I’d surely lose myself

Just a girl in love with Joel Miller and Pedro Pascal. 18+ AO3 Spotify

[joelsgoodgirl]

ꨄ︎ꨄ︎Welcome to my blog!ꨄ︎ꨄ︎

Ashe || 30's || She/They || Joel's inappropriately young wife Most of my works involve mature themes. Minors are not welcome here. anything with a ❤︎‬ next to it is nsfw!

Requests are open!

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I have my fics and playlists below! I regularly update my playlists, so they're always changing and growing!

[alt blog @tenured-yearning]

Fics

touch ❤︎‬

Give You What You Like: Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 ❤︎‬

guys my age- TBA

Playlists

Joel Miller

Dad's Best Friend Joel

Give You What You Like

Fics

Tell Me Where It Hurts

tied up- TBA

Playlists

Jack Daniels

Fics

Stardust-TBA

Playlists

Din Djarin

Pitt!Posting

Jack Abbot

like a virgin

[tending-the-hearth]

imagine going to your first rehearsal for a musical and the first words your characters say to each other are “come home with me” “who are you” “the man who’s gonna marry you” and your first duet is a song about a wedding and you get to fall in love doing a show about The Tragic Greek Lovers Ever and then years later you get married to each other and you become the version of the lovers who get a happy ending and get to go home together and you get to do the show again together and now the characters have a different meaning

[puppiegracie]

I just love when he 👍👍

[iris-in-the-rain]

Bonus:

Gif by @da-pitt

[joelsgoodgirl]

i've found i've been doing this more at work and now i'm wondering if it's because of these assholes

[joelsgoodgirl]

like a virgin

Pairing: Jack Abbot x F!Reader

Rating: E/ 18+ MDNI

WC: 3.9k

Summary: Jack takes your virginity (that's it, that's the story)

Tags: afab reader, virgin!reader (but NOT innocent), oral sex (f! receiving), penetrative sex, age gap, sfot!jack

A/N: Soooo this originally WAS going to be a Joel fic, but The Pitt took over my brain and Jack Abbot wormed his way into my heart and I couldn't stop imagining how sweet he would be with his girl. thank you to my amazing beta @broad-shouldrs as always.

AO3

(also check out my alt blog where i post f/f pitt fanfic)

you’ve been dating jack for nearly six months. you had gathered the courage to ask for a ride after a long shift one day– the habit becoming routine until you’d confessed your feelings.

you both had spilled your secrets slowly, learning of his past, telling him yours. 

yet, there was one thing you had to tell him. it was dumb, really, keeping this to yourself. you knew he wouldn’t care, but something inside you felt almost ashamed. 

because you, at your ripe age of twenty-eight, were still a virgin. 

you knew it wasn’t something to be ashamed of– who the hell has time for sex while working through med school and residency? 

it wasn’t like there hadn’t been opportunities with jack, there had been plenty. but you’d chickened out each time, ignoring or redirecting his advances. he never pushed you, of course, the guilt already bubbling at the surface just for wanting someone so young. 

so he gave you time and space when you needed it, never pressing. 

you stand in front of his bathroom mirror, smoothing your hands over your worn out shirt, your heart already racing. you’d decided tonight would be the night you’d lay everything on the table. tell the truth, and if all went as planned, you would no longer have that unnecessary shame hanging over you. 

his voice pulls you from your thoughts, a soft call of your name, a low rumble that sends a pleasant tingle up your spine. you catch yourself smiling in the mirror, your expression softening as you take in the pure happiness radiating from you, the nervous butterflies settling. 

taking another deep breath, you slip from the bathroom, your smile still not having fallen from your face as you climb into bed, climbing under the covers he’d lifted for you before settling into his side. you wrap a leg around his hip, your face already tilting toward his for a kiss. 

it was your nightly routine now when you stayed, curled up under the covers, making out like teenagers. 

you pull away first, your chest heaving as you prepare yourself. 

“jack, i need you.” you mumble, your eyes seeking his in the glow of the moon through his apartment windows.

his expression is confused for only a moment before realization dawns on his face. his eyes crinkle with mischief, his lip turning up at one corner. “yeah?”

"yeah," you echo, though your voice wavers just slightly. you press your lips together, steeling yourself again. "but there's something i have to tell you first."

his hand, which had been tracing idle patterns along your waist, stills. not in alarm– jack is never alarmed easily– just giving you his full attention. 

"okay," he says simply.

"i've never-" you start, then stop and try again. "i haven't done this before. any of it." you watch his face carefully, searching for the thing you'd been dreading. pity, maybe. or worse, amusement. "i know that's- i know it's a lot, and i should have said something sooner, but i didn't know how to bring it up without it being-"

“hey, baby, slow down.” jack stops you, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face. “take a breath, it’s okay.” 

you grimace, but follow his direction and let yourself relax. then his eyes soften even further, his thumb brushes across your cheekbone with such soft tenderness that your throat tightens.

"that's what you've been worried about?" he asks, and there's no mockery in it. just genuine surprise, tinged with something that sounds almost like relief. "baby, that doesn't change anything."

you feel the tension in your muscles ease just slightly, though your heart is still hammering against your ribs. "you're not... disappointed? or-"

"disappointed?" jack repeats, and now there is a hint of amusement, but it's warm, affectionate. "why the hell would i be disappointed?"

"i don't know," you admit, your voice small. "because i'm twenty-eight and i should have–"

"should have what?" he interrupts gently. "there's no timeline for this stuff. you know that." his hand slides from your face down to your neck, his fingers curling around the back of it, grounding you. "you've been busting your ass through med school and residency. think i don't know how much of your life that takes up?"

you swallow hard, nodding.

"and even if that wasn't the reason," he continues, his voice dropping lower, "it still wouldn't matter. this isn't something you owe anyone. not me, not anybody." his forehead comes to rest against yours, and you can feel his breath warm against your lips. "the only thing that matters to me is that you want this. that you want me."

"i do," you whisper, and it comes out more desperate than you intended. "i do want you, jack. i've wanted you for-" you break off, embarrassed by your own intensity.

"for how long?" he prompts, and there's that mischievous edge again, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

"since the first time you gave me a ride home," you confess, and his grin becomes a little more sensual.

"yeah?" he murmurs, and then his mouth is on yours again, slower this time, deeper. his tongue traces the seam of your lips and you open for him with a soft sound that makes him groan low in his chest.

when he pulls back, you're both breathing harder. his hand has moved from your neck to your waist, his fingers slipping just barely beneath the hem of your worn shirt, touching bare skin.

"we can take this as slow as you need," he says, his voice rough now, strained. "or we can stop completely if you change your mind. at any point. you understand?"

you nod, but that's not enough for him.

"i need to hear you say it," he murmurs, gaze dark and steady on you.

"i do," you breathe. "but i don't want to stop. i want-" you hesitate, then force yourself to say it. "i need you to touch me."

the sound he makes is somewhere between a groan and a laugh, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. "you're gonna kill me," he mutters against your collarbone, and you feel him smile against your skin.

"is that a yes?" you ask, and you're surprised by the hint of playfulness in your own voice, the anxiety beginning to melt under the warmth of his acceptance.

"that's a hell yes," he says, lifting his head to look at you again. his eyes are darker now, pupils blown wide, but there's still that careful attention in them, that focus that makes you feel like the center of his universe. "but we're doing this right. you tell me if something doesn't feel good, if you want me to slow down, if you want me to stop. deal?"

"deal," you agree, and then his mouth is on yours again and his hand is sliding higher beneath your shirt, his palm warm and slightly rough against your ribs.

you arch into the touch without thought, a soft gasp escaping you, and he swallows the sound with his kiss. his hand moves higher still, cupping your breast through the thin fabric of your bra, his thumb brushing over your nipple making your hips jerk forward involuntarily.

"that okay?" he murmurs against your mouth.

"yes," you breathe. "yes, that's–" you break off as he does it again, more deliberately this time, and the familiar heat pools between your legs, your body responding to the stimulation in little sparks of pleasure.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hand stilling. "can i take this off?" he asks, tugging gently at your shirt.

you nod, then remember what he said. "yes. please."

he sits up slightly, helping you pull the worn fabric over your head, and you resist the urge to cover yourself even though you're still wearing your bra. the moonlight streaming through the window casts everything in silver and shadow, and the way jack is looking at you– like you're something precious, something worth savoring– makes your breath catch. it's one thing to be alone in your apartment, touching yourself in the dark. it's another entirely to be seen like this.

"you're so fucking beautiful," he says, and it's not a line. you can hear the sincerity in it, the awe.

"jack–" you start, but he's already leaning down, pressing kisses along your collarbone, down to the swell of your breast above the cup of your bra.

"can i take this off too?" he asks, his fingers already at the clasp between your breasts.

"yes." this time your voice is steadier, more certain.

he unhooks it with practiced ease and you help him slide it down your arms and out from under you, tossing it somewhere off the side of the bed. and then you're bare from the waist up, and jack is looking at you like he's been given something he doesn't quite deserve.

"fuck," he breathes, and then his mouth is on you, his lips closing around your nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud as it hardens under his ministrations.

the vulnerability of it makes your skin prickle with awareness. you know what your breasts look like, have touched them yourself countless times, but having someone else's eyes on you, someone else's hands…

the sensation sends a jolt straight through you, familiar but different, and you cry out, your hands flying to his hair, tangling in his curls. you know you're sensitive there, have always been, but his mouth is hotter and wetter than your own fingers ever could be. he hums against you, the vibration making you shudder, and his hand comes up to palm your other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers.

"harder," you gasp without thinking, and he complies immediately, pinching just enough to make you moan. "yeah, like that."

he seems to want to spend an eternity there, and you’re almost sure you can come from just this, but you need more. you push slightly at his head and he chuckles, releasing your nipple with a soft pop and kissing his way down your stomach, his hands sliding to the waistband of your shorts.

he pauses, looking up at you, and the sight of him between your legs, his eyes dark and hungry but still patient, still waiting for permission, makes something clench deep in your belly.

"can i?" he asks, his fingers hooked in the elastic.

"yes," you say, and you lift your hips to help him slide them down along with your underwear, leaving you completely bare beneath him.

the cool air against your heated skin makes you shiver, and you have to fight the urge to close your legs. but jack's hands are on your thighs, gently pressing them apart, and the look on his face is so reverent that the self-consciousness fades.

"you're perfect," he murmurs, and then he's settling between your legs, his shoulders pressing your thighs wider, and oh god, you realize what he's about to do.

your breath catches. you've imagined this before, late at night with your own hand between your legs, but the reality of it– of him– is suddenly overwhelming.

"wait," you say, and he freezes immediately, his eyes snapping to yours.

"you okay?" he asks, concern evident in his voice.

"i just–" you swallow hard. "i've never– no one's ever–" the words feel clumsy in your mouth. you know what you like, know exactly how to touch yourself to get off, but letting someone else do it, being that vulnerable scares you.

understanding dawns on his face. "you want me to stop?"

"no," you say quickly. "no, i just–" you take a breath, steadying your nerves. "i know what i like. i just don't know if i can... let go.”

his expression softens, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. "you don’t have to think about it, baby," he says. "just feel. and if you need to tell me what works, tell me. i want to learn you."

the tenderness in his voice makes your chest ache. you nod, and he takes that as permission, lowering his head.

the first touch of his tongue against you is electric, and you gasp, your hands flying back to his hair. it's different from your own touch, less precise and more intense. the groan he lets out is better than any vibrator you’ve used. “fuck, baby, you’re so wet.”

"oh my god," you breathe as he licks a slow, deliberate stripe up your center. he's exploring, learning, and you force yourself to relax into it, to let him indulge himself for a few minutes.

he pulls back just enough to speak, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. "tell me what feels good."

"higher," you manage, your voice shaking. "more pressure on the side my clit."

he adjusts immediately, prodding his tongue against your clit, and the pleasure is sharp and familiar but so much more intense than when you do it yourself. you cry out, your hips bucking up against his mouth.

"yes," you gasp. "just like that, don't stop."

you practically feel him grin against your cunt, holding you steady with one hand splayed across your lower belly, the other sliding up to find your hand, lacing your fingers together. the gesture is so tender, so intimate, that it makes your chest ache even as the pleasure builds between your legs.

you know this feeling, have chased it countless times alone in your bed, but this is different. this is trusting someone else to take you there, letting yourself be vulnerable enough to fall apart in front of him.

"jack," you gasp as the tension coils tighter, "i'm close, i'm–"

"let go," he murmurs against you. "i've got you, baby. let go."

and you do, the orgasm crashing over you in waves that feel different somehow– more intense, more overwhelming because you're not in control of it. no pause in the movement while your body seizes with pleasure, no extra energy expended on what you’re doing. you cry out his name, your back arching off the bed, and he works you through it, his tongue gentling as you come down, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs as you try to catch your breath.

when you finally open your eyes, he's hovering over you again, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal, his expression smug and tender all at once.

"you okay?" he asks, brushing a strand of hair away from your damp forehead.

"i–" you start, then laugh breathlessly. "yeah. that was–" you shake your head, still trying to process the euphoria racing through you. "really good."

he grins, leaning down to kiss you, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. the intimacy of it makes you want him even more.

"we can stop here if you want," he says against your mouth. "no pressure."

but you shake your head, your hands already reaching for his chest to push him down, reversing your positions. "i don't want to stop," you say. "i want your cock." you blush with the vulgarity of it, but the responding jerk of his hips is enough to know you said the exact right thing.

he helps you pull his shirt off, and then you're running your hands over his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him, the way his muscles shift beneath your touch. your fingers trail down to the waistband of his sweatpants, and you can see the obvious bulge there, can feel him hard and hot against the inside of your thigh.

"can i?" you ask, echoing his earlier question.

"fuck, yes," he breathes, and you push the fabric down over his hips and down his legs, mindful that his leg may be sore after a pulling a 24 hour shift.

he's not wearing anything underneath, and when his cock springs free, thick and flushed and already leaking at the tip, you feel a surge of pure lust that travels from the tips of your fingers down to your toes. you don’t particularly mean to just sit on his thighs and stare, but he’s just so perfect. thick, maybe six and a half inches, curving just a little toward his belly. the tip is red and flushed, precome already gathered in the slit.

"you can touch me," he says, his voice strained. "if you want."

pressing your lips together to suppress your grin, you wrap your hand around the base of his cock, almost gasping in delight at the feel of it. he’s warm and soft, yet firm and unyielding under your palm. you experimentally pump him, eyes flickering from between his legs up to his eyes. 

"is this good?" you ask, adjusting your grip, twisting slightly at the head the way you've seen in porn.

"fuck, yes," he grits out. "perfect. but if you keep doing that, this is gonna be over embarrassingly fast."

you smile despite yourself, feeling a surge of confidence at the evidence of how much he wants you. "can i be on top?” your brow furrows a little as your hand stills, simply holding him at the base.

he exhales a breathy laugh, then reaches over to his nightstand, pulling out a condom. "you sure about this?" he asks one more time, and you love him for it, for checking even now.

"i'm sure. wanna set the pace" you say, and the nervousness isn't about the act itself– you know how this works, know what your body needs– it's about trusting him with this, about being this vulnerable with another person. 

he rolls the condom on with practiced efficiency, letting his hands settle on your thighs spread over his hips. “you ever had anything this big in you?” he asks, and it’s a genuine question. 

you nod, thinking about your not so small collection of toys, and he reaches down to guide himself to your entrance. the first press of him against you makes you tense slightly– not from fear, but from the unfamiliarity of it, the reality of letting someone inside you.

"breathe," he reminds you, and you do, forcing yourself to relax as the tip of his cock teases through your folds. “lower yourself when you want, baby.” 

you whimper as you lower yourself slowly, so slowly, and there's a stretch, a pressure, a moment of adjustment as your body accommodates him. it's not painful, just different. he’s warmer than any of the silicone you’ve used in the past, more forgiving inside you as you lower inch by inch. 

"you okay?" he asks, his voice tight with the effort of holding still.

"yeah," you manage, eyes shut and hands planted against his chest. "just–give me a second to adjust."

he does, thumbs drawing light circles against the meat of your thighs. gradually, your body relaxes around him, the fullness becoming less foreign, more right.

"okay," you breathe. "gonna move now."

you rise up on your knees and sink back down, a slow experimental roll of your hips. the sound that escapes you is embarrassingly needy, but jack's head drops back against the pillow with a groan that makes you feel powerful in a way you hadn't anticipated.

"yeah," he breathes. "just like that."

you do it again, finding a rhythm that makes sparks shoot up your spine. his hands stay loose on your thighs, letting you lead, only tightening when you hit a particularly good spot and clench around him.

"angle forward a little," he suggests, his voice rough.

"oh," you gasp. the head of his cock rubs against a spot inside you you’ve found with your own fingers, your own toys, but so much more overwhelming with him filling you like this. "there, right there."

"yeah?" he asks, and you can hear the satisfaction in it, the pleasure.

"yeah," you confirm breathlessly, planting your hands more firmly on his chest and picking up the pace.

his hand slides up your thigh, thumb finding your clit, and you cover his finger with your own, guiding him the same way you showed him earlier. he follows your lead immediately, no ego about it, just wanting to get it right.

"like this?" he murmurs, eyes fixed on the sight of your smaller hand on top of his.

"like that," you confirm, and when he matches your rhythm perfectly you moan, long and unguarded.

"fuck," he grits out, his hips giving the smallest involuntary thrust upward. "you feel incredible. you have no idea…"

"i think i have some idea," you manage, and he laughs, breathless and undone, his hands gripping your hips for just a moment before releasing you back to your own pace.

the combination of sensations overwhelms you– the fullness of him, his thumb on your clit exactly how you need it, the freedom of controlling the depth and rhythm, the way he's looking up at you like you're the most remarkable thing he's ever seen. the vulnerability of being this exposed, this seen, should scare you. instead it makes the coil in your belly pull tighter as you clench around him.

"jack," you gasp. "i'm close, i'm so close…"

"i know," he murmurs, his eyes dark and focused on your face. "i've got you. take what you need."

you really begin to chase it without shame, your hips working harder up and down until the orgasm breaks over you in long, shuddering waves. you cry out his name, clenching around him, and feel him follow with a low groan, his hands gripping your hips to pull you down as he spills into the condom. the feeling of him pulsing inside you drags your orgasm out longer, the intimacy of a shared orgasm far more spectacular than you could have ever imagined. 

you collapse forward onto his chest, both of you breathing hard. his arms wrap around you, one hand stroking slowly up and down your spine.

after a long moment you lift your head, giggling softly. 

"hi," you say stupidly.

"hi," he returns, and the smile that breaks across his face is so unguarded, so soft, that your chest aches with it.

you ease off him carefully, both of you wincing at the sensitivity, and he takes care of the condom before pulling you back into the warmth of his side. you tuck your face against his neck, his pulse still elevated beneath your lips.

"you okay?" he asks, for what feels like the hundredth time, and you smile against his skin.

"i'm perfect," you say, and you mean it completely. "that was… you were…"

"you were amazing," he interrupts, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "thank you for trusting me with this. for letting me be the one."

you're quiet for a moment, just breathing him in. "thank you for making it safe to be vulnerable."

"you don't have to thank me for that," he says softly, fingers feathering over your arm. 

"i love you," you whisper, the words slipping out before you can catch them.

you feel him still– just for a moment– and the familiar panic flares. too soon, too much, you've ruined it–

but then he's tilting your chin up, his eyes soft and certain in the dim light.

"i love you too," he says, and kisses you like he means it. like he'll keep meaning it for a long time to come.

[schmeltastic]

Found this gem deep in my files lol

[tiptapismellbullcrap]

Trinity misspelling a few things in some texts and Victoria, seeing this as an opportunity to make a dig, sends “another victim of the literacy crisis”

She blocks trinity for four days and avoids her at work when she gets the response “im dyslexic”

[hrast-ika]

having a lot of feelings about this one :') something about him sleeping with his backpack in the first one (zipped up) and in the second one leaving the backpack on the ground (unzipped)

[moodyabbott]

handsome cutie pie honey bunch

[broad-shouldrs]

Give Me A Try || Joel Miller x Jack Abbot

pairing: joel miller x jack abbot

word count: 6412

summary: in the aftermath of the outbreak, joel miller survives something he didn't intend to -- his own attempt on his life. he wakes up to find himself under the care of field medic, jack abbot.

when the camp collapses, the two are forced to flee together.

warnings: 18+, minors dni.

really poor characterizations of two seemingly straight characters finding themselves in a situation neither expected, mentions of suicidal ideations and depression, kissing, dry humping for approximately 2 seconds, mutual masturbation

a/n: this fic came to fruition based on a headcanon I had on this tweet.

It was then further fueled by this incredible fanart.

as always, a big thank you to @joelsgoodgirl for being my biggest cheerleader

Joel doesn’t remember pulling the trigger. That moment and the few minutes before mercifully vanished the second the gunshot rang out. What he does remember, what he constantly remembers, is the weight of Sarah’s lifeless body in his arms and her cold, dead eyes staring up at him like a plea for help. Everything else was a blur. Everything else didn’t matter. 

Waking up, he doesn’t ask where he is or who found him. He doesn’t ask why he’s still alive. He wishes he wasn’t. He had come to terms with the idea of no longer living, figuring there wasn’t much of a point without his daughter. The thought of spending however many years he had left on this godforsaken planet without her smile, her laugh, or her voice filled him with a flurry of emotions that he didn’t know how to navigate. So, he just stopped. Stopped eating, stopped sleeping, stopped caring. 

The medic assigned to him, a guy around his age who introduces himself as Jack, recognizes the glassy-eyed withdrawal instantly. The vacant stare is not only one that Jack is familiar with from his time serving in Iraq; but one that he's seen enough in the past few days as well in the likes of parents, spouses, siblings. Families ripped apart by the unknown infection currently ravaging the nation or worse, by the destruction caused by the sheer panic of the public. 

Despite dwindling resources and the lack of available beds, there’s something about Joel’s flat affect that keeps setting off alarm bells for Jack. The self-inflicted gunshot wound alone earns him a little extra scrutiny, enough so that Jack keeps him under observation longer than triage protocol typically allows, jotting down ‘extended observation recommended’ on the slip of paper they’ve been using as his chart. 

The wound itself isn’t catastrophic. Jack’s treated enough close-range self-inflicted wounds to know this one wasn’t a mistake. The bullet grazed just along Joel's right temple with minimal tissue damage or bleeding; however Jack noted a distinct loss of hearing on Joel’s right side. Not that it mattered when Joel barely made an effort to interact. Every time Jack walks by on his rounds, he notices that Joel mostly just lies there, staring up at the ceiling panels, jaw clenching occasionally like he’s chewing on words he won’t ever let out.

Joel’s brother - Tommy, the one who brought him in, shows up almost daily. He sits bedside and talks to Joel about nothing in particular, hopeful until he realizes that Joel’s eyes won’t meet his. He’s patient with Joel at first, but Jack notices the shift in Tommy’s voice each time Joel doesn’t look at him. 

About a week after Joel’s arrival, Jack has to make a practical call. Too many new bodies coming in – bodies that needed the bed that Joel was taking up. Even so, Jack couldn't bare the thought of discharging Joel and letting him waste away on a bedroll with the rest of the general public. He had lost track of how many men he had seen go from silent to gone and for whatever reason he didn’t quite like the idea of letting this one in particular vanish on his watch. “Need the bed,” he says simply to Joel one night. “Staff quarters have space. You can take my cot.” Joel just stares ahead, brown eyes trained on the cracks in the ceiling. 

“You hear me, Joel?” Joel nods, his expression otherwise unreadable. He swings his legs around and stands for the first time in ten hours, silently following Jack through the crowded hallways lined with stretchers and into the much quieter staffing quarters. Jack leads them over to a cot pushed up against the back wall and does a small shrug,  “It’s not much, but it beats sleeping on the floor on a bedroll.” Joel’s eyes flick around the space, slow and unfocused, like he’s just now realizing where he is. His jaw tightens with a subtle shake of his head, as if to argue that he doesn’t deserve this kindness. “Thanks, but I ain't gonna put you out like that.”

It takes a moment for Jack to reply, stunned by hearing Joel utter something more than a grunt for the first time since his arrival. He clears his throat once, “Non-negotiable.” Joel’s shoulders drop a fraction, not able to muster the strength to put up a fight, and exhales. “Ain’t gonna argue with you, doc.” 

For the next two weeks, like clockwork, Joel's routine is predictable in a way that Jack can’t fault. When Jack opens the door, Joel is either on the cot or on the floor beside it. He stands as soon as he catches sight of Jack and mutters, “You need it more than me,” before slipping out into the night. He doesn’t linger or wait for Jack to object, he just vacates the space like he’s doing him a favor. Like taking up the cot any longer would be an inconvenience to the one person he can stomach right now. 

Jack doesn’t dare argue with him. He can understand the instinct – to want to give up a comfort that you feel you don't deserve. It’s a misguided, self-effacing gesture that has a strange practicality to it; a logic that tracks perfectly with someone hollowed out by loss. So, he lets the routine stand, even if it isn’t ideal. For now, it’s the closest thing Joel has to steady ground.

Tommy continues to try with Joel and Jack, hoping it will help Joel, gets him access to the staffing quarters. He shows up during the day while Joel is curled up on the cot lost in a daze. He shows up at night, following after Joel as he wanders camp, in hopes to get a glimpse of his big brother back. But, Tommy’s patience wears thin and he finds himself starting to get loud, bordering on angry, so he backs off. He visits Joel less and less and then not at all. He tells himself that Joel doesn’t need him hovering or that maybe they both need some space away from each other. The truth is, every time he looks at Joel, he sees how close he came to losing him and he isn’t sure he could survive that again. He can’t stand to watch his older brother walk around like a zombie. He can’t stand to watch him lie there like a burnt out husk of a man. Leaving feels cowardly, but staying feels like heartbreak. 

The world outside, much like Joel, is a shell of itself. Bombs had been dropped on many of the major cities hoping to slow down the spread of infection but instead, all it succeeded in doing was crippling all essential functions. What remained of the infrastructure buckled under the weight of panic and confusion.  Military checkpoints and makeshift refugee camps in secure buildings had become the norm. Barricades and patrols were implemented but with no official guidelines in place it was only a matter of time before the worst happened. 

It’s a miracle they lasted this long. With the number of new arrivals growing daily and the amount of supplies decreasing exponentially, there was bound to be a slip somewhere. Two younger men make it outside of the perimeter and back in an effort to gather more resources, slipping past the loose patrol routes and returning before anyone questioned their absence. What they didn’t tell anyone was that they had a bad run-in with infected. They hid their wounds beneath their sleeves, convincing themselves they had time. They didn’t.

Gunfire wakes Jack first, followed by screaming. He’s off his cot in seconds, instinct kicking in as he laces up his boots. Feeling a hand clamp down on his shoulder, his pulse jumps - too sharp and too fast, until he recognizes the man in front of him. Joel looks alive in a way that Jack hasn’t seen, his eyes alert and terrified. “Infected. We need to move.”

Jack rises from his cot, tossing his pack with his emergency med kit over his shoulder and gives Joel a nod acknowledging that he's ready. “Follow me."  Joel moves fast but Jack falls in quickly behind him, realizing now that Joel’s late-night walks wasn't just aimless wandering. Joel knows every hallway, every exit, and every blind corner. 

They cut through the staff quarters into a empty transport corridor which is lined with nothing but empty crates. Joel makes a sharp turn that Jack wouldn’t have thought to make in trying for a quick exit, but then realizes that he’s led them right to the weapons locker which is somehow miraculously unmanned.

Joel slaps his hand against the metal door, eyes on Jack. “Will your ID open this?”

Jack nods and swipes the card without hesitation. The lock clicks and Joel forces the door open, grabbing an empty pack off the shelf. “Food and ammo. Two minutes – max.”

Jack barely has time to register the role reversal - Joel commanding and Jack following orders - as he starts filling his mostly empty pack with MRE’s, a few canned items, and ammo. Lots of ammo. Joel pulls out a 9mm handgun, a .357 magnum, and two bolt action rifles and hands two of them off to Jack. “Load up.”

They take the maintenance corridors to the outside, Joel still navigating. The camp lies in ruin, the asphalt stained with blood and littered with bodies. They don't have time to figure out much of a plan. A runner stumbles out from between two cars and lunges at Jack with a shriek. Joel drops it clean in one shot without flinching then jerks his head towards the gate. “Move.”

They take off together, sprinting towards the gate, the sounds of infected screaming in the distance. By sheer luck, they find a set of keys on the body of an officer that belong to a nearby jeep. Joel pries them from the dead man's hands, tosses them to Jack, and slides into the passenger seat. 

Silence stretches as the camp shrinks in the rearview mirror, nothing but open road ahead. About thirty minutes in, Jack finally speaks, “Pittsburgh’s home – or it was. Got family there. Friends.”

Joel doesn’t look away from the road as he responds, “Anywhere’s the same now. Pittsburgh’s as good as any.”

They avoid interstates at first, most still clogged up with abandoned vehicles. Jack keeps them on service roads and farm routes when he can, slowing only when the pavement gives way to gravel. They cross into Arkansas, then Tennessee, narrowly avoiding the larger population centers. 

They talk sometimes, never about anything of much substance. Jack talks about being an ER doctor and mentions he was at a medical conference when everything hit. Joel mostly listens, but drops a few crumbs of information. Like how he had never traveled outside of Texas, or how he had previously worked as a contractor. Most of the time between them though it was just grunts of agreement about which roads to take or muttered curses when the truck hit a pothole.

They do what they can to survive. They scavenge for food and hunt when they have the chance, not wanting to use what few supplies they brought with them. Fires are rare, neither of them looking to to draw unwanted attention to their position. Gas stations are a gamble, so they stick to siphoning fuel. They travel in daylight and sleep in shifts, usually in the truck. Jack sleeps - Joel usually lies there staring into the dark, his mind desperately trying to come up with anything else to think about other than Sarah. On the off chance Joel does sleep, it’s only for an hour or two before he startles awake from a nightmare with a gasp. Jack can’t bring himself to ask.

By the time they hit Kentucky, the jeep is making a steady knocking sound it shouldn’t. They coast off of a rural two-lane road bordered by thick woods and after a quick survey of the area, Joel gets out to assess the damage. He pops the hood only to be met with a cloud of steam drifting up from the engine. “Radiator’s shot,” he calls out.

Jack groans and joins his companion at the front of the car. “Timing belt’s off too,” he notes. 

They salvage what they can in terms of supplies and set off on foot. The land here feels different than what they’re both used to – rolling hills and dense forest, both of which make them uneasy. They make it maybe five miles before they see the thin wisps of smoke rising through the trees. 

Jack slows down but by then it’s already too late and they’ve been spotted. Three figures step out into the open, rifles visible but not yet raised. Their faces are hard, unfriendly, and when Joel catches sight of the confederate patches crudely stitched to their sleeves, a cold unease crawls up his spine. “Ya’ll lost?” one of them calls out, tone slick with hostility. 

Joel shifts slightly, his fingers brushing the grip of the revolver tucked behind the small of his back. “Just passing through,” Jack responds, attempting to keep his voice level.

The man smiles in a way that creeps Jack out, “Is that right?”

A fourth figure moves silently behind them, gun already raised, and fires off a shot. It zings just past Jack’s hip and kicks up the dirt not six inches to the right of him. Before the echo of the gunshot has even faded, Joel swings around and fires directly at the man, shooting him clean through the chest. He drops to the ground and chaos erupts.

Jack ducks behind a rotting fence post as bullets tear into the clearing. He shoulders his rifle and returns fire, not noticing the body barreling out of the woods until it slams right into him. They hit the ground hard and Jack’s rifle goes skidding away just out of reach. He manages to yank out his knife from where it’s sheathed at his hip, but not before a blade slices across his side – shallow yet vicious. Heat bursts along his ribs. Jack groans and drives his knife upwards, straight into the man’s sternum and his attacker goes limp immediately. Jack presses a hand to the wound and it comes away red, fresh with blood. 

The firefight continues around him, but all he can register is the pounding in his ears and the blood seeping through his fingers. “Jack!” Joel’s voice cuts through the gunfire, raw and panicked. Jack barely has time to lift his head before Joel pivots, firing two quick shots in vicious succession. One man drops immediately, the other gets off half a shout before he falls to his knees. “Are there more?” Joel asks, voice gruff and demanding.

The man laughs and Joel presses the hot barrel of his gun to the man’s temple, making him scream. “No! No! There’s no more.” Joel pulls the trigger and the clearing falls silent. 

Joel’s chest rises and falls in heaving bursts, pistol still raised for a moment until his eyes focus on Jack. He moves before he realizes he’s moving, boots thudding against the dirt until he drops to his knees beside Jack.  His hands, now starting to shake, hover uselessly over Jack's stomach, unsure where to touch, terrified to make anything worse. “Jack,” he breathes, voice breaking.

Jack opens his mouth to tell him he’s fine, but Joel’s eyes are already locked on the blood soaking through Jack’s shirt. His chest jerks once, then again, breath catching like he can’t pull enough air in. “Joel,” Jack says, steady as he can manage. “Hey, look at me.”

Joel doesn’t. He’s staring at the wound, his breath coming too fast and too shallow. The smell of blood hits him and for a split second he isn't here anymore - he's kneeling in the street with Sarah in his arms. His hand lifts again like he wants to touch Jack but he hesitates midair and retracts it before he can make contact. His throat works around a sound he doesn’t let out. “Not again,” Joel whispers, voice fracturing. “Please–please, not–”

Jack realizes then that Joel isn’t seeing him but rather the memory haunts him. “Joel,” he repeats, firmer this time, hoping to stave off a panic attack. “Stay with me.” Joel’s breath stutters, his entire body shaking now. He grabs a fistful of the fabric near Jack’s shoulder, not to steady Jack but to steady himself. “I’m right here,” Jack promises. “I’m okay, it’s shallow. Just a cut.”

Joel shakes his head, breath hitching violently. “No–no, I–she–she–” His voice breaks again, his throat closing like a vise.

Jack lifts a hand and presses his palm firmly over Joel's where it grips his shirt. “Look at me,” he cajoles. “Come on, Joel. Look at me.” Finally, Joel’s eyes drag up to meet his. “I’m okay. See?” Joel swallows hard. “I’m okay.”

Joel’s face crumples, just for a second before slowly coming back to himself. “Jack, I–”

Jack shakes his head, “Don’t. There’s nothing to apologize for.” Joel’s jaw works once, as if he wants to debate the topic or explain the terror that crushed him just moments ago, but he can’t. The words are stuck somewhere deep, forced down by grief and a memory he tries not to carry.

Instead, Joel’s gaze drops to the blood on Jack’s side. His whole posture shifting to something more controlled – survival. “You’re hurt.”

Jack snorts softly, “Not badly.”

Joel ignores him, carefully reaching for the hem of Jack’s shirt and lifts the fabric. His eyes narrow at the shallow but ugly slash. “I need the kit,” he states matter of factly. 

Jack gestures weakly with his chin. “Back pocket of the pack.” Joel retrieves it like a man on a mission and kneels close to Jack. He opens the kit with surprising steadiness, pulling out an alcohol pad, needle, and thread. Jack winces as Joel cleans the cut and Joel’s breath hitches at the sound.

“Sorry,” Joel murmurs, barely audible.

“You’re fine,” Jack says, tone soft despite the sting. “You know how to do this?” Joel shakes his head, eyes wide. “I’ll talk you through it.” Jack’s voice is steady, grounding. “Take the needle. Thread it.” Joel fumbles, the thread slipping twice from his fingers. “Breathe.” Joel takes a deep breath in and nods, finally managing to thread the needle on the third try.

“Now tie a knot at the end,” Jack instructs. “Just a simple overhand knot. Tight.” Joel feels clumsy as he tries to knot the thread, but he eventually gets it. “That’s it. Now start at the end,” Jack says. “About a quarter-inch from the edge. Push the needle in.” Joel breathes out shakily and pierces the skin. Jack’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t make a sound. 

“Good. Now, pull the thread through.” Joel follows Jack's directions, face tight with concentration. “Alright, now keep doing that in zig zags. Until you get to the other side.” Slowly, Joel threads the needle in and out along the length of the cut. His hands shake the entire time, but the stitches seem to hold.

Jack watches Joel. Not at the wound or the way he's stitching him shut. He watches the way Joel’s breath keeps catching and the way Joel keeps checking Jack’s face between stitches to make sure he’s doing it correctly. “You’re doing good,” Jack states.

Joel shakes his head once, “Tell me if–if it’s wrong.”

“I will,” Jack promises. He takes a glance at the somewhat haphazard stitches - rough but they'll hold. “But it’s right. Keep going.” Joel finishes the last pass of the needle. “Last part. Tie it off.”

“How?” Joel asks, cautiously.

“Make a loop. Pull it tight. Now another loop and–good. That’s it.” Joel ties the final knot and cuts the thread. Jack covers the wound with gauze himself, pressing Joel’s trembling hand over it to hold it in place. When Joel finally looks up, his eyes are raw and still shimmering with the panic he hasn’t quite gotten rid of. Jack pats Joel’s hand once, “You did good. Real good.”

Jack tries to push himself upright and hisses as the movement tugs at the fresh stitches. Joel reacts instantly, reaching out without thinking. “Whoa there–here.” His hands find Jack’s ribs first, then his shoulder, then slowly down to his waist. Jack leans into him out of necessity, but the moment their bodies press together, something else settles there too. Something neither can pretend they don’t feel. Joel’s breath stutters.

Joel steadies Jack, one arm braced around his back, the other gripping Jack’s forearm. “Easy.” Jack grips Joel’s shoulder for balance. His fingers grasp at the fabric there and Joel goes tense. Their breaths mix in the quiet clearing, their faces inches apart. Neither of them moves. Jack feels Joel’s heartbeat against his side, fast and uneven. 

Joel’s eyes flicker up and hold Jack’s gaze for a brief second. “Come on. Can’t stay here.” Jack starts to speak, but Joel is already guiding him towards the tree line. “S’too open. Don’t know what else is out here.”

Jack lets Joel lead him through the brush until the trees swallow the clearing behind them. They stumble upon an empty hunting cabin, covered in undergrowth but intact. Joel eases Jack down against a stump. “Stay put,” he states before disappearing through the warped door frame, his revolver drawn. Without Joel, Jack’s nerves start to twitch but then Joel reappears in the doorway. “S’clear,” he calls out. “C’mon.”

Jack painfully rises from the stump and starts to make his way over to the cabin entrance. Joel meets him halfway without being asked, looping Jack’s arm around his shoulders, bearing his weight with a steadiness that feels more like instinct than choice. 

The cabin is  small, one room, but it has a wood stove that’s still functional and an outhouse in the back. There’s a stained mattress that’s been tossed to the floor but it’s intact and Joel figures it’s better than nothing. He lowers Jack onto it with a gentleness that surprises them both and then steps back. He looks around once, then goes still. 

“What?” Jack asks, breathing shallow from the walk. Joel shakes his head, not meeting his eyes. “You’re cold.”

Jack huffs. “I’m fine.” Joel flicks him an unimpressed look and then, without another word, he walks back outside. 

Jack pushes himself up on an elbow. “Where the hell are you–?” 

“Wood,” Joel calls over his shoulder. “Need to get that stove goin’.” 

The fire catches fast, warmth spreading into the room. Joel sits back on his heels, rubbing his palms together once, more out of nerves than from the cold. Jack watches him from the cot and then calls out, “Joel. Sit with me.”

Joel hesitates, long enough that Jack’s concerned he’s going to refuse, but then he pushes himself up and crosses the room. He sits on the cot’s edge, leaving space between them like he’s afraid of crowding him. Jack shifts over, making more room anyway. For a few seconds, the only sounds that can be heard is the crackle of the stove. 

“Mattress is big enough for two,” Jack says, voice low. “Lay down. You need sleep.” 

Joel stiffens. “I’ll take watch.”

“You can barely keep your eyes open,” Jack states plainly. “You’ve been running on fumes since Texas.”

Joel shakes his head. “Ain’t happenin’. You’re hurt. Body needs to rest.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Just a cut.”

“That’s not–” Joel stops, jaw tightening. “I ain’t leavin’ you unprotected.”

Jack snorts. “Alright. Then shove a bunch of shit in front of the door. Tripwire yourself a barricade. Whatever makes you feel better. But, you need to sleep.”

Joel glares at him because he knows Jack is right. He's been feeling the utter exhaustion hitting him, especially these last few days. He stands, dragging a busted armchair, a long piece of busted granite from what used to be the countertop, and other miscellaneous junk he into a pile against the door. When he’s satisfied that nothing short of a tank can get in quietly, he steps back. “Happy?”

Jack pats the space beside him. “Ecstatic.” Joel reluctantly sits again on the edge of the mattress, his fingers drumming against the side. “Lay down, Joel.” Joel swallows once, then finally lies back. He stays rigid, hands on his chest, eyes open staring at the cabin ceiling. Jack huffs a tired little laugh. “You’re allowed to close your eyes, Miller.”

Joel doesn’t answer, he stares at the ceiling for a long time. The fire pops softly behind them. Eventually, his hand shifts on the mattress, searching without meaning to, until it bumps against Jack's elbow. Ten minutes later, his breathing evens. Jack glances over at his companion and Joel is asleep – actually asleep. Not the half-awake doze he does in the truck where he jolts awake gasping. Heavy, deep sleep.

Jack wakes to the soft pop of embers. The heat in the cabin is low, the gentle warmth spread across the room like a blanket, saving them from the biting cold of a Kentucky morning in November. He shifts, blinking crusted sleep from his eyes, and registers an unexpected weight on his hip. He glances down and Joel’s arm is draped across him as if it found comfort in him during sleep. 

Jack doesn’t move his hand, he just lets himself look, a vulnerability that Joel would never let him exploit while conscious. He looks at ease for the first time in months. His lashes rest dark against his cheeks and his brow is smooth where it is usually pulled tight. Jack’s heart races as he watches the rise and fall of Joel’s chest, his breathing deep and slow, the kind of sleep you don’t fall into unless your body feels safe. Safe. 

Jack's throat tightens at that. He doesn’t know what Joel’s been through. He doesn’t know what carved the shadows under his eyes. He doesn’t quite have a reasoning that explains the visible exhaustion in every line of the man’s face. All he knows is that this man hasn’t known peace in quite some time. If he can offer Joel just a small reprieve from that which he carries, maybe he'll feel like he's doing some good. 

Joel wakes to pale morning light peeking through one of the boarded up windows of the cabin. For a second, he doesn’t recognize where he is, but then he feels warmth at his side. Asleep on the mattress beside him, Jack – turned slightly towards the wall, breathing slow and steady. Joel blinks, pushing himself up on an elbow as he realizes he slept through the night, unbroken and free from the nightmares that haunt him every time he closes his eyes. 

When Jack wakes the second time, Joel is already up and poking at the remaining embers with a stick. Jack lets out a low groan as he sits up, hand bracing his side. “Morning,” he says, voice rough with sleep. Joel grunts something that could pass for the same. There’s no questions or awkwardness, save for a silent agreement between them both to ignore what passed during the night. A beat later, Jack stands, "We should get moving.”

They fall into an unspoken rhythm after that. They travel throughout the day, trekking through the rest of Kentucky and then opting to go through Ohio versus West Virginia since there was less of a chance to run into more ‘backwoods inbred hicks’ as Joel labeled them. 

At night, when they're able to pick a safe place to bed down, there’s a shift. They sleep close. Not exactly touching or cuddling – nothing that would make either man look twice at himself. Just proximity. Just safety. 

Joel takes the first watch most nights, but when Jack wakes and Joel finally lies down, he finds himself gravitating towards Jack’s presence and Jack doesn’t comment when he does. Joel’s nightmares don’t disappear entirely, he still wakes some nights with his breath ripped out of his chest, hand grasping for a rifle that isn’t needed. But now, when he blinks into the darkness, he finds Jack’s hand already reaching, hovering over his shoulder. Joel doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t think about why it works. He just knows that after a minute or two, the panic ebbs and he can fall asleep again.

They’re cutting through a narrow stretch of road just before the Pennsylvania border, about a four day walk from Pittsburgh, outside what used to be a small lake town when it happens. Jack’s slightly ahead for once, scanning storefronts for anything worth scavenging. Joel hangs back, rifle loose as he tracks rooftops and windows. 

There’s a creak from an unchecked alleyway, the sound of a dumpster lid opening, and a man steps out behind Joel, gun drawn. “Drop the pack,” he snaps at Joel. “Both of you.” Joel freezes, angling himself subtly so Jack is just behind his shoulder, his protective instinct firing before conscious thought. Jack notices.

Before he can speak, the stranger’s gun shifts, now aimed squarely at Joel’s chest. Something in Jack flips. It isn’t heroic. He steps forward without thinking, half in front of Joel, hand lifting in a placating gesture. “Easy,” Jack says calmly. “Nobody needs to get hurt here.” 

Joel grabs his jacket from behind, trying to pull him back. “Jack–”

The stranger notices, eyes trying to discern what’s happening. Jack moves fast, sidestepping the stranger, and knocking the gun out of his hands, disarming him but not before a shot goes off. Jack lifts his rifle and aims it right at the man’s face and seethes, “Are there others?”. The man shakes his head, “They're all dead. Please - please don’t kill me.”

Jack assesses his scruffy appearance and threadbare clothing. He thinks for a moment about letting him go, but then notices a suspicious blood stain at his neckline. He sighs and pulls the trigger once, watching the man drop to the ground. He leans down and pulls the man’s shirt to the side, confirming he's been bit and then looks up at Joel.

Joel turns on Jack instantly, not yelling, just shaken. “What the hell was that?” 

Jack’s heart is still pounding, adrenaline buzzing through him. “He was aiming at you.”

“That ain’t your job.”

“Yeah, well.” Jack exhales. “Didn’t feel optional.” Joel just stares at him and Jack suddenly realizes the gravity of what he just did. He stepped between Joel and a gun without hesitation. The realization hangs there, thick and undeniable. “I–”, he stops, remembering that the gun went off during the struggle. 

Jack’s hands land on Joel’s shoulders before either of them consciously decide what’s happening. “You hit?”

Joel shakes his head, “No.”

Jack doesn’t drop his hands right away and Joel doesn’t move away. They’re close now, closer than necessary. Joel can see the faint tremor still running through Jack’s arms, he can feel it where their bodies nearly touch. 

“Don’t do that again,” Joel pleads, his eyes flashing with something Jack hasn’t seen from him.  His thumb brushes against the seam of Joel’s jacket near his collarbone and Joel’s breath catches. Something electric flickers there – a heat neither of them is quite prepared to name. 

Jack’s gaze drops down to Joel’s mouth, quick but unmistakable. Joel doesn’t pull away, instead his chin tilts up just a fraction, so small that Jack may have missed it if he weren’t already staring at Joel’s mouth. His eyes flick back up and he finds Joel’s. Behind his eyes there’s curiosity. There’s relief. There’s trust.

Jack closes the distance, careful as if he’s afraid the moment may break. Joel meets him halfway, close enough that their breath mingles. Close enough that Jack feels that almost-kiss static crackle down the length of his spine. He closes the last inch and as their mouths meet, Joel inhales sharply against him. Joel’s hands lift like he’s going to push Jack away, but instead curl in the fabric of Jack’s jacket, pulling him closer. He kisses back with a quiet urgency, like he’s been starved for this and for a moment the whole world is just – this. 

Jack breaks the kiss first, resting his forehead against Joel’s, their chests heaving in tandem. “...Jack,” Joel whispers, his thumb grazing the other man’s jaw. Jack swallows, his eyes flutter shut, and then he feels Joel kiss him again. This one is more sure, seeking to prove that this is something real and wanted. 

When Joel finally pulls back, Jack’s hand is still on his jaw. Joel doesn’t lean away from it. They stare at each other, the air around them changed. Joel’s voice is barely a whisper, “Christ, that’s something else.”

Jack gives a quiet, crooked smile. “Let’s get out of here and we can do it again.”

Joel grins, cocking his head to the side, “Don’t gotta tell me twice.

They make camp in an old ranger station in Fernwood State Forest just as the dusk settles. Joel sets to building a fire while Jack checks the perimeter. Neither of them bring up the kiss but it sits between them anyway, impossible to ignore. Joel’s hands shake when he takes off his pack and Jack notices. “You alright?” he asks. 

Joel doesn’t look at him. “Fine.”

“I call bullshit,” Jack says gently.

Joel’s breath catches. He keeps his eyes trained on the floorboards as he speaks. “S’just a lot. Earlier. You. The kiss.” Joel’s mouth presses into a thin line, like he hates confessing it out loud.

Jack steps closer, not crowding, wanting Joel to have the option to decide what comes next. “You regret it?”

Joel looks up fast. “No.” He takes a steadying breath, “No, I…hell, Jack, I ain’t done nothin’ but think about wantin' to do it again since it happened.”

Jack’s chest tightens. His hand lifts and finds Joel’s cheek. Joel doesn’t flinch but leans into it. “Me either.”

Joel swallows, “I ain’t never – with a man.”

“Me neither,” Jack admits. “Bet we can figure it out.”

Joel huffs a breath that might almost be a laugh if he weren’t so tense. “Figure it out, huh?”

Jack smiles, his eyes tracking Joel’s every reaction. “Yeah. Like this.” He leans in, kissing Joel again, slow at first then deeper when Joel opens his mouth for him. His mouth is warm and sure, coaxing something loose in him that he’s kept buried for years. Joel fists Jack’s jacket, dragging him closer with a need he doesn’t understand yet.

When they break for air, Joel murmurs Jack’s name. Jack brushes his nose against Joel’s. “Lie down with me.”

Joel hesitates then nods, his heart hammering against his ribs. Jack guides him gently onto the bedroll near the fire, settling beside him, their bodies aligned. Jack drags his thumb across Joel’s lower lip, “You sure?”

Joel’s eyes flutter shut. “Yeah. God, yeah.” Jack kisses him again, deeper this time, and Joel gasps softly against his mouth.

Jack’s hand slides down Joel’s chest, steady and reassuring, stopping just at the hem of his shirt. “Tell me if you wanna stop,” Jack murmurs.

Joel shakes his head. “Keep goin’. I–I want…” He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence but he doesn’t have to. Jack’s hand finds Joel through his jeans, palming him slow and certain. Joel shudders, body shuddering, “Jesus, Jack–”

“Easy,” Jack whispers. “Let me take care of you.” Joel pushes into the touch without thinking, grinding against Jack’s hand, desperate and startled by how good it feels. Jack kisses him through it, swallowing every ragged sound he makes. Joel’s breath becomes uneven, breaking into a low, helpless noise. “Ain’t ever…never felt this with anybody.”

Jack groans softly, forehead pressed to Joel’s. “Same.”

Joel’s hands finally finds Jack's hip, gripping hard, guiding Jack against him. Jack presses their bodies together, their cocks lined up through denim, grinding slow and firm. Joel’s head falls back. “Oh–fuck–f’we keep rubbin’ like this, m’gonna ruin the only pair a pants I’ve got.”

Jack freezes, unable to hold the chuckle that’s rising up his throat. “Right…yeah, didn’t think.” He shifts back a little, groin hovering just over the now noticeable bulge in Joel’s jeans. “What if we – take care of ourselves.” 

Joel’s jaw tightens and his eyes flick down. “Alright.”  Their movements are clumsy and uncoordinated as they lean against the back of a musty, old couch. They both open their flies, neither looking directly at each other at first, their cocks springing free from the confines of their pants. Their knees knock together, fighting to share the same space. 

Jack wraps his hand around himself, slow and teasing, and Joel can’t help but help the low grunt that slips out of him at the sight. He fists himself too, rough and straightforward. "Jesus."

Jack’s eyes flick down to take in the sight of Joel jerking off, then up, settling on Joel’s face. “Looks good like that,” he admits.      

Joel groans, a shiver working down his spine. His stroke falters for half a second and he adjusts his grip to get a sturdier handle on the base. Their shoulders press together as they work themselves in steady passes. “Feels better with you here.”

Jack huffs out a broken laugh. “Yeah, it does.” His breath picks up fast, harsh through his nose. Joel’s hand starts moving faster without meaning to. “You close?” Jack asks.

Joel grits his teeth. “Gettin’ there.” Jack nods without speaking. 

They speed up together, shoulders knocking, breath mingling, thighs pushing against each other. Joel’s breath breaks on a curse, hips jerking into his fist, eyes squeezing shut. “Fuckin’ hell.” Joel comes with a low, guttural exhale, grip tightening around himself as he spills over his knuckles. He slows his hand, then stops completely as he starts to go soft. He shifts his body just barely to watch Jack out of his periphery. 

Jack follows seconds later, stiffening with a sharp grunt as he finishes into his own hand. He sags back into the wall, absentmindedly wiping his hand on a rag in his pack. They don’t move apart, even after they zip up but Joel glances to the side and finds Jack looking back. “That was something.” Jack nods, the smallest smile tugging at his lips. “Sure was.”

[joelsgoodgirl]

i still think about this 🤭

[snoopy-abbot-archives]

At Your Service,Captain.

(Jack Abbot x Reader) Masterlist ALT Masterlist Subscribe to taglist!

Anyone who knows Dr. Jack Abbot probably assumes his wife loves seeing him in his scrubs. And honestly, look at the guy—the man's biceps could choke a bear, and the recipient would probably thank him for it. But Jack isn't cocky about it. He’s effortlessly charming, respectfully flirty with the nurses and staff, but everyone knows his heart belongs to his sweet, loving wife waiting at home.

What the staff at PTMC doesn't know is that his "sweet wife" is a SWAT Captain. They picture a soft, doting woman. They don't picture her covered in blood and grime, strapped in heavy tactical gear, ordering a strike team around with a voice that could freeze fire.

And nobody knows the filthy secret Jack hides beneath his calm, professional exterior: the sheer, staggering effect her authority has on him. Nobody knows how embarrassingly hard he gets when he hears her team snap back, "Yes, Captain!" Nobody knows the primal, feral rush that hits his bloodstream when he watches her drop a hostile to the floor. She boxes, she shoots, she commands—and Jack is simultaneously fiercely proud and deeply, shamefully obsessed with how insanely hot she is.

So when she rolls into the PTMC trauma bay with one of her own on the gurney, Jack is fighting for his life. He has to focus. He cannot glance at her standing in the doorway, blood spattered across her Kevlar vest, radiating lethal authority. He has to stare at the open chest cavity in front of him, reminding himself that someone’s life depends on his steady hands—not on the image of his wife in full tactical gear.

But the second the patient is stable and the monitors beep steadily, Jack's legendary restraint snaps.

Nobody questions where Dr. Abbot and the SWAT Captain disappear to.

In the dark, cramped confines of a supply closet, Jack’s hands are on her before the door even finishes closing. He fists the thick fabric of her tactical vest, yanking her into him. His mouth crashes onto hers—hungry, desperate, and utterly unyielding. He is starved for her, kissing her like a man dying of thirst.

You have to physically pry yourself away from him just to yank your balaclava off, gasping for air. "Husband dearest," you pant, trying to sound stern but failing as his lips immediately attack your jaw. "Please keep it together—"

Your words dissolve into a breathless moan as he silences you with another searing kiss. His hand snakes to the back of your head, his palm firmly cushioning your skull so you don't hit it against the wall as he walks you backward into the shelving. Both of you are still fully in uniform—his dark scrubs grinding against your rough, heavy tactical gear.

You probably have exactly five minutes before your radio crackles and your team needs you. But Jack is a man possessed. He is absolutely, unequivocally set on devouring you right here, right now, tasting the adrenaline and sweat on your skin.

Before you can even formulate a protest, before you can remember your rank or your duty, he is kissing you deeper. Without breaking the contact of your lips, his hand reaches blindly behind him, finding the door handle.

Click.

The lock slides into place. He’s making damn sure nobody is going to take away these five sweet minutes with his wife.

The click of the lock is the only warning you get before Jack’s mouth is back on yours, ravenous and demanding. The kiss turns absolutely filthy, all teeth and tongue and desperate, breathless groans. His hands, usually so steady and precise in the OR, are shaking as they drop from your vest to your tactical belt.

He doesn't have the patience for the heavy buckles. With a frustrated, feral noise against your lips, he shoves his hand past the obstruction, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of your pants and underwear.

You gasp into his mouth as his fingers find you, slick and incredibly hot. Jack lets out a broken, agonized moan, the vibration rumbling against your chest. "Fuck," he breathes, his forehead dropping against yours for a split second, his hips jerking forward on their own accord. "You're this wet? In full gear? You're going to fucking kill me."

"Jack—" you whimper, but your hands aren't idle either. You need to feel him, need to touch the desperation you've driven him to. You shove your hand between your bodies, your fingers easily slipping beneath the elastic waistband of his scrub pants.

When your hand wraps around his thick, aching length, Jack’s knees actually buckle. He slams his palm flat against the wall beside your head to steady himself, a guttural curse tearing from his throat. He is rock hard, pulsing against your palm, already leaking at the tip. You stroke him once, twice, swiping your thumb over the head, and he whines—actually whines—into the crook of your neck.

"Don't stop," he begs, his voice unrecognizable, stripped raw of all his usual composure. "Please, baby, don't stop."

You set a frantic, sloppy rhythm, stroking him in tight, twisting motions just the way you know makes him lose his mind. He matches your pace, his fingers sliding through your wetness before two plunge deep inside you. His thumb finds your clit, pressing with a ruthless, practiced precision that has you biting down on his shoulder to keep from screaming.

The supply closet fills with the obscene, wet sounds of your mutual pleasure, overlaid with harsh, ragged breathing. It’s a chaotic clash of textures: the rough, heavy fabric of your Kevlar vest rubbing against his soft scrub top, the cold metal of your belt buckle clinking against his pants, the searing heat where your hands work each other over.

Jack is completely gone, utterly pussy-drunk and desperate. He thrusts into your fist, his breath hot and erratic against your ear as he mumbles filthy praises. "That's it, Captain. Take it. God, you're so fucking tight. You feel so good. Look at you, letting me fuck you with my fingers while you're still in uniform—"

His dirty talk is your undoing. The coil in your belly winds tight, the combination of his thick fingers curling perfectly inside you and the sheer depravity of the situation pushing you right to the edge.

"Jack, I'm—" you gasp, your hand faltering on his shaft as the pleasure crests.

"No, don't stop, please—" he begs, grinding into your palm even as his fingers fuck you harder, faster. "Come for me. I need to feel you, please—"

You break. Your orgasm crashes over you like a shockwave, your walls clamping down hard around his fingers. You bury your face in his chest, your body jerking as you cry out, the sound muffled by his scrub top.

The sensation of you coming apart around his fingers is the final straw for Jack. He lets out a choked, breathless shout, his hips stuttering wildly against your hand. He spills hot and thick over your fingers, his entire body shuddering violently as his own climax rips through him.

For a long minute, the only sound in the tiny room is the deafening rhythm of your combined heartbeats and heavy, gasping breaths. Jack collapses against you, his full weight pressing you into the wall, his face buried in your hair. His fingers slip out of you, and he lazily rests his clean hand over your racing heart, feeling it pound against his palm.

You slowly extract your hands from each other's pants, both of you hissing at the sudden loss of friction. You look down at the mess on your hand, then up at him. His curly hair is a disaster, his face flushed, his eyes half-lidded and completely dazed. He looks thoroughly wrecked.

He catches your wrist, bringing your messy fingers to his lips and pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your knuckles, his eyes fluttering shut.

A sharp, muffled buzz from the radio strapped to your shoulder makes you both jump. "Captain, come in. We're wheels up in two."

You share a breathless, slightly manic look. Jack’s lips curve into a slow, satisfied, utterly unrepentant smirk. He leans in, stealing one last, lingering kiss.

"Five minutes," he murmurs against your lips, his voice still rough. "Told you it was enough."

Taglist:

@thehockeynerd30 @rufles2 @eugene-emt-roe  @taygrls @jwinz @koiastro @disappearintofanfiction @unknownhuman102 @thoughtsandvibeslibrarian @thehockeynerd30

@pixviee @cassierins @momdancingtomcr @theariespov @cosmosnkaz @chauchirem @malindacath  @snack-at-midknight

@saibaxoxo  @diasnohibng @rstaverous  @midnight-sun-bright-star @solarasirenx   @h-l-m @ubiquitous-corvids @clonesdserveb3tter @yuviqik  @peachyfckingkeen  @collarandcratecravings  @goldenmoonbeam

[voidsagent]

NOBODY TOUCH ME !! THIS IS MY NEW FAVORITE PIC OF HIM !! IM CRYING HES SO CUTE— 🤧🫶🏻

[joelsgoodgirl]

he is literally sunshine incartinate wth

[ozarkthedog]

*anxious giggling*

[strawberrycherrycola]

I love that he takes his selfies at the same angle

[fatfangs]

eww dude keep your skinny fetish to yourself

[silknthoughts]

hearing a man moan adds years to my life

[simpingforjoel]

imagine the throaty gasps and guttural moans you could coax out of the usually stoic clint. imagine finally after many tries making that composure crack and hearing him moan and groan in the safety of your bed so loudly the neighbours would be banging on the walls if they weren’t scared shitless of clint.

(the atrocities that I would commit to hear mr. tough guy moan know no bounds)

[joelsgoodgirl]

FIVE FEMALE FICTIONAL CHARACTERS

thank you @broad-shouldrs for the tag (look i'm finally doing one) also this was REALLY hard but these are the five women i will forever be feral for

no pressure tag: @starduustwhispers and anyone who wants to do this!

[joelsgoodgirl]

Beg Me

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Rating: E/18+ MDNI

WC: 1.9k+

Summary: Dieter lets you take control, though, he has no idea what he is truly getting himself into.

Tags: Dominant!Reader, Oral Sex (m receiving), Hand Job, Edging, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Mommy Kink, Cum Play, Praise Kink

A/N: I originally wrote this for Kinktober but never got around to finishing/posting it so...merry christmas in June??? I'm so feral for this puppy of a man so you're welcome also you're welcome for giving him a pierced dick. thank you as always to my wonderful beta @broad-shouldrs for dealing with my adhd writing muse. also thank you to @starduustwhispers for listening to my feral ramblings while i wrote this.

Your name leaves Dieter’s mouth in a desperate whine, his head lifting from the pillow before it falls back down in a broken “please.”

You’ve had your hand wrapped around his cock for barely ten minutes, languidly pumping up and down, keeping him on the edge of real pleasure. 

Another drop of precome beads at his tip, your thumb swiping it away as you tut at him. “I know you can beg prettier than that.” You coo, tightening your grip just a fraction. 

Dieter groans again, his eyebrows scrunching as his gaze darts from your hand on his cock to your face. Sweat has started to bead on his forehead from the effort of keeping still, his knuckles white from gripping the sheets so hard. 

He looks beautiful like this. You live for these moments– when he wants to slow down instead of immediately fucking you into oblivion. When he submits to you fully, allowing you to take control of his pleasure. You could come from the power trip alone.

His chest heaves with each unsteady breath, so close to finally breaking before you speed up your pace. “Oh god.” He whines, grateful for even the slightest bit more.

“Don’t come until I say so.” You mutter, your eyes boring into his. Your pace picks up more, just enough that you know it’ll build him up to the edge. 

His head falls back again, but just this once, you allow him to close his eyes. 

A soft whimper leaves your lips as his cock twitches in your fist, your grip tightening as you watch his stomach flex, knowing he’s trying to keep his hips from bucking up. 

He whines as his hips jump slightly, his eyes opening, dark and pupils blown, brown hair flopping over his forehead. “M-more- Please, baby, I need more.”

You squeeze his cock, his eyes meeting yours at the silent command. “You’ll take what I give you.” You smirk at him, twisting your wrist as you start to pump him again. Your thumb rolls over the piercing at the head of his cock, his entire body going taut as he gasps. 

Your name leaves Dieter’s lips again as he almost sobs, the head of his cock flushed and leaking. Your chest tightens and swells with pride, watching him be so good following your orders. 

Unable to help it, you mutter the words bouncing around in your head. “My good boy.” You start to twist your wrist with each upstroke, rubbing your thumb over his Prince Albert piercing again. “You’re doing so good for me. Just a little longer, okay?” 

Another strangled groan leaves his lips as his cock twitches heavily again, his balls tightening. “Baby-” A choked gasp leaves his lips again as his head arches back into the pillow. “Gonna make me cum.” He whines, lower lip almost quivering as his hips try to arch away from your touch. 

You know he’s close to reaching his limit, your body buzzing in anticipation. His cock pulses in your hand, and you know he’s about to come. You give him one more stroke before pulling your hand from him, smirking wickedly at him.  “Mmmm, not yet, pretty boy.” 

He almost chokes on a gasp, his cock slapping down heavily on his stomach. “No!” He whines, his eyes flying open to look at you. “What the fuck, babe?” He groans, his head falling back again. 

You narrow your eyes at him, taking his cock in your hand again. “Give me attitude like that and you’re going to regret it.” You start to pump him again slowly, his look of distress softening again. “Can you take it one more time?” You ask, checking in with him.

You rarely get to edge him like this– take your time and tease him. Dieter is a man of instant gratification, seemingly unable to wait for anything, including orgasms.  You’d taught him some patience at this point, but sex was one thing he was still a little selfish with. 

His breath comes out a little shaky before he nods, another deep breath through his nose. “Y-yeah.” He finally confirms verbally as he makes eye contact.

“Okay.” You say softly, pumping him a little faster again. “Being so good for me, being so patient. Such a good boy.” You lower your voice to a purr, the corners of your eyes crinkling.

His cock twitches with each of your praises, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. You can tell he’s close again, but he’s holding off as much as he can. “I-I’m close.” He gasps, his hips arching into your touch again. 

You pull your hand away again and he whines in desperation. “I know, baby. One more?” You ask, your brow furrowing pleasurably at the state of him. He’s sweating, dripping down the side of his face, his curls stuck to his forehead, pupils blown as if he’s taken a bump, his mouth slack with how heavily he’s panting. He looks gorgeous. 

He shakes his head, his hand coming up to push the sweaty hair from his face. “N-no more. It hurts.” 

 You shuffle between his legs, lowering your mouth to his cock, swirling your tongue around the head. He cries out, his hands flying to the back of your head as you take more of him. 

Swiftly pulling off him, you glare up at him as your hands wrap around his wrists to pin them to the bed. “Don’t touch. Just feel. You can come.” You thread your fingers with his, your features softening into a smile as he relaxes. 

You take him back into your mouth, your tongue running along the underside, taking him to the back of your throat. You blink up at him as he whimpers again, his eyebrows scrunched so hard it almost makes you laugh. You watch as his abs tighten, and you know he’s already close. You wanted one more edging from him, but you had a more devious plan already in the works. 

You back off of him, his cock leaving your mouth with a wet “pop” as the suction breaks. “You poor thing.” You coo cruelly, your lips barely brushing against the ball of his piercing. “Wanna come down mommy’s throat so bad, don’t you, pretty boy?” You feel him twitch against your lips, another heavy bead of precome pulsing from the tip. You have no idea where that had come from, but his positive response only fueled you further. 

“Please- I want- M-m-” He gasps, his voice breaking around the word he’s never used before. His head thumps against the pillow as he whines, long and high. “Please, mommy! Let me come, please, please, please-”

“Then come for me, baby.” You sink down on him again, taking him deep into your throat. The sound he makes is almost inhuman– a strangled, desperate cry that echoes around his bedroom. 

 His whole body tenses, every muscle locking tight as his orgasm finally crashes through him. You feel him pulse, hot and thick cum sliding down the back of your throat, swallowing around him as he shakes apart beneath you. You try not to choke around him, his hips lifting involuntarily as his cock slides further down the back of your throat. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you-” His chant dissolves into gasping moans as he spills down your throat, hips jerking as the final spurts of cum finally leave him. 

You pick up your pace immediately when he calms, sliding your mouth up to the head of his cock and sucking. Hard.

He cries out, half-pain, half-pleasure. “Wait- wait, wait, wait-” He tries to pull his hands from yours, legs scrambling on the sheets as he tries to move away. 

Your lower teeth catch on his piercing, tugging at it enough to cause a little bit of pain. He stills immediately, breath shuddering in his chest. You release one of his hands to wrap it around his shaft, pumping as you start sucking at his head again. 

He actually yelps, fingers gripping the sheets so hard you hear one corners pop off the edge of the bed. “Stop- please- I can’t-” His pleading is desperate, his voice rising to a pitch you’d never heard from him before. “It hurts, it hurts, mommy- please-” 

You ignore his pleading, taking him deeper down your throat as you suck harder, pumping faster and reaching to cradle his balls. His cry almost makes your ears ring, your pussy clenching and dripping around nothing as tears start to fall from his eyes. 

“PLEASE!” The word rips from his chest, raw and desperate. His cock throbs against your tongue, pulsing as he nears orgasm again. “No, no, no, no, I can’t- I can’t-” 

His begging becomes completely incoherent– fragments of words and broken sounds mixed with sobbing as you swallow around him, the tension in his body multiplying as he nears the edge. 

You hum around him, the vibration making his whole body jerk violently, and that’s all it takes. His second orgasm rips through him violently, his body convulsing so hard it makes you shake. 

His cock pulses in your mouth, and more spurts of cum jet from the tip into your mouth. You moan around him for added effect, closing the back of your throat to hold it in your mouth as you pull your mouth to just the tip of his cock. 

You slow your hand down as his body relaxes against the bed, opening your lips to let his cum drip over his cock, further lubricating your hand. He whimpers again, soft and needy and pained, going completely limp as you gently wring the last bit of pleasure from him. 

“Oh, my sweet boy. Did such a good job.” You praise him softly, the thumb of your free hand gently stroking his thigh while you languidly pump his softening cock. You play with him for a little while longer, watching as his cum mixes with your saliva, pooling in his pubic hair and dripping down his balls. Your core practically cramps with arousal, but you ignore it. Tonight is about him. 

He’s still for a long moment except for the heaving of his chest, his breath still coming in ragged pants. You release his cock gently, crawling up his body to settle next to him. “Hey.” You murmur sweetly, brushing his sweaty hair from his forehead. “You with me?” 

His eyes flutter open, unfocused and glazed from the aftermath. You watch as clarity returns, his expression shifting. The corner of his mouth twitches, and then he’s laughing, the way he does when he’s high on LSD and pot, carefree and giddy. 

“Holy fuck.” He manages, his voice hoarse and wrecked. “That was- Jesus Christ, that was intense.” 

You can’t help but grin back at him, satisfaction settling over you like a warm blanket. “Not too much?” 

“Fuck no.” He turns his head to look at you, and despite his deeply satisfied state, there’s that cocky glint in his eyes he wears like a crown. “That was exactly what I needed.” His hands come up to scrub over his face. “You’re fucking evil, you know that? In the best possible way.” 

“The mommy thing wasn’t too much?” You ask, your nose wrinkling a little as you giggle. 

“Nah, that was really fuckin’ hot, actually.” His cheeks tinge darker, embarrassment looking odd on him. 

You lean over him, your lips lingering against his cheek as you kiss him. “You’re really fuckin’ hot.” You tease, nipping at his cheek before pulling back. He catches your wrist as you move to get out of bed, rapidly shaking his head. 

“Come sit on my face.”