Summary: You find Joel sitting out on the porch playing his guitar. You ask him to teach you some and he does, and he gives you a reward for each chord you get right.
A/N: This was inspired by the first pic in the collage, I saw it on this post. I wrote a little stream of thought repost on it but it deserved a full fic. @lowrisemiller Here’s the food you ordered! Enjoy !!
On warm nights, Joel liked to sit out on the porch. When nightmares kept him awake, or if he had drank his coffee a little too late and couldn’t sleep, it gave him a sense of comfort, a reminder of what his life used to be. That’s where you found him. Sitting on the bench he had made himself and plucking a melody you didn’t recognise on the strings of his guitar. The door creaked quietly on its hinges when you opened it to join him, and his eyes softened with tender affection when he turned to see you barefoot in your nightdress, standing in the doorway.
He moved the guitar to make space for you when you came to sit between his legs. His lips pressed a tender kiss to your temple before he trapped you close to him with the instrument over your lap.
‘Right where you belong.’ he murmured into your hair before continuing to pluck that unfamiliar tune again, his chest vibrating against your back as he hummed along.
‘You keep saying you’re gonna teach me.’ After the song he was playing had come to an end you traced your fingers along the smooth wood of the instrument before turning your head to look up at him.
‘I will. You wanna learn now?’
You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips, and he started to show you the basics. He showed you how to hold the neck, how hard to press down on the strings, and then he showed you the chords. He showed you the easier ones first, the ones you would remember easily, to prepare your inexperienced hands for the more difficult ones.
‘This one’s a G chord.’
His fingers wrapped naturally around the neck of the guitar, then strummed the strings, creating a clear note that echoed through the warm evening air.
‘You wanna try?’
You let him take your hand, and he delicately positioned your fingers on the strings. What looked so simple for him was harder for your unpracticed hands, and your fingers stretched unnaturally to find the right placement. When you strummed the strings, the note was quieter and more blunt but still sounded the same as Joel’s.
‘This one’s hard.’ you mumbled.
‘Yeah? S’cause you got little hands.’
Joel pressed down on the same strings and instructed you to strum. When you did, the same sound rang out clearly again, and you looked down at his rough, calloused fingers, your mind wandering at the sight of their length.
‘Daddy’s got big hands. Makes it easier.’
He took your right hand in his, completely engulfing it, and brought it to his lips to press a soft kiss to your knuckles, his soft brown eyes locked onto yours.
“You wanna try the D again?”
‘…The what?’
‘The chord, baby.’
‘Oh… Sure.’
You carefully placed your fingertips as he showed you earlier. This time it was easier, your fingers didn’t need to stretch too far, and the vibration was smooth and loud when you strummed.
“Good girl. You’re a natural.”
It all seemed innocent enough, Joel was only teaching you how to play. But from your position you could feel his length hardening against the base of your spine. While he let you strum at the chords he had already taught you, his hands found your waist and gently squeezed it while he rested his chin on your shoulder, watching your delicate little fingers pick at the instrument. His breath fanned against your neck as he observed your movements and the stubble of his beard grazed your skin, sending chills down your spine that pulled your thighs together tightly to soothe the heat that was brewing in between them.
‘Try the G again, sweetheart.’ He murmured softly, his voice low in your ear.
You tried to remember what strings to press, and on what frets, and your fingers strained uncomfortably.
‘Don’t like this one.’
Joel’s lips rasped against the shell of your ear, his voice gravelly with the lust that was thickening his cock.
‘You get it right, I’ll give you a lil’ reward.’
You pulled your lower lip between your teeth as his hands trailed from your waist to your hips, giving them a light squeeze as he watched your digits, his touch raising goosebumps on your skin. Your fingertips carefully found their place and pressed down, and the note sang out loud and clear when you strummed.
Joel’s hips rocked slightly against you, his arousal now undeniable. One of his palms travelled up from your hips to your chest and grasped your breast lightly through the fabric of your nightdress, while the other rested on your hip.
‘That was good.’ He pressed a light kiss to your neck. ‘Gettin’ good, ain’t you?’
A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. ‘Got a good teacher.’
Joel’s lips curved into a smirk against the skin of your neck while his hand crept into the lacy neckline of your nightdress. ‘Show me C again, baby.’
You took a moment to remember how to, the feeling of his hands all over you making your brain start to melt inside your head. But the promise of a reward guided your hand, and when the strings vibrated, the note sounded practiced and true.
‘Good girl.’ Joel’s lips found that sweet spot right under your jaw while his hand moved from your hip downwards and under your hemline. His middle finger traced your wet seam through your soaked panties, eliciting little gasps from you. ‘Now do A.’
Soft whines fell from your lips, frustrated by his teasing. ‘Daddy...’
‘What’s a matter, sweetheart? Need me to show you?’ He started to slowly redact his hands from where they touched you, and the loss of sensation spurred your memory- you quickly found the chord and played it hastily, desperate to keep his hands where they were. A soft laugh escaped Joel’s lips while the echo of the sound quietened. ‘Needy girl.’ His fingers returned to where they once were and resumed their gradual, teasing strokes. ‘Fast learner when you want somethin’, ain’t you, baby?’
Your head fell back against his shoulder with gasps of pleasure as his hand found its way into your panties and stroked lightly at the sensitive bud. His grip on your breast grew firmer as your hips squirmed under his touch, desperate for more. Joel’s breath grew ragged while he watched you writhe under his agonizing touch and he pushed his hips against you, wanting you to feel exactly what you were doing to him.
His eyes scanned the surrounding houses for any sign of watchful eyes, but only saw the windows dark, covered up by drawn curtains. He rested the guitar against the bench and gently draped your legs over his knees, holding you wide open for access.
His middle finger slid down and soaked itself in the arousal that pooled at your entrance and teasingly pushed at the hole. ‘You deserve this, don’t you, baby? Been so sweet for Daddy.’ A muffled whine escaped you as he slowly pushed his long digit in, your arousal letting it glide easily. Joel shushed you and decorated your neck with feather-like kisses while his finger curled inside you just how he knows you like.
Soft whimpers fell from your lips as Joel’s finger gradually worked you open, preparing for the second one that dampened immediately with your juices when it slid inside. Your walls clenched around his digits while they stretched you out little by little.
‘She’s so tight, darlin’,’ his breath warmed the skin of your neck. ‘Daddy ain’t been givin’ her enough attention?’ You shook your head and looked up at him while you gripped his forearms, your eyes desperate and needy.
Joel read the look in your eyes, your silent request and slid his free hand from your breast downward until it met your core. ‘Gotta fix that.’ His middle finger traced your clit lightly and slowly, his eyes locked onto yours as he watched you react to the added stimulation. Your hips squirmed more at the teasing sensation, backing into his clothed erection that strained against his jeans. He let out a low grunt and added more pressure until your legs began to shake where they rested on his thighs.
He watched you fall apart. His jaw was tense as he watched your brows furrowing and your mouth hanging open in the throes of ecstasy, your little body trembling as you came down from the high he had given you. You made him so hard it hurt. His lips grazed your ear as he murmured, ‘Up a minute, baby.’
You stood up from his lap, and turned to see him tugging at his belt buckle, the look in his eyes bordering on predatory while he watched you watch him shoving his jeans down to his knees hastily and motioning for you to sit back down. You arranged your knees on either side of his lap while he pushed his boxers down. His tip was wet with precum and he curled a fist around the base of his length, pumping it a few times while he gazed up at you.
‘You gonna be a good girl ‘n keep quiet for me?’ His voice was low and rough with lust. ‘Don’t want nobody else seein’ you like this.’
You bit your lip and nodded absently, distracted by the sight of him stroking himself. His other hand tipped your jaw, forcing eye contact, demanding a verbal answer.
‘Yes, daddy.’
Joel hooked his fingers into the seam of your panties and pulled them to the side, then gripped your hips and guided you, lining you up. When you slid down on his length, your head fell back. Although you’d taken his fingers, it was nothing compared to the way his cock always managed to stretch you out. His hold on your hips grew tighter, growls of pleasure vibrating from his throat as he forced himself to stay still to let you adjust. It wasn’t easy. The juices of your earlier orgasm dampened the coarse hair that surrounded the base of his shaft as you impaled yourself further down on it.
Again, Joel glanced around the quiet neighborhood cautiously, but the only sign of movement was the branches of surrounding trees swaying in the soft night breeze. He started to move your hips, pulling them into him and then pushing them back out, urging you to move, and you started to rock against him. Your already swollen bud brushed against his skin, sending sparks of pleasure through your body that elicited small whines each time.
Before long, Joel was thrusting his hips up into you, desperate to relieve some of the pent up lust that had been building from the second he saw you standing in the doorway. Growls and grunts fell from him pursed lips while his hands glided from your hips to the hem of your nightdress and slipped underneath the light fabric to knead your breasts. His breath was ragged and laboured. He was obviously holding back, but each of his thrusts became more forceful as they met yours, until you cried out louder than you had intended at the feeling of the tension steadily rising below your hips.
He clasped a hand over your mouth, his eyes dark and dangerous and his voice low. ‘You want everybody in the damn neighborhood to hear you?’ You shook your head. ‘Want everyone to know what Daddy’s doin’ to you right now?’ Neither of you stopped moving despite his cautionary tone. The sound of your skin slapping against his echoed off the porch, and you were certain that if somebody was listening, it wouldn’t just be your moans that gave it away. Joel growled lowly and wetted his lip, you knew he could feel how close you were from the way your walls gripped him tightly, and the way you gushed around him. ‘You gonna let it go for me?’ Your eyes were desperate as you nodded, your sounds muffling under his hand.
Your eyes pinched shut as Joel’s hips thrusted up to meet yours with more vigour. ‘Then let it go for me, baby girl. Come on.’ Your eyes rolled back behind your eyelids and your nails dug deep into his biceps as waves of pleasure crashed over you. His hand did little to mute the sweet moans of overstimulation that wracked your body. Joel fell over the edge at the same time, his thrusts grew sloppier and his head fell back while you felt his warm release fill you up from the inside.
After coming down from your peak, you wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. Joel’s hands delicately rubbed circles your back, keeping you impaled on his length that was slowly softening inside you, and he had no intention of withdrawing it. His lips pressed tender kisses to your forehead and cheeks while your breathing returned to a normal pace, and you felt the peace of the aftermath take over your body.
‘Did so good for me, baby.’ He whispered as he watched your eyes close, and your nose nuzzle into the soft fabric of his flannel. ‘Such a good girl for me.’
He held you close in his warm embrace until he felt you relax in his lap. He watched your peaceful expression for a moment before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead and picking up the guitar again. His arms wrapped around you to hold the instrument in front of your sleeping form, and he began to softly pick at the strings again, lulling you into a deeper sleep.
a/n: because who hasn’t had this experience with their parents right? except Richard won’t yell at you or call you you worthless because he’s a good dad, dare I say a fantastic one. this healed my inner child
mentions: no galactus threat, reed being a dad, math is a warning itself, tutoring class, reed comforting, comfort, fluff, established family, all five of them live in the Baxter building. if there’s any mentions missing let me know!
do not copy, translate or steal any of my work
Reed paused, the pencil still in his hand midair, eyes softening
He didn’t sigh. He didn’t frown. He didn’t raise his voice or say the words any kid fears the most: try harder
Instead, Reed set the pencil down and leaned forward, folding his arms on the kitchen table to match her posture. “Come on now,” he said gently “this one is easy sweetheart” he pointed at the exercise in her workbook.
She sniffled, eyes glassy with tears, and wiped at one with the back of her hand. “It’s not easy. You’re just saying that because you’re a genius. I’m not daddy”
Then, quietly—so quietly he almost missed it—she folded the workbook page closed and whispered, “I can’t do it. I don’t have your math genes.”
Reed’s heart ached at the sound of her voice, small and cracked with defeat. He reached out and gently rested his large hand on her back, rubbing slow, comforting circles.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, “you don’t need my math genes.”
He gently pulled her chair back and lifted her onto his lap. The moment she settled, she wrapped her arms around him—tight, like she needed to be anchored—and he held her without hesitation, one hand rubbing slow circles against her back.
“Math can be very hard,” he said softly, his voice just for her. “Not everyone’s brain works the same way. Not everyone learns the same way.”
She buried her face into his chest, her voice muffled and shaky. “I can’t get it right… ever.”
Reed closed his eyes for a moment, holding her a little tighter, as if he could shield her from the weight of that thought, of all her thoughts.
“That’s not true,” he said gently. “Getting something wrong doesn’t mean you’ll never get it right. It just means you’re still learning. Still trying.”
“But I try and try and I still mess it up.”
“I know,” he whispered. “And I see how hard you try. That matters more than you think.”
She blinked up at him, her breath hitching.
“I promise,” he said softly, “we’re in this together. I won’t let you get lost.”
She stayed quiet, curled up against him, her small fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt.
Reed sat back, one hand still resting gently on her back as he stared down at the closed workbook—thinking. You could practically see the wheels turning in that brilliant mind of his, but this wasn’t quantum mechanics or dimensional theory. This was his daughter. And she mattered more than any formula ever could.
He scanned the room, eyes darting toward the colored pens on the counter, the stack of post-it notes, the little dry-erase board hanging near the fridge.
“I’ve got it” he said all of a sudden.
She looked at him with wary curiosity, still curled up and sniffling. “What?”
“A new way in,” he said, already standing up and moving across the kitchen like he was collecting lab materials for an experiment. “We’re not doing this the old way. That’s clearly not working for your brain. So let’s meet your brain where it wants to be.”
He grabbed the dry-erase board, a handful of colored markers, post-it notes, and even a few magnets from the fridge shaped like fruit.
You watched from your spot near the counter, a soft smile pulling at your lips. He was in full Professor Dad mode now—methodical, focused, but full of warmth.
“Okay,” he said, setting everything on the table like a magician revealing his toolkit. “We’re going to turn this into a puzzle. Not math. Just a puzzle. And I’m going to show you how numbers feel, not just what they look like.”
She eyed the colorful chaos, cautious but intrigued. “With fruit magnets?”
“Exactly,” he grinned. “This is how the professionals do it.”
You laughed into your coffee, and your daughter—finally, finally—let out the tiniest giggle.
Johnny strutted into the kitchen with all the subtlety of a small explosion, yawning dramatically as he rubbed the back of his neck. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Reed setting up diagrams and fruit magnets like he was preparing for a lecture at MIT.
“Oh no, not math,” Johnny groaned, rolling his eyes as he grabbed the cereal box off the counter. “Seriously? There should be a no-equations-at-the-kitchen rule in this place.”
He dropped into the seat next to your daughter, pouring cereal into his bowl without looking, milk sloshing a little onto the table.
“Math is boring, right?” he said with a conspiratorial nudge, mouth already half-full.
“Shh, Uncle Johnny. Dad’s doing it fun.” Your daughter whispered without missing a beat and directed her gaze toward the table
Reed raised an eyebrow without looking up from the fraction puzzle he was sketching out with a banana magnet and a blue marker. “Thank you,” he said, calm but smug. “Finally, someone appreciates the art of interactive problem-solving.”
Your daughter giggled, clutching her pencil again, the fear and frustration from earlier already fading into something lighter—something almost fun. And that was exactly what Reed had hoped for.
After their colorful math session wrapped up, the rest of the evening fell into a soft, familiar rhythm—dinner with giggles and second helpings, followed by bath time, leaving Reed to clean up the space.
Reed moved around the kitchen quietly putting away the dry-erase board, stacking post-it notes into a neat pile, and returning the colorful fruit magnets to the fridge. He wiped down the kitchen counters with practiced ease, sleeves rolled up, the light above the sink casting a golden hue over the quiet, now-tidy space.
Then he heard it—her small voice from the hall.
“Daddy?”
He turned, towel in hand, and saw her peeking out from behind the hallway wall. Her tiny fingers gripped the corner like she was sneaking around a fortress. She was wrapped in her soft blue bathrobe, slightly oversized and bunched at the sleeves, her damp hair curling at the ends.
Reed smiled and tossed the towel on the counter. “Bedtime,” she said with a little tilt of her head, eyes blinking up at him.
He walked toward her with open arms, his voice gentle. “Let’s go, baby. Let’s get to bed.”
After she climbed into bed, Reed gently helped her settle under the covers and tucked her like he was wrapping up something precious—which, to him, she absolutely was.
He adjusted her pillow, then carefully pulled the rocket-and-stars blanket all the way up to her chin. The ones with little planets and rockets she picked out herself. He smoothed them over her small frame, then reached for her worn little bunny, handing it to her without a word. She hugged it to her chest immediately.
“There,” he whispered. “Nice and cozy.”
“Thank you for making maths fun today, Daddy,” she mumbled sleepily, voice barely above a whisper.
Reed’s throat tightened.
He knelt beside the bed, brushing a hand through her curls. “Thank you for being so brave today.”
She blinked up at him with heavy lids. “Even when I cried?”
“Especially when you cried,” he said softly. “You didn’t give up. That’s the bravest part.”
She smiled, small and tired, and he leaned in to kiss her forehead.
“Goodnight, starshine,” he whispered.
“Night, Daddy.”
He stood slowly, taking one last look at her tucked in—her breathing already softening, her little hand curled around Bunny’s ear.
He dimmed the nightlight just a touch, casting stars across her ceiling, and backed out of the room with the door left slightly open.
By the time he made it to your shared bedroom, the weight of the day hadn’t left him—but it had settled into something warmer. Something gentler.
You looked up from your side of the bed and asked, “She asleep?”
He nodded, crawling in beside you with a quiet sigh.
“She said thank you,” he added softly, almost in disbelief. “For making math fun.”
You smiled and reached for his hand beneath the covers.
“Because you did,” you said. “You made it safe for her. That’s everything.”
Reed let out a soft breath, his brows knitting slightly. “I don’t want her to suffer over it. Or worry she’s not smart enough.” His voice broke just a little, full of restrained emotion. “It broke my heart when she said that.”
“I know, baby,” you whispered, scooting closer. “Me too.”
You shifted until your head rested on his chest, your arm sliding across his stomach as his wrapped instinctively around your back, pulling you in close.
“I know something about it,” you murmured, voice a little sad as you traced lazy circles into his shirt. “I used to think that way too. Numbers just… never made sense to me. They scared me, if I’m honest. And I wasn’t lucky like she is.” You sighed. “Thankfully, she didn’t get stuck learning math with my dad.”
Reed’s hand stilled for a second on your back. He didn’t ask, didn’t press. He just held you tighter.
“She has you,” you said, lifting your head just enough to look at him, your fingers brushing along his jaw. “A pretty fantastic dad.”
He smiled at that—small and soft and full of something vulnerable.
“I just want her to know there’s no shame in being different,” he whispered. “She doesn’t need to be like me, or you, or anyone else. She just needs to be her. And to feel safe being that.”
“She does,” you said, kissing his chin gently. “Because of you.”
Reed leaned his head against yours, eyes closing for a moment. “She’s everything I ever wanted to protect.”
You rested your cheek back on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart under your ear.
“She’s lucky to have you,” you whispered.
He held you a little closer. “I think we’re the lucky ones.”
I hope you enjoyed reading this, I know I cried during the process
comments, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ✨✨💕
a/n: alright you've been asking for this nonstop and have shown this series so much love, it's unbelievable and i cant thank you enough!!
mentions: outbreak au, post-outbreak / apocalyptic setting, dubcon/coercion themes, obsession/possessiveness, power imbalance, reader is of age (above 18), naive reader (soft/innocent/inexperienced), non-explicit violence & threats, gun use, manipulation & emotional control, possessiveness, praise kink, possible other kinks, punishments,, “daddy” kink, shared reader (Joel x Reader x Tommy), pet names (Bambi, sweet girl, good girl, our girl), domestic elements turned dark, mental confusion & emotional overwhelm, morally gray to fully unhinged dark Miller brothers riding a pillow, fingering, praising, piv (unprotected), cockwarming, unusual perverted brother relationship (not incest though), oral sex (double male receiving), finishing inside. if any warnings are missing let me know.
Reader discretion strongly advised. Dark themes throughout. Minors DNI ❌ This is a work of fiction and does not reflect healthy or ideal relationships!!!
Do not copy, translate or claim any of my work as your own.
⟡━━━ ✦ 𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝗳𝗶𝗰 ahead ✦ ━━━⟡
Time isn’t something you keep track of—not anymore.
Life with Tommy and Joel has settled into something peaceful. The three of you move in a comfortable rhythm now, each with your own routines, even you.
Every night, you end up in a different bed. Sometimes it’s Joel’s. Other nights, it’s Tommy’s. There have even been a few nights where you’ve fallen asleep tangled between both of them.
Joel is the grumpier one. He likes structure, rules, and routine.
There’s breakfast, patrol, chores, meals, Bambi time, and sleep.
Bambi time means whoever had patrol that day, and didn’t get to spend much time with you, gets a little while with you before bed.
Sometimes, it’s both of them, unwilling to give you up so easily until you fall asleep warm and full of quiet touches.
Tommy is the sweetest. It’s like he’s never even met the kind of grumpiness his brother carries. He likes having you close while he works, always finding ways to keep you entertained—or maybe just keeping you for himself. He even taught you how to use a gun, something you promised you wouldn’t tell Joel.
He was nothing like the Tommy you had first met, and if it was up to him, he’d swear he never acted that way.
Every morning, they take turns heading out on patrol, and during the day, they gather whatever the house might need—food, clothes, the occasional tool or item they think could be useful.
Always thinking ahead. Always thinking of you.
Your tasks were simple. Helping around the house was never required of you, but you enjoyed it—cleaning, cooking, doing what you could.
They treated you like you were delicate. Too soft to turn on the stove, too fragile to carry anything heavy.
Maybe it was overprotective. Perhaps it was sweet, or maybe it was both.
Plus, you got rewards for every little thing you did right. Tommy’s favorite way to say thank you was to eat you out, slow and devoted. Meanwhile, Joel usually fucked you or found other ways to pleasure you—his thick fingers never failing to leave their mark, his thumb rubbed your clit until you couldn’t take it anymore, physically and vocally.
You’d never thought of returning the favor, giving them a reward. It hadn’t even occurred to you to offer something like that. But the longer you stared at their cocks after they’d finished with you, the thicker you swallowed.
How would they even react? To them, their reward was simply that you existed—that you came into their lives and gave them something they didn’t know they needed.
You’d been feeling off during breakfast. While your mouth was busy eating, your body was trying to scratch an itch you couldn’t reach.
Unconsciously, you began to shift on Joel’s lap until he caught your movement and placed a hand over your thigh.
“Doing okay, baby? You look uneasy.”
You simply nodded and smiled, feeling his rough beard scratch gently against your cheek as he kissed it.
“If you need something, you just tell us, okay?” he reminded you softly. You hummed in response.
He knew something was off, but you were still too timid to put it into words.
Tommy kissed you goodbye and headed out for patrol. You helped Joel put away the plates and mugs, tidying up breakfast before each of you moved on to your separate tasks.
“Gonna be outside chopping wood. You okay here by yourself, Bambi?” he asked, shouldering his axe as he headed for the door. You nodded, offering a quiet reassurance before returning to your work.
“You don’t have to do that,” Joel said softly, but you ignored him and kept sweeping the floor.
But you did—because it was the only way to keep your mind off what your body kept begging for.
Ten minutes passed, and you couldn’t hold it in any longer. The rough bristles of the broom against the floor did nothing to quiet the need growing inside you. You left the broom and headed towards Joel's room. You shut the door and took your clothes off in a rush.
You’d thought about telling Joel, but he was busy outside, and you didn’t want to burden him with something you couldn’t even put into words.
“Bambi?” Joel called as he searched through the house, a flicker of worry in his voice. Part of him feared you might have slipped out or wandered off. He knew you understood better than to go alone, especially since you didn’t know the way back.
“Bambi, where are you?”
He opened his bedroom door—and there you were, mounting the pillow and whining.
You stopped as he opened the door; the look in your eyes told him everything he needed to know and everything he had suspected all morning.
He smirked. “Well, well. What do we have here?”
You had to keep going—it was like a scratch you needed to soothe.
“You could’ve just asked me,” Joel said softly.
“I—I didn’t want to bother you. You were busy chopping wood.”
“Aww, baby girl, I’ll never be too busy for you. Just tell me what you need.”
You hesitated, a flush of shame rising. “I was… trying to get off. I need—”
Joel’s eyes darkened with a slow, knowing smile. “Well, you seem to be doing a pretty good job on your own. Let’s see if you can finish it, and then I’ll give you what you need.”
You continued to rub your pussy against the pillow, the fabric soaked in your juices as you keep going back and forth. Joel bit his lip as he watched you moan and whine. He palmed his jeans where the tension grew.
“Fuck this.” He unzipped his jeans with a sharp snap and started jerking himself off, eyes never leaving you. His voice dropped low, rough and demanding.
“Let me see that pussy, baby. Have I taught you how to touch yourself?”
“N-no… you said only you were allowed to.”
A slow, dangerous smirk curled his lips.
“Damn right I am. But right now, you’re going to be a good girl and do it by yourself. Understand?” he got closer to you, and you barely got time to nod before he switched up your pose.
He moved the pillow out of your way without a word, then grabbed your body firmly, settling you in the center of the bed and forcing your legs wide.
He could take you right now—dominate you completely—but he wasn’t done yet. No, he wanted to see you obey, wanted you to prove you could follow orders.
Your pussy faced him, legs spread as wide as you could manage, your fingers trembling but obedient as they followed his instructions. Your index and middle fingers brushed over your soaked entrance before gently spreading your lips apart.
He groaned low, the sound vibrating through the room as he continued pumping himself, eyes locked in every movement.
“Now your thumb, baby. Other hand,” he commanded.
You nodded, reaching with your other hand to your clit, tracing slow, deliberate circles just like he wanted.
“Atta good girl,” he praised, voice thick with approval.
You closed your eyes, breathing shallow and quick, imagining Joel’s fingers—how they moved slow and certain, never rushing, always knowing exactly where to touch. Your own fingers slipped inside, curling just like his, sliding deeper with every pulse.
Your thumb pressed harder, tracing faster circles over your clit, slickness slick against your skin. A sharp, ragged gasp tore from your throat as your body trembled beneath your touch.
Your head fell back, lips parting, breath hitching as heat pooled low and thick. Tears blurred your vision, hot and sudden, mixing with the ache blossoming inside you.
“What a show, baby. Look at you go,” he moaned, spitting on his hand before dragging it down his length.
“Fuck yes, baby. Fuck yourself just like I taught you.”
“Joel, I— I can’t anymore,” you whimpered, voice trembling, unable to stop.
“Yes, you can, baby. And you will. You needed it that badly—I'm letting you have it. Now finish it.” His eyes bore into every movement you made—catching every perfect stroke and every trembling mistake—while his fist pumped steadily, never breaking rhythm.
“You should be thankful I’m letting you do it by yourself,” he growled, his voice low and possessive.
Tears slipped down your cheeks as you choked out a shaky, “Thank you, Daddy.”
He owned the moment, owned you. And as your breath hitched and your body tensed, he was there, relentless, pushing you deeper into surrender as you shattered beneath him on the bed.
Your body trembled, every nerve alight as you teetered on the edge. His eyes never wavered, watching, owning every shudder and gasp.
“That’s it, baby. Such a good girl,” he praised, voice low and rough, thick with satisfaction.
As your cries grew louder, he leaned in, pressing a finger softly but firmly to your lips.
“Shh… no more crying now,” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot near your ear.
His fist slowed but didn’t stop, steady and sure as you spilled over the edge, wrapped in his possession and praise.
Joel pulled your legs closer, pressing your ass right to the edge of the bed. Without hesitation, he climbed on top of you, his weight grounding you as his hands roamed possessively over your body. His mushroom tip tapped your clit, making you whine before he slipped down to your soaking entrance. He fit like a glove inside your wet pussy, you had stretched yourself enough for him. He began to thrust roughly, his balls slapped against your ass as he let out a guttural groan. "Feel s' good around me baby, like you were made for me"
Nearing the edge, he thrusts deep and steady, each movement driving you closer to breaking. His hand clamps firmly at the back of your head, curling your face toward his—forcing you to watch him as he takes control.
His eyes blaze with hunger and possession, never letting you look away as your world tightens around the raw intensity of the moment.
You were breathless and spent, your body limp as he pulled you onto him, settling you against his chest. His hand moved gently through your hair, a sharp contrast to the way he’d just taken you.
“Next time you need to get off, you tell me. Understand?” he murmured, voice low but firm, a warning laced with care as his fingers brushed through your tangled strands.
Your exhausted body rested heavily against his, too worn out to move.
“Need you to say yes for me, baby,” he whispered against your temple.
You nodded weakly, lips barely parting. “Yes, Daddy.”
A deep hum of approval vibrated in his chest.
“Atta good girl for me.”
He held you there for a while, chest rising and falling beneath you, the steady rhythm lulling your scattered breath back into something calm. His fingers never stopped stroking through your hair, slow and patient, grounding you like only he could.
“You did so good for me,” he murmured, lips brushing your forehead. “Took it all like my perfect girl.”
You hummed softly, too tired to speak, eyes fluttering closed as the heat between your thighs faded into a gentle ache. His scent wrapped around you—warm, musky, familiar—and it made your body melt deeper into him.
Joel shifted slightly, adjusting you so your body stayed wrapped in his arms, protective and firm. “No more wearing yourself out alone,” he said again, quieter now. “That’s mine to take care of. That’s what I’m here for.”
You nodded faintly against his chest, and his arms only tightened in response.
“I got you,” he whispered. “Always.”
Some minutes passed before you dared to speak again, unsure if he had fallen asleep by then.
“Joel…” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
He hummed, his fingers still gliding through your hair. “Yeah, baby?”
You hesitated, lips brushing his skin as you spoke, timid. “Can I ask for… something more?”
His chest rose with a slow breath, and you felt the faintest curve of a smirk against your temple.
“Still needy, hmm?” he murmured, voice deep and amused, but not unkind. His hand paused at the nape of your neck, warm and steady. “Go on, ask me. Tell Daddy what you want.”
“I don’t need you to do anything,” you breathed, barely audible. “Just… can you maybe stay inside of me while we’re resting?”
Joel stilled, the weight of your words sinking in. His grip on your waist tightened subtly, protectively. He didn’t pull back—didn’t even flinch.
His voice was low when he spoke, brushing hot against your ear. “Yeah, baby. I can do that.”
He kissed your temple once, then again. “You want to feel me even when we’re not movin’, huh? That’s what you need?”
You nodded, burying your face in his neck. “Feels uh, good,” you admitted, slightly embarrassed.
A soft breath left him, and he wrapped both arms around you, keeping you flush against him.
Joel didn’t speak—he just moved. One hand braced your thigh, the other guided himself back to where you were still slick and sensitive. His fingers spread you lazily, expertly, and with no hurry at all. He knew the effect he had—knew how soft you’d gone for him already.
“Shh, there you go,” he murmured as he pushed in again, slow and steady, like you were made to take him. “Still warm. Still open for me.”
You gasped at the feeling of him, your body twitching, too raw for more and yet helpless against the way he filled you again, like there was no choice but to let him in.
His palm flattened against your back, possessive and gentle all at once. “That’s it. Just like that. You keep me inside, baby. That’s where I belong, ain’t it right?”
You swallowed and nodded, barely able to form any sound. “Yes…”
His hands held you in place as he settled deeper inside, not thrusting—just staying. Just claiming.
Tommy barely had time to drop his gun before you were on him, arms flung around his neck, legs wrapping around his waist like a koala. He caught you with a soft grunt, laughing under his breath as he held you tight.
“Missed you too, Bambi,” he murmured, nuzzling into your hair before setting you down with care. He was covered in dirt and sweat from patrolling and wandering around all day.
You were still beaming when he walked into the kitchen, wiping his hands on a rag. Joel didn’t look up right away—he was crouched by the sink, tightening something with a wrench, sleeves pushed up, forearms taut with effort.
“Everything good outside, brother?” he asked without turning.
Tommy leaned against the doorway, watching Joel work under the sink. “Quiet. No sign of trouble today.”
Tommy turned from the sink, gaze drifting to where you sat curled up on the couch. Legs tucked under you, arms wrapped around a pillow, eyes wide and glued to them like nothing else in the world mattered. Like they were gravity.
“She been good today?” he asked casually, though the glint in his eye was anything but casual.
Joel didn’t even look up, his attention fixed on the pipes under the sink. His voice came low and steady, with just a hint of dry amusement.
“Oh, you have no idea.”
That made Tommy smirk, walking over to you with measured steps, his presence looming as he stood in front of you. You looked up at him, eyes soft, expectant.
“Were you a good girl today, Bambi?” he murmured, voice low and gentle, yet threaded with an undeniable hunger beneath the tenderness.
You nodded, eyes wide and shining up at him, the pillow still hugged close to your chest like a shield you didn’t really need.
Tommy’s thumb brushed your chin, tilting your face up just a little more. “Yeah?” he said softly, almost reverent. “You lookin’ at us like we hung the damn stars.”
Behind him, Joel let out a low sound—something between a laugh and a grunt—as he finally stood, wiping his hands on a rag. “She earned her keep today.”
Tommy glanced over his shoulder, then back at you. His tone dropped, rougher now. “Then I guess we’ll have to show her how proud we are. Hm?”
Joel straightened up, wiped his hands on the rag, and leaned back against the counter. He watched you in silence for a long moment, gaze unreadable but heavy—thick with intent.
“I can think of a few ways to do that,” he said finally, voice low, almost lazy. But the weight behind it made your breath catch.
He stepped closer, slow and steady, until he was standing beside Tommy—beside you. His hand reached out, fingers brushing behind your ear to tuck a loose strand of hair back. The touch was soft, careful… possessive.
Joel leaned in just enough for his breath to graze your cheek.
“Wanna get started now?” he murmured.
"After dinner. I'm starving," Tommy muttered, placing a firm hand on Joel’s shoulder to pause him.
Joel looked up with a quiet laugh, nodding once. “Need some real food before dessert, ain’t that right?”
They stepped away without another word, the heat of the moment lingering in the air like static.
You stayed on the couch, watching as they disappeared into the kitchen—Joel with that slow, grounded stride, Tommy with one last glance over his shoulder and a smirk still tugging at his mouth.
A few minutes later, they emerged again, carrying plates piled high, steam rising in gentle curls. Joel set the food on the table with ease, while Tommy grabbed utensils and poured water into mismatched glasses. The scent of warm bread, something roasted and savory, filled the space.
Tommy had already taken his seat at the small dining table when he reached out for you.
"C'mere, baby."
You climbed onto his lap like second nature, his hands settling on your hips to guide you down right where he wanted. He shifted you once, twice—subtle but deliberate—until the heat of him pressed perfectly beneath you. Centered. Intentional. You exhaled quietly, already feeling the slow burn begin again.
You felt his smirk before you saw it. His hand curled around your waist, holding you in place as he reached for his fork like nothing was out of the ordinary.
Across the table, Joel sat down and watched the two of you with a quiet hum, eyes dark and unreadable.
“Eat up,” he said, calm but sharp. “You’ll need your energy.”
You ate in silence, too aware of the way Tommy’s thigh shifted beneath you every now and then—subtle, steady pressure keeping you grounded, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. Your hands moved automatically, bringing bite after bite to your mouth, but your focus wasn’t on the food.
It was on them.
Tommy talked with his usual warmth, his hand occasionally rubbing lazy circles against your lower back as he told Joel what he’d seen on patrol—mentioning a broken fence by the east side, a box of canned goods he’d found buried under a collapsed shed, and a jacket he thought might fit you.
Joel listened, nodding, occasionally giving a low grunt or throwing in a quiet “that’ll come in handy.” Then he looked across the table at Tommy, his voice just a little too casual when he said:
“She was restless today. Couldn't sit still.” A pause. Then: “Tried to fuck the damn pillow.”
You choked.
The bite of food caught in your throat, and you covered your mouth with your hand, coughing as your face turned hot. Tommy looked down at you, brows raised, mouth twitching.
“You what?” he asked, almost laughing but clearly intrigued.
Joel didn’t even hide his smirk. “Walked in on her. Damn near cried when I told her to keep goin’. Thought she’d melt.”
Tommy chuckled under his breath and brought his hand up to rub slow, soothing circles between your shoulder blades. “Poor thing,” he murmured in your ear. “That desperate, huh?”
You could barely meet either of their eyes—but the heat spreading through your body had nothing to do with shame.
Tommy patted your back gently, the heat of his palm steady and grounding. “Easy, sweetheart,” he said with a little grin, then reached for your glass and brought it to your lips. “Sip.”
You drank obediently, throat burning, eyes still wide and flustered—but his touch never left you. His other hand stayed curled around your waist, fingertips grazing just below the hem of your shirt.
Across the table, Joel was watching you with open amusement now, elbow propped on the edge, chin resting on his hand. “Didn’t even make it an hour after breakfast,” he murmured to Tommy, voice just loud enough for you to hear. “Had her fingers in herself before I finished choppin’ wood.”
“Shit,” Tommy said with a low laugh. “You get that worked up just from sittin’ pretty, Bambi?”
You squirmed a little on his lap, not intentionally—but that was all it took for him to exhale through his nose and shift his thigh higher beneath you. Now you were pressed right against the ridge in his jeans, your breath catching all over again.
Joel’s eyes tracked the movement with a slow blink. “Told her to finish on her own,” he added, his voice darker now, curling like smoke. “Made her say thank you when she came.”
Tommy gave a low whistle, rubbing his hand up and down your spine like he was comforting you—like you weren’t squirming on his lap with every filthy word they spoke.
“Well now I feel left out,” he murmured against your ear. “You didn’t save any for me, baby?”
You tried to hide your face in his shoulder, too overwhelmed to answer, but Joel was already laughing softly. “Ain’t nothin’ left to save. She spent herself dry and then still begged me to stay inside her.”
Tommy’s hand never left you—not once. Through every bite, every tease, he kept you steady on his lap, fingers ghosting under your shirt, brushing soft circles along the dip of your back. Each touch was light, but it lit something deep in your stomach that refused to fade.
Tommy moved you off his lap gently, hands warm as they slid down your sides. "I’m gonna take a shower," he said, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Why don’t you try on what I got for you today, hmm? It’s in that bag.”
He nodded toward the canvas bag by his gun on the floor, and without a word, you padded over to it, already curious. You heard the bathroom door click shut behind him as the water began to run.
You crouched down, fingers sifting through the contents until they found it—soft and folded carefully. You lifted it out slowly.
A baby doll dress.
Cream silk, delicate and thin, with tiny lace straps and subtle embroidery along the hem. Your breath caught. It looked like something no one should be wearing in a world like this. Like it belonged in a dream.
You didn’t have time to turn it over twice.
“Well, what is it?” Joel’s voice drawled from behind, making you jump. He was still seated in his chair, legs spread, elbow resting lazily on the armrest—but his eyes were on you now. Sharp and steady.
“Lemme see.”
You turned slowly, the silk still clutched in your hands, and faced Joel.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes trailing down your frame with a weight that made your skin feel hot beneath his gaze.
“Well?” he prompted, voice rough but low, “Don’t just stand there—try it on. Tommy’s gonna be real happy to see you like that when he comes out.”
You swallowed hard and nodded, fingers trembling just slightly as you pulled your shirt over your head. Joel didn’t look away. Not when your bra slipped off, not when you pushed your pants down and stepped out of them, standing bare in the quiet cabin. The heat from the stove barely competed with the burn under your skin.
He watched you silently, arms folded now, jaw clenched—but it wasn’t restraint. It was control. Purposeful.
You stepped into the baby doll, the cool silk sliding up your legs like water. It hung a little loose on your frame, whisper-light against your skin, but it fit well enough. Delicate straps. Soft hem falling mid-thigh. The outline of your body still clear beneath it in the warm light.
Joel leaned back slightly in the chair, his tongue grazing the inside of his cheek. His eyes never left you.
“Turn around,” he said, voice like gravel.
Joel didn’t move at first—just watched you stand there in that delicate slip of silk, barefoot and flushed, like some untouchable thing he could see straight through. The fire crackled softly in the hearth. The water still ran behind the bathroom door. But here, now, everything felt still.
Then he stood.
Slow. Measured. Heavy boots on the wooden floor as he crossed the room until he was right in front of you. Close enough that you could smell him, see the flicker in his eyes.
His hand lifted—calloused, warm—and slid gently up your side until it reached your chest. The silk shifted beneath his palm as he cupped you through the fabric. His thumb brushed once, then again, over your nipple until it responded, hard and sensitive beneath the thin layer.
Then he rolled it between his fingers.
You gasped, hips twitching just barely. The silk did nothing to hide you now—it was just decoration. What he wanted was underneath.
He leaned in, eyes locked on the way your body shivered under his touch. His voice dropped to a gravelly murmur against your ear.
“Fucking perfect, Bambi,” he said, dragging the words out slow and hungry. “You even know what you do to us lookin’ like this?”
He brought his other hand to your other breast, rolling both nipples now, watching as they peaked visibly through the soft cream fabric. “Bet Tommy won’t last a minute when he sees you.”
You whimpered, legs tensing, and he grinned, pleased.
“Should we give him a little surprise?” he whispered.
The creak of the door opening sliced through the charged silence.
Tommy stepped into the room, a towel loosely wrapped around his waist, chest bare and glistening from the shower’s steam. His eyes caught sight of you immediately, standing there in the delicate cream baby doll, fabric stretched just enough to reveal the evidence of Joel’s teasing.
For a long moment, he simply froze, breath hitching as the air thickened between the three of you.
Then, a slow, dark smile curled at the corners of his mouth.
Tommy’s slow, dark smile deepened as he lowered his lips to your neck, his mouth warm and demanding against your skin. He suckled gently, then traced slow, feather-light kisses down your collarbone before sliding back up to press firm, lingering kisses just beneath your jaw.
His hands slid beneath the sheer fabric of the babydoll, fingers curling around your breasts with possessive strength, thumbs rolling over your nipples through the silk. You trembled beneath his touch, every nerve alive and aching for more.
Tommy’s hands lingered for a moment longer before slowly sliding away, leaving a trail of heat in their absence. Without hesitation, his lips descended on yours with hungry urgency—deep, demanding, and unrelenting.
As he broke the kiss, his hands roamed lower, settling on the curve of your ass. His fingers pressed firmly, exploring before delivering a sharp, firm spank that made you gasp, the sound raw and breathless.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with possessive hunger.
Joel’s footsteps were quiet but deliberate as he closed the distance between the two of you. Part of him wanted to step back, to let Tommy have this moment alone—let him claim you fully, undistracted. But his ego held firm, stubborn as ever, refusing to walk away. He wasn’t ready to miss out on you, not just yet.
Tommy, however, seemed unfazed by Joel’s approach. His grip on your hips tightened slightly, eyes dark and focused on you. He didn’t glance at Joel; his attention was locked on your every breath, every movement.
“Get on your knees, baby,” Tommy commanded softly but firmly.
He guided you down gently, until you settled on the hardwood floor. The cool wood pressed against your skin as you lowered yourself, your hands still clutching the pillow from earlier.
Tommy picked up the pillow from you and held it out. “Here—put this under your knees.”
You nodded, taking the soft cushion and placing it beneath you, the fabric comforting against the rough floor.
You, kneeling there between them, lifted your gaze slowly—meeting both their eyes. There was a question there, a plea, a promise all at once. The air around you crackled with tension—heavy, charged, and waiting.
Tommy let the towel fall to the floor with a soft thud, leaving his skin bare and warm in the dim light. Your eyes instinctively dropped to where it landed, but a firm hand caught your chin, tilting your face upward.
“Eyes up here, Bambi,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding.
Your gaze lifted slowly, meeting his intense eyes. Between you, the space was electric—his large, thick length pressing just beneath your gaze, impossible to ignore.
Joel’s voice cut through the heavy silence, low and steady.
“She’s never sucked us before,” he said, eyes flicking between you and Tommy. “She won’t know how to do it.”
Tommy’s gaze sharpened as he looked back at you, a slow, dark smile tugging at his lips.
“Then we teach her, ain’t that right?” His voice was thick with promise. “Besides, seems like she’s been pretty eager to learn.”
Joel followed, his fingers deftly unzipping his pants and letting them fall around his boots. You couldn’t help but notice the strong line of his thighs—dark hair brushing against skin taut with muscle and tension. But most importantly, your eyes were fixed on the way his cock pressed forward, demanding your attention.
Tommy’s voice dropped into a low, commanding growl.
“Open up, baby.”
You looked up at him, eyes wide and obedient, and parted your lips just enough to obey.
“Let me see your tongue,” he demanded, reaching out to gently pull your chin forward.
You stuck out your tongue, trembling slightly under his intense gaze.
Without warning, Tommy’s hand moved to the back of your head, his grip firm but controlled, guiding you forward, the tip of your tongue brushing with his tip "'m gonna be real gentle with you baby, breathe through your nose only, got it?"
You nodded quickly, eager to please, and Tommy slid himself deeper into your mouth. You coughed softly at first, the unfamiliar fullness catching you off guard, but he held steady, never rushing, allowing you to adjust to the new sensation.
His grip on the back of your head remained firm but patient, guiding you gently as you found your rhythm.
Tommy’s grip tightened just slightly, his voice low and steady as he coached you.
“Good, baby. Keep that tongue loose—don’t clamp down. Let me feel it, yeah?”
You nodded around him, working to relax as best you could, the warmth of him filling your mouth and the weight of his hand steadying you.
From the side, Joel’s voice was low and steady, filled with both encouragement and command.
“Use your hands too, baby. Hold on nice and easy, pump him just like you watched me do today.”
You felt his eyes on you as you carefully wrapped your fingers around Tommy, matching the slow rhythm
You glanced up, meeting their eyes—two sets of dark, hungry gazes that made your skin heat with both nerves and desire.
Your other hand remained steady, guiding the movement with tentative confidence.
Tommy’s breath hitched, a low groan vibrating through him as you followed Joel’s instructions. The sensation of both their attention—close, intense—sent a shiver down your spine.
“Yeah, just like that,” Joel murmured, voice thick with approval.
Tommy growled and his thrusts became more intense, brushing the roof of your mouth, you gagged as he tapped the back of your throat.
"Easy now, remember to breathe, baby" He reminded you, and you tried to control your breathing as tears prinkled your eyes. He watched as you took all of him as best as you could, your other hand helping with the rest. "You gon' be a good girl now, fuck, and swallow oh-" he couldn't finish his sentence as he came undone in your mouth. Tommy tugged your hair as his legs shook.
Joel watched the entire situation as he pumped himself, imagining you taking him instead. Which you would after you were done.
By the time Joel finally lets you go, your whole body is trembling with exhaustion.
Your thighs ache, lips swollen from kisses and commands alike, and your voice is little more than a whisper. You’re spent. Completely.
Joel watches you with that unreadable gaze as he helps you stand up, brushing sweaty strands of hair away from your face. There’s something proud in his touch, almost reverent—but he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to.
He grunts something that sounds like rest well, baby, and you turn to find Tommy already standing in the hallway, shirt off, holding his door open for you.
You follow him without a word.
His room is darker, softer, quieter. As you step inside, Tommy moves to the bed and pulls back the blanket. “C’mere,” he murmurs.
You hesitate only a second before crawling in beside him. He gathers you into his arms like it’s second nature—like he always sleeps with his arms full of you. Your face rests against his chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding you instantly.
His hand strokes slow down your spine. “You okay?” he whispers.
You nod into his skin, letting your body melt into the mattress, into him.
“You did real good today,” he adds after a pause, voice almost reverent. “So damn good, Bambi.”
You hum in response, eyes already slipping shut.
The warmth of him, the soft creak of the bed, and the distant sound of wind outside the cabin carry you quickly into sleep.
It’s still dark outside, the kind of quiet that only settles in when the world feels far away. You’re curled up against Tommy’s chest, his body warm and solid behind you, one arm slung around your waist like it belongs there. His steady breathing moves your cheek where it rests against him, every rise and fall a soft lullaby.
You shift slightly, half-awake, your body seeking more of his warmth, and he hums in his sleep, pulling you closer. The safety of it all wraps around you like a blanket, and before long, you drift back under.
When you finally wake again, light spills softly through the gaps in the curtains—late morning, maybe even past that.
You ease out of bed carefully, mindful not to wake Tommy. He stirs a little when the mattress shifts but doesn’t open his eyes—just exhales a soft breath and turns deeper into sleep.
The cabin is quiet as you step into the main room, warm morning light slipping through the curtains. Joel sits at the table, already dressed in his jacket and boots, finishing up a quiet breakfast with a mug of coffee cupped between his hands.
His eyes lift the moment he sees you.
“Morning, sweetheart,” he says, that slow, familiar drawl wrapping around you like a second blanket. “Was just about to head out for patrol.”
You don’t answer right away. Still heavy with sleep, you pad toward him and wordlessly settle into his lap, curling against his chest with your legs draped over one of his thighs. He adjusts without hesitation, arm circling your waist like it’s instinct.
You rub your eyes and bury your face against his neck.
“Slept good?” he murmurs into your hair, brushing a kiss to your temple. His free hand finds your thigh, warm and firm as it strokes slowly up and down, grounding you.
You hum a small sound, barely awake but safe in this moment. Joel lets you sit there like that, not rushing you—not needing more.
Just letting you rest on him.
Joel sighs quietly, his breath warm against your cheek. You can feel it—he hates to leave. His hand lingers on your thigh a little longer than it should, thumb brushing gentle circles like maybe, if he keeps doing it, time will stall.
But eventually, he leans back just enough to look you in the eyes.
“Right, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with reluctance. “Need to get going now, okay?”
You whine softly, burying your face into the crook of his neck like it might keep him there.
He chuckles under his breath, the sound fond and rough. “Gonna be back later, alright? You know I will.”
His hand gives your thigh a reassuring pat. Still, you hesitate, arms tightening just a bit before finally letting go with a reluctant sigh. He smiles down at you—warm and proud and something a little bit softer than he usually lets himself be.
He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then stands, grabbing his gear from beside the door.
With one last look over his shoulder, he says, “See you tonight, Bambi. Be a good girl.”
And then the door clicks shut behind him.
The day unfolds quietly, gently, the way it often does when it’s just the two of you.
After breakfast, you help with small tasks around the cabin—tidying up, prepping food, sweeping near the hearth. Tommy lingers close, always keeping you in his line of sight, even if he’s pretending not to. He’s settled on the couch now, legs spread, one arm resting lazily over the back of the cushions as he watches you with a look that borders on smirking.
“You remember what I showed you last night?” he drawls, voice low but teasing.
You nod, cheeks warm, and practice—movements slow, deliberate, guided by his calm voice and patient corrections. His praise is quiet but constant, and it settles in your bones like warmth from the fire.
The sky darkens early—clouds heavy, winds shifting. The late hour creeps in before either of you realize, and that’s when the stillness starts to feel wrong.
Joel should’ve been back by now.
You glance at the door. Tommy does too.
It’s not panic—not yet—but your stomach is tight.
Then, finally, the sharp crackle of the walkie-talkie cuts through the room. Tommy grabs it off the side table quickly, thumb already pressing down.
“Tommy, it’s me, brother,” Joel’s voice comes through, rough and low with static but unmistakably his.
You freeze, heart leaping to your throat.
The static crackled again before Joel’s voice returned—rougher this time, strained.
“I’ll have to lay low ’til the morning,” he hissed, like the words cost him something. “I’m fine. Just… got hurt, but all is good.”
You felt the blood drain from your face.
Tommy straightened on the couch, jaw tightening. “What do you mean hurt? How bad?”
“Not bad enough to come home limping and lead someone back here,” Joel muttered. “I’ll stitch it up, hole up somewhere safe. I’ll be back at first light.”
Tommy’s hand clenched around the walkie. “You sure you’re good?”
“Yeah,” Joel said. Quieter now. “Don’t let her worry.”
Tommy glanced at you immediately.
Too late.
You were already standing, eyes wide, arms folded tight over your chest like it might stop the fear from settling too deep.
“Joel,” you said, voice soft—maybe he couldn’t hear you, but you needed to say it anyway.
There was a pause. Then, softer:
“I’m okay, sweetheart. I’ll see you in the morning. Be good for Tommy.”
And then the radio cut.
I went overboard with this one but honestly, I owed it for making you all wait so long, thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoyed it!
Comments, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated as always ✨🩷
hii!! taking a break from benny Mussolini to write this because holy fuck!!!! i cant come up with a title
mentions: reader is on her period, pain and suffering and a fucking hot pedro. i owe you period sex for another time but i'm on a tight schedule
minors dni with me or my blog
do not copy, translate or claim any of my work as your own.
You’re on your period, lying in bed in a fetal position, heated pad pressed against you while a movie plays in the background. You’re out of pads and treats to get through the day, hell, the week. It caught you off guard, and you were unprepared as you traveled to stay with Pedro while he was doing press abroad.
You stained the hotel bed that morning and while you were ashamed of the huge red spot on the sheets, he couldn’t care less. He took off the bedding and sent it to the laundry and pressed a kiss to your forehead “get some rest, I’ll go get you some stuff”
The phone beeps with a new message and you unlock it to see a picture of Pedro.
FUCK!!!!
Be it the ovulation or not, nothing prepared you to see that selfie of him.
“Getting back rn. Got my queen’s treats secured”
Your body tenses all over again, not just from the cramps this time. You bite the inside of your cheek and stare at the photo. The way he looks, his mustache, the way he’s holding the bag with his mouth, the frown on his face.
DOUBLE FUCK!!!
Ovulation?? Hormones?? Whatever the reason, your thighs press together automatically.
“Please hurry”
“Already in the elevator. Get ready to be pampered, baby girl.”
You jump out of bed and get into the bathroom, trying to make yourself look less dead. You brush your hair and clean your face to freshen up, despite your face looking puffy.
He comes back into the hotel bedroom with a selection of pastries, croissants, pain au chocolat, bagels, and muffins. He probably raided the entire bakery shop just for you.
“Didn’t know what you were craving so I got you a few options in case”
“A FEW?? Pedro you raided the whole place” you exclaim getting up from the bed and making your way to him.
He grins and holds you in his arms, your face cradled against his neck smelling his cologne. He rubs your back and you melt against him.
“How are you feeling? Is the heated pad helping you?”
You hum a response and barely nod. He presses a kiss on the top of your head before breaking the hug so he can get your pads out of the bag.
You head into the bathroom and when you step outside he’s got coffee for the both of you and has already stolen one of the pastries.
“Thought those were for me?” You frown catching him mid bite. You take a seat on his lap and he wraps an arm around you
“It’s my interest percentage, can’t I get something in return?” He defends himself and you smile kissing his chocolate covered mouth. “Okay it’s the only one I’m taking I promise”
You wipe the corner of his mouth with your finger and suck on it to clean up.
Pedro freezes for half a second, blinking at you like he’s not sure you’re real. Like maybe the cramps and the pastries and the chocolate weren’t enough chaos, and now you’re here on his lap, looking soft and sleepy and swollen from your period—but still somehow managing to undo him with a single look and the curve of your mouth around your fingertip.
His eyes can’t believe what you have just done, and you feel him slowly growing under you.
“You’re evil,” he murmurs, voice low and already husky, hand tightening around your waist.
You smirk and shrug. “You took a pastry.”
Pedro chuckles, the sound deep in his chest, and you feel it under your palms as you rest them on his torso.
“Weren’t you feeling like death?” he teases, eyes narrowing slightly, amused.
You tilt your head innocently. “That was before you sent me that picture holding the bag.”
He laughs louder this time. “I was just showing you the goods were secured,” he says, all mock-defensive, like he didn’t know exactly what he was doing when he sent that picture, hair tousled and lips stupidly pink.
You give him a slow, deliberate once-over, your voice a little lower now. “Oh, they were. They are.”
His mouth parts like he’s about to respond, but nothing comes out at first. Just a faint, breathless sound that might’ve been a curse. His hand squeezes your waist, grounding himself—maybe grounding you, too.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, gaze flicking to your mouth like he’s seconds away from losing control.
“And here I was thinking you were supposed to be nursing me back to health,” you whisper against his lips.
“I am,” he says, brushing your hair behind your ear. “But now I’m starting to think I might need medical attention myself.”
“Why?”
“Because if you keep sitting on me like this, I’m not sure I’ll make it to the croissant round.”
You laugh, light and smug, then reach into the paper bag and pull out a buttery croissant, still warm. The flaky crust flakes onto your fingers as you take a generous bite, lips glossy from the butter.
Your eyes flutter closed. You chew slowly, dramatically. Then you let out a low moan—half exaggerated, half honest—because damn, it’s really good.
“Mmm… it’s so good,” you hum, still chewing, your head tilting back like it’s a religious experience.
Pedro stares.
“You—” he starts, voice hoarse. “You can’t make those sounds and expect me to behave.”
You glance at him through your lashes, smug. “What? I’m appreciating the baked goods you got me.”
He gives you a look. “You sound like you’re about to marry that croissant.”
You shrug, biting again, slower this time, like you know exactly what you’re doing. “I might. It’s warm, soft, comforting… doesn’t get hard at inappropriate times.”
He groans and throws his head back dramatically, muttering a string of Spanish under his breath. One of his hands slides over your thigh without even thinking. “Sos malvada, mujer" (you're evil, woman)
You grin around your mouthful, cheeks puffed, and lean in with a buttery kiss against his cheek. “But you love me like this.”
His eyes meet yours, and for a second it’s soft, the way his fingers flex on your skin. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I really, really do.”
And just like that, your cramps don’t feel quite so awful.
After breakfast and the pastry tasting, your attention moves onto him, especially his lips.
The kisses come in waves—soft at first, then hungry. His lips press against yours with a quiet kind of need. Tongue brushing, teeth grazing, hands tangled in hair, a hand on his chest, and another around your waist.
your body eventually reminds you of its limits—pain pulsing low in your stomach, a quiet ache stealing the momentum.
You pull back, breathless, your forehead resting against his. “I want you so bad,” you whisper, “but I just don’t have it in me today.”
Pedro brushes your hair behind your ear, his thumb ghosting across your cheekbone. “You don’t have to explain,” he says softly. “I’ve got you.”
And he means it.
He helps you back into bed, careful and unhurried. You slip under the covers with a wince, and he follows, slotting himself behind you. His arm wraps firmly around your waist, the warmth of his chest pressed to your back, anchoring you.
He doesn’t say anything else and just presses a kiss to the curve of your shoulder and rests his chin against your neck. The sound of his breathing evens out into something steady, and soon enough, yours does too.
Soon enough you drift off, the smell of croissants and his cologne still lingering in the room, his arms wrapped around you, and the certainty that no place could be safer than this.
When you wake up, the hotel room is quiet, dimly lit by the soft afternoon light peeking through the curtains. You blink, disoriented for a moment, still tucked in the warmth of the sheets that smell like Pedro and croissants.
You reach over instinctively—and find nothing but an empty space where he was.
Your heart dips just a little until you spot the note on the pillow beside you. His handwriting is messy but familiar, like he wrote it in a rush, but still wanted to make sure you saw it:
"Had to leave for an interview, amor. Will be back later.
If you feel up to it we can go out for dinner, and if not—we order room service and I feed you in bed like the royalty you are.
Te amo."
You smile, pressing the note to your chest for a second before folding it carefully and tucking it inside your phone case.
Your body still aches, and you're definitely not fully up for anything glamorous. But the thought of dinner with him—even just wrapped in a hoodie with no makeup on—makes you feel a little brighter.
You sit up slowly, glancing toward the bathroom. Maybe you’ll shower. Maybe you’ll just wait and surprise him with kisses and wet hair and the biggest hoodie in your suitcase. Either way, you know he won’t care what you choose.
hii!! taking a break from benny Mussolini to write this because holy fuck!!!! i cant come up with a title
mentions: reader is on her period, pain and suffering and a fucking hot pedro. i owe you period sex for another time but i'm on a tight schedule
minors dni with me or my blog
do not copy, translate or claim any of my work as your own.
You’re on your period, lying in bed in a fetal position, heated pad pressed against you while a movie plays in the background. You’re out of pads and treats to get through the day, hell, the week. It caught you off guard, and you were unprepared as you traveled to stay with Pedro while he was doing press abroad.
You stained the hotel bed that morning and while you were ashamed of the huge red spot on the sheets, he couldn’t care less. He took off the bedding and sent it to the laundry and pressed a kiss to your forehead “get some rest, I’ll go get you some stuff”
The phone beeps with a new message and you unlock it to see a picture of Pedro.
FUCK!!!!
Be it the ovulation or not, nothing prepared you to see that selfie of him.
“Getting back rn. Got my queen’s treats secured”
Your body tenses all over again, not just from the cramps this time. You bite the inside of your cheek and stare at the photo. The way he looks, his mustache, the way he’s holding the bag with his mouth, the frown on his face.
DOUBLE FUCK!!!
Ovulation?? Hormones?? Whatever the reason, your thighs press together automatically.
“Please hurry”
“Already in the elevator. Get ready to be pampered, baby girl.”
You jump out of bed and get into the bathroom, trying to make yourself look less dead. You brush your hair and clean your face to freshen up, despite your face looking puffy.
He comes back into the hotel bedroom with a selection of pastries, croissants, pain au chocolat, bagels, and muffins. He probably raided the entire bakery shop just for you.
“Didn’t know what you were craving so I got you a few options in case”
“A FEW?? Pedro you raided the whole place” you exclaim getting up from the bed and making your way to him.
He grins and holds you in his arms, your face cradled against his neck smelling his cologne. He rubs your back and you melt against him.
“How are you feeling? Is the heated pad helping you?”
You hum a response and barely nod. He presses a kiss on the top of your head before breaking the hug so he can get your pads out of the bag.
You head into the bathroom and when you step outside he’s got coffee for the both of you and has already stolen one of the pastries.
“Thought those were for me?” You frown catching him mid bite. You take a seat on his lap and he wraps an arm around you
“It’s my interest percentage, can’t I get something in return?” He defends himself and you smile kissing his chocolate covered mouth. “Okay it’s the only one I’m taking I promise”
You wipe the corner of his mouth with your finger and suck on it to clean up.
Pedro freezes for half a second, blinking at you like he’s not sure you’re real. Like maybe the cramps and the pastries and the chocolate weren’t enough chaos, and now you’re here on his lap, looking soft and sleepy and swollen from your period—but still somehow managing to undo him with a single look and the curve of your mouth around your fingertip.
His eyes can’t believe what you have just done, and you feel him slowly growing under you.
“You’re evil,” he murmurs, voice low and already husky, hand tightening around your waist.
You smirk and shrug. “You took a pastry.”
Pedro chuckles, the sound deep in his chest, and you feel it under your palms as you rest them on his torso.
“Weren’t you feeling like death?” he teases, eyes narrowing slightly, amused.
You tilt your head innocently. “That was before you sent me that picture holding the bag.”
He laughs louder this time. “I was just showing you the goods were secured,” he says, all mock-defensive, like he didn’t know exactly what he was doing when he sent that picture, hair tousled and lips stupidly pink.
You give him a slow, deliberate once-over, your voice a little lower now. “Oh, they were. They are.”
His mouth parts like he’s about to respond, but nothing comes out at first. Just a faint, breathless sound that might’ve been a curse. His hand squeezes your waist, grounding himself—maybe grounding you, too.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, gaze flicking to your mouth like he’s seconds away from losing control.
“And here I was thinking you were supposed to be nursing me back to health,” you whisper against his lips.
“I am,” he says, brushing your hair behind your ear. “But now I’m starting to think I might need medical attention myself.”
“Why?”
“Because if you keep sitting on me like this, I’m not sure I’ll make it to the croissant round.”
You laugh, light and smug, then reach into the paper bag and pull out a buttery croissant, still warm. The flaky crust flakes onto your fingers as you take a generous bite, lips glossy from the butter.
Your eyes flutter closed. You chew slowly, dramatically. Then you let out a low moan—half exaggerated, half honest—because damn, it’s really good.
“Mmm… it’s so good,” you hum, still chewing, your head tilting back like it’s a religious experience.
Pedro stares.
“You—” he starts, voice hoarse. “You can’t make those sounds and expect me to behave.”
You glance at him through your lashes, smug. “What? I’m appreciating the baked goods you got me.”
He gives you a look. “You sound like you’re about to marry that croissant.”
You shrug, biting again, slower this time, like you know exactly what you’re doing. “I might. It’s warm, soft, comforting… doesn’t get hard at inappropriate times.”
He groans and throws his head back dramatically, muttering a string of Spanish under his breath. One of his hands slides over your thigh without even thinking. “Sos malvada, mujer" (you're evil, woman)
You grin around your mouthful, cheeks puffed, and lean in with a buttery kiss against his cheek. “But you love me like this.”
His eyes meet yours, and for a second it’s soft, the way his fingers flex on your skin. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I really, really do.”
And just like that, your cramps don’t feel quite so awful.
After breakfast and the pastry tasting, your attention moves onto him, especially his lips.
The kisses come in waves—soft at first, then hungry. His lips press against yours with a quiet kind of need. Tongue brushing, teeth grazing, hands tangled in hair, a hand on his chest, and another around your waist.
your body eventually reminds you of its limits—pain pulsing low in your stomach, a quiet ache stealing the momentum.
You pull back, breathless, your forehead resting against his. “I want you so bad,” you whisper, “but I just don’t have it in me today.”
Pedro brushes your hair behind your ear, his thumb ghosting across your cheekbone. “You don’t have to explain,” he says softly. “I’ve got you.”
And he means it.
He helps you back into bed, careful and unhurried. You slip under the covers with a wince, and he follows, slotting himself behind you. His arm wraps firmly around your waist, the warmth of his chest pressed to your back, anchoring you.
He doesn’t say anything else and just presses a kiss to the curve of your shoulder and rests his chin against your neck. The sound of his breathing evens out into something steady, and soon enough, yours does too.
Soon enough you drift off, the smell of croissants and his cologne still lingering in the room, his arms wrapped around you, and the certainty that no place could be safer than this.
When you wake up, the hotel room is quiet, dimly lit by the soft afternoon light peeking through the curtains. You blink, disoriented for a moment, still tucked in the warmth of the sheets that smell like Pedro and croissants.
You reach over instinctively—and find nothing but an empty space where he was.
Your heart dips just a little until you spot the note on the pillow beside you. His handwriting is messy but familiar, like he wrote it in a rush, but still wanted to make sure you saw it:
"Had to leave for an interview, amor. Will be back later.
If you feel up to it we can go out for dinner, and if not—we order room service and I feed you in bed like the royalty you are.
Te amo."
You smile, pressing the note to your chest for a second before folding it carefully and tucking it inside your phone case.
Your body still aches, and you're definitely not fully up for anything glamorous. But the thought of dinner with him—even just wrapped in a hoodie with no makeup on—makes you feel a little brighter.
You sit up slowly, glancing toward the bathroom. Maybe you’ll shower. Maybe you’ll just wait and surprise him with kisses and wet hair and the biggest hoodie in your suitcase. Either way, you know he won’t care what you choose.
hii!! taking a break from benny Mussolini to write this because holy fuck!!!! i cant come up with a title
mentions: reader is on her period, pain and suffering and a fucking hot pedro. i owe you period sex for another time but i'm on a tight schedule
minors dni with me or my blog
do not copy, translate or claim any of my work as your own.
You’re on your period, lying in bed in a fetal position, heated pad pressed against you while a movie plays in the background. You’re out of pads and treats to get through the day, hell, the week. It caught you off guard, and you were unprepared as you traveled to stay with Pedro while he was doing press abroad.
You stained the hotel bed that morning and while you were ashamed of the huge red spot on the sheets, he couldn’t care less. He took off the bedding and sent it to the laundry and pressed a kiss to your forehead “get some rest, I’ll go get you some stuff”
The phone beeps with a new message and you unlock it to see a picture of Pedro.
FUCK!!!!
Be it the ovulation or not, nothing prepared you to see that selfie of him.
“Getting back rn. Got my queen’s treats secured”
Your body tenses all over again, not just from the cramps this time. You bite the inside of your cheek and stare at the photo. The way he looks, his mustache, the way he’s holding the bag with his mouth, the frown on his face.
DOUBLE FUCK!!!
Ovulation?? Hormones?? Whatever the reason, your thighs press together automatically.
“Please hurry”
“Already in the elevator. Get ready to be pampered, baby girl.”
You jump out of bed and get into the bathroom, trying to make yourself look less dead. You brush your hair and clean your face to freshen up, despite your face looking puffy.
He comes back into the hotel bedroom with a selection of pastries, croissants, pain au chocolat, bagels, and muffins. He probably raided the entire bakery shop just for you.
“Didn’t know what you were craving so I got you a few options in case”
“A FEW?? Pedro you raided the whole place” you exclaim getting up from the bed and making your way to him.
He grins and holds you in his arms, your face cradled against his neck smelling his cologne. He rubs your back and you melt against him.
“How are you feeling? Is the heated pad helping you?”
You hum a response and barely nod. He presses a kiss on the top of your head before breaking the hug so he can get your pads out of the bag.
You head into the bathroom and when you step outside he’s got coffee for the both of you and has already stolen one of the pastries.
“Thought those were for me?” You frown catching him mid bite. You take a seat on his lap and he wraps an arm around you
“It’s my interest percentage, can’t I get something in return?” He defends himself and you smile kissing his chocolate covered mouth. “Okay it’s the only one I’m taking I promise”
You wipe the corner of his mouth with your finger and suck on it to clean up.
Pedro freezes for half a second, blinking at you like he’s not sure you’re real. Like maybe the cramps and the pastries and the chocolate weren’t enough chaos, and now you’re here on his lap, looking soft and sleepy and swollen from your period—but still somehow managing to undo him with a single look and the curve of your mouth around your fingertip.
His eyes can’t believe what you have just done, and you feel him slowly growing under you.
“You’re evil,” he murmurs, voice low and already husky, hand tightening around your waist.
You smirk and shrug. “You took a pastry.”
Pedro chuckles, the sound deep in his chest, and you feel it under your palms as you rest them on his torso.
“Weren’t you feeling like death?” he teases, eyes narrowing slightly, amused.
You tilt your head innocently. “That was before you sent me that picture holding the bag.”
He laughs louder this time. “I was just showing you the goods were secured,” he says, all mock-defensive, like he didn’t know exactly what he was doing when he sent that picture, hair tousled and lips stupidly pink.
You give him a slow, deliberate once-over, your voice a little lower now. “Oh, they were. They are.”
His mouth parts like he’s about to respond, but nothing comes out at first. Just a faint, breathless sound that might’ve been a curse. His hand squeezes your waist, grounding himself—maybe grounding you, too.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, gaze flicking to your mouth like he’s seconds away from losing control.
“And here I was thinking you were supposed to be nursing me back to health,” you whisper against his lips.
“I am,” he says, brushing your hair behind your ear. “But now I’m starting to think I might need medical attention myself.”
“Why?”
“Because if you keep sitting on me like this, I’m not sure I’ll make it to the croissant round.”
You laugh, light and smug, then reach into the paper bag and pull out a buttery croissant, still warm. The flaky crust flakes onto your fingers as you take a generous bite, lips glossy from the butter.
Your eyes flutter closed. You chew slowly, dramatically. Then you let out a low moan—half exaggerated, half honest—because damn, it’s really good.
“Mmm… it’s so good,” you hum, still chewing, your head tilting back like it’s a religious experience.
Pedro stares.
“You—” he starts, voice hoarse. “You can’t make those sounds and expect me to behave.”
You glance at him through your lashes, smug. “What? I’m appreciating the baked goods you got me.”
He gives you a look. “You sound like you’re about to marry that croissant.”
You shrug, biting again, slower this time, like you know exactly what you’re doing. “I might. It’s warm, soft, comforting… doesn’t get hard at inappropriate times.”
He groans and throws his head back dramatically, muttering a string of Spanish under his breath. One of his hands slides over your thigh without even thinking. “Sos malvada, mujer" (you're evil, woman)
You grin around your mouthful, cheeks puffed, and lean in with a buttery kiss against his cheek. “But you love me like this.”
His eyes meet yours, and for a second it’s soft, the way his fingers flex on your skin. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I really, really do.”
And just like that, your cramps don’t feel quite so awful.
After breakfast and the pastry tasting, your attention moves onto him, especially his lips.
The kisses come in waves—soft at first, then hungry. His lips press against yours with a quiet kind of need. Tongue brushing, teeth grazing, hands tangled in hair, a hand on his chest, and another around your waist.
your body eventually reminds you of its limits—pain pulsing low in your stomach, a quiet ache stealing the momentum.
You pull back, breathless, your forehead resting against his. “I want you so bad,” you whisper, “but I just don’t have it in me today.”
Pedro brushes your hair behind your ear, his thumb ghosting across your cheekbone. “You don’t have to explain,” he says softly. “I’ve got you.”
And he means it.
He helps you back into bed, careful and unhurried. You slip under the covers with a wince, and he follows, slotting himself behind you. His arm wraps firmly around your waist, the warmth of his chest pressed to your back, anchoring you.
He doesn’t say anything else and just presses a kiss to the curve of your shoulder and rests his chin against your neck. The sound of his breathing evens out into something steady, and soon enough, yours does too.
Soon enough you drift off, the smell of croissants and his cologne still lingering in the room, his arms wrapped around you, and the certainty that no place could be safer than this.
When you wake up, the hotel room is quiet, dimly lit by the soft afternoon light peeking through the curtains. You blink, disoriented for a moment, still tucked in the warmth of the sheets that smell like Pedro and croissants.
You reach over instinctively—and find nothing but an empty space where he was.
Your heart dips just a little until you spot the note on the pillow beside you. His handwriting is messy but familiar, like he wrote it in a rush, but still wanted to make sure you saw it:
"Had to leave for an interview, amor. Will be back later.
If you feel up to it we can go out for dinner, and if not—we order room service and I feed you in bed like the royalty you are.
Te amo."
You smile, pressing the note to your chest for a second before folding it carefully and tucking it inside your phone case.
Your body still aches, and you're definitely not fully up for anything glamorous. But the thought of dinner with him—even just wrapped in a hoodie with no makeup on—makes you feel a little brighter.
You sit up slowly, glancing toward the bathroom. Maybe you’ll shower. Maybe you’ll just wait and surprise him with kisses and wet hair and the biggest hoodie in your suitcase. Either way, you know he won’t care what you choose.
How it feels to be British on the 4th of July while the Americans are eating barbecue in their back yards and dancing to guns n roses and the eagles while crunk off bud light and white claw
How it feels to be British on the 4th of July while the Americans are eating barbecue in their back yards and dancing to guns n roses and the eagles while crunk off bud light and white claw
a/n: you've been waiting for this for a long time, thank you for your patience!!! and also all the love you've been giving this fic! i hope you enjoy this chapter, there's more darkness to come 👀😈
mentions: post-outbreak / apocalyptic setting, dubcon/coercion themes, blood mention, obsession/possessiveness, power imbalance, reader is above 18, naive reader (soft/innocent/inexperienced), fingering, joel watches, non-explicit violence & threats, gun use, manipulation & emotional control, possessiveness, praise kink, possible other kinks, punishments,, “daddy” kink, shared reader (Joel x Reader x Tommy), pet names (Bambi, sweet girl, good girl, our girl), domestic elements turned dark, mental confusion & emotional overwhelm, morally gray to fully unhinged dark Miller brothers
Reader discretion strongly advised. Dark themes throughout. Minors DNI ❌ This is a work of fiction and does not reflect healthy or ideal relationships!!!
Do not copy, translate or claim any of my work as your own.
⟡━━━ ✦ 𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝗳𝗶𝗰 ahead ✦ ━━━⟡
Tommy acts like it’s not a big deal around you, but it upsets him. Joel pretends nothing is wrong, as if he didn't break the agreement they had about you. Not even a week had gone by since they found you.
Tommy tried to get near you, talk to you, or spend time alone with you, but Joel had been sticking close to you, lending you his clothes, marking you, showing you things, giving pleasure that Tommy wanted to give you as well. He can’t undo what Joel did, he can’t go back and undo that moment, but he wished he could show you he could do the same and even more. He’s not demanding, but he’s aching to be chosen as well, wanted.
Joel is always there, he’s cooking you food, carving you figures, murmuring things when he thinks Tommy isn’t around, or maybe does it on purpose.
Tommy sees all of it and it hurts him more than he’d like to admit, of course, he’s too good to voice any of his trouble. He tries to tell himself he isn’t mad, this isn’t your fault, god you’re too naive, too sweet to know what his intentions are, what Joel’s intentions are. You just let yourself be guided, shown affection and fall into the bear trap that easy. He tries to reassure himself, you’re here now and it’s not like you’re going anywhere. There’s still time for you to get closer to him, to want him. But every second that passes, every day that goes by, he’s afraid you won’t want him at all, only Joel.
One afternoon, he’s outside working by the shed. He’s chopping logs both for the fire and to get the steam off him, let all his anger out. His shirt sticking to his body, his forehead trinkles sweat and his hands are full of dirt and rough.
It’s quiet in the shed, allowing him a peace of mind.
He hears your footsteps, the leaves rustle and crunch under your boots, his. The only thing that belongs to him. They’re somewhat big on you but you don’t mind, they keep you warm at all times. But when he looks up, your shirt belongs to Joel, your shorts probably do as well. Everything is too big on you, he reminded himself to find you more suitable clothes the next time he was outside the perimeter.
He looks up from the log and notices your eyes full of curiosity. the way you observe his hands, the logs, the shed and the things inside it.
You don’t say anything, just look around.
When your eyes meet his, he notices you want to ask something.
He shifts the axe in his grip, your notice quickly notice his action.
“Want to help, Bambi?”
Your eyes flick to the wood, then back to him.
“I don’t know how.”
He shrugs. Smiles. “That’s alright. I’ll teach you.”
He says it softly, without pressure. But inside, his chest is tight.
You nod, walking toward him. He steps back, lets you closer. The sun catches on your hair, and his fingers ache to reach for you.
“Here,” he murmurs, picking up a smaller piece of wood, “just hold this steady while I—yeah, just like that.”
Your fingers brush as he adjusts your hands. You look up. He’s already looking down.
And for a second—
It’s just the two of you.
No Joel.
No jealousy.
Just you this moment.
You hold the log steady with both hands, kneeling in the grass like you’re focused, but Tommy can see your mouth parted just slightly, your brows knit with effort.
And you’re close now. Too close.
He swallows hard and kneels beside you, guiding your hands just a little, just enough to feel the shape of them. Calloused fingers wrapping around yours.
“You’re good at followin’ directions,” he says, voice low beside your ear.
You glance at him, lips parted like you’re not sure if that was praise or something else entirely.
He smiles—crooked, warm.
“Means I can teach you whatever I want,” he adds, quieter now.
Your breath catches.
He leans forward, hands on either side of the wood, arms boxing you in—but not touching. Just close enough. His warmth seeps into your skin.
His eyes flick to your mouth.
You don’t move.
“Can I…?” he asks softly, leaning just slightly forward.
You don’t say anything.
You just look at him.
And that’s enough.
He kisses you. Careful, restrained. Just his lips against yours—no pressure, no demand. Waiting.
You freeze at first, unsure. But his mouth is so soft, so warm, so different than Joel’s—and then your head tilts, and you mirror him.
Mouth parting.
Breathing him in.
Your hand rising to rest lightly against his chest.
His grip on your waist tightens just barely.
And the kiss deepens.
You feel it—the hunger under the surface. The need. The way he holds it back just for you.
When you finally pull away, your eyes are wide, lips swollen.
He’s already looking at you like you hung the goddamn stars.
You're both quiet after working in the shed. The sun’s lower now, golden through the trees. Tommy wipes his hands on a rag and looks over at you, who’s still looking around the space, the tools.
“Thanks for helpin’,” he murmurs, voice rough and warm.
You nod. “It was nice.”
He offers his hand to take you and you give him a soft nod before taking it. He shuts the shed door and walks back into the cabin.
Joel is waiting sitting at the table, the rifle behind him leaning on the back of the chair. He had just gotten back from patrolling and found the cabin empty.
He sees the shift in your face. The softness. The glow. And he knows he kissed you.
The tension is clear, cutting through the cabin like a knife. Tommy turns to you, his hand in the small of your back, thumb rubbing against the fabric of your shirt.“Why don’t you go shower Bambi, yeah? You’ve been touching a lot of dirt and tools.”
“Uhm, okay Tommy” you nod and offer him a small smile before disappearing down the hallway. Now it’s just the two of them in the living room.
“You kissed her.”
Tommy sets his jaw. “Yeah.”
Joel steps forward. “We said we’d both take care of her. You’re takin’ her for yourself.”
“I am? You’ve been glued to her since the first night.”
Joel’s voice rises. “I found her, Tommy. You didn’t even trust her.”
Tommy snaps, “Because she was a stranger, Joel. We’re not livin’ in some sweet fuckin’ world where trust comes easy. I was protecting us.”
A beat.
Tommy breathes through his nose. Softer now.
“Not anymore, though. We know her now. What she’s like. And we both said it—we liked her. Wanted her around.”
Joel looks away for a second. Then back at him.
“So what? We split time? Take turns?”
Tommy glares. “You really think she’s a toy?”
You step into the main room wrapped in a big towel, hair damp and skin flushed from the steam. You pause at the sound of voices—raised, then quickly hushed.
Joel’s standing near the kitchen. Tommy’s by the couch. Both their faces are too stiff, too calm.
You blink. “What’s goin’ on?”
Joel’s jaw tightens, but he forces a smile. “Nothin’, Bambi. Don’t worry ’bout it.”
Tommy adds, more lightly, “Just patrol stuff, sweetheart. Nothin’ for you to worry about.”
You hesitate. The air feels strange—thick and heavy.
“Is everything okay?”
Joel nods. “Yeah, baby. Just tired.”
Tommy’s already sitting, stretching one arm across the back of the couch. Then he pats his thigh with a small smile.
“Come sit with me?”
You pause. Then walk toward him slowly.
He helps you settle into his lap, guiding your bare thighs over his jeans. You shift awkwardly, towel slipping a little, and he hums, adjusting you just right, wrapping an arm around your waist, firm but gentle.
“There,” he says, voice low. “S’nicer like this, huh?”
Tommy’s hand rubs slow circles on your thigh as you settle deeper into his lap. You’re still warm and soft from the shower, towel bunched high on your legs, hair dripping down your back.
He leans in, lips brushing your temple.
“Had a good shower?” he asks, low and sweet.
You nod, relaxing into his chest.
“Yeah. Water felt nice.”
Tommy hums, pleased. “Good. Gotta keep you taken care of, Bambi.”
Joel doesn’t say a word.
He’s sitting stiffly on the armchair across from you, elbow on his knee, hand flexing once, then again. His gaze is locked on where Tommy’s hand rests against your bare thigh, thumb stroking the inside absentmindedly.
He doesn’t blink.
You glance up, innocent and soft-spoken:
“Joel… you okay?”
His jaw clenches before he answers.
“Fine.”
But it’s anything but fine.
Tommy knows it. That’s why he grins a little into your hair, hiding it from Joel but not really.
“You sure?” you ask again, tilting your head like a confused baby deer. “You look kinda… tense.”
Joel finally breaks his stare, looks you right in the eye.
“Just thinkin’,” he mutters. “That’s all.”
But you’re not sure why it suddenly feels like the air’s gotten thick again.
Tommy just plants a slow kiss behind your ear like nothing’s wrong at all.
You lift your head slightly and glance across the room.
Joel’s stare is razor sharp.
Your brows furrow gently. “Joel…?”
“I said I’m fine,” he snaps—too fast.
You flinch.
Tommy goes still beneath you.
The silence that follows is deafening.
Tommy lifts his head slowly, eyes locked on his brother.
“You got somethin’ to say?” His voice is still calm. But there’s steel beneath it now. “’Cause you keep lookin’ like you do.”
You try to get up, slow and cautious, like maybe if you move, the tension will go with you.
But before you can shift fully off his lap, Tommy’s arm tightens around your waist. His palm flattens against your stomach, pulling you gently back down.
You pause.
“S’okay, Bambi,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your ear. “Just stay.”
You try again, a small tug on his forearm, but it doesn’t move.
“Tommy—” you whisper.
“Ain’t mad,” he says softly. “Ain’t gonna yell like him. Just don’t want you runnin’ off when you’re already where you’re s’posed to be.”
Joel’s eyes flick to Tommy’s hand, then to your face.
Your breath is shallow now.
You stay seated. Not because you’re scared, but because something in his tone tells you there’s no danger here.
Just heat.
Just claiming.
Just… him.
Tommy’s voice hums near your neck.
“Let him be jealous a little. I’ve been patient.”
Your eyes flick to Joel—and fuck, the way he’s staring at you now, tight-jawed and hungry, makes your pulse jump.
“She ain’t a prize,” Joel mutters, but even he sounds unsure now.
Tommy just smirks.
“Nah,” he says. “She’s better. She’s ours.”
Then his thumb drags slowly over your inner thigh.
Joel swallows hard.
You do too.
Tommy’s thumb is tracing little circles into your thigh, warm and slow and possessive. His grip never loosens around your waist. You’re tucked into his lap, towel barely holding on, chest rising just a little faster now.
Joel hasn’t moved—but you feel him across the room.
His eyes are on you.
The silence tightens, thick with heat.
You shift and roll your hips in Tommy’s lap, something you can’t control, it just feels good, your body is calling for you to do that again. Tommy goes still beneath you, his breath stops, his hand freezes before it reaches your cunt.
Your eyes meet Joel’s, soft and sweet and wide as always.
Joel fucking moves.
He stands without a word, crosses the room, eyes never leaving yours. He sinks onto the couch beside Tommy—close enough to touch you, close enough to smell the heat still rising off your skin—but he waits. He watches.
You shiver when Tommy’s thumb brushes your clit, rubbing circles cause you to move on his lap uneasy, the stimulation being too much for you to tolerate.
Tommy dips his head, mouth brushing behind your ear, his voice low and warm.
“Too much baby?” he asks softly, and you nod whining. He slows down the movements, and you seem to ease into his lap “‘s okay, baby, 'm gonna go slow and gentle with you.”
Your towel threatens to come off once again, Joel’s fingers move the fabric that covers your lower body, trying to see what your pussy looks like, despite having seen it himself before.
Joel shifts slightly, breath hitching at the view.
Tommy doesn’t say anything—he just starts to untie it completely, slow and careful, like unwrapping something precious. He watches your face, waits for the smallest sign to stop.
It doesn’t come.
The towel loosens.
Joel’s breath drags in. Audible.
Tommy eases the fabric open, just enough to let it fall, exposing your chest to the cool air, your thighs to his hands, your whole body to both of their stares.
You don’t move. You don’t even open your eyes.
And that stillness?
It wrecks them.
When Tommy inserts his fingers inside you, you gasp
Your nails dig into Tommy’s arm as his thrusts get rougher, deeper. You’re whining on his lap, mumbling his name.
“Doing so good for me Bambi, ‘s okay”
“You’re such a good girl for us baby, Tommy’s just having a taste of you” Joel adds quietly, his gaze focused on you.
You turn your head to look at Joel, breathing heavily as Tommy’s fingers work inside you and when you feel the warmth build inside you as you near your orgasm, you throw your head back against Tommy’s shoulder and shut your eyes, trying to relax just like you had done with Joel.
Your whimpers and moans and the squeaky wet sound of Tommy’s fingers are the only sounds heard in the cabin. Joel watches intensely, not moving at all, letting you two have your moment. He swallows, shoving off any kind of jealousy or fear. If keeping you means learning to share you, he will do it, he will find a way to learn how to do so.
You come undone in Tommy’s grip, wet skin exposed, the towel is on the floor by now. You stay like that and neither of them move you. Tommy brings his fingers to his mouth and you don’t see it but hear his groan at the taste. “God you taste so sweet, Bambi”
You sigh. The softest, most broken little sound.
And Joel’s control snaps.
He reaches out finally. Slowly, hand hovering at first, trembling.
Then he touches you.
Just a palm against your bare hip. Warm, calloused. Gentle.
You don’t flinch.
You don’t open your eyes.
You just let him.
Joel’s fingers stroke up your side, slow and uncertain—until his thumb brushes the curve of your breast, and your lips part in a soft, shaky inhale.
“Bambi,” he breathes. “Tell me to stop if you want me to. Just say it.”
Still, you say nothing.
You just lean slightly into the warmth of his hand.
And Joel—fucking wrecked—lets out the softest groan.
Tommy chuckles low behind you, voice dark and knowing.
“Told you she wanted both of us.”
Joel’s hands cradle your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples, then circling—slow and focused. When his fingers pinch the sensitive skin, you hiss, breath hitching, a whimper slipping free.
Tommy watches now.
Quiet. Patient. Letting Joel explore, letting him have that moment while your body arches under his hands.
They lay you down in Tommy’s bed for the night. You’re spent—worn out from the day, from the heat, from the way his fingers worked you open until you were too dazed to speak. He tucks the covers around your naked body and presses a kiss to your temple.
“We’ll be right outside if you need us.”
You hum, already halfway gone.
Sleep takes you before the door even shuts.
Outside, Joel and Tommy stand on the porch. Silent. The cool night air prickling their skin, still humming from what just happened.
Their bond was close.
But never this close.
Not “fuck a girl in front of you” close.
Not “share her body and her trust” close.
This was new. A bond neither of them could name.
It wasn’t incest.
They weren’t touching each other.
But you were in the middle—soft, sweet, theirs—and they both knew you wanted both of them just as much.
Maybe more.
How long could they keep this going?
Could something like this even last?
Only one way to find out.
They come back inside without a word. Each brother disappears into his own room.
Joel lies down alone. The bed feels colder now, quieter like it knows you’re not there.
He stares at the ceiling, jaw clenched, fist curled tight at his side. A part of him aches to sneak across the hall, open Tommy’s door, and take you back.
But that would break the arrangement once again.
And they hadn’t even set the rules yet.
Still, he imagines your sounds—your face, your body—and jerks off in silence.
He falls asleep with your name on his tongue.
In the other room, Tommy pulls off his boots in the dark.
You’re already curled beneath the covers, soft breaths steady in sleep.
He slips in behind you, as gently as he can. His arm slides around your waist, tugging you close. You stir, barely. Your body presses back into his like it’s instinct, and his lips curl into a satisfied smile. He buries his face in your hair and exhales.
This whole thing?
It would need rules.
You’d need rules.
They both would.
Because sharing something so good, so warm, so sweet, would never come easily.
⟡━━━ ✦ chapter ends here ✦ ━━━⟡
✧ reblogs, likes & comments are deeply appreciated ♡
a/n: you've been waiting for this for a long time, thank you for your patience!!! and also all the love you've been giving this fic! i hope you enjoy this chapter, there's more darkness to come 👀😈
mentions: post-outbreak / apocalyptic setting, dubcon/coercion themes, blood mention, obsession/possessiveness, power imbalance, reader is above 18, naive reader (soft/innocent/inexperienced), fingering, joel watches, non-explicit violence & threats, gun use, manipulation & emotional control, possessiveness, praise kink, possible other kinks, punishments,, “daddy” kink, shared reader (Joel x Reader x Tommy), pet names (Bambi, sweet girl, good girl, our girl), domestic elements turned dark, mental confusion & emotional overwhelm, morally gray to fully unhinged dark Miller brothers
Reader discretion strongly advised. Dark themes throughout. Minors DNI ❌ This is a work of fiction and does not reflect healthy or ideal relationships!!!
Do not copy, translate or claim any of my work as your own.
⟡━━━ ✦ 𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝗳𝗶𝗰 ahead ✦ ━━━⟡
Tommy acts like it’s not a big deal around you, but it upsets him. Joel pretends nothing is wrong, as if he didn't break the agreement they had about you. Not even a week had gone by since they found you.
Tommy tried to get near you, talk to you, or spend time alone with you, but Joel had been sticking close to you, lending you his clothes, marking you, showing you things, giving pleasure that Tommy wanted to give you as well. He can’t undo what Joel did, he can’t go back and undo that moment, but he wished he could show you he could do the same and even more. He’s not demanding, but he’s aching to be chosen as well, wanted.
Joel is always there, he’s cooking you food, carving you figures, murmuring things when he thinks Tommy isn’t around, or maybe does it on purpose.
Tommy sees all of it and it hurts him more than he’d like to admit, of course, he’s too good to voice any of his trouble. He tries to tell himself he isn’t mad, this isn’t your fault, god you’re too naive, too sweet to know what his intentions are, what Joel’s intentions are. You just let yourself be guided, shown affection and fall into the bear trap that easy. He tries to reassure himself, you’re here now and it’s not like you’re going anywhere. There’s still time for you to get closer to him, to want him. But every second that passes, every day that goes by, he’s afraid you won’t want him at all, only Joel.
One afternoon, he’s outside working by the shed. He’s chopping logs both for the fire and to get the steam off him, let all his anger out. His shirt sticking to his body, his forehead trinkles sweat and his hands are full of dirt and rough.
It’s quiet in the shed, allowing him a peace of mind.
He hears your footsteps, the leaves rustle and crunch under your boots, his. The only thing that belongs to him. They’re somewhat big on you but you don’t mind, they keep you warm at all times. But when he looks up, your shirt belongs to Joel, your shorts probably do as well. Everything is too big on you, he reminded himself to find you more suitable clothes the next time he was outside the perimeter.
He looks up from the log and notices your eyes full of curiosity. the way you observe his hands, the logs, the shed and the things inside it.
You don’t say anything, just look around.
When your eyes meet his, he notices you want to ask something.
He shifts the axe in his grip, your notice quickly notice his action.
“Want to help, Bambi?”
Your eyes flick to the wood, then back to him.
“I don’t know how.”
He shrugs. Smiles. “That’s alright. I’ll teach you.”
He says it softly, without pressure. But inside, his chest is tight.
You nod, walking toward him. He steps back, lets you closer. The sun catches on your hair, and his fingers ache to reach for you.
“Here,” he murmurs, picking up a smaller piece of wood, “just hold this steady while I—yeah, just like that.”
Your fingers brush as he adjusts your hands. You look up. He’s already looking down.
And for a second—
It’s just the two of you.
No Joel.
No jealousy.
Just you this moment.
You hold the log steady with both hands, kneeling in the grass like you’re focused, but Tommy can see your mouth parted just slightly, your brows knit with effort.
And you’re close now. Too close.
He swallows hard and kneels beside you, guiding your hands just a little, just enough to feel the shape of them. Calloused fingers wrapping around yours.
“You’re good at followin’ directions,” he says, voice low beside your ear.
You glance at him, lips parted like you’re not sure if that was praise or something else entirely.
He smiles—crooked, warm.
“Means I can teach you whatever I want,” he adds, quieter now.
Your breath catches.
He leans forward, hands on either side of the wood, arms boxing you in—but not touching. Just close enough. His warmth seeps into your skin.
His eyes flick to your mouth.
You don’t move.
“Can I…?” he asks softly, leaning just slightly forward.
You don’t say anything.
You just look at him.
And that’s enough.
He kisses you. Careful, restrained. Just his lips against yours—no pressure, no demand. Waiting.
You freeze at first, unsure. But his mouth is so soft, so warm, so different than Joel’s—and then your head tilts, and you mirror him.
Mouth parting.
Breathing him in.
Your hand rising to rest lightly against his chest.
His grip on your waist tightens just barely.
And the kiss deepens.
You feel it—the hunger under the surface. The need. The way he holds it back just for you.
When you finally pull away, your eyes are wide, lips swollen.
He’s already looking at you like you hung the goddamn stars.
You're both quiet after working in the shed. The sun’s lower now, golden through the trees. Tommy wipes his hands on a rag and looks over at you, who’s still looking around the space, the tools.
“Thanks for helpin’,” he murmurs, voice rough and warm.
You nod. “It was nice.”
He offers his hand to take you and you give him a soft nod before taking it. He shuts the shed door and walks back into the cabin.
Joel is waiting sitting at the table, the rifle behind him leaning on the back of the chair. He had just gotten back from patrolling and found the cabin empty.
He sees the shift in your face. The softness. The glow. And he knows he kissed you.
The tension is clear, cutting through the cabin like a knife. Tommy turns to you, his hand in the small of your back, thumb rubbing against the fabric of your shirt.“Why don’t you go shower Bambi, yeah? You’ve been touching a lot of dirt and tools.”
“Uhm, okay Tommy” you nod and offer him a small smile before disappearing down the hallway. Now it’s just the two of them in the living room.
“You kissed her.”
Tommy sets his jaw. “Yeah.”
Joel steps forward. “We said we’d both take care of her. You’re takin’ her for yourself.”
“I am? You’ve been glued to her since the first night.”
Joel’s voice rises. “I found her, Tommy. You didn’t even trust her.”
Tommy snaps, “Because she was a stranger, Joel. We’re not livin’ in some sweet fuckin’ world where trust comes easy. I was protecting us.”
A beat.
Tommy breathes through his nose. Softer now.
“Not anymore, though. We know her now. What she’s like. And we both said it—we liked her. Wanted her around.”
Joel looks away for a second. Then back at him.
“So what? We split time? Take turns?”
Tommy glares. “You really think she’s a toy?”
You step into the main room wrapped in a big towel, hair damp and skin flushed from the steam. You pause at the sound of voices—raised, then quickly hushed.
Joel’s standing near the kitchen. Tommy’s by the couch. Both their faces are too stiff, too calm.
You blink. “What’s goin’ on?”
Joel’s jaw tightens, but he forces a smile. “Nothin’, Bambi. Don’t worry ’bout it.”
Tommy adds, more lightly, “Just patrol stuff, sweetheart. Nothin’ for you to worry about.”
You hesitate. The air feels strange—thick and heavy.
“Is everything okay?”
Joel nods. “Yeah, baby. Just tired.”
Tommy’s already sitting, stretching one arm across the back of the couch. Then he pats his thigh with a small smile.
“Come sit with me?”
You pause. Then walk toward him slowly.
He helps you settle into his lap, guiding your bare thighs over his jeans. You shift awkwardly, towel slipping a little, and he hums, adjusting you just right, wrapping an arm around your waist, firm but gentle.
“There,” he says, voice low. “S’nicer like this, huh?”
Tommy’s hand rubs slow circles on your thigh as you settle deeper into his lap. You’re still warm and soft from the shower, towel bunched high on your legs, hair dripping down your back.
He leans in, lips brushing your temple.
“Had a good shower?” he asks, low and sweet.
You nod, relaxing into his chest.
“Yeah. Water felt nice.”
Tommy hums, pleased. “Good. Gotta keep you taken care of, Bambi.”
Joel doesn’t say a word.
He’s sitting stiffly on the armchair across from you, elbow on his knee, hand flexing once, then again. His gaze is locked on where Tommy’s hand rests against your bare thigh, thumb stroking the inside absentmindedly.
He doesn’t blink.
You glance up, innocent and soft-spoken:
“Joel… you okay?”
His jaw clenches before he answers.
“Fine.”
But it’s anything but fine.
Tommy knows it. That’s why he grins a little into your hair, hiding it from Joel but not really.
“You sure?” you ask again, tilting your head like a confused baby deer. “You look kinda… tense.”
Joel finally breaks his stare, looks you right in the eye.
“Just thinkin’,” he mutters. “That’s all.”
But you’re not sure why it suddenly feels like the air’s gotten thick again.
Tommy just plants a slow kiss behind your ear like nothing’s wrong at all.
You lift your head slightly and glance across the room.
Joel’s stare is razor sharp.
Your brows furrow gently. “Joel…?”
“I said I’m fine,” he snaps—too fast.
You flinch.
Tommy goes still beneath you.
The silence that follows is deafening.
Tommy lifts his head slowly, eyes locked on his brother.
“You got somethin’ to say?” His voice is still calm. But there’s steel beneath it now. “’Cause you keep lookin’ like you do.”
You try to get up, slow and cautious, like maybe if you move, the tension will go with you.
But before you can shift fully off his lap, Tommy’s arm tightens around your waist. His palm flattens against your stomach, pulling you gently back down.
You pause.
“S’okay, Bambi,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your ear. “Just stay.”
You try again, a small tug on his forearm, but it doesn’t move.
“Tommy—” you whisper.
“Ain’t mad,” he says softly. “Ain’t gonna yell like him. Just don’t want you runnin’ off when you’re already where you’re s’posed to be.”
Joel’s eyes flick to Tommy’s hand, then to your face.
Your breath is shallow now.
You stay seated. Not because you’re scared, but because something in his tone tells you there’s no danger here.
Just heat.
Just claiming.
Just… him.
Tommy’s voice hums near your neck.
“Let him be jealous a little. I’ve been patient.”
Your eyes flick to Joel—and fuck, the way he’s staring at you now, tight-jawed and hungry, makes your pulse jump.
“She ain’t a prize,” Joel mutters, but even he sounds unsure now.
Tommy just smirks.
“Nah,” he says. “She’s better. She’s ours.”
Then his thumb drags slowly over your inner thigh.
Joel swallows hard.
You do too.
Tommy’s thumb is tracing little circles into your thigh, warm and slow and possessive. His grip never loosens around your waist. You’re tucked into his lap, towel barely holding on, chest rising just a little faster now.
Joel hasn’t moved—but you feel him across the room.
His eyes are on you.
The silence tightens, thick with heat.
You shift and roll your hips in Tommy’s lap, something you can’t control, it just feels good, your body is calling for you to do that again. Tommy goes still beneath you, his breath stops, his hand freezes before it reaches your cunt.
Your eyes meet Joel’s, soft and sweet and wide as always.
Joel fucking moves.
He stands without a word, crosses the room, eyes never leaving yours. He sinks onto the couch beside Tommy—close enough to touch you, close enough to smell the heat still rising off your skin—but he waits. He watches.
You shiver when Tommy’s thumb brushes your clit, rubbing circles cause you to move on his lap uneasy, the stimulation being too much for you to tolerate.
Tommy dips his head, mouth brushing behind your ear, his voice low and warm.
“Too much baby?” he asks softly, and you nod whining. He slows down the movements, and you seem to ease into his lap “‘s okay, baby, 'm gonna go slow and gentle with you.”
Your towel threatens to come off once again, Joel’s fingers move the fabric that covers your lower body, trying to see what your pussy looks like, despite having seen it himself before.
Joel shifts slightly, breath hitching at the view.
Tommy doesn’t say anything—he just starts to untie it completely, slow and careful, like unwrapping something precious. He watches your face, waits for the smallest sign to stop.
It doesn’t come.
The towel loosens.
Joel’s breath drags in. Audible.
Tommy eases the fabric open, just enough to let it fall, exposing your chest to the cool air, your thighs to his hands, your whole body to both of their stares.
You don’t move. You don’t even open your eyes.
And that stillness?
It wrecks them.
When Tommy inserts his fingers inside you, you gasp
Your nails dig into Tommy’s arm as his thrusts get rougher, deeper. You’re whining on his lap, mumbling his name.
“Doing so good for me Bambi, ‘s okay”
“You’re such a good girl for us baby, Tommy’s just having a taste of you” Joel adds quietly, his gaze focused on you.
You turn your head to look at Joel, breathing heavily as Tommy’s fingers work inside you and when you feel the warmth build inside you as you near your orgasm, you throw your head back against Tommy’s shoulder and shut your eyes, trying to relax just like you had done with Joel.
Your whimpers and moans and the squeaky wet sound of Tommy’s fingers are the only sounds heard in the cabin. Joel watches intensely, not moving at all, letting you two have your moment. He swallows, shoving off any kind of jealousy or fear. If keeping you means learning to share you, he will do it, he will find a way to learn how to do so.
You come undone in Tommy’s grip, wet skin exposed, the towel is on the floor by now. You stay like that and neither of them move you. Tommy brings his fingers to his mouth and you don’t see it but hear his groan at the taste. “God you taste so sweet, Bambi”
You sigh. The softest, most broken little sound.
And Joel’s control snaps.
He reaches out finally. Slowly, hand hovering at first, trembling.
Then he touches you.
Just a palm against your bare hip. Warm, calloused. Gentle.
You don’t flinch.
You don’t open your eyes.
You just let him.
Joel’s fingers stroke up your side, slow and uncertain—until his thumb brushes the curve of your breast, and your lips part in a soft, shaky inhale.
“Bambi,” he breathes. “Tell me to stop if you want me to. Just say it.”
Still, you say nothing.
You just lean slightly into the warmth of his hand.
And Joel—fucking wrecked—lets out the softest groan.
Tommy chuckles low behind you, voice dark and knowing.
“Told you she wanted both of us.”
Joel’s hands cradle your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples, then circling—slow and focused. When his fingers pinch the sensitive skin, you hiss, breath hitching, a whimper slipping free.
Tommy watches now.
Quiet. Patient. Letting Joel explore, letting him have that moment while your body arches under his hands.
They lay you down in Tommy’s bed for the night. You’re spent—worn out from the day, from the heat, from the way his fingers worked you open until you were too dazed to speak. He tucks the covers around your naked body and presses a kiss to your temple.
“We’ll be right outside if you need us.”
You hum, already halfway gone.
Sleep takes you before the door even shuts.
Outside, Joel and Tommy stand on the porch. Silent. The cool night air prickling their skin, still humming from what just happened.
Their bond was close.
But never this close.
Not “fuck a girl in front of you” close.
Not “share her body and her trust” close.
This was new. A bond neither of them could name.
It wasn’t incest.
They weren’t touching each other.
But you were in the middle—soft, sweet, theirs—and they both knew you wanted both of them just as much.
Maybe more.
How long could they keep this going?
Could something like this even last?
Only one way to find out.
They come back inside without a word. Each brother disappears into his own room.
Joel lies down alone. The bed feels colder now, quieter like it knows you’re not there.
He stares at the ceiling, jaw clenched, fist curled tight at his side. A part of him aches to sneak across the hall, open Tommy’s door, and take you back.
But that would break the arrangement once again.
And they hadn’t even set the rules yet.
Still, he imagines your sounds—your face, your body—and jerks off in silence.
He falls asleep with your name on his tongue.
In the other room, Tommy pulls off his boots in the dark.
You’re already curled beneath the covers, soft breaths steady in sleep.
He slips in behind you, as gently as he can. His arm slides around your waist, tugging you close. You stir, barely. Your body presses back into his like it’s instinct, and his lips curl into a satisfied smile. He buries his face in your hair and exhales.
This whole thing?
It would need rules.
You’d need rules.
They both would.
Because sharing something so good, so warm, so sweet, would never come easily.
⟡━━━ ✦ chapter ends here ✦ ━━━⟡
✧ reblogs, likes & comments are deeply appreciated ♡
joel loves spending quality time with you; it's one of his favourite things to do.
your shared studio is quiet, save for the rhythmic scrape of joel's carving knife and the soft drag of your brush.
everything feels golden, slow.
your side of the studio smells like turpentine and acrylics, while his side smells of cedar shavings and linseed oil. there's an overlap in the middle where your supplies end up on his desk and his gloves find their way to your cart. neither of you seems to mind, as everything is easy to find.
you change sitting positions often, unable to stay still, or when you need to find a different angle to keep going. you sit cross-legged on the floor, paint smudged on your hands and your forehead from running your hand through your hair, but you haven't noticed that yet.
he's focused on carving an owl. you're sketching him in silence yet again — he always says he doesn’t like being drawn, but you catch him peeking, watching how your eyes trace him before you commit to paper. you think he doesn’t even realize how gentle he looks when he works. sometimes you pause just to stare at him. his hands are strong, worn and calloused, the frown on his face, his focused face, and the way he hums quietly to himself.
you could paint or draw anything you wanted to, but he always ends up being your favourite subject.
he glances up when he feels your gaze.
"what?" he asks amused.
"you've got shavings in your hair, hold still" you say with a soft smile, setting the canvas aside before getting up and walking towards him. he doesn't look up, his mouth twitches as he watches your footsteps get closer to him. he leans into your touch as you brush them off. "there you go, better now." he wraps his hand around yours gently and presses a kiss to your paint-stained palm of your hand before going back to carving.
there's a shelf in the studio that holds your shared works; it's where your worlds meet. around the room, there are portraits put up by joel himself of his favorite paintings that you made, and wooden figures that decorate the house. your favorite figure is a deer on your nightstand that he made just for you, and the horse he gifted ellie. his favorite paintings are the intimate ones, colorful sketches of nature, people you love, friends, and animals, horses. lastly, a few quite personal ones that he refuses to let you put away.
sometimes, when his hands are too sore or his mind too cluttered to focus on carving, Joel still comes into the studio with you. He won’t say much—just slips inside with his guitar slung over his shoulder and a mug of tea in hand, settles into the couch by the window, and watches you work. you’re standing at your easel today, barefoot, shirt streaked with paint, hair pulled messily back. the room smells like linseed and paint, your palette lies open on a wooden bench next to you.
joel would tune his guitar slowly, deliberately, the soft twang of strings breaking the quiet in a way that somehow fits—like it’s part of the rhythm of your brushstrokes. He starts to play something gentle, a little folk. not demanding attention, just filling the space between you. You glance over your shoulder at him, your smile small but warm.
you turn back to your canvas, letting the sound of his music settle into your spine, guiding your movements without thinking. There’s something about the way he plays—steady, raw, a little unpolished—that makes your painting come easier. and he just watches.
some days, this is enough. You, him, a quiet room, and the shared act of creating. when you finally set your brush down, you stretch your arms over your head and he pats the empty space beside him with a lazy smile.
"c’mere, artist.”
when the sun dips low and both of your hands are tired from carving and painting, you boil water, make some tea for both of you, and curl into his lap as if it is your throne. joel wraps an arm around your waist and takes your tired hand in the other, thumb pressing carefully at the aching tendons in your wrist, massaging with care, soothing the ache from the long hours of sketching. "too much drawin' again," he mutters, concerned.
you hum and nod as you melt further into his warmth, cheek pressed against his shoulder. his flannel shirt smells of cedar and soap, and your eyes flutter shut, enjoying the moment. when your eyes are open again, you catch the way his glasses sit low on the bridge of his nose—like they always do when he forgets he’s wearing them. you love how he looks like this. so settled, so deeply himself. so yours.
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