reading a high fantasy smutty slowburn story about the heir to a throne and his arranged marriage, please comment here or message me.
Just gonna tag writers I know and admire (you're all Joel Miller writers, but this story contains OCs).
A/N: “Colors” by Halsey inspired this one-shot, and I’m absolutely in love with them. Thank you to the lovely @alltheirdamn for being my beta reader 💜 This has been permeating in my mind for a few months, and I’m so glad I finally wrote it. Reblogs and comments make my day ✨
Summary: You never meant to fall for your boyfriend’s dad, but it happened. You just couldn’t stay away from those shades of blue and grey. But your favorite thing was turning them the color your soul was. Lilac.
Rating: 18+ only MDNI
Word Count: 3.8k
Tags: Yearning, longing, forbidden love, secret affair, secret relationship, mentions of smut, falling in love, angst, boyfriend’s dad! Joel, age gap, no use y/n, no outbreak! au
“Everything is blue. His pills, his hands, his jeans. And now I'm covered in the colors, pulled apart at the seams. And it's blue, and it's blue. Everything is grey. His hair, his smoke, his dreams. And now he’s so devoid of color, he don’t know what it means. And he’s blue, and he’s blue.”
- “Colors” by Halsey
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
There’s a point you had passed long ago, a restricted section that should’ve had bolted locks forbidding you from ever daring to enter such a dangerous territory. Those gates were torn down and ripped open the moment you met him. Your boyfriend’s dad, Joel Miller. There was just something that kept you coming back to his house, back into the lion’s den. Back into his arms. Joel Miller’s.
It all started that first time you laid eyes on him while he sat in his garage, a large brewed cup of coffee in hand, taking slow sips while he watched the sun slip into the sky, painting vivid pinks and oranges from the sunrise.
He was intense, pensive, brooding. Something about him screamed sorrow, regret, maybe mournful like he had lost something or let someone slip from his fingers. His salt-and-pepper scruff framed his shadowed face, long greying sandy hair silhouetting his hooded chocolate eyes. His green flannel clung to his large arms, broad shoulders hugging the soft fabric. His thick veins spiraled down his tanned arms like a waterfall, and his thick fingers hugged the curve of the coffee cup with every sip he took from the steamy drink. You almost wanted to become the sides of that curved coffee cup, just so you could maybe taste what it was like to be kissed by lips that looked like they were soft enough to fall into, and maybe he’d swallow you whole.
His dark eyes fell on you, slowly slipping over your form entirely as your boyfriend, Jackson, introduced you to his father, an extremely handsome man that made butterflies flit through your stomach.
“Dad, this is my girlfriend. Had to finally introduce you,” Jackson smiled enthusiastically, like he was the proudest boyfriend in the world.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Miller,” you said shyly, fingers curling against your cotton summer dress, eyes widening with the slight grunt and nod your way from him.
“Call me Joel, sweetheart.” He took your hand slowly, calloused fingers colliding with your own to leave you choking on your own shaky voice. His eyes were like wildfire, dark flecks glistening up at you, tempting you to jump into the raging flames.
His big hand lingered against yours a little too long, not even paying attention to his son who stood right next to you, until he dropped your hand and flicked his eyes back to his only son. “I trust you’re takin’ good care of her?” he asked, eyes slightly narrowing at his twenty-eight-year-old son.
“Sure am, pops.”
Joel hummed, flicking his eyes back to you as they nonchalantly slid over your body again, making your breath falter at the sight. “He gives you any trouble you come to me, understand?” he demanded with a slight gruffness to his deep voice, almost sounding like he was commanding you.
You nodded, gasping at the dominance in his tone. “Yes, sir,” you murmured.
“Attagirl,” he smiled, coffee eyes swirling in your vision. You nearly buckled your knees at the word. Attagirl. Jackson never told you that, didn’t dare call you a good girl. But Joel? He might as well have fucking just said that, he basically did say that.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to it. You two stay out of trouble, alright?”
“Sure, dad. See ya later. Gonna go drive down to the lake.”
You gave him one last glance as he said your name low, nodding his head your way as he watched you walk to the hunter green jeep, waiting for Jackson to unlock the car.
Your eyes trailed back to the garage, making you gasp when you saw Joel staring directly your way, sipping on his coffee and keeping those cool, dark eyes on you. Your breath shifted and your heartbeat skipped a beat, making your legs feel like mush. And when you finally drove off the pavement, his eyes still stayed locked on yours, even as you left the street. They never once looked away.
Fuck. You never expected to have a crush on your boyfriend’s dad, but here you were. Fingers tangled in your fabric with your breathing rapid and unsteady.
Yeah, this was not going to be good.
Jackson later told you his father had gotten a bad divorce a couple years ago, had a struggling fight to keep custody of his daughter, Sarah, and had gone through a bunch of shit with his previous contracting company. He really had seen the tolls of hell lately, and now you started to get why he always seemed so sad when you’d see him working in his garage by himself or sitting out on his wooden porch drinking freshly brewed coffee and strumming along softly on his acoustic guitar. He was lonely.
There was always something missing, a fraction of a piece lost in those dark, somber eyes of his. And you felt bad for him, even sorry, like it was somehow your fault. You wished you could make it better, give him something to cling to for the sadness to settle away, maybe take a teaspoon of those grey skies and turn them to bright blue ones. But you shouldn’t think that, not with your boyfriend’s dad. What kind of girlfriend would that make you? But apparently those thoughts completely flew through your mind, getting lost to the soundless wind and muted regrets.
A couple of weeks went by and you found yourself at his house again, just so he could fix something on Jackson’s jeep. Something with the alternator. Just when you thought you were safe, Jackson ran to the car parts store, leaving you alone in Joel’s house. Somewhere where you should’ve never been left alone.
You meandered out on the back porch, finding him sitting in a wooden rocking chair and sighing, his back hunched while he watched a pack of deer graze on the tall grass. He looked somewhat content, but you could see in that far off gaze he was contemplating something very deep in that ocean of a grey mind.
“Mind if I sit?” you asked, watching him nod his head to the polished rocking chair sitting next to him. You took a seat cautiously, careful not to disturb his morning peace, but he didn’t seem so bothered by your company.
His eyes flicked to yours slowly. They were a shiny amber color today, deep brown flecks glittering against the rising sunshine. And they were so beautiful that a gasp slipped from your lips unexpectedly. Closing your gaping mouth, you briefly smiled, and his eyes seemed to crystallize over into a deeper chocolate color.
He was so beautiful.
“You doin’ alright, sweetheart?” he asked calmly, his breath warm, gently blowing against the side of your face. You smelled the coffee simmering on his tongue, and his pine scent kissed your skin, awakening something deep inside you that should’ve never bloomed in the first place.
“Oh, mhm. Great, actually. But what about you?” You tilted your head and watched the way his jaw flexed, his eyes cloudy with a tinge of gloom in those brown doe eyes of his.
He shrugged and took a slow sip of his coffee, looking far off into the open field that had deer and cattle meandering out in the lush green acreage. “Workin’, stayin’ busy. Guess you could say I’m jus’ fine. Got everything I need right here.” His eyes flicked over the open field, but you saw the faint hint of regret as his eyes darkened, and his body slid a little further down into his hand-made rocking chair.
Slowly turning your knees to him, you leaned against the solid arm of the rocking chair and caught the way his eyes slid back to yours, like he knew you were about to say something else. Taking a deep breath, you went for it. “Jackson told me about… about everything you’ve been going through these past couple of years. And I wanted to say, if you ever need a friend or just someone to talk to, then you can talk to me. I’ll be here.”
Your hand slowly reached over, timidly grazing over the top of his rough hand, until your palm cautiously settled against his broken skin, starting a warm fire in the pit of your stomach as your skin brushed against his.
His back went rigid, and the way he was looking at you all wide-eyed and soft had your heart pounding uncontrollably in your chest. An unsteady rhythm that had your throat closing up like there was no more air available in your lungs. There was only him swirling around your heart.
He flicked his gaze across your settled hand and slowly but surely, his other hand came down to rest on yours, his fingers lacing in the crevice of your fingers until they formed like impenetrable clay. And suddenly, a shade of grey cleared from his foggy eyes, and warmth spread across his tanned cheeks. He wasn’t so blue after all, at least not when you were around.
“He told you?” he asked quietly.
“He told me everything,” you answered back discreetly.
“Why?” His thick eyebrows threaded together, and the wrinkles on his forehead formed a map of lines that you strangely wanted to trace with the tip of your finger, so you could maybe reach into his mind and tear away anything that hurt him in the past.
“Because I asked him…” you answered shakily, your fingers curling nervously into your white summer dress, twisting them until you pinched skin and flinched.
“I see.” His voice came out hushed, his eyes stormy as if he looked to the past and saw heartache all over again. You could see it in the way he held himself, fingers flexing, his shoulders hunched over, his back stiff. And your heart broke just thinking of the years that tore his body to shreds.
“And jus’ what did my son say to you?” His voice was deep, but it didn’t come out unkind or aggressive. It was just quiet, almost silenced, like he didn’t want to hear those hurtful words repeated.
“Well, he told me about Sarah and your messy divorce and then your job and…”
“‘Course he did. Always runnin’ his mouth ‘bout private matters that don’t concern anyone else,” he scoffed, shaking his head like he was used to his son always sharing secrets that should’ve been kept under lock and key.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Miller. I didn’t mean to intrude.” You scooted your body into the back of the wooden rocking chair, making yourself smaller like you had just crossed a line. You shouldn’t have asked Jackson, but you just had to know. You weren’t sure why, but some part of you yearned to know what made this beautiful man so weathered and frayed like his cracked, calloused fingers. It wasn’t any of your business, but you wanted it to be.
“Nah. Don’t do that. Don’t apologize like any of it’s your fault, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong.” His arm came down on the side of his rocking chair briefly, thick fingers digging absentmindedly into the polished wood. His eyes were long gone into the hazy field ahead of him, the wildflowers gently blowing in the breeze, the oak trees swaying like the shiny pond water that lapped against the lush grass, your heart thundering in your chest with every stolen glance to the broken man who sat right next to you.
You couldn’t help but memorize the shine of his syrupy eyes, dark chocolate irises glowing in the rays of the sun peeking out of the grey clouds. They were so beautiful yet so sad. They deserved to be sparkling. Instead, they were full of turmoil, and that made you feel so empty for some unknown reason.
“Oh, okay then,” you eventually answered after staring way too long at his worn but immaculate face, his calloused fingers still on top of yours, the tip of his thumb brushing lightly against your knuckle like maybe he was trying to commit to memory how your skin felt against his. And just the thought of that had you dripping with sweat on the back of your neck.
“And jus’ Joel,” he replied, pressing his hand deeper against yours.
“What?” you whispered out.
“Jus’ call me Joel, darlin’. That’s my name, after all.” You blinked a few times, your mind reeling at the ask. He already told you to call him Joel once, the first day you met him in the garage, but something about first name basis was dangerous, forbidden. You shouldn’t say his name, shouldn’t call him anything but Mr. Miller, but here you were about to let his name be tattooed on your tongue like it was the only word you knew how to speak.
“Alright. Joel…” you answered cautiously, letting the wing sweep through your messy strands.
After waiting a beat, you spoke again. “Well, the offer still stands. I’ll be here, if you need someone to talk to.”
A gentle smile curled against his mouth slowly and for the first time, you saw the clouds clear fully in his dewy brown eyes. “You’re a pretty fuckin’ special girl, ya know that? Jackson got lucky. Beautiful girl like you deserves the world…” His eyes flicked down to his lap momentarily, but they quickly reverted right back to yours.
“Oh, I’m not… no, I’m not that special,” you laughed, shaking your head like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever said to you. You’re nothing special.
“Don’t be modest, sweetheart. Beautiful and special. The perfect combination. Don’t you ever forget it either.” His smile was so genuine. And his eyes, those exquisite brown doe eyes that made your voice shake, were making you forget how to form a coherent thought.
Oh. Beautiful…
“That’s kind of you to say, Joel, but I really don’t think...”
He lifted a rough-edged palm and stopped you right there. “Well, s’true. Don’t take anything less than what you deserve. I mean it when I say if you ever need anything, you come straight to me, darlin’. Wouldn’t ever leave you hangin’.”
His hand slowly reached out, your body completely paralyzed with every steady movement his fingers made. His fingertips brushed against your cheek, leaving scars you’d soon regret ever touched you, but they felt like a fine paintbrush drawing an entire masterpiece with every careful stroke he drew across your skin.
Electricity zapped through the cool air, sending sparks of lightning across every square inch he touched. And his eyes were absolutely sparkling, crystal domes that reminded you of citrine and smoky quartz. And when his fingers traced a loose strand behind the shell of your ear, it was like the world completely stopped, and the only sound you could hear was his slow breaths that smelled like strong coffee and pine trees dancing in the wind.
He was magnetic, and you wanted to burn right there in that little wooden rocking chair until you were nothing but burnt embers in his gentle palms.
Tires treading over gravel broke the intense spell you were under, and Joel’s palm fell from your cheek, leaving a trail of warmth behind in their absence. Both of your eyes were wide and daunting, and you knew you were fucked.
You shouldn’t be out here sitting alone with Joel, but you didn’t really care. He had you hooked, and now you were a baited fish.
“I should probably get back to Jackson,” you said quietly, pushing your shaky body from the rocking chair. The one that Joel had made by hand.
“Yeah, afraid you should,” he murmured in a hushed tone, his dark brown eyes following after you until you turned a corner where his electric stare couldn’t hold yours anymore.
You watched him sigh, his thick fingers curling back over his ceramic coffee cup as his plush lips met the sides. And in that moment, you so desperately wanted to be the dark coffee that caked his tongue in a swirl of various flavors. You wanted to be the sugar that left his body begging for more.
Taking a deep breath, you spoke without thinking it through. A plea to continue the conversations with this dream of a man. “Joel, your ex-wife was stupid to leave you. The way she treated you? You never deserved that. You deserve much better. I just hope you don’t think you were ever the problem because it never sounded like you were.”
Your hand latched onto the handle of the screen door and just as you started pulling it open, his deep voice made you lose your grip, and then the door swung shut with a bang.
“Sweetheart?” he called, craning his neck to look back at you with deep brown eyes.
“Yeah?” You slowly circled around and met those dazzling brown eyes that turned you into mush.
“You sure do know how to light up a room. Bring that pretty smile around here more often. You seem to keep the cloudy skies away.”
Your heart leapt into your throat and for the first time, you felt a heated warmth pull through your entire body, twisting around your veins until his name imprinted a mark on your heart.
Giving him one last smile, you turned and made your way back through the house, back to where you should be. With Jackson. But was that what you really wanted now? You never expected to have a crush on your boyfriend’s fifty-year-old dad, but here you were. Completely and utterly falling for something that should be so forbidden.
As the weeks went by, you found yourself at Joel’s more and more often, finding any excuse to visit or to have Jackson take you there. It started so innocent, so friendly but quickly faded into something that started to smother your insides until you bled Joel entirely.
Mornings became fresh cups of coffee on the back porch as you watched the golden sunrise and talked about life; the evenings you’d spend curled up on the floor, reading a book while he scanned over articles in the newspaper. Sometimes you’d sit on top of his workbench in the garage and watch him work on his truck.
It was the way he completely spilled his soul to you, making you feel alive, a feeling Jackson never could quite reach. Even just being in his warm presence was enough, where you could breathe in his lingering coffee scent, his cologne that smelled like pinewood and cedar trees, the aroma of sandpaper and palms caked in traces of paint that made you completely dizzy.
The small conversations started to not be enough later on; none of it was enough for you anymore. The slow touches became more frequent. Each time he’d walk past you, he’d brush against your shoulder, letting his hand trace against your strands of hair, your back, your hand. And you let it happen because it felt warm, right. And Jackson didn’t even fucking have a clue. Joel was that subtle; Jackson never saw it coming. You didn’t see it coming until that first day in his garage. You knew right then he was something special, and you just couldn’t learn to leave him alone.
Jackson was completely oblivious when the two of you would stay for dinner at Joel’s, not even noticing the lingering glances and the small brushes of knees under the kitchen table. And that’s all it took to fall.
And that first kiss. God, that first fucking kiss. The one that was so earth shattering it felt like you had the world in your hands. You were only supposed to help him with the watermelon in the kitchen, but then he pulled you into his arms, crushing you to his broad chest, and looked at you like no one else ever had before. Like he was completely and utterly in love with you.
You saw flickers of onyx and dark chocolate swirling in your vision, tempting you to jump into the flames. And when his calloused palm traced your cheek softly and he leaned in, you drowned in the flames.
His mouth molded to yours perfectly, shooting sparks of lightning through your bloodstream the way his taste fell like water against your soft lips. And you lapped it all up, committed his coffee taste to memory, even the wafts of spice that drizzled off his slicked back greying locks.
And that was the moment you sold your soul to hades because this calamitous decision would drag you down into the inferno. But you’d burn, never regretting the day his lips fell into yours.
It wasn’t even a one time thing. No. It formed into the most catastrophic, impending decision of your life, but you let it happen anyways. If Jackson was granite then Joel was gold. Impenetrable, unique, beautiful. You just couldn’t let him go.
Hot summer days turned to cool autumn evenings where you spent hours curled up against Joel’s warm chest. The sheets damp, clothes long forgotten, sweaty bodies that burned hot for each other. You forgot all your morals each time his head was between your thighs, his mouth fused to your drenched center, his tongue stroking and lapping up your breath-taking release each time he took you over the edge. And the way his cock stretched you, filling you so full of him, felt like fireworks shooting off inside you. His mouth swallowed your echoing moans with each snap of his hips, his body like a burning furnace that set you ablaze time and time again.
And that first moment he told you he loved you while you were curled up in his lap on the porch swing was magic. He was magic. And god, you loved this man with every fiber of your being.
There were no more cloudy days, no more grey shades threading his body like his tousled curls. No. He was vibrant, alive, and your red shades collided with his blue hues, mixing together to form the prettiest lilac skies you ever did see. And when he weaved his body around yours like a tight string, claiming you as his, entire hurricanes crashed and left your body to float out to sea. But Joel would keep you afloat, even through the pain of losing Jackson.
One day you’d have to tell Jackson, end it, but you had no strength to do that. Neither did Joel. So you were both doomed, damned to burn together in the pits of hell. You’d never forgive yourself for betraying Jackson, but Joel… well, you just couldn’t lose him. So you wouldn’t.
Joel found a way to thread every inch of you to him, sewn into the very essence of his soul as you swirled yourself into his shades of blue.
Summary: After confiscating Ellie’s pot, you and Joel (your friend and neighbour) get high. It’s your first time, and unbeknownst to you, you experience a body high.
TW: USE OF CANNABIS, reader is an OB-GYN, no describing features aside from having hair, dirty talk, flirty banter, fingering (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, pet names (sweetheart, baby).
AN: Okay fiiiiinnnee, I wrote it! And, for once, I didn’t write a sub/dom dynamic OR an AU...who am I?! Thank you @for-a-longlongtime and @lotusbxtch for indulging me in these two little cuties. Thank you to everyone who commented and shared my initial idea post, I haven’t gotten that much interaction since I posted BDSMaid. Full disclosure, I have never rolled or smoked a joint (I'm an edible girlie), so just disregard any inaccuracies there haha. Nothing makes me happier than orgasms and flirting, but seriously…what do we think Joel’s middle name is?!
Word Count: 7.4k
You
You hear them as you walk up the newly refurbished porch steps, a comic book wrapped in brown paper tucked under your arm. Joel and Ellie; her voice angry, his deep and calm. You can’t make out their words, just mumbled tones.
I should turn around, you think to yourself. But you know Joel has always tried to make birthdays a big thing for Ellie. Plus, it’s not like you’re popping by unannounced. You’re their neighbour, have been since the day they got back from whatever little excursion they went on and Ellie invited you for cake this afternoon. Her exact words were “once you get done dealing with the freak show that is pregnant women, come have some cake. Even though I’m not sure how you eat anything after seeing all of that”.
You and Joel had laughed, shaking your head at her perversions around pregnancy and childbirth. As an OBGYN pre-outbreak, and now in Jackson, it’s never bothered you.
You stop on the third step, one hand around the railing that you painted an eggshell white last weekend while Joel started replacing the railing on the raised back deck. Their voices grow louder, they're close enough now that you can make out their words.
“Ellie, stop. Just listen for one second -“ Joel’s voice is almost pleading.
“I said it’s not mine, Joel! Give it back, I will take it to whoever gave it to me.” You hear Joel sigh in response. Ever the firecracker, Ellie continues. “See! You don’t believe me. You’re accusing me. And what’s the big fucking deal anyway? Everyone around here does it!”
“Listen, it’s your birthday. This ain’t…” he sighs again and you can almost picture him; one hand on his hip, the other rubbing at his beard, a habit you’ve noticed when he’s stressed or flustered. “Look, it’s my job to look after you. Impart some sort of wisdom. We don’t know how this shit will affect you long term.”
Ellie’s laugh is cold. “Long term. It’s a fucking apocalypse, man. We could all be gone tomorrow. We could all be gone in the next ten fucking minutes.”
“That’s enough,” Joel starts, his tone firm. You decide to turn around, one of them will come get you if the original plan is still a go. Just as you’re about to head back down the steps, the metal and mesh screen door flies open and Ellie storms out.
“I, ummm, I can come back,” you stammer, taking in the angry teenage flush of Ellie’s cheeks. She’s gotten taller over the winter, her hair longer than you’ve ever seen it. She’d hate that you can’t help but think how adorable she looks when she gets angry, little pieces of hair flying loose around her temples.
“Just go in. He’s on his fucking high horse today,” she says in a grumble as she barrels down the stairs.
“Well, wait. Take this,” you hold your gift out and the scowl softens a little, an almost smile tugging at her cheek. “Happy Birthday, Ellie. I’ll talk to him.”
“Thank you,” she replies, running a hand over your wrap job. “Hey, think you can get my pot back?” She asks, her still childlike innocence burning on the surface.
You laugh softly, “I thought it belonged to a friend.”
She groans, throwing her head back as she takes the last few steps, mumbling to herself, “Having a dad is a pain in my ass. Worse than a FEDRA camp.”
“It’s because he cares,” you call after her, not accusatory, just a fact like the grass is green. Ellie stops, and in the most Joel-like fashion tilts her head back and pinches the bridge of her nose. Her eyes fall shut, her head slumping forward as she shakes it from side to side. Then she makes a statement that almost makes your heart break.
“That’s what makes it worse than a FEDRA camp. The caring. I don’t want to disappoint him, but I am.”
“Oh, Ellie,” you say reassuringly. “You aren’t. This is part of being a teenage girl. Trust me, you are not disappointing him, or anyone else. Go, I’ll talk to him.”
As Ellie walks off, tearing the brown paper from her gift, you turn back toward the house. You and Joel have been friends since the day after he got back. You were fixing the shared backyard fence, and he came out and helped. The residents of Jackson weren’t thrilled when they first arrived, even less so when they got back. But it’s been a few months now, Ellie is settling in, Joel has been an active member of the community, and you know Maria put him next door to you - the well-loved town doctor who delivers all the babies - for a reason; if you were friends with Joel, others would follow. So that’s what you are. Friends.
You pull open the screen door, the old metal rubbing against itself. You make a mental note, another thing for the two of you to fix in the old home that sat abandoned for years.
“Heard there’s a big mean drug confiscator in here,” you joke, toeing off your shoes at the front door. You’re met with silence. You peek your head around into the family room, empty. As you wander into the kitchen you see the back of Joel sitting on the edge of the still unfinished deck, his legs dangling off the drop. The sliding screen is quieter as you exit. You pad barefoot, the wooden boards warm under your feet from the spring sun. You sit beside Joel, the full length skirt of your strapless sundress blowing wistfully in the breeze.
“Hey,” he rasps, and you both look over at each other, his coffee and bourbon eyes shifting from lost to content when he sees you.
The single or widowed women of Jackson have asked you about Joel, saying how handsome he is. Truthfully, a few years ago you probably would have thought the same thing, but this world is too uncertain, too harsh and cruel. All it does is take, so you keep your heart to yourself now. You cherish the friends you have and that’s where it ends. Loving someone only to lose them is something you can’t do…again.
“Hey. That was a joke, just by the way.” You give him a thin-lipped smile.
“Huh?” He asks, kicking his shoes off, watching them fall the few feet to the slowly greening grass before leaning back onto his elbows. You turn to face him, tucking one leg under the other.
“What I said when I came in. It was a joke.”
“Oh,” his voice is sad, face lined with defeat. “I didn’t hear it.”
You pat his denim-clad thigh and joke, “Getting old.”
He snorts, lightly shoving your hand away. “Careful, Doc. You ain’t that much younger than me.”
“Still younger,” you say with a laugh. “So, you wanna talk about it? I wasn’t trying to listen in, just…timing.”
“No, I know,” Joel reassures and then takes a shaky breath. “Honestly, I just feel like I’m lettin’ her down. Ya know? Bickering all the time. Tellin’ her no.”
“Joel,” it’s a soft whisper, full of compassion. His brown eyes find yours again, glossy and wide now, back to being lost.
“She just deserves a life away from all this. It’s not fair. FEDRA camp then gettin’ stuck with my cantankerous ass.” He shakes his head.
“Hey, listen. This is part of being a…well, dad-like figure to a teenage girl. Trust me, you are not letting her down.” Joel lies flat on his deck, staring up at the clouds with one hand behind his head and the other resting on his stomach. You follow suit as you continue. “Just talk to her. Don’t parent her, just talk. She probably feels the same way you do. You’ve both been through horrible things. Together and separate. She’s going to make mistakes, she needs to know she can go to you for support. Just be there.”
For a few seconds, it’s just the leaves rustling in the warm breeze, the smell of grass and damp soil wrapping around you. Spring is slowly erasing any remaining remnants of a particularly harsh winter. Life almost feels back to normal as the two of you lay here, not this new normal of fungus and death, but the before normal.
“Ain’t so good with words,” he murmurs beside you, his breath warming your neck so you roll your head to face him.
“You just used the word cantankerous, so don’t give me that,” you say with a light laugh, your knee knocking his gently.
“You called me that one of the first times we met,” a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth when he says it and your stomach does a weird flip thing. That must be what he does to the other women here to get them all…bothered.
You look back up at the sky, protecting yourself from feeling any sort of way aside from friendly towards this man. “I remember, you were being cantankerous. Just tell Ellie you’re sorry, that you don’t want to fight and you want to be there for her.”
“You sure you aren’t older than me? Wisdom beyond your years,” he praises and your heart now joins your stomach in its weird stutter-and-shutter era.
“I’m sure,” you breathe. “I was a teenager once too. Oh, that reminds me. Give Ellie back her pot.”
Joel sits up straight, no grunt or effort, for fifty something that seems impressive, and you shouldn’t wonder if he has abs under that heather grey cotton t-shirt, but you do. He spins to face you, eyes wide and lips parted in shock.
“What?” You ask, coming up onto your elbows and looking around like you missed something.
“Doc! Were you a bit of a rebel in your youth?” The teasing disbelief of his voice causes you to blush.
“No!” You reply quickly, fast enough that his eyes narrow as he tries to decipher if you’re telling the truth or a lie. He clearly settles on the second option when he responds.
“Don’t worry. It’s just us back here. I won’t alert the town that the goody goody Doc was a bad girl nearly forty years ago.” He pokes jovially at your ribs, electricity jolting from where his finger met your dress to your belly button.
“Gah! That tickles!” You laugh, shifting your body away as you sit up. “I’m being serious, Joel. I’ve never done it.”
“Never?” He questions in disbelief. “We were teens of the nineties grunge era. You never got high off your tree and listened to Pearl Jam or Nirvana in someone’s basement?”
“Joel Angus Miller!” You feign shock. “You little hypocrite!”
“Angus?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes at yet another failure attempt to win your ongoing game to guess his middle name.
“I’m gonna get it one day!” You proclaim before continuing. “You took away a sixteen-year-old's pot, meanwhile you were smoking it at sixteen yourself!”
“Well, Angus is the furthest away you’ve ever been. But okay, I get it. It’s just, I was young and dumb and in a world that’s not as…” he waves his hands around, “well, as fucked up as all this. What if something happens and she’s high and impaired? It’s not like we have phones anymore, she can’t just call me if she needs me.”
You reach out and rest your hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. Both of you look where you’re connected before locking eyes.
“You’re scared,” you say simply and he nods once. “Tell her that, but you’ve got to relax a bit. I know you don’t want to admit it, but she’s right too. None of us is guaranteed a tomorrow and this is the safest place we can be in this, as you said, fucked up world.”
He nods again and sighs, leaning back to reach into his pocket. He pulls out a clear packet of what looks like crushed dried green leaves, little flecks of silvery purple mixed throughout. He moves the marijuana around through the plastic then laughs softly looking over at you while wiggling the bag.
“So…never done it, hey?” His smile is devious yet playful.
“No. My father was a cop -“
“Same.” He cuts you off.
“Rebel,” you quip. “My mom was a nurse.”
You pause, waiting for Joel to maybe open up about his mom. When he doesn’t, you continue. “Anyway, I always wanted to be a physician. Deliver babies into the world. So I was focused. Studying. Pushing. Learning. We were also incredibly religious. Neither of my parents even drank.”
“Huh, not nearly the same then,” he rasps. You glance over at him, his fingers still playing with the bag, he seems sad. You know enough about him not to push, so you keep talking.
“So yeah. Just wasn’t something in my circle, I guess. And then once I was a doctor and had finished my specialty training and had established myself in a clinic and could finally relax the outbreak happened.”
He glances towards you, “Got anywhere to be today?”
You squint at him suspiciously. “No, why?”
Joel doesn’t answer, just stands up, this time with a grunt because of his knees. You watch as he goes into the house, you hear the slide of drawer or two opening before he comes back outside.
“Hold out your hand,” he whispers, an edge of conspiracy and mischief in his voice. You listen though, turning your palm up for him. He places a lighter and a pack of Zig-Zags in your hand, his calloused fingertips brushing against the soft skin of your palm. “Wanna try it?”
You gasp dramatically, your empty hand coming to your chest as you look up at Joel. “I cannot believe that Joel Bartholomew Miller is going to smoke pot he confiscated from a teenager.”
“Onto the B’s now?” You nod, humming a yes. “Still wrong. More wrong than Angus. And I ain’t smokin’ nothin’. You are…if you want.”
You bite your bottom lip, contemplating and not missing the quick dip of Joel’s gaze to your mouth and then back to your eyes.
“I’m not doing it unless you do,” you whisper.
“Alright,” he breathes, sitting down beside you, legs dangling over the edge of the deck again. He takes the papers from you and you watch as his thick fingers work deftly to roll a joint. Something deep in your core flexes when his tongue peeks out to lick a careful line along the paper. He smiles over at you, his handiwork pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “Ready for everything to get a little funnier?”
“Hopefully Maria doesn’t go into early labour,” you joke with a nod.
He brings the rolled paper to his lips, cupping his hand around the bottom of his face. The unmistakable click of a lighter sounds and he sucks, holding in the smoke then blowing it out.
“You, umm, you might wanna go easy on that one. Little bits at a time.” He turns the joint to you. It feels weird and foreign in your hand. You want to chicken out but he only did it because you wanted him to. Plus, you have been curious, so you bring it to your lips. Sucking just a bit, holding the smoke in your mouth then blowing it out.
You raise an eyebrow at Joel. “Nothing happened.”
He laughs, taking another hit. “Give it a minute, and try to actually inhale some.” He blows the smoke out, coughing a little.
As you take your second attempt the gate to the yard clicks open. “Shit,” Joel huffs, grabbing the joint and putting it out the edge of the deck. His reaction startles you, and you sharply inhale a large drag of the smoke before he rips it away. Immediately you begin to cough as Ellie comes into view.
“Smells an awful lot like pot back here,” she huffs. You cough again, smoke passing your lips. The expression on Ellie’s face is one you’ve never seen before, shocked and smug, “Doc!!!”
“I swear,” you rasp, throat hoarse from the smoke, “it’s my first time.”
“Same,” Joel quickly adds.
Her wide eyes swing to his. “Her, I believe. But you, not so much.”
You try to hold it in, you really do, but you’re now slightly high, and even if you weren’t the situation is pretty fucking funny. You burst out into laughter, covering your face and lying back onto the deck.
“Joel! What if someone goes into labour? She’s so fucking high.”
You can’t see him through your hands but you can picture the cocky shoulder shrug he often does. “No one is goin’ into labour. Here…catch.”
The unmistakable sound of a plastic bag being caught by Ellie fills your ears. “Really?”
“Yeah. Just be smart and careful. And if anything goes wrong, come right back home. Okay?”
“You won’t be mad?” Her voice is quiet, so unlike the vivacious girl you know.
“Ellie, I’m never mad. I’m jus’…” his voice trails off. When you peek through your fingers, he’s looking right at you. You twirl a finger in the air, urging him to say it. “I was scared, okay?”
“Ya big softie,” she teases. “I’ll be careful. Can I go with Jesse and Dina for a bit?”
“Home by ten,” Joel warns, his voice dad-like.
Ellie huffs, “Eleven? I’m sixteen now.”
“Eleven, but not a second later because we gotta be up early for that birthday hike. Big surprise, remember?”
“Deal,” she says, her voice further away as if she’s running for the gate already. As soon as the latch clicks closed you break out into laughter again and this time, Joel joins you. His laugh is light and warm, and it might be the single greatest sound you’ve heard in a long time. The weed has made every muscle in your body feel light as air.
“Well, fuck. Guess we got caught,” Joel says through his laughter, standing and extending his hands to you. His large palms swallow yours as he takes them, pulling you to your feet.
You stumble into his chest, one of his hands steadying you at the waist. Not too low, not too high. The perfect and respectable place for two friends to touch. “Whoops. Might be high now.”
“You don’t fucking say,” he laughs. “You inhaled almost the entire thing.”
Once he’s sure you’re steady, he brings the rest of the joint back to his lips, lighting it again. As he’s lost in the haze of his hit you keep your hands on Joel. Mostly because you feel like you have new legs. However, you realize that you’ve never touched Joel like this, so you let yourself linger, deciding you can blame it on him and pot, and not the fact that he is made of warmth and stone. Hard chest and abdomen lined with defined muscle, smelling like thunder and granite.
As your hands trail down his sides he looks at you, his hand coming to your chin, pulling gently to part your lips. Every touch sends sparks along your skin. Sparks you’ve never felt before. Sparks that could gather, fester, grow into something bigger.
Friends, you remind yourself as he tilts his head down and blows the smoke into your mouth. You remember this from a movie that was popular in your post-college years. Shotgunning.
Joel pushes at your jaw, closing your lips and you hold the second hand smoke in your mouth. You’re sure it’s the high, but it tastes sweeter coming from him. Sweeter, yet dangerous.
As you blow out he winks at you, “You okay?”
“Mmmm, yes. Very okay.” You hum, eyes fluttering shut as he pulls you towards the swing at the end of the deck.
“Let’s get you away from the edge,” he sits, his strong legs keeping the swing steady as your muscles move languidly to lie on the three-person seat, your head on his lap. A gust of wind blows your skirt down, the fabric pooling at your hips. But you don’t care, you let it land where it wants. Between the sun and the breeze every inch of your skin feels alive. Joel clears his throat nervously and you peel your eyes open to see him studying you.
“What?” You breathe.
“Nothin’. Never seen you like this before. All free and relaxed. It’s nice. You deserve it.” He smiles at you, the same smile he gets every time he sees you. The only difference between then and now is the way his fingers twirl around the loose strands of hair near your face.
“Sadly, I think the last time I was this relaxed was when I went to Cuba after graduating med school.” Your arms feel heavy, the left one falling off the edge of the seat, the right one tucked between you and the backrest. Your barefeet are planted; knees bent, swaying in time with Joel’s push and pull of the swing.
“Want me to make ocean sounds?” Joel jokes, laughing to himself but keeping his eyes on yours. Your breath catches in your throat at the crinkling skin around his eyes. There must be something wrong with that pot, because while Joel isn’t unattractive you’ve never been drawn to him like this.
“Yes, actually,” you say, calling his bluff. “I’m gonna close my eyes, you make ocean sounds.”
Everything goes dark as your lashes meet your cheeks, and then he starts, soft, staticky noises passing his lips. It’s sweet really, him trying to imitate such a core memory from before the apocalypse. You fight the smile.
“Don’t laugh,” he whispers. His breath feels like it’s skittering over your skin. “I’m tryin’ here.”
“Sorry,” you say back, the hushed tones of your voice matching his.
“Jus’ keep your eyes closed and relax. Feel the sun, there’s a margarita on the way for you.” He continues the soft whooshing sounds.
Any thoughts of hospital supply shortages, of the woman who didn’t make it through childbirth a few months ago, of the real and imminent danger outside of these walls fade away. You’re wholly and utterly relaxed.
“There you go,” Joel hums softly right before the heat of his palm meets your knee. Regardless of the fact that the patella is not considered an erogenous zone, the feeling of his rough finger tips along your smooth skin sends a rush of heat up your inner thigh, burning even hotter as it settles at your clit. You can’t stop the way your body reacts. Back arching off the recently sanded and stained wood, lips parting, a mix of a gasp and moan - sounds friends aren’t supposed to share - leaving your throat.
Both of you freeze, embarrassment overtaking you. You do what you do best, you decide to run. Run and hide, and protect what little peace you have. But your limbs are heavy, and you refuse to open your eyes to see what you’re sure is going to be a horror-stricken look on Joel’s face. It’s clumsy and awkward as you try to navigate your high, the swaying of the swing, and Joel’s hand still clamped to your leg, and the other one now guiding you to lie back down.
“Shh,” he hushes. “Jus’ take a breath. You’re gonna fall.”
As if someone with strings controls your hands they fly up haphazardly and land on your face. “I’m horrified. I’m so sorry. I need to go.”
Your name is a firm whisper on Joel’s lips, lips that you now wonder how they'd feel on your skin, “Look at me, please.”
You shake your head, “No, I’m so sorry Joel.”
You can feel the tremble in his finger, still frozen around your knee. His voice is rougher as he repeats himself, “Look at me, please.”
Unwillingly, you lower your hands, biting the inside of your cheek to stop from making this worse. Not that you think that’s even possible.
“You have nothing to be sorry or embarrassed about,” his voice is soft and kind, but his expression is not one you’ve ever seen before, because much like the sound you made earlier, this too isn’t an expression friends share.
“You said getting high would make things funnier but…” You trail off, you’re a doctor, you shouldn’t be embarrassed to say that you’re overwhelmingly turned on right now.
“Lemme guess. All your muscles feel heavy, every touch feels heightened?” As he says it, his finger traces down the cartilage of your ear.
“Yes,” you breathe, turning your face towards him, exposing your neck in hopes he’ll continue his caress. He pauses at your lobe, pinching it gently. You mumble an airy ‘Joel’ into his t-shirt.
“We can ask each other for anything, remember?” He murmurs, his fingers meeting your neck, eliciting the same response as before; an arch of the back, a throb of your clit, a hum of pleasure.
“Don’t stop,” you groan. His cock hardens along your cheek.
Joel’s rough fingertips dance along your neck and shoulder, each scratch feeling like heaven. Your brain can’t seem to catch up to the pleasure and you melt further into the solid mass of a man and his earthy, damp rock scent.
You can feel him looking down at you, so you peel your eyes open to see a soft smile and dark eyes. His voice matches his innate Joel-like musk - jagged and unpolished - you can tell he has asked this next question before, but probably not for a long time, “Is this still okay?”
“Mmhmmm,” you nod your head, soft cheek scraping against the ever-growing bulge behind his rough denim. “You smell nice.”
His cheeks pink, a small dimple indenting his beard. “So do you.”
“I do?” You question. “What do I smell like?”
Joel's smile goes from serene to downright devious. “Tell me what you need and I’ll tell you how you smell.”
You slip your bottom lip between your teeth, his nearly obsidian eyes tracking the pinch immediately. You study his face. Any time you mentioned an eligible and interested woman to him he’d say she wasn’t his type or that he’s not looking for anything. You’ve seen him talking to women around Jackson, in the dining hall or at the stables, but he never looked at them as he’s looking at you now. He’s also never hauled his toolbox over to their houses after a long patrol to fix a light socket, or brought them the last slice of apple pie to their workplace. It dawns on you now that you’ve always been the one to say you’re friends, and he’s always been the one that agrees.
Joel
“Aren’t we just friends?” Her voice waivers, almost as if she’s finally putting it all together.
I never had the chance to go to the ocean before the outbreak, yet I tried to imitate the crash of waves on rock for her. I have never baked pies, but when she got called away to the hospital on Thanksgiving I took over, watching them carefully and making sure that she got to taste the fruits of her labour.
I clear the recurring lump she causes in my throat. “We can be just friends if you want. But friends help each other.”
The high is making me feel emboldened, so I drag my fingers from her knee, drawing a swirling, irregular line down her impossibly soft thigh. I keep my gaze locked on hers. In my periphery, I can see the rapid rise and fall of her breasts under the stretchy white cotton of her sundress. I know she’s not wearing a bra, and it fucking kills me.
When my fingers get closer to the apex of her thighs her hips buck forward, gifting me with a glimpse of the baby blue cotton panties she has on. My cock presses painfully against the zipper of my jeans and I will it to soften. She doesn’t need to do anything for me. I just want to care for her. However, when she gasps needily all hope of my erection going down is lost.
“No pressure,” I reassure, “but if you want, or need, to come…all you have to do is ask.”
You
Joel’s fingers continue their abstract patterns on your inner thigh. You know he’s seen your baby blue panties, probably has noticed the darker hues of the soaked-through gusset.
Friends help each other.
His echoed words feel as good as his hands. You haven’t let a man please you since shortly after settling in at Jackson. As the single years passed so did the urge for touch.
“Joel Bradley,” you tease, the hand you’ve since re-tucked along the bench reaching up and finding purchase at the nape of his neck. “Tell me what I smell like while making me come.”
“You got a long way to go in that alphabet, sweetheart.” He guides your left leg, pulling your foot so the sole meets the back of the bench then pushing your knee down. Next, he guides the other leg up and over the back of the swing. You’re squirming with anticipation. If the innocent touches feel this good you can’t even begin to imagine how the not-so-innocent ones will feel. “Fuck me, you’re already so wet.”
“You were touching me,” you state, blinking up at him.
Joel’s tongue peeks out, wetting his lips and you wonder how he’d taste. “I love that you’re drippin’ for me. Like I said, you deserve to be relaxed. Deserve someone to care for you. ‘Specially since all you do is care for others.”
He shifts his body slightly, his hand now massaging your left inner thigh, kneading the muscles gently. Fire practically explodes up your leg, and you’re almost convinced you could come without him even touching you. Joel moves his hand in a calculated and methodical rhythm. You gasp and sink further into the feeling.
“How are you feeling?” His voice is tender, yet another side of him you’ve never seen. Unfortunately, in your languid state, your brain can’t seem to think of words.
“Melty,” you sigh, nuzzling into his covered dick. He laughs silently through his nose.
“Good. You’re stunning like this. All soft and free,” his firm but soothing caresses finally meet the crease of your thigh.
“God, that feels so good.”
“Jus’ Joel will do,” he teases, his thumb pressing deeper into your hip, immediately causing you to pant and your hips to flex forward. “If you change your mind, you can tell me to stop.”
You nod again, closing your eyes, fully unable to form words at this point. His cock gets harder - and somehow bigger - with the friction. Then you finally feel a light brush along the seam of your pussy through your panties. You cry out, your left leg coming up to the backrest as pleasure ignites through you.
“I got you,” Joel murmurs. “Open your legs. You’re okay.”
“Just keep talking,” you ask, leg going boneless and falling open for him.
He plays with you again, one finger running up and down again and again. You can feel yourself getting wetter.
“I’ve noticed that you have two scents,” he begins, keeping his part of the deal to tell you how you smell while making you come. “The first is when you’re at work. The hospital smells sterile, but you smell like winter. Icy, but not cold. Fresh. Like a change is coming, and what’s going to bloom after the snow is going to be more beautiful than you could ever imagine.”
He swirls your clit now. Tight little circles with the pads of two of his fingers. “Oh fuck, Joel.”
“Look at me,” he rasps. When you peel your eyes open he continues, “Tell me how it feels.”
“So good,” you mumble, eyes hooded with pleasure. The sun is lower in the sky now, no longer hot on your skin and instead just a golden warmth. “Just a little harder.”
Joel listens, keeping the pace the same but pressing down and you swear you see stars. “Just like that - hnnng, Joel, fuck. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
“I know, baby. I won’t. Not until you tell me to.”
Baby. No one has called you a pet name like that in years and it causes your eyes to roll back into your skull. He’s consistent, steady and assertive, in the way he plays with you. Those are the things you like about him and your friendship.
“J-Joel, I-ohmygod -“ the pleasure is building low in your stomach, spreading around your back and down your legs. Even though the two of you live away from the bustling Main Street of the commune, you worry that you will not be able to keep quiet when an orgasm finally takes you. Your muscles clench, your hand that’s still on his neck cards through his soft hair, tugging gently. Your other hand finds his corded, muscular forearm connected to his hand that’s still gingerly stroking your neck.
“Jus’ relax.”
“I…I can’t,” you bury your face into his stomach, he hisses at the friction along his cock.
“Yes you can, just let go. Then I’ll push these little panties to the side and give you another one. Explain what you smell like when it’s just the two of us.” His voice is encouraging, praising almost. “Take a breath, sweetheart. Jus’ relax.”
You suck a trembling breath in through your nose, exhaling slowly through your parted lips, sinking back into Joel. He said he’s got you. If anything, Joel Miller is a man of his word. He’s proven it time and time again.
“That’s my girl,” he whispers gruffly, then speeds up his delicious assault of your clit. Before you have time to overanalyze it again a quick, yet intense, orgasm slams through your body. You gasp into Joel’s shirt, legs trembling. “There she goes. Let me make you feel good.”
“Holy fuck,” you exclaim, rolling your head back to look up at him. He slows his ministrations, keeping the pressure while your hips cant back and forth. Joel smiles down at you, the late afternoon sun glinting off the greys along his temples and beard. The amber glow gives you a preview of the tan you know he’ll have soon. “I want to take care of you now.”
Joel chuckles under his breath. “I made you a promise. Or were you too engulfed in the feeling of my fingers on your clit that you didn’t hear me?”
Your cheeks flush. In your experience, men say things in the heat of the moment that are erased more easily than a whiteboard the second they’re offered a turn. Your bottom lip slips between your teeth before you hum, “I heard.”
After carefully tucking the loose strands of hair he’s been playing with behind your ear, he twists at the waist, reaching down, fingers playing with the edge of your panties. “These are soaked through, sweetheart.”
His rough fingertips pull your panties to the side. “You know I woulda taken care of this for you a long time ago if you had asked. Been waitin’ for a while now.”
“I didn’t know,” you gasp, a mixture of the breeze hitting your soaked cunt and the whimper that leaves his lips when he sees you bare for him.
“So damn pretty,” he says quietly, as if it were just for him.
He holds your panties to the side, the other hand prodding gently at your entrance, then sliding along your pussy. He touches you everywhere, testing all the areas that make you whimper or squirm while coating his fingers in your arousal.
“Please, Joel. I’m so wet for you.” You're panting. The buildup and anticipation are almost too much.
“Say please again.”
Even though you can’t see his face now that he’s turned his upper body for better access, you know he’s smirking. That little tug of the side of his mouth that didn’t seem to have any effect on you until today. Now, you don’t want anyone else to get that smirk.
Joel pulls his fingers away, using his thumbs to spread you further. He murmurs to himself again, but you’re too lost in the feeling of him to hear it.
“Please, Joel,” a stream of cool air hits your clit and your pussy throbs and clenches around nothing. Everything melts away, you feel like you’re floating. “Please!”
“All you had to do was ask,” he hums and in one slippery push, two of his fingers are buried to the hilt inside of you.
You can’t breathe, unsure if you ever want to breathe again. Especially if it means you get to feel like this for eternity.
Joel
I can’t remember the last time I had my fingers inside of someone I had a connection with. Sure, there was an occasional hook-up here or there. And Tess was willing when I was in Boston. But this is different. Bigger. This woman cares so deeply for others. Deep enough that she befriended my stubborn ass and then went around Jackson singing my praises. Even though I don’t believe there’s a god anymore, so help me god that this woman will be paid back in my praises for as long as she’ll let me.
I move my thumb to her clit, rubbing it back and forth gently as she adjusts to the intrusion of my fingers. She writhes beautifully at my touch as she relaxes around my digits, short little puffs of air passing her perfect lips. I should have kissed her, slowly stripped her of every piece of clothing before doing this. If she lets me have access to her like this again, I’ll be sure to take my time; be sure to make her feel as special as she makes everyone else feel.
You
“S’too much,” I mumble.
“Do you want me to stop?”
I roll my head from side to side rushing out a no and he responds with that quiet little chuckle that sets my skin on fire. “Talk to me.”
His thumb dances lightly along my clit, the walls of my pussy relaxing at his reverence, the pinch of his finger filling me turning into euphoria. I can’t even remember how long it’s been since someone else has touched me, but I know that no one has ever touched me this…completely.
You feel the fingers holding back your panties tremble as he takes a breath. He’s not hesitating, just preparing; though you aren’t sure what for until he starts to speak.
“Moments when it’s just the two of us you smell like freshly ground coffee beans and sugar-crusted banana bread. Both of which seem impossible since we don’t have coffee or bananas,” he curls his fingers forward just a touch. More fire, more electricity, more being floaty and melty all at once. “You’re the coffee shop I used to go to every morning before I went to work. Before weekend soccer practices or dance recitals. You even somehow manage to drown out all the noise, turning it to comfortable background coffee shop chatter.”
His words hang in the air, heady and welcome. You remind him of before. Of a place he went every day. His routine. He once told you he’d do horrible things for a good cup of coffee. You’re his cup, his coffee, his lifeline.
Joel pumps his hand up, keeping the tips of his strong fingers firmly pressed to your G-spot. His hand moves with expert precision, thumb moving along your swollen clit with the motion. Once, twice. Again and again, wholly focused on you. While you know it’s the high making you feel him this intensely, you also think that Joel just might be that good at all of this.
You whimper, burying your face into his side. “Fuck, fuck. Please don’t stop, baby.”
“Never,” he whispers, just as unfazed as you were for being called by anything but your first name. Soft lips ghost along the inner knee that’s over the back of the swing; his beard both tickles and scratches, and you wonder what it would feel like along the rest of your body.
‘All you had to do was ask.’ His words from earlier trickle along your spinal cord.
His pace picks up, pressure behind your belly button becoming almost unbearable. The fire building from his touches evolves; you feel like you’re being dunked in lava. Your hips try to buck forward but you’re trapped by his strong body.
“Joel,” you breathe, your desperation carried away by the breeze.
“I can’t believe how pretty this pussy is. My hand is drippin’. So soft. So tight.” Even with the rough gravel of his voice his words are light and full of praise.
“I’m gonna come soon,” you moan, your hands scrambling to reach for him, desperate to feel his skin under your palms to ground yourself. It feels like an orgasm might rip you in two, singe every nerve ending, leaving you in a heap of trembling nothingness. A husk that only exists for this. For Joel.
“I know, baby, I know. Squeezin’ me so tight, bein’ s’good for me. Relax again. Relax and let it take you.”
As he speaks, a chill runs from the back of your neck to your tailbone, temporarily cooling your overheating flesh before the taunt muscles behind your navel and snap. You muffle your pleasure filled sob into his side.
“That’s my girl,” he says over his shoulder, his dark brown eyes meeting yours as you fall apart for him. “So beautiful.”
Your hands ball into tight fists, holding onto his t-shirt as you moan and gasp, sucking in oxygen in hopes you won’t pass out from how fucking good Joel is making you feel. He adjusts himself, pressing the heel of his palm to your clit and giving your body the room it needs to take over. You fuck yourself into his hand, moving in time with him. The pleasure starts to ebb, and as if he can read your mind he stops his movements, letting you ride it out without pushing you into a state of overstimulation.
He smiles at you, “It’s all you, baby. All you.”
Your hips slow as your orgasm starts to subside. “Oh my god.”
His smile grows, big and beautiful, all dimples and teeth. He looks at you with a benevolent glow, like you single-handedly found a way to end the apocalypse and then hung all the stars in the sky just for him.
You melt back into the swing, sated yet craving more. With his fingers still inside of you he says, “Are you okay? You’re trembling.”
You bob your head and hum an agreeable sound. His fingers slip free easily, coated in your slick. After putting your panties back in place he cups your pussy with his large, warm hand then sits up straight again. His eyes dance around your face and you laugh low and shy.
“Stunning,” he whispers, pushing some hair away from forehead.
“All I had to do was ask, hey?” You tease, chewing on your cheek.
“I’m just following your lead, baby.” The new nickname said not in the heat of the moment makes you blush. “You want to be friends, I’ll be friends. You want to be more, I’ll be more. You want to never speak to me again, I’ll move.”
You gasp, “No! Not the last one.”
“It’s whatever you want, sweetheart.”
You shake your head, “I prefer baby.”
He pulls you to sit up, “Why’s that?”
Joel stands in front of you, grasping your hands as you answer, “Because you call everyone sweetheart…baby is just between us.”
His cheeks pink a little as he pulls you to stand. Your high has lessened a little but the exertion of your orgasm has your legs feeling like jelly.
“Whatever you want…baby.” He says the last word with a wink before pulling you into his chest. He continues, “Anything else you want?”
You smile into his shirt, taking in the stony, earthy scent of him. “Your middle name, and for you to take me to your bed and fuck me.”
His thumb and forefinger grip your chin, tilting your gaze up to his. He dips his head, nose running down yours before he kisses you softly. A lingering press of his lips to yours. He kisses the side of your mouth next, your jaw, your cheekbone, the soft spot below your lobe, then whispers a name into your ear.
“It would have taken me years to get that,” you murmur and he chuckles.
“I was hoping that would be the case,” his fingers link with yours before he guides you into his house and up to his bedroom.
I'm going to tag anyone who commented on or reblogged the original story idea, but I'm not starting a tag list again. So please follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates and turn on notifs for future stories!
Summary: After stealing an egg you become the prisoner of a very handsome human male.
CW: no smut (yet), massage, weaponry, mild nudity, blood
Word Count: 3.3k, just a teaser
Graphics by @saradika-graphics 💚🐉
You peel one eye open, the man who has you captive appears to be sound asleep, leaning up against a rock with an axe across his outstretched legs, one ankle crossed over the other. The large trees rustle around you in the breeze. Moonlight dancing around his face, the scar along the side of his head glistens.
Ok, captive is a strong word. You did try to steal from him. You had stolen from him. A fiery orange egg. Between your magic and your wings you should have been able to escape. He’s just a human and you are one of the few magic Fae left in this world.
Last night, he let you out of the tightly wound chains he had wrapped around you since catching you. For two days you were stuck in those chains that glow a sickly green, chains that silence your magic. Now a single thick cuff, in that same putrid green, is wrapped around your ankle, a short chain binding it to a nearby tree. Your iridescent wings ache as you roll off your back and onto your side to face Joel.
Joel. Pfft. What a weird fucking name.
You try to stretch your wings quietly, but Joel’s eyes pop open at the little grunt you let out.
“What’s wrong?” He grumbles.
“Nothing,” you say defiantly as you roll onto your stomach and try to lift your wings out to stretch them. Your wings may look dainty and fragile, but they weigh more than you and without your magic it’s almost impossible to move them. You grunt again, if Joel hadn’t wrapped you in that fucking chain you wouldn’t be dealing with the uncomfortable tightness between your shoulder blades that can only be fixed by stretching and fluttering your wings.
Joel sighs in annoyance as he stands and walks over to you. The gravel crunching under his boots wakes the thing that quite possibly intrigues you more than it scares you. It’s a death sentence to want to be around her. It was a death sentence to steal that egg.
You try to slow your heart as you hear Remmer, Joel's indescribably large dragon move through the shadows behind you. Breathe, breathe, you say to yourself, sweat slicking your palms.
“What’s wrong?” He says again, more softly this time, feet stopping by your head.
“You fucking tied me up, Joel. With that enchanted chain for two fucking days. You squished my wings and now they’re sore.” You don’t mean for it to come out as a whine, but there’s a cold fire spreading across your upper back, slowly spreading up your neck and into your lower back.
He looks down at you, you stay on your stomach, eyes staring at his boots in front of you, resting your cheek on your hands. “You stole from me,” he says flatly.
“Ya, I know Joel, you made that abundantly fucking clear. Just go back to sleep.” You try to stretch your wings out and then up, but the right one cramps and a sharp pain lances through your body. You cry out into the quiet dark night and it echoes back at you mockingly.
“What can I do?” Joel says bending down beside you, placing a large warm palm in between where your wings meet your back.
“Rub there,” you say through the pain of the cramp. This isn’t like when you get a cramp in your calf, a wing cramp lights every nerve on fire. Tension builds in your neck and starts to blur your vision, your sciatic nerve shooting pain down both legs.
Joel rubs the space between your wings in slow gentle circles, his rough hand scratching against the leather of your jacket. You gasp out in pain again as the right side twitches harder. Joel moves swiftly, undoing the zipper down the back of your fighting leathers, opening it fully, rubbing at your bare skin where your wings connect to your back, trying his hardest to work out the knots. He continues the same slow gentle circles and your left wing finally relaxes, curling itself back against your body.
“Is this ok?” Joel whispers. His voice sounds dry and timid.
You moan slightly as the cramping begins to ease. “A little harder,” you say.
He kneads the joint of the right one a little harder and it flops down weakly beside you, but he doesn’t stop massaging you. His other hand trails along the top edge of your wing to the first joint and he gently folds it back to your body.
You close your eyes at the tingly sensation that spreads down your spinal cord at his touch, it feels like warm oil being drizzled down your back and the pain in your legs stops. No one has ever touched your wings before and humans are known to be vicious, yet there isn’t an ounce of fear in you as the man you’re currently a prisoner to cares for you.
His hand on your wing continues to trace along the outer edge until it’s all tucked up right above your hip. His other hand kneads down your spine and you melt into the hard ground you were sleeping on.
A little whimper passes your lips at how good his hands feel on your body. Both his hands trail lightly up your spine and massage at your neck. When they slip into your hair the pain in your head stops and your vision evens out. An almost pornographic moan passes your lips. He jerks his hands away and you bite your cheek to stop yourself from begging him to continue.
He lets out a low whistle. You feel the air move around you and the massive dragon lands beside you with a tiny thump. Fear rises in your throat like a dry lump. A voice inside your head laughs at you. Little Fae warrior, steals an egg yet is petrified of what’s inside.
Joel grabs your ankle and unshackles the chain. Then says, “Don’t run. Go back to sleep, we have a long journey tomorrow.”
The next morning Joel doesn’t wrap you in chains and make you sit side saddle on Remmer like he did the day before. Instead, he places a thin gold cuff that glows green around your wrist and then gives you a boost to sit normally before he hauls himself up behind you. He makes it look easy, his long powerful leg stretching, the lean muscles lining his back and arms pulling him up. The cuff silences your magic just enough that you won’t be able to fly.
The dragon rises from its crouched position when Joel takes the reins and you grab the edge of the saddle - even though you know that when you’re caged between Joel’s broad frame you won’t fall.
He lets out a whistle similar to last night and with one long swoop of her wings the dragon is up in the air. You tuck your wings in tight to your body, Joel's strong, leather wrapped chest close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. The warmth feels nice against the sore muscles lining your back, you have to fight the urge to lean against him completely.
He doesn’t bring up what happened last night so you stay quiet as the dragon soars high above the fluffy white clouds. Morning dew sticking to your skin, you gaze around admiring the rising sun casting hues of pink and orange around you. It’s almost kind of romantic, minus the whole being held captive and being taken - well, you aren’t exactly sure where Joel is taking you.
You sit in silence as the morning sun rises up and over you, until it becomes the evening sun. Joel pulls the reins and his dragon swoops down, skimming the surface of the large lake you didn’t even know you were flying over. The dragon drinks deeply, dragging her long obsidian claws of its back feet through the water. There’s a large mountain range on the other side of the lake and when you reach the shore the dragon gracefully veers upwards, landing in a grassy clearing between two peaks. Remmer lands so gently that you barely feel it, the only sign that you’re on the ground is that the wind around you has stopped.
Joel doesn’t take the cuff off, but says “I’m trusting you not to run” before climbing down the leg of his dragon. He disappears into the tree line, assumingly to gather some firewood, and the dragon turns her head to look at you, almost side eyeing you as if to say “get the fuck off of me you freeloader”.
You mutter an apology to the dragon, flinging your leg over the saddle, trying to replicate all Joel’s steps while the burnt orange eyes of the dragon watch you.
Once you hit the ground the dragon nudges you with her snout and you stumble forward before she takes off into the air, darting into a cave above the right side of the meadow.
Rude.
You look around the meadow, light green clover and colorful wildflowers cover most of it. Tall trees lining the edge of it, a jagged rocky mountain cliff face that leads to the cave closes in the rest of it. You hear water trickling, spinning around you see a stream of bright blue water. The water is so clear that you can’t tell how deep it is. The bed of the stream is covered in rocks of purples, greens and blues.
Joel is nowhere to be found and you’ve been up near the sun in these leathers all day. You glance around again before stripping off all your clothing and submerging yourself in the cool blue water. It flows over your skin like silk, you take a big breath and disappear under the water for a little bit, watching a few striped fish swim past.
Suddenly, a hand has you by your hair, ripping you from the water as a yelp leaves your mouth.
“Joel, what the fuck?” You yell, trying to cover your naked body with your arms. But it’s not Joel. No, it’s three large males dressed in greens to match the meadow. All of them have large full beards and are armed with curved blades.
When humans think of sprites they imagine small woodland creatures. But some sprites are anything but that. In this land, sprites have been after fairy wings for as long as you can remember. The brutal males need the wings to make the potion to keep their unbelievable strength.
They speak to each other in a language that you don’t understand. Two of them grab onto you, one at your hands and the other at your feet. They spin you around and slam you face first into the ground. You scream out, hoping that Joel is close enough, or cares enough, to come help you. But maybe he brought you here for this reason. Maybe he only massaged your wings so tenderly last night because he’s expecting some sort of payment from these males.
The third male crouches down beside you. “Shut the fuck up, there’s no one here who can help you.”
His hand reaches around the top of your wing and he pulls it as hard as he can to try to pry it away from your naked body. If Joel had removed the small gold cuff around your wrist you may have been able to fight them off. At this point all you can do is squeeze your wings into yourself as hard as you can. They need the whole wing, joint and all to make their potion properly.
“No! Please!” You scream, seeing the long sharp dagger he pulls from his boot.
His feral touch on the sensitive membranes of your wings is almost enough to make you wretch. His cronies pull your arms and legs tighter, almost as if they’re trying to rip you in half, the sharp rocks poke and scratch underneath you.
“No! Help me! Someone!” You are practically sobbing.
You know you aren’t a good fairy. You’ve spent years stealing and taking things that aren’t yours, but it was for your village. Fae in this area of the world have been pushed out of land that they once owned. Your ancestors were injected with that same sickly green that Joel has embedded in his chains and then stripped of their wings. Magic and wings were lost for centuries. Babies were born without either, and only recently did it start showing up in a new generation of Fae. You thought yourself lucky at one time, but here you are, about to be flayed open like a spatchcocked chicken.
A sharp poke hits just above your right shoulder blade and you scream out in agony. Before you can comprehend what’s happening you’re encased in a dark shadow. For a moment you think you’re dead, until glowing flecks of orange light cast a warm glow around you. A wing. You’re surrounded, tented in almost, by a wing. You hear the males pleading on the other side.
“Easy there.”
“We didn’t mean no harm. Eaaaasy.”
You hear the sound of wood falling to the ground and as if he appeared from thin air, Joel is beside you, his axe gripped tightly in one hand. He’s crouching slightly and you wrap your arms around yourself to cover your naked flesh.
“NO!” You scream, trying to scramble away from him.
He puts a finger to his lips to shush you and then steps out from the wing.
The males go quiet.
“If you touch her again,” Joel says darkly, “My dragon will be the least of your concerns.”
“We have gold,” the voice of the one who was cutting you says, “give us the fairy and we’ll give you gold.”
Joel is silent for too long, you’re sure he’s considering it, about to sell you off. You reach over your shoulder to where the dagger pierced you and feel a sticky warmth against the pads of your fingers, pulling your hand back you see your fingers coated in blood.
“Stay. The fuck. Away from her,” Joel growls. Remmer huffing beside you.
You hear the footsteps of the men trail off. The dragon lifts her wing and then peaks at you with one eye. You stay seated on the ground, knees drawn to your chest, covering yourself up as best you can. A shiver runs down your body, the dragon's eye narrows slightly and then warm air blows from her nose, heating the space under her wing.
You smile at the dragon. “Thank you.”
“Lift up,” Joel says on the other side of the wing. The dragon growls quietly at him. “Ok weirdo. Can I at least hand her her clothes?”
She lifts just enough for Joel to slide your boots, leathers, and white cotton shirt under. The moment his hand is clear she flaps it back down and huffs at him. More warm air fills the space before she turns her head away so you can get dressed.
“How chivalrous,” you say to the dragon. The tented space under the wing is big enough for you to stand up in as you shimmy your clothes and boots on, leaving your jacket off since the joint of your wing is burning. You can already feel the soft cotton of your shirt sticking to you. “I’m dressed,” you call out when you’re done.
The dragon peaks in again at you. “Am I allowed out?”
Remmer stares at you for a little while before Joel speaks up from the other side of your cocoon, “Rem, she’s not your pet. You can’t hold her in there…”
The dragon eyes soften at you and you smile a little. “I’m ok, I promise. Thank you.”
She lifts her wing up and nudges you towards Joel, using her nose to turn your body so that Joel can see the blood.
“Shit,” he whispers.
“I’m fine, Joel.” You say, trying to step away but you’re caged between the dragon's large head against your stomach and Joel at your back.
“You’re not fine,” he says, moving your hair away from the deep gash. “Fuck, don’t move. We need to wrap this up.”
The dragon must be able to understand him, because she immediately turns her body to where the bags hang off her saddle. He gets the medical supplies and then pulls you gently over to sit on a rock. He stands behind you, tugging the back of your shirt so he can see the full extent of the damage.
“This might sting,” he says as he uncaps a bottle of antiseptic.
He drizzles a little bit on you and it feels like liquid fire spreading across your body. You bite hard on your lip to not scream, hands curling into fists. The dragon pushes herself flat to the ground and almost slithers up to you, resting her massive head on your lap, looking up at you with sad eyes.
“Why’d you take it?” He says, gentle hands beginning to wrap a bandage around the joint of your wing. You stretch it out as much as you can to make it easier for him, wincing at the sharp pinching sensation, Rem lets out a whine, similar to a little dog, at the sign of your pain.
You want to reach out to pet the dragon but fear stops you, “The egg?” you ask timidly.
“Mm-hmm,” he says behind you, looping the bandage around, the back of his hand grazes the underside of your wing. You hadn’t realized how sensitive that part of your body is and your nipples harden, eyes closing briefly at the sensation.
“We needed money,” you reply just above a whisper.
“Who’s we?”
“My family. I’m the only one with magic and wings, their survival falls on me. And there’s not a lot for us here.”
“Why don’t you all go somewhere else?” he asks, his hand brushing that sensitive spot again.
You snort a little, the dragon thinking it’s pain nuzzles into you more, you still don’t move to pet her. “Wingless Fae aren’t exactly welcome in many places, and as you just saw, those of us with wings are under attack.”
“Why?” he asks again as he ties the bandage in a knot.
“Our wings hold our magic.”
One of Joel's strong arms trails down yours, his chest pressed against your back. Sparks shoot across your body at his sudden and all consuming closeness. He smells like pine needles and fresh grass. His hand wraps around your wrist and he brings your hand to rest on the Remmer’s head, right between her glowing orange eyes.
“Just don’t stroke against her scales, she won’t like that.”
You take a shaky breath and stroke back towards the spiky crown of her head. Her spikes lay flat and she closes her eyes, a purring sound fills her chest and you smile over your shoulder at Joel.
“Where are you taking me?” You ask.
“Where we take all thieves.” He says.
The King.
“No, please. You can’t! He’ll do worse than cut off my wings!” You plead, Rem shoots her head up towards Joel, eyes flaring.
“Remmer, down.” Joel says warningly at the dragon. She doesn’t lower her head back to your lap, but you notice the orange in her eyes softens. He turns now to address you, “This is the way of your world, you knew that long before you took my egg.”
Rem huffs smoke at him when he says ‘my egg’.
“Apologies. When she took your egg.”
Remmer blinks at him, then back at you before resting her head back on your lap. You use both hands now to stroke along her scales. It's hard to believe that just mere hours ago you were terrified of her, but something about those males that attacked you has changed her presence around you.
Joel turns towards the wood he dropped earlier and starts building a fire. You swear you hear him say, “whose side are you on?” under his breath.
As always, @mountainsandmayhem writes incredible work. Just starting this series, very excited to continue it. Looking for your new favorite writer? She’s right here.
I fucking hate this website because not only did I click this goddamn link expecting it to be a joke of some sort, but it wasn’t a joke and I sat here spinning the screen around enjoying myself in a stupid bag of cornflakes like the dumbass monkey I am on Tumblr.com, enthralled by being in a bag of corn flakes in
"you don't owe anyone anything" You are a tar pit. Speak for yourself. I personally owe the cafe employees my dishes put away and my friends a listening ear and small scared insects a cup and a gentle trip outside. Hyperindividualism is a rancid infection borne of capitalism and willfully misinterpreted therapyspeak and I will defy it by continuing to be kind regardless of whether or not it benefits me personally
…..not even six hours later i got an offer of a well paying full time long-term job with free room and board in queens in nyc, allowing me independence and a way to escape an abusive situation and an unhealthy environment
likes charge reblogs cast, folks, this is the good luck post
the last time I reblogged this post right before I got a great job, in a permanent work-from-home position, with benefits, retirement, and a salary literally 3x what I was making before, doing something I really like.
I firmly believe that my (Chinese) mom is more Italian than my (Italian) dad. She earned multiple advanced degree in Italian history and studied abroad to learn how to speak the language fluently. She fought for it. The hell did he ever do? He grew up eating slightly more pasta than other kids in the United States. He was born into it. Fucking nepo Italian
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