Jenni Pascal

Name: Jenni Age: 33 18+ blog main: jenniquinn

[msxjennipascal]

Zombie X Joel Miller X Reader

"Would you even want me, looking like a zombie."

Joel loved you, there was no doubt about it, but you always wondered something. What if you got bit? Could he still love you? Would he be able to kill you if it came down to it? But you knew the answer, he would.

It would kill him, but he would. So why were you wondering all this? Because you were hiding the fact that you got bit. How do you tell the man you love that he has to kill you? "Joel" you say and he looks at you.

He can tell by the look on your face that something was wrong. "What is wrong" he asks and you just back away holding your arm. He notices and he starts shaking "please tell me you didn't get bit".

You shake your head sticking out your arm. He notices the tears in your eyes and tries to be strong for you. "You have to shoot me" you tell him and he says his head. "No, I can't do that" he tears up.

You step closer "Joel, I love you and i do not want to leave you, but I cannot be one of them. I need you to do this for me". You watch him pleading "i do not want anyone to do this, you are the only one I trust even to even do this so please baby you have to".

Joel watches you and you can see the goodness in him fading away. You knew this will kill him and that he will never be the same. He lost his daughter Sarah and now he was losing you, the love of his life. You watch as he raises his gun. "Kiss me please, one last time" you plead.

He steps closer and kisses you before stepping away. I close my eyes and wait. Suddenly a gunshot rings out, and you fall to the ground. You lay dead and he falls sobbing. He hates that not only he could not protect Sarah but now you.

He sits there and raises the gun to his head. He wonders if he shoots himself if he will find you and Sarah. He does not know how to go on without you. And as much as he does not want to walk this earth without you, he knows you would want him to go on.

He knows in his heart this isn't what you would want hell he even knows Sarah would be mad, so he drops his gun crying. He hates it but he finds a nice place back in Jackson to bury you. He visits every day. But there is not a day that goes by that he doesn't miss you. He misses you more than he thought possible, but he gets through it, for you.

[pedroscurls]

broken souls (pt. 3)

summary: you reach your limit and make the hardest decision of your life.

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader content warning(s): MATURE (18+ MDNI), joel's bad at feelings, mention of child death, mention of self-medicating with pills/alcohol (*ahem joel), no use of y/n. word count: 4.1k a/n: y'all - writing this chapter had me in TEARS bc why did i even put myself through this? UGH, i promise there will be a happy ending to this all and just as an fyi we are doing a big time jump the next chapter (hint hint: jackson!joel). anyway, hope y'all enjoy <3 *italics are flashbacks* part. 2 - part. 4 || series masterlist. || read on ao3.

You wished you could say things got better, or that even things stayed the same. 

But they didn’t. 

It just got worse. 

Tommy lasted a whole three months before he decided to leave again. You could tell that it hurt Joel, even as Tommy sat the both of you down to let you both know that he was leaving—that he had overstayed his welcome. 

You tried to tell him that he didn’t, that it was nice knowing where he was, that it almost felt like before, but it wasn’t enough. 

Because he wasn’t looking to you for approval, for reassurance. 

Tommy needed to hear it from Joel. He needed to hear his older brother tell him that he could stay as long as he wanted, that it was better with him here, but Joel never did. 

And instead of trying to tell him that it pained him to see Tommy leave, Joel just snarled and agreed that he stayed longer than he should have. 

You had seen the look on Tommy’s face, could see the disappointment all across his features, could see the hurt. 

But you also had seen it on Joel’s face too. 

The way his brows furrowed together and the way his eyes softened just a fraction. He didn’t want to let Tommy go, but he knew that he couldn’t make him stay either. 

And ever since Tommy left, your interactions with Joel became less frequent. 

He even stopped sleeping in the bed with you. You’d catch him on the couch, pills and a half empty bottle of liquor in the table. 

You didn’t know how much more you could handle. You were exhausted trying to live like this—you loved him, you really did, but you weren’t even coexisting with him. 

It didn’t even feel like you were both roommates. 

It was like he wasn’t even aware that you were there anymore. 

And yet, he still got up every morning to do a job or go on a run with Tess. 

“Are you really leaving?” You asked Tommy. He hadn’t been with the Fireflies since he left the apartment, but you knew that he was trying to decide what his next move was. 

He shrugged. “I don’t know.” 

“Do you think we’d have survived this long if we never came here?” It had been on your mind for a while now. Boston was supposed to be different—it was supposed to be a different life than the one you were leading out on the road. 

Tommy shrugged again. “Do you blame me? For bringing us here?” 

You sighed. “We all made a choice, Tommy. You didn’t force us here. Joel made a choice. I made a choice.” 

“But it was my suggestion.”

“I don’t blame you,” you answered. “But sometimes, I do wish we never came here.” 

“Is he—is he still going out on runs with Tess?” 

You nodded. You knew you had nothing to be jealous about—Tess would never do that to you, but it still hurt knowing that he’d rather be out there with her than be with you here within these gates. “Honestly, I think he spends more of his time with her than he does with me.” 

Tommy sighed. “You know you’re always gonna be the woman he chooses.”

“I don’t know about that anymore, Tommy. These days… we don’t even talk and we live with each other. He doesn’t touch me. He rarely looks at me, and—” You felt your breath catch in your throat as you looked away. “If you leave… if you decide to go, what would you say if I asked you to take me with you?” 

He looked at you with slightly wide eyes. “I can’t do that. Joel will… he’d kill me.” 

“If you don’t take me… I’ll find my own way,” you mumbled. 

“You wouldn’t think of leaving him… would you?” 

Tears pooled at your eyes. “I love him, Tommy. I always will, you know that, but staying… it’s hurting me more.” 

“Have you tried talking to him?” 

You blinked your tears away. “Yes,” you answered. “You think I’d want to leave him if I didn’t at least try?” 

Tommy sighed. “M’sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t blame you for coming here, for being here in this QZ,” you interrupted. “But I do blame myself for not saying anything sooner.”

“Okay,” he whispered. “You can come with me… but just know, you’re gonna be breakin’ his heart.” 

You nodded. “But what about me? What if he’s already broken mine?” 

Joel stumbled into the empty apartment with a groan. His back hurt and he tossed the small ziploc bag onto the table as he went to retrieve the bottle of alcohol. He looked around, biting his lower lip in hopes that you’d be there, but you weren’t. He knew you weren’t. 

Ever since Tommy left, Joel started working more. He was putting his body through hell—going on runs and doing jobs everyday. He barely slept, but he also couldn’t bring himself up to coming to you either. 

And he knew you waited for him. You’d keep the bedroom door open for him, but he never did step past that threshold. It had been months since he held you in his arms, since he felt your body against his own. 

But he knew that it was taking a toll on you. When you weren’t looking, he’d catch the way your eyes glossed over with tears or how the pain and disappointment etched on your features. He wasn’t sure what hurt more—the fact that he couldn’t physically bring himself to hold you or the fact that he’d gotten used to seeing the sadness on your face. 

Joel kicked off his boots and sat back against the sofa, hand coming up to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was exhausted, and not just physically, but mentally too. Since his panic attack, he’d been trying to shift his focus on anything else. He’d also been relying on the pills he smuggled and the alcohol to cloud his thoughts and numb the pain he felt everyday. 

He pulled the note from his pocket—he had been carrying it around wherever he went: Whatever happens, we do it together. Like we always do. I love you, baby. 

Joel would read the last four words repeatedly. He read it over and over again until he felt his eyelids grow heavy. He moved to instead lie back on the couch, gripping the note close against his chest as sleep finally took over him. 

He just hoped that his dreams—or nightmares—wouldn’t wake him up for a while. 

“You don’t even want to go,” Sarah grumbled. “There will already be enough chaperones, dad.” 

Joel leaned against her doorway, watching his babygirl get ready for her first middle school dance. She would be going with friends—thank God—but Joel had been quick to volunteer to chaperone and luckily, you’d be right there with him to make sure nothing inappropriate would happen with Sarah. 

“Hey, I do want to go,” Joel said, arms crossed over his chest. “But I promise… I ain’t gonna bother you. It’ll be like I ain’t even there.” 

Sarah groaned. “You promise?” 

Joel smiled, watched her stand from her desk to grab her purple dress from the bed. “Yes, babygirl. I promise.” 

“But she’s coming too?” Sarah asked, voice a bit more hopeful now. 

“Oh, so it’s okay for her to go, but not me?” He teased, a smile curling his lips. 

“Well… she’s cool,” Sarah said, almost like he should have already known that. 

Joel narrowed his eyes. “You know, I raised you.”

Sarah giggled and turned to look over at him. “I know,” she said, dimples deep on her cheeks. “And I love you, but… you’re my dad.” 

“And that makes me uncool?” 

Her laughter grew louder. Joel loved the sound of it. His lips pulled into a bigger smile. 

“It makes you… not as cool as her.” 

Joel chuckled. “Okay, okay. I agree, she is pretty cool.” 

Sarah’s laughter died down, but she still had the large grin on her lips. “I gotta get ready. You do too.” 

“Ain’t gonna take me that long to put on a nice shirt and pants,” he shrugged. 

“Dad,” Sarah said, eyes narrowed and hands on her hips. “You have to look presentable. So… take a shower. Trim your beard. Wear some cologne.” 

“Fine,” Joel said. “Was gonna do all those things anyway,” he muttered. 

“Uh huh,” Sarah smiled. “Sure.”

Joel watched her with loving eyes for a moment before she disappeared into the bathroom. He sighed contentedly to himself—his babygirl was growing up. 

You hadn’t gone home yet because despite your conversation with Tommy, the thought of leaving Joel made you sick to your stomach. You had been with him all these years and to think that one day he wouldn’t be here because you chose to put yourself first made you feel guilty. How could you live without him? 

You purposefully stayed away from the apartment. You didn’t want to be there if he wasn’t there… and part of you didn’t want to be there even if he was. So, you walked the streets of the QZ. It had gotten worse through the years—regular civilians starving and working themselves to death just to have something to eat while FEDRA ran rampant, using their power as a way to manipulate, control, and oppress. 

You saw a little girl with her parents—bouncy curls that reminded you of Sarah. It made your stomach twist in knots. This little girl would only ever know of this world and the little girl you lost would never be able to see what you or Joel had become. 

You never had the opportunity to grieve Sarah’s death, and neither did Joel, but it felt different. You woke up every morning expecting to hear her voice and see her face. Even after all these years, you could imagine her so vividly and you knew there would come a day where you wouldn’t anymore.

And that hurt just as much as the thought of losing her. 

You knew she wasn’t biologically yours and that you only spent a few years with her before the world ended, but she changed your life. You looked forward to every morning and every afternoon spent with her—how easy your conversations were, how she relied on you for advice. She was the sweetest girl and it wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair. 

So, as you stared at this small family, you couldn’t help but think back to before. 

“You know,” Sarah said, her head resting on your shoulder as you both sat on your couch. Joel was late again—he’d been coming home late because of work lately. “Sometimes, I wish my dad had a different job.” 

You looked down at her. Your relationship with Joel had gotten more serious ever since you both confessed that you loved each other, but you understood his need to work more. It was all for Sarah—he’d give her the world if he could. “Yeah? What kind of job would you give him?” 

“One where he stayed home,” she whispered with a sigh. “And don’t get me wrong… I love spending time with you.” 

You smiled and wrapped your arm around her shoulders. “I know, bug. It’s not the same, and I understand that.” 

“What about your parents?” 

You sighed. “They’ve been gone for a while now.” 

Her eyes widened. “Oh shoot, I’m so sorry. Here I am… complaining about my dad working late when your parents aren’t even here—”

Your eyes softened. “Hey, it’s okay. You didn’t know, but I get it. They worked a lot when I was younger too.”

Sarah sighed. “Did it get any easier?” 

You shook your head. “It drove us apart, actually… but that’s where my parents are different than your dad.” 

“And how’s that?” 

You tapped her nose gently. “He doesn’t want to work late,” you answered. “His job isn’t his priority. It’s his responsibility, yes, but if he had it his way? He’d be right here with you instead.” 

Sarah bit her lower lip. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” 

“If he could take time off from work, you know he would.” 

She sighed quietly. “Can I spend the night?” 

You smiled softly. “I thought that was the plan, no?” 

You felt her relax in your arms and snuggle closer to you as you reached for the remote to play a movie. “When you and my dad get married… I think my life will be complete,” she yawned. 

You laughed quietly and ran your hand up and down her back, feeling the weight of her against you. “Yeah? That would be okay with you? If me and your dad get married?” 

Sarah grinned sleepily. “Of course it’d be okay with me. I can’t wait. You’re gonna be the most beautiful bride.” 

“You wanna be my maid of honor?” You whispered. 

Her eyes shot open. Brows lifted upward in surprise. Her grin grew and her dimples deepened. “R—Really?” 

“Yeah, bug.” 

“Yes! Yes!” She smiled, wrapping her arms even tighter around you. “I love you, you know that? I know you make my dad happy, but I hope you know that you make me happy too.” 

“I love you too, Sarah,” you answered with a small smile. “Now get some sleep. I’ll let your dad know that you’ll be here tonight.” 

You heard a loud pop pop pop, pulling you from your thoughts. Your eyes were wide as you looked to the sound of the gunshots, watching FEDRA gun down who looked to be someone the Fireflies painting one of the walls. 

When you’re lost the darkness, look for the light. 

Your jaw clenched. You couldn’t join Tommy. The Fireflies wasn’t a group you wanted to be part of because when you turned back to the small family, you watched the little girl bury her face into her father’s shoulder for comfort. In her eyes, you were sure she believed there were no good or bad guys. 

So, you decided that you were going to leave on your own. You didn’t know where you were going to go, but you knew you couldn’t stay here anymore. 

It was late by the time you stepped foot in the apartment. Joel was already on the couch, arm draped over his eyes. You looked at the table and let out a sigh—pills and liquor, a sight you had gotten used to seeing. 

You didn’t want to wake him, so you walked quietly down the hallway and into the bedroom. You grabbed your backpack and began filling it with necessary items that would help you once you were outside the gates. You hadn’t realized that you were making so much noise until you heard the sound of his boots against the hardwood floor. 

You didn’t stop. You kept packing your bag until you heard his voice. 

Deep, gruff, and so familiar. 

“What are you doin’?” 

You didn’t answer him. 

“Hey,” he called out, stepping further into the room. This had to have been the longest conversation you had with him in a very long time. “S’late. Are you preparin’ for a run with Tess?” 

You kept packing. 

Joel took another step towards you until his large hand touched your arm. 

That simple touch made you stop. 

Slowly, you turned to look up at him. Tears were brimming your eyes. 

“I’m tired, Joel,” you whispered. “I—I’m tired.” 

“Then, go to sleep,” he mumbled. “You can do all this tomorrow.” His hand dropped. Joel moved back like he remembered maybe he shouldn’t have touched you. 

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” 

He cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

“I want you to tell me that me being here is enough, that you still love me, that you’re hurting just as I am… I want you to just talk to me,” you pleaded. It was your last ditch effort to give him another chance—another chance to be open with you. 

“M’fine,” he muttered. 

Your heart stuttered. Your stomach dropped. 

“You’re not fine,” you said quietly. “You know you’re not fine so—so stop lying to me and stop lying to yourself.” 

Joel sighed, jaw clenched as he stared at you. “The world is fucked and I’m doin’ my best.” 

“You’re slowly killing yourself!” You blurted out, tears now streaking down your cheeks. “I am watching you numb your feelings every night and it hurts. I am hurting.” 

He looked away from you. “M’sorry—”

“I was there that night too,” you interrupted. “I—I saw what happened. I was there.” 

“Don’t,” Joel snarled, turning his gaze back at you. You hadn’t ever seen that look on his face before—at least not directed at you. “Don’t you fuckin’ say her name.”

“I miss her too,” you sighed. “You think I just forgot? That I just stopped thinking about her? You weren’t the only one who lost her, Joel.” 

“She was my daughter!” He yelled. “Mine, not yours.” 

You felt your breath catch in your throat. You took a step back from him as you gripped your bag tightly. “I know,” you whispered. “But I loved her like she was mine,” you added. “You knew that. You knew she knew that.” 

“You ain’t her mama,” Joel spat. 

“I was the closest one she had,” you argued. “And when you were out late, working, who looked after her? Who did she come to when she got her period for the first time? She wasn’t just yours, Joel… she was ours,” you continued. “She was mine just as much as she was yours, so don’t you dare take that away from me!” 

“Were you there when she cried every night and the only thing that helped was rockin’ her in my arms? Were you there when she took her first steps, said her first word, cried on her first day of kindergarten?” Joel’s eyes filled with tears. You knew that was the first time he had talked Sarah since losing her.

“That’s not fair,” you mumbled. “I—I only moved in when she was already—”

“You may have been there for the last four years of her life, but you weren’t there for the rest of it,” he said, anger clear in his eyes now. “You don’t know what it’s like—having your babygirl die in your arms the way she did,” Joel whispered, voice trembling. “So, if you want to go, if you want to leave, then go. I ain’t stoppin’ you.” 

“Joel… why can’t you just tell me you love me anymore? Why can’t you see that I’m trying so hard to fix this, to fix us?” 

“It can’t be fixed!” He shouted, shaking his head as he moved his hands to his hips. “It’s not enough, baby,” Joel felt something catch in his throat because he knew what this meant. He knew there was no coming back from this. “Our love—it ain’t enough to fix this. I cannot be fixed—I can’t be healed from this. I lost Sarah and everything else with it.” 

You looked at him, chin trembling as you started crying. Tears continuously trickled down your cheeks. This felt like a final goodbye—a broken heart that was never going to be healed. 

As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t even blame him for what he was feeling. 

You just wished you were strong enough to stick around. 

“I love you too much,” you whispered, staring at him intently and taking note of every inch of his face because you were sure this was going to be the last time you would see him. Behind his facade was a man who was once happy, filled with so much love, and the man you were looking at now… was void of it all. “But I can’t stay here, knowing that one day you might not come home.” 

Something in Joel cracked. Out of instinct, he took a step forward but stopped himself from moving any further. He felt his heart breaking, felt his stomach turn uneasily at the sight of your tears, at what this conversation meant. He wished he could just tell you to stay, that he could try and become the same man you had fallen in love with, but he couldn’t. 

He lost a part of himself when Sarah died and he was certain that there was nothing that could bring that back. Not even you. 

And Joel didn’t want you to leave, but he knew you deserved better.

Better than him. 

“Then go,” he whispered. 

“God, your parents are so in love… it’s kinda gross,” Sarah’s friend said, staring at you and Joel who were on the dance floor and swaying to the music. 

Sarah watched the both of you with loving eyes. She wanted to agree with her friend, wished she could feel embarrassed by it, but instead, she felt pride. 

Her parents. 

You and her dad. 

Publicly dancing with each other at a middle school dance like no one else mattered. 

This was what Sarah had seen in so many movies and now, she had the opportunity to experience it herself. 

Because you were her mom more than anything. 

“I think it’s sweet,” Sarah finally said, looking at her friend with a smile before she began walking towards both you and Joel. 

“You’re gonna embarrass your daughter,” you teased, looking up at Joel who kept his eyes on you. 

He shrugged and kept you close to him. “I’m just dancin’ with my girl.” 

“At a middle school dance,” you added. 

“Ain’t no one else dancin’.” 

You laughed quietly. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” 

Joel smiled. “I’m crazy about you, baby… and if that makes me ridiculous, then so be it.” 

You leaned into him. Your eyes flickered to his lips before you looked back up into his eyes. “I’d kiss you right now if we weren’t in front of so many middle schoolers, including Sarah.”

He rolled his eyes. “I think she wouldn’t mind.” 

“No?” 

“In fact, she thinks you’re cooler than me, so I’m sure whatever you wanna do, she’d be okay with.” 

“You just want a kiss, don’t you?” 

Joel smirked. “What? Me?” 

You laughed quietly and leaned up to lightly peck his lips. “Gotta keep it PG… don’t want to be setting an example of what these kids can do.” 

“Oh, of course, smart,” Joel smiled, pecking your lips repeatedly before he pulled back. “I love you, darlin’. Thanks for comin’ with me.” 

“Well, I came for Sarah… you’re just a perk,” you teased. “But I love you too, baby. Always will.” 

Sarah came into view, causing both you and Joel to look down at her as you both stopped swaying. 

“Sorry, babygirl—”

She shook her head and wrapped both of her arms around the two of you. Joel glanced at you with a furrowed brow before a smile curled your lips and you moved one arm to wrap around Sarah. Joel did the same, now the three of you holding onto each other as the swaying continued. 

“This is the best day,” she whispered. “My friend called you my parents… and I didn’t correct her,” Sarah said softly, looking up at you and Joel with hopeful eyes. “Is that okay?” 

Joel cleared his throat and looked at you. He didn’t want to scare you away, so he wanted to let you answer first. 

He felt himself relax when he saw you smile. 

“Bug, as long as I’m the cool parent, I’m more than okay with it,” you said softly. 

Sarah giggled. “Of course you are!” 

“Hey,” Joel mumbled. “M’right here.” 

You and Sarah laughed quietly before you both stared over at Joel. “Is that okay with you, dad? That—that they think she’s my mom?” 

Joel nodded without hesitation. “If that’s okay with you, babygirl, then it’s more than okay with me.” 

You felt your stomach flutter with butterflies as you leaned in to kiss Sarah’s temple. “Love you, bug.” 

Sarah pulled back to look up at you. “Love you too.” 

Joel smiled to himself. He never wanted this moment to end—he was sure that he’d never be as happy and as content as he was than in this moment with you and with Sarah. 

Joel heard the front door shut. 

It wasn’t until it was finally quiet in the apartment that he finally allowed himself to break down. 

He failed Sarah. 

And he failed you. 

He was better off alone. 

What Joel didn’t know was that you leaving didn’t mean that you were going to stay in a different apartment in the QZ. 

Instead, you leaving meant leaving Boston entirely. 

taglist: @yourfavoritecrime @joelmillerpascal @sunnytuliptime @kungfucapslock @kellyxo1 @pascalgold @anheloamores @bhoomayy @girlbloggerlg @canonisoptional @spacelatinos4life @picketniffler @jothenurse91 @smiithys @re-ginny @kakiki3 @vickie5446 @millerdina

[time-for-my-weekly-spanking]

hey bb ❤️❤️ I'll wish you a happy birthday properly when the time will come 😌😘

I love the way you write sub Joel, and i was wondering... may i suggest a sub Javi 👀 just the thought of him whimpering makes me weak 🫠

i was thinking maybe narcos era, at the brothel? 😍 (but if you prefer an established relationship, or a co worker situation, i'm all in too!)

thank you love 🥰🥰

Hi Honey! thanks for taking part in my silly little event, I'm so glad you did 🥹 And this request!!! downright delicious 🤤 I felt a little bit insecure about domming him for obvious reasons but in the end I had so much fun making a sub out of this man 🤭

I tried my best to give you a whimpering needy mess and I really hope you like it 😏

Love you dearly, you're such an amazing person and friend 🥹🫂

so here you go...

Good boy - sub!Javier Peña x dom!f!reader

Rating: Explicit, MDNI WC: 5,4K Summary: Javi is a regular at your brothel. He's always been dominant, but after a particularly tough day, he discovers, thanks to you, that letting go of power can be helpful for releasing tension and leaving worries behind, at least for a while. Tags: sub!Javi, grumpy!Javi, soft dom!reader, reader is a sex worker, not described besides wearing a red dress and lacy lingerie and having pussy and breasts, initial failed sexual approach, massage, Javi is a tough nut to crack but we’re going to dom the guy 🙂‍↕️, everything is done with consent even if Javi grumbles a little at the beginning, spanking, light edging, handcuffing (Javi is tasting his own medicine 🤭), protected p in v (use of a condom), oral (both f and m receiving), rimming, facesitting (we're riding his mustache, yeehaw!), 69, nipple play, doggy style position, pet names, condescending tone (a lot of it hehehe), sorry I didn’t use Spanish, I’m really bad at it, maybe some feelings are lingering between them but we’re leaving them unlabeled. A/N: When Milla sent this request I was a little bit nervous because Javier seemed harder to make a sub than Joel (I’m so comfortable with my grumpy old man being a good boy 🥰🤭) but actually, inspiration came pretty quickly and I was so excited! Milla, I hope I did a good job and that my Javi makes sense to you, even if I'm not so used to writing him, while you're really great at it ♥️ Thanks for sending me this lovely request, I had a lot of fun and I’m glad to have added Javi to my little collection of sub!PPCU characters ♥️ And huge thanks to @aurorawritestoescape for being my lovely beta, your opinion always means a lot to me but it meant even more in this case 🥰 English is not my first language, any mistakes is still on me! I really hope you like it, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated!

dividers by @/diviniyae

MASTERLIST | DRABBLE FOR V’S BIRTHDAY MASTERLIST

Javi is so pissed off tonight. You didn’t ask what happened, he never talks about his job anyway. He’s some kind of agent but you don’t know shit about details. He carries a gun and handcuffs, and he has a badge that you only ever saw fleetingly peeking out of his shirt pocket. At least you know he gave you his real name.

Something went wrong for sure because he hasn’t said a damn word since he entered your room, he’s smoking like a chimney even more than usual, his shoulders tense, his lips curved downward. He didn’t kiss you right away and didn’t wrap his strong arms around your waist to pull you close as soon as he saw you standing there in your pretty dress that shows off your cleavage and your legs.

He just sits there with rage painted all over his face.

“Javi…” you try to call him but he’s all in his head and doesn’t hear you.

He takes another cigarette from the pack and lights it up, throws the lighter on the bedside table, inhaling a long puff and absentmindedly blowing out the smoke.

You stay quiet, sitting on the bed next to him.

He huffs and pinches his nose, grunting something you don’t understand.

You wait longer, giving him space to get back to his senses.

“Maybe we should fuck now,” he mumbles at some point, putting out yet another cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table.

“You sure? We can sit here in silence all night if you need that, I don’t mind”

Javi is one of your best clients, he never treated you like a whore, never made you feel like you didn’t deserve respect even when he fucked you rough, calling you his little slut. Whenever it came out of his mouth it was arousing more than degrading, unlike from many other men. Javi is mindful of you, he takes time for aftercare, kisses you gently and hugs you after pounding into you like a man possessed, your face pressed into the mattress and your ass up, spitting on your wet dripping hole.

“Yeah. I’m sure,” he gruffs.

“Okay…so…how do you want me?”

“Take off your dress and lie on the bed”

You do, slipping out of your pretty red dress you bought thanks to his last payment.

He straddles you, still fully clothed except for his shoes that he took off when he entered and his holster that's lying on the bedside table now.

His face is still upset, he’s not focused on you, and you can see that.

His hands start roaming your body, fingertips running down your chest, pinching at your nipples through your bra, weighing your breasts in his palms. He squeezes them, like he’s trying to keep himself grounded but you can clearly see how absent he is as if he were a million miles away from your room.

He doesn’t even look at you with the usual “I want to swallow you whole” expression he always has on his face whenever he touches you, his eyes wandering somewhere between the headboard and your pillow, right above your head.

It’s not working at all.

“Javi…”

“Let me do my thing,” he snarls while he’s desperately trying to connect with his feelings. His hands feel like someone’s else’s, hasty, trembling, inattentive.

“It will never work. And this is not your thing, this is bullshit,” you observe.

It doesn’t turn you on. It doesn’t even make you feel a little shiver down your spine and that’s very unlikely for Javi.

He’s great at fucking.

His cock is still soft beneath his pants.

You fear he’s about to yell at you but Javi drops his arms to his sides, sighing.

“Fuck, you’re right,” he admits, his lips twisted into a grimace.

There’s too much crowding in his head, you know that. He never failed to get hard as a rock as soon as he started touching you.

“It’s okay, babe, you need to relax and clear your mind,” you suggest.

“Yeah…you have some ideas how to do that?” His voice is more skeptical than you expected, almost ironic.

“Actually, yes, I have an idea,” you reply firmly.

He raises one of his brows at you and you feel a little offended. He doesn’t trust you? What’s with that?

“Let me try…” you propose and he grunts again, moving from above your body and sitting up on the bed.

As much as you don't like his attitude, you sit behind him and begin massaging his shoulders, speaking to him in a gentle tone. Prodding him and responding in kind wouldn't do any good now, you would only make him more tense and angry. And you know better than that.

“You had an awful day, am I right?” you softly whisper in his right ear while your hands move to his back, feeling strong muscles contracted beneath your fingers. It's as taut as a violin string. You work on a knot, trying to untie it, while he replies, annoyed, "Calling it awful is an understatement."

Jesus, he’s such a grump when he wants to be.

“I’m sorry about that, is there something you wanna talk about?” You offer and he says no.

Of course. He’s not sharing any detail with you tonight either.

“Okay fine, Mr Agent…think you wanna get rid of this shirt?”

“Yeah, I can do that.” He unbuttons his pink shirt and throws it on a chair next to your bed.

You place your hand back on his shoulders, his body hot and lightly sweaty from the outside heat.

You massage some more, enjoying the feeling of it under your palms, caressing over his scars and freckles scattered across his amber skin.

His tension starts fading but you can still see his jaw clenched and his neck vein bulging.

“So I was thinking…what if you let me take the lead tonight and make all the decisions for you?”

“You think this will work?” He chuckles mockingly.

Javi is definitely a dom. He usually comes to you two times a week and he is the one in charge every time you have sex.

You fucked in every position, he called you every sort of names and pet names, he took your pussy and puckered hole more times you can count, he licked and rubbed and sucked and bit every inch of your body.

He never dropped his power, though.

“I think it will,” you coo, trying to make it sound inviting for him. “Think about it, you lie here and you let me do all the work, the only thing you’ll do is cum for me. Isn’t that great?”

“Um…” he mutters, “I’m not sure, I like being in control.”

“Well, you’ve never tried it… you make decisions all day, right? You face danger all day, even, isn’t that true? Maybe you’ll find that giving up power is nice. Therapeutic, even.”

He chuckles, not looking at you, but a more relaxed, amused expression appears on his face, his eyes softening.

“Well, your pussy has been therapeutic many times. But I don't know how much it would help me now… control makes me feel safe,” he confesses.

“You can trust me…You know me, I won't do anything you don’t want.”

Silence fills the room for a while. Javi is thinking, you could swear you hear his brain working and considering his options.

He didn’t get hard in the slightest, despite your half naked body ready for him to play with and the both of you are aware this is a problem.

He sighs, dropping his shoulders in resignation. “Okay, let’s try”

“I bet you’ll enjoy this,” you coo, tracing his neck with the pad of your fingers, caressing the soft skin over his pulse point.

“You need a safe word, just in case,” you say and Javi smirks “you’re taking it so seriously.”

“Well, it’s serious, told you I don’t want to do anything you don’t want.”

His lopsided smile dances on his lips and he replies, “Bogotá.”

“Ok. Finish undressing for me. You can keep your boxers on for now,” you order, taking over the mantle. “Lie down on the bed when you’re done.”

He gets up to undo his pants, under your watchful gaze. He lowers them to his ankles and takes them off, placing them on the chair next to his shirt. Underneath, he’s wearing tight black boxers that accentuate the shape of his cock. It’s still soft but no less imposing. Javi is thick, long, slightly curved to the right, tip darker than the rest of it, a little cute happy trail and a thick bush of dark hair at the base that he keeps neat and trimmed. In two words, downright delicious. One of the most beautiful cocks you’d ever seen. You know it well by now, know every way to drive him crazy.

You know he loves being the center of attention, loves feeling you gurgle around his shaft, you know he always squirms when he feels the back of your throat, and you know every grunt he makes as you suck his tip. You know he loves making you come with his mouth, licking you and fucking you with his tongue while he keeps you trapped on the bed, his hands digging into your thighs. You know he loves hearing you beg for him and call his name, you know he bucks his hips on the bed to relieve himself, too impatient to wait to be inside you, but he always hold back before he explodes because he loves doing that deep inside your pussy, even though he’s wearing a condom, and you'd always been adamant about that. You'd allowed him the extra-thin ones because you, too, love feeling his throbbing veins against your walls.

You know when he’s about to come and his jaw goes slack, his mouth agape, his eyes shut tight and his whole body tense with a last thrust that makes you wail.

You know he loves taking you from behind and play with your tits sometimes, and he loves to suck on your nipples when you’re under him.

He loves making you come over and over again while he presses your toy to your clit and works his way inside you with two or three of his thick fingers, scissoring and rubbing your special spot.

Always in control, always deciding what you two have to do, always taking the lead, aware of your body and what you like.

He’s becoming more than a client to you. You won’t make the mistake of dreaming about something romantic, you don’t really know who he really is outside this brothel. Knowing a person sexually doesn’t mean you are aware of his every nuance. On top of that, you never trusted a cop. He feels quite different from the others though, and you know how much he’s struggling now, the storm raging deep in his chest and you’re more than willing to try to calm him down.

“On all fours, darling,” you order.

Javi looks at you as if you’ve said something crazy, that skeptical eyebrow still cocked.

“What’s the matter? You want to disobey your mistress already?” you challenge him, hands on your hips, your chin proudly raised, your eyes shooting at him.

His jaw tightens, he doesn’t say anything, but you can see on his face how much he doesn’t like being bossed around. He’s a tough nut to crack. But that doesn’t scare you; in fact, you love a challenge.

He reluctantly climbs onto the bed, positioning himself as you commanded.

“Good boy” you beam and his neck snaps, looking back at you, fire in his eyes.

You know he wants to say something but you hold his gaze boldly and he bites back his words.

You can’t deny that you're enjoying teasing him, in fact, you indulge in it, adding, "Pull up that cute little ass, I want to see it properly."

He grunts, bending his elbows on the mattress, lifting his hips.

You hear him mutter, "This is ridiculous," thinking you can't hear him.

But oh, you heard him so well.

“Mmm that attitude needs to be fixed, I think you deserve being spanked,” you tell him “how does that sound?”

He nods, still not quite sure what he's doing.

You move closer to the bed, placing a hand on his ass cheek, caressing it over his boxers, before lifting your palm and letting it fall into a spanking as hard as you can.

“Fuck!” He lets out “this hurt!”

“Wanna use your safe word already?”

“No,” He answers stubbornly. You know he doesn't want to look like a crybaby. He's a tough guy, a cop, he chases criminals.

He can survive a couple of spanks from you.

He tries to change position, lowering his hips a little bit and you scold him “Nuh huh, none of that, stay still for me”

He grumbles in the back of his throat but does what you say.

You wait for the pain to turn into tingling and heat, and then pleasure, before doing it again. The second spank lands harder than the first.

Javi lets out another grunt, gritting his teeth, until his jaw slowly begins to unclench. He's still tense, but less so than before, and he's finally focused on you.

The third spank makes him moan, no matter how hard he tries to hold it in.

“Mmm start liking it, huh?” You gush and he finally falters “maybe… yes”

You giggle at his admission. “I knew that, sweet boy. Let’s see how sore you got”

You slowly pull his boxers down to his ankles, revealing his reddened skin underneath. “It’s not bad, but we can do better.”

You spank him again right after and despite his snarl, he’s getting hard.

You can see his cock swelling and starting to rise and your mouth water.

“Here you go…” you comment grazing it with your fingertips “see? You’re doing so well, baby”

Javi is stiff, not giving away how much he likes it and you’re not surprised. It’s his first time being a sub.

He sees other sex workers, you know that, but you’re pretty sure he’d never done this before.

“I…fuck, yeah, it’s working, give me more”

“Mmm haven’t heard the right word, baby…”

Javi rolls his eyes.

“Go on with this attitude and you’ll get nothing” you cross your arms over your chest, waiting.

“Please…” he mutters.

But you’re not pleased yet.

“Say it again. Louder.”

“Please!”

“That’s better” you nod and spank him again.

He moans again, more eager than before. He sounds needy, and you like it.

Beads of sweat are glistening on his back, you bite your lower lips at the thought of how he might taste now.

It’s not time yet, you want him desperate and begging you like he means it.

“You can lie down now,” you order.

His ass cheek is flame red and a little swollen, he groans when he changes position.

Your room is dimly illuminated, it always is, cozy lamps on the side of the bed to create some atmosphere for your clients. You wish it was brighter tonight, too see him better, to catch his every squirm, his every change of expression.

He waits, lying on your sheets, still panting slightly.

“Roll on, now, let me see that pretty cock.”

When he turns you can see how hard he is, his impatient tip is leaking, his veins engorged, you can see him itching for you to touch it, to have some relief.

You smirk, cooing, “aw, look at that, you need some help, baby boy? Want me to take care of your pretty cock?”

He nods and says “Yes. Please.” Good thing he doesn’t dare reach for his cock with his own hand.

“You’re a fast learner. Good.”

You sit on the bed and take his cock. He hisses and you know he’s trying so hard not to buckle his hips, you can feel the tension in his body. You’re stroking him, slowly and gently.

You smile “don’t move, pretty boy. You’re going to take what I give to you. And no more bossy attitude. I’m the boss here, is that clear?”

“Yeah,” he surrenders “it is.”

Javi is finally yours to play with. You lick your lips.

“Where are your handcuffs?”

“Right pocket in my pants.”

You get up and he cries at the loss of your hand on his dick, which makes you smile proudly while taking the restraints out of his pocket.

You return to the bed, holding them with two fingers and swinging them.

“Do you have the key for these?”

“Yeah..” he mutters, already squirming on the bed for what you’re about to do.

“Okay. So, wanna try?”

“I… yes”

“Yes? Think you’re ready?”

“I am… yes”

You smile, reaching for his arms, bringing them above his head, slightly bent so that his wrists are joined. When you handcuff him, Javier shivers at the cold metal closing over his skin.

“Tasting your own medicine, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t say anything but you can see need painted all over his face and his cock is impossibly hard.

You taking full control is arousing for him even if he isn’t saying it out loud.

You’re going to make him. The thrill of the challenge goes straight to your clit, a wave of pleasure runs through you and dampens your panties.

Panties you wore especially for him, lacy and black with a little red bow and a matching bra.

You know he likes them.

His eyes are wandering over your body, they’re darker and filled with lust.

“You look so perfect like this…all nice and ready for me.”

You take back his cock in your hand after spitting on your palm and start stroking him slowly again, making sure to graze every throbbing vein, deliberately avoiding the tip.

Javi twitches, handcuffs clanking, his hips involuntary buckling, biting down hard on his lips to try to hold back his moans.

“Aw let out those pretty sounds, honey,” you purr, speeding up the pace of your hand. “I wanna hear how much you’re liking it.”

His velvety skin slides up and down, lewd and squelching in your hand, his thickness filling it completely.

He looks at you desperately, watery eyes, mouth agape but still silent, until you graze his tip, gathering his precum, smearing it al over his shaft. And then Javi moans. He moans once, twice, three times in a crescendo, sounds bouncing off the walls of your room.

He never moaned before, he grunts, he grumbles, he calls you baby and slut and filthy bunny, sometimes he uses Spanish, but he never moans.

And you’re loving the sound of it.

“Oh baby, look at this pretty cock, all drippy for me, you need your mistress to make you feel better, don’t you?” You beam, pitiful and condescending the exact same way he does with you.

And he begs. “P-please, please make me cum,” his voice cracked and hoarse.

“Mmm not yet, darling…I know, it feels good to be at my mercy, doesn't it? Yeah, look at this mess you’ve made, you’re so wet…but you’re gonna cum when I say it, like a good boy. You wanna be good boy for me, yeah?”

His tip is swollen, red and angry under your touch, as you’re swirling your finger on his slit, spreading precum all over, grazing the underside of his cock from time to time, pumping him so fast you’re pretty sure he’s on the edge.

You lower your face and kitten lick his slit and Javi whines so hard you get even more wet, panties ruined, the material stuck to your folds that reveals the shape of your pussy.

You stop right before he cums and he whines, he whines like a baby who lost his favorite toy.

“Told you it wasn’t time yet, honey” you shrug and he grumbles. You giggle, caressing his sweaty cheek “awww baby, don’t be upset, you just have to wait a little bit, you know. You don’t want me to stop playing with you, right? Tell me if you do.”

He pushes a “no” out of his lips, shaking his head.

“Yeah, you want more, I knew it… give me a kiss”

You lower towards him and gently leave a peck on his lips, before diving in and pulling him into a deeper kiss, his neck craned, his body shivering asking for more attention. His mustache deliciously rubs your upper lip, his tongue frantically search for yours, your lips perfectly fitted together.

He tastes like smoke and whiskey and something uniquely his that always makes your knees feel like jelly.

He’s so good at kissing.

Many men are too hasty, some suck too much, bite too much, drool too much. He does none of that. His lips are slightly chapped sometimes but still inviting, luscious and incredibly skilled.

With him, kissing has become one of your favorite foreplays, and it never was before.

You break the kiss to look at him, his eyes are shiny, the crease between his eyebrows is deeper, his lower lip trembles to have you back as he mutters “why?”

“Because… my pretty boy…” you smirk, your hand yanking at the hair on the base of his neck, “I got a nice a idea.”

He looks pretty pathetic at the moment and you’ve never seen him this way before but it’s so pleasing, as much as you love him being a dom.

You take off your panties and throw them next to him, then stand on the bed, straddling him. Javi is confused, not knowing what to expect. At the same time, he can't take his eyes off your wet pussy. You wink at him and whisper, "You're going to enjoy this," before advancing towards his face.

A glimmer of realization lights up his eyes, and he smiles saying “yeah… pretty sure about it.”

You lower your hips until they're an inch from his face, your naked pussy just above his lips and nose. "Say you want nothing more than my pussy. Say you’re my slut tonight.”

"I-," he hesitates, his domming part still resurfacing “I want…”

“What? Say it out loud,” you instruct him.

“I want nothing more than your pussy, please. I’m your slut tonight,” he says it all in one breath, a frown on his face, perhaps afraid you might have second thoughts. You don't think he's ashamed of being submissive anymore, not when he's so close to your cunt, not when it's practically dripping all over him and a small flick of his tongue would be enough to taste you. It's funny, now he sees it as a reward when all the other times he'd order you and you'd silently comply.

“I’m glad to hear that, sweetie, you’re such a good puppy,” you praise him, smiling mischievously.

A second later, you lower yourself, covering his face.

His tongue doesn't wait, darting out and beginning to greedily lick your folds.

“Fuck! Your tongue was made for this” you purr, in absolute ecstasy.

His mustache tickles your skin so deliciously, offering extra stimulation, and now it’s your turn to moan loudly. He feels so divine, you can’t help it.

He licks down your slit and moves up again to your clit, taking it into his mouth.

You would love for him to take a handful of your ass but he can’t and judging by the way he’s wiggling his tied up wrists he wishes he could touch you more than anything. Seeing him struggle is hot. You peek behind your back for a moment and his cock is still hard as a rock, leaking profusely. Your mouth waters at the sight, eager to put it back between your lips.

“Jesus…” you breath at him sucking on your clit, his lips sealed on your bundle of nerves, he grunts against it, sending a wave of pleasure through your body, goosebumps erupting on your skin.

Your hands are anchored to the headboard, your hips rocking into his face, pressing down, his nose soaked in your juices, his whiskers glistening, your essence sliding down his chin.

“Just like that, puppy, keep going - GOD - make your mistress proud.”

His eyes are closed but you can tell he’s so focused on you now, like nothing else.

You knew you had some tricks up your sleeve and they’re working perfectly.

His tongue is now fucking your dripping hole.

“That’s what you needed, huh? You needed my pussy to make you feel better?”

He groans against you and you tease him even more “yeah, I know, darling and it’s - FUCK - it’s your lucky day, cause I’m thinking about taking your cock back in my mouth since you started.”

You detach from him to turn around, getting rid of your bra, wantonly whispering “yeah, we’re gonna make a 69 out of this” and the way he cries at the loss of you makes you even more eager.

He’s so enthralled by you he can’t even reply, he just whines and moans pathetically.

He now has your puckered hole on full display along with your pussy and you know he couldn’t have asked for any better.

He gets to use his mouth again, lustfully swiping between your two holes, his flat tongue lapping at both, your hips swaying just right, pushing into his face.

You lean to take his cock back into your mouth, moaning on his shaft, taking as much as you can in, just the way you know he likes it, gurgling a bit until your jaw adjusts and his tip is hitting the back of your throat, your nose grazing at his bush.

He’s a whimpering mess, the metallic sound of the handcuffs has grown louder, he's so desperate to touch you that for a moment you consider freeing him. You miss his hands gripping your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, leaving bruises that you chuckle at in the mirror the next day.

But not yet. Thinking of this, you raise yourself slightly, holding his cock at the base with one hand, sucking the pre-cum from its tip, one of your hands caressing his balls, gently squeezing them, your nipples grazing his tummy and giving you that extra thrill that’s making your head light.

He’s thrusting his tongue into you as you drip all over his face.

Your orgasm builds in your lower tummy, you’re right on the edge as he’s rimming your puckered hole and then he reaches your clit again and that’s what sends you in a rapture.

You cum so hard your voice cracks as you wail and push your hips down into his face.

He doesn’t stop, licking your folds, guiding you through your peak, your whole body shaking against him, your hands fisting at the sheets underneath you.

“God… this was so fucking hot,” you moan, trying to regain your normal breath, lying down on his lap, your cheek resting on his leg.

He stays quiet for a while, just waiting for you to calm down, your fingers lazily drawing circles on his hairy thigh.

“Please…” he begs “please make me cum, please.”

“Aw, darling” you purr, before reaching for his cock again, running your tongue over his throbbing veins. “You wanna cum so badly, aren’t you? Wanna cum in my mouth, pumpkin?”

He just mumbles with a throaty voice “pussy… p-please” and you giggle “that’s what I thought”

You reach for his pants again, rummaging through his pockets for the key and return to the bed to remove the handcuffs. His wrists are red and his arms must be numb. When you remove them, he rubs his wrists, letting out a small groan of pain.

"Poor little thing, you were so good...” taking his wrists and kissing them.

“You deserve a reward," you concede, leaning closer and licking the tip of his nose. You take a condom from your drawer and open the wrapper. Javi looks at you impatiently, hungrily, full of desire. You expertly unroll it over his still hard cock.

“Here you go baby, now move behind me, I want you to fuck me in doggy…your favorite.”.

Javi immediately gets up, settling into the position you ordered and finally his hands fly to your hips, gripping them, as he lines up with your entrance, your pussy fluttering right before his eyes.

“God, you’re so beautiful” he says, almost barking.

“Show me how good you are, pretty boy,” you tease.

He pushes the tip in, starting to stretch you out, inch by inch, even though you're so wet he could fit in one quick thrust.

He usually makes you beg, because he knows how much you love feeling him sink slowly inside you, feeling his shaft stretching you and your hole welcoming him, swallowing him whole.

You feel his hips shaking with need until he can’t hold it back anymore and he buckles into you, making you gasp when his tip hits your gummy spot, the one that always makes you see stars.

“Christ…” you moan “move. Move for your mistress, baby, fuck me hard”

And he does. He starts to roll his hips, reaching your special spot again and again, thrusting into you so deeply only moans are coming out of your mouth.

“I need to feel your tits, please, please I need it so bad” he asks, not smugly, not cocky, just softly as a puppy who begs for his prize.

You get up, your back against his sweaty chest, as he immediately grabs at your breasts, filling his palms and starting to knead.

“Holy fuck, yes, yes baby, touch me, play with my nipples” you urge.

His fingers pull and pinch and twist your hardened buds, while his cock keeps thrusting into you, his balls slapping against your ass.

“Fuck me, Javi, come deep in my pussy.”

He lets out an animalistic growl and one of his hands flies to your clit and starts flicking it, while the other one keeps feasting on your tit.

“You’re gripping me so hard…” he moans and bites down on your skin, leaving a mark where your neck and shoulders meet.

“It’s so fucking good… so good for me, baby mmm cum for me.”

He’s been holding back so much he explodes as soon as you give him permission and you can feel his cock twitch hard inside you, his tips kissing that spot again and another orgasm mounts in you as he spams desperately into your soaking wet pussy.

“I’m about to come…” you rasp and his hand keeps working on your clit, his fingers pinching your nipple and his cock ruts into you until you clamp down on him like you’re trying to choke his cock, your juices running down his length and onto his balls.

You collapse down on the bed, out of breath, exhausted, his weight pressing you against the mattress, his dick still deep inside you.

He pulls out and sits up to carefully remove the condom, ties it up, and throws it in the wastebasket next to the nightstand.

“Come back to me, pumpkin” you whine “hold me tight.”

He does, pulling you close and embracing you, your head resting on his chest as he strokes your hair and leaves little kisses on your forehead.

You stay like this until you come down completely from your peak, and his chest stops rising and falling rapidly beneath your head.

“So, what do you think? Is it that bad to be my sub?”

“No, I have to admit…it was nice… and it helped, my head is clear now…only full of your pussy…” he jokes.

Whatever problem he had is so far away from him right now and you couldn’t be more happy.

You laugh, raising your eyes to meet his.

His face is relaxed and he’s smiling beautifully.

“You should smile more often, it looks good on you” you tell him softly, stretching your neck to kiss him.

He chuckles right on your lips. “Maybe I should, at least when I’m with you.”

You don't know what the two of you are, you don't know what you feel right now, and you don't want to analyze it, label it, and ask for more than you can get from him.

You are sure of one thing, though. Javi is a man of few words, always has been, but you know how to get him to say the right ones.

[msxjennipascal]

[paulyenvol6]

Distraction

More Din smut hehe....

Din comes back after a long, exhausting day and feels too tense to give you any attention. So you make it your mission to be impossible to ignore.

Contains: smut, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, praise kink, dom!din, brat-ish reader, dirty talk, pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess, babygirl), dom/sub dynamic, slight power imbalance, light degradation, fingers in mouth, mentions of violence (non-graphic), reader is needy & desperate, soft aftercare, established relationship, no use of y/n

Wordcount: 4,771

Masterlist Wanna be on my taglist?

Din practically rushes into the Razor Crest that day, his heavy boots dragging across the floor in a way that makes you sharpen your senses.

"Din?" you shout over your shoulder and rise to your feet to welcome him.

"Don't ask…" is the first thing he barks in your direction, plopping into a chair while you raise your eyebrows in concern.

"Are you alright?"

He only went out to do some miserably paid job for a smuggler today, so you didn't expect him to be that exhausted when he came back.

"Yeah. It was just… a fucking mess. The guy… I shouldn't've trusted him. He made it sound like it was just one guy who barely had any guards with him, but guess what… Had a whole fucking army."

"I'm sorry, Din…" you whisper and take his hand, which he quickly pushes away.

"It's fine. I just gotta calm down. Jesus… I should never work for smugglers again. They just rip you off."

"Can I do something for you?" you ask and sit down as well, crossing your legs while your boyfriend reaches for the map that's spread across the desk.

"No. I just… I'm just gonna focus on this. It's gonna distract me. I'm serious, I'm fine. Just – angry."

"Yeah, but I could help you too. Distract you… you know?"

You mischievously lift the corner of your mouth, but unfortunately it doesn't have the desired effect on Din. He just tilts his head to the side, the blinking red lights of the defense installation reflecting in his visor.

"It's fine. You don't have to."

"I want to, Din, really, I – "

He cuts you off by raising his hand, then points to the map in front of him.

"I said it's fine. Just… I don't know, go to bed. I'm okay."

Although you respect his wishes, you stay with him, hoping that your breathing isn't going to bother him and stress him more than he already is. Fortunately, he doesn't complain about your mere presence, though you feel frustrated regardless. On a normal day, he probably would have already swiped this stupid map off the desk and fucked your lights out. He claims he's alright, but he doesn't act that way, which irritates you.

"How was your day?" he asks after half an hour, lifting his gaze from the map for the very first time. You jump at the sound of his voice, eyes big as they take in his hands that are bare by now. Good, at last a first sign of calm nerves.

"Okay. I fixed the cooling system."

"Good," he wheezes and glares back down while you try to figure out what to make of this interaction. With his helmet on and even his voice distorted, it's always hard to read him. And then, this is just his personality. Not talking a lot, especially not about his emotions. Telling you to back off when you're positive he needs you most. But how are you supposed to help him when your priority is respecting his boundaries and avoiding annoying him further?

"Din?"

"Mhm?" he snorts and doesn't move a muscle.

"You have a wound on your wrist."

He twists his left hand, then stares at you. "It's nothing."

"Let me take care of it. Please." You add that little word because you know what it does to him. In addition to the plea you put into your voice, you have a good feeling about convincing him to grant you that freedom in no time…

"Fine. But it's not necessary. It's just a small cut."

You pretend you don't even hear him as you walk over to a cupboard where your medications are stored. He is right, it's really nothing more than a small wound that doesn't require any special attention, but on a day like that, you seize any opportunity to get closer to him, physically as well as spiritually.

"How did it happen?" you ask while you sit back down, shifting closer to him to take a look at the crust.

"I don't even remember…" Din sighs but offers you his arm willingly.

"Does it hurt?"

"No."

You smile and then lean in to kiss his helmet like you usually always do when he returns. You haven't done it tonight, and you have felt the consequences strain on your shoulders. He doesn't jerk back or protest, which causes relief to bubble in your stomach. When his hand roams up your back, briefly brushing against the fabric of your shirt, your lips curl and you start to think that everything might just be alright in a matter of seconds. Perhaps after you have cleaned the wound…

"I'm gonna go after this motherfucker, by the way. He owes me after this mission. He basically paid me nothing. At least compared to the shit that I did for him."

He forms a fist with his right hand, which gives you a great view of the massive size of his palm, his beautiful bulging veins. Fuck, you really haven't picked a good day to be so horny given that Din seems entirely elsewhere with his thoughts today. The only question standing in the room is whether or not he's going to remember the desire he normally feels for you after a long day.

"Are you gonna do that tomorrow?" you ask carefully while applying some disinfectant to the wound. He sharply inhales through his teeth but doesn't stop you.

"Probably. Depends on if he's still in his shithole or has fled the planet. We'll see."

"What are you doing with the map?" you want to know next and put the bottle back down as you're finished with the simple task.

"Just figuring out our route. Thanks… Can't be too safe with those cuts…"

You smile faintly and sit down, though you have no intention of ending the conversation you're holding with your boyfriend.

"Din?"

"What?"

You let a second pass before you grab his hand and slowly bring it to your face. Slowly, so that you can see his posture shift in real time.

"Sweetheart…" Din grunts, his fingers curling against your cheek just a tad.

"Please…?" you mutter and put all the despair and hope in your lingering gaze.

"Please what?"

"Please be with me… I need you." You hope that he knows in what way you need to be with him without having to spell it out. However, his body doesn't tell you if he knows what exactly you have in mind.

"Baby, I need to finish this stuff."

"But can't you do it tomorrow?"

At that point, the misery and pathetic yearning in your tone are of no concern to you. You know Din well enough to be comfortable wearing your feelings on your sleeve and telling him just how desperate you are for an ounce of his attention.

"I gotta know where to fly us, don't I?" he groans, gently pulling his hand away from your face, which causes your shoulders to slump.

"Please. I missed you all day."

"Babygirl, you know that I wanna make you feel good, but I can't do it right now. I got work to do."

"And would you let me? Make you feel good?"

Hope briefly flickers in your eyes, but then it vanishes as quickly as it appeared. Din shakes his head slowly and determinedly places your hand, which has awkwardly hovered in the air, in your lap.

"Just go to bed. You need your rest, sweetheart. And I have to focus, I can't be distracted from this, alright?"

Your lips involuntarily pucker, round eyes setting on his visor where a few inches below he's hopefully feeling a small amount of pity for you right now.

"But can I stay in here at least?" you breathe, finger twitching in his direction before you remember how cruelly he has just shoved your hand into your own lap. Instead of his, goddamnit.

"Okay. But please be quiet, baby, okay? We can cuddle later. But not now."

You nod weakly, although Din is already busy with his stupid map again, which he studies manically. You wonder what could even be mildly interesting about it. Sure, the ship needs a route and his way of earning money requires good planning, but you don't understand why he can't just do it another day, and why the two of you can't stay on this planet for a little while.

The city is big, there are many people who are looking for guys just like Din, and salt is cheap here. Once he has made a little more money and you can trade it on the black market for more of it, you might be able to sell it on Coruscant for a fortune. If those weren't good prospects.

"Alright, sweetheart…" he suddenly sneers, which prompts you to whirl around so suddenly your head spins.

"C'mere."

Lips parting in surprise, you don't react immediately, which makes Din sway his head to the side.

"You don't want to?"

"N-No, of course, I – Yes, I want to."

You smile brightly and move closer again, but once you're in reach, you realize that he hasn't specified what exactly he wants you to do, so you questioningly cock your eyebrows upward.

"Spread your legs. I'm gonna take care of you, but I still need you to be silent. Not quiet, silent."

As he tips his head toward the map, it hits you and you draw a deep breath.

"Yes, I – I can do it."

So he's going to touch you the way you crave it, but he's not going to give you his full attention. It's better than nothing, you find, and part your thighs like he has told you to.

"Spit in your palm," is his next command, harshly slipped past his lips so that it rather resembles a bark.

"Aren't you gonna…" you begin but bite onto your lip, watching his shoulders tense.

"Sweetheart… Do it. Or you're gonna have to take care of it yourself."

Okay, so you are playing with fire. Before that, you have been unsure whether you can permit yourself to get a tad more playful with him, hoping that his mood is going to brighten throughout the evening, but it seems like you're walking on glass around him tonight.

After Din has commanded you to open your pants, and you have obeyed his demand, you bring your spit to your pussy, smearing it all over your folds as best as you can while twisting your wrist like that. Only then does he take action for the first time.

"Come here," he snarls, keeping his eyes on the map but beckoning you closer with his hand. Once you do, he instantly finds the front of your pants as though the heat of your core has attracted his hand, and it has a magnetic effect on him.

He slips his fingers past the waistband silently, doesn't grunt or hum at the warmth of your cunt, doesn't inhale at the wetness coating your hole and doesn't praise you the way he normally does. Obviously, it's disappointing, but since Din still makes use of his talents, your brain is too distracted to get lost in your frustration.

"Ohh," you pant and immediately rock your hips against his hand, feeling the fat pad of his thumb press up against your clit. He circles the nub with such remarkable precision that you wonder how he manages to look at and understand the map, twist his hand in a way that must hurt, and find all the right spots at the same time.

But Din has always impressed you, and he continues to do so every single day you spend with him. The only thing bothering you is his silence, even though you pray that he might grow more vocal the longer he keeps his hand snug between your thighs.

"Din. Owww fuck. Yes…"

You place your elbow on the table, resting your cheek on your palm while he dives deeper to tap his middle finger against your hole. The fabric of your underwear is tight around his hand, giving him not much space to move, but by using some force, he is able to wander around your pussy effortlessly.

"Din. Din, fuck, yeah…" You probably look pathetic wincing and squirming in the chair like a madwoman, meanwhile your boyfriend couldn't have looked any more indifferent to the way you squeal and pant.

"Sweetheart…" he grumbles, sounding somewhere in the middle of annoyed and warning, but in your state of ecstasy you're unable to distinguish between the two.

"Please."

You don't know what you're asking for. Right now, for him to touch you where it burns, where your clit throbs until the tension is gone, but in the big picture, perhaps for him to give you more. Maybe to at least look at you while he fingers you so that you feel a bit more like he enjoys this too and doesn't just keep his hand between your legs to shut you up at last.

"F-Feels good," you stammer and place your hand over his wrist, rolling your hips in circles to meet his touch and show him where you most need him. Fuck, you wish he would at least acknowledge you and not utterly ignore what you have to say, no matter how brainless it may be. At least he huffs through his nose, though you can't tell whether he's referring to the big map in front of him or your relentless wriggling.

When he sinks two of his digits inside you, your toes curl and you can't help but stretch your legs away from you. You descend lower in the chair, arching your back, but Din just continues with his finger work as if he doesn't even notice any of your little reactions. Well, you can't be sure that he doesn't. He seems so focused on this map that you believe he might just be elsewhere with his thoughts, and his behavior isn't just a façade.

He's knuckles deep inside you now, gently scissoring you open while his thumb rolls around your stiff bundle of nerves. You have no idea how he does it blindly and from this angle, but to you there is no difference at all from how it feels normally. When you don't sit half behind him and his eyes aren't transfixed on his desk.

"Din…" you cry out and paw at his wrist, feeling the urge to drop your head to his arm to create more physical contact, but you're too scared that he will stop.

"Din, please."

He still shows no reaction. You could have slammed your brow on the surface of his table or scratched up your nails.

"Ohhh shit. Ah – Ah, fuck…"

He twists his fingers so delicately and perfectly that you involuntarily jerk, pressing your lips together to stay quiet before he's going to remind you to stay silent again. His thumb is so big and warm, much larger than your own, and it shows in the way he rubs tight circles over your clit. He touches you where it pulses uncomfortably, but at the same time, he doesn't overwhelm you. The pleasure always lingers right on the border of being too much, yet he never crosses it. You seriously don't know how he does it, if he just knows your body that well or if these are simply his instincts driving him to change the angle at the exact right time.

"Din," you choke out again, tugging at his hand to squeeze him closer against your core.

"Shh… I said quiet, sweetheart," he whispers. He probably thinks that his words are going to have an efficient effect on you, but what his voice does to you isn't something either of you could have possibly anticipated. His low, raspy tone sends shivers down your spine, your view blurring as you draw a heavy breath through your parted lips.

"Huh. Oh fuck. Oh fuck, Din, fuck…"

His fingers hit you deeper, creating a steady rhythm against your cervix. He doesn't hurt you, nor does he lifelessly thrust them back and forth, but once more, seems to know where he needs to nudge his pads against.

From the corner of your eye, you see his left hand curl into a fist, which has previously moved the card around. You presume that it's a good sign, but his divine swipes across your pearl don't give you the time and concentration to analyze his behavior further.

You're just about to moan his name again, the syllables already bubbling in the back of your throat, when his touch is gone all of a sudden. It's only now that you realize your eyes are closed.

"N-No," you whine, blinking a few times when there are two hands on your waist, dragging you to your feet.

"Fuck it," Din groans, moves you over to the desk faster than you can process, and the next thing you feel are his massive hands opening your legs.

"You fucking know what you're doing… don't you?" he hisses darkly, cradling your face with his left hand while his right frees his cock from the restraints of his pants. You faintly feel satisfaction and arousal coil in your stomach, but you can't bring yourself to entirely taste the full extent. You feel too surprised, and your head is still spinning too fast from being hoisted to your feet so rapidly.

"You wanted this so badly, right? Wanted to distract me…"

Moving his left hand to your thigh, he trails the tip of his cock through your folds, gathering your wetness while you turn to jelly on top of the desk.

"I need you, Din…" Your hands loosely run up his armor that he has yet to take off. The surface has a cooling effect on your palms, still, you wish he were naked instead so that you can kiss him, feeling his muscles pulse under your flesh.

"I know you do. Didn't try to hide it, mhm?"

His cock enters you in one swift motion that causes your eyes to widen. You can't see it in his face, but based on the way he halts and rubs soothing patterns over your skin, you know that through his harsh demeanor your well-being is still his priority that outshines everything else. Even while he takes you roughly, and even while he's a little pissed at you for bringing chaos into his evening plans.

"That's it, sweetheart… Right there, mhm?"

You want to mewl as he connects his hand with your lower belly, gently pressing into your stomach.

"You're driving me fucking insane, do you know that?"

"I'm sorry…" you whisper and dip your head forward so that it can rest on his shoulder while he steadily drives his length in and out of you.

"I know you are… It's okay. You just can't help being a little slut for me sometimes. It's not your fault…"

You convulse at his words, lips agape and eyes half closed. His thumb on your clit, which you haven't even noticed to be there until now, presses into you harshly, building up more and more pressure until you shriek and jolt, which evokes deep panting in him.

"I know, baby…. I know. So responsive, isn't she?"

You paw at his strong arms, lips pursed as though you're mad at him for something, but in truth, you just want more of him. There is a hunger in your tummy that can never be slaked, no matter how many times he fucks his seed inside you.

"What is it, sweetheart, mhm? Are you mad at me for not taking proper care of you earlier?"

"N-No," you stutter shyly and glare down to where both his dick and his hand are working on you. You feel spoiled and finally taken care of, yet there's something missing and you can't make out what it is. Perhaps it's the many layers of clothing hiding him from you. There are so many that you don't even feel like starting to undo one button after the other because you know that by the time you're done, the two of you will probably have already reached your orgasms.

But when Din suddenly works two fingers inside your mouth, you flinch and feel your pussy clench around his manhood.

"There she is… Suck on them, baby. That's it, look at me."

You struggle to focus on so many things at once, staying still for him, twirling your tongue around his digits and keeping your eyelids open, which is why at times, you have to make compromises.

"No, baby… Eyes up here. C'mon, or I'm gonna have to stop."

You obey immediately, whimpering around his fingers, which earns you a light slap on your clit.

"Just suck on them… Suck on them like a good girl. You can do it. I know you can, princess."

The tears start to flow not soon after that, but Din is already used to the sight. You always cry at the smallest things, the stories that your boyfriend tells you about the criminals he has arrested, especially when it includes a separated parent and child, tales you read about in books, and even insignificant things such as a cute animal on the street. He knows that in 99% of the cases the salty drops coating your skin are not linked to discomfort but rather an intemperate longing to be with him, which is why he doesn't stop, though he slows down a tad, cradling your face in his palm.

"It's okay, baby… It's okay. I'm right here. And I'm gonna be here until you tell me to let go. Not any sooner than that."

You snivel, bringing your hands to the side of his helmet to yank him closer.

"It's okay…"

The top of his head is resting against yours, and although the feeling of the cold fabric couldn't have been further from his warm skin, you feel a special amount of intimacy while leaning against him like that.

"Do you wanna cum for me, sweetheart? I know that you're close… Can feel you clench around me. You can cum, baby, I'm right here."

"But I don't want it to stop…" you mutter against his fingers that are still stuffing your mouth full.

"But it has to stop at some point, baby. You need your rest."

"No I don't," you protest and give his digits a hard suck, hoping that it might cause other, darker desires in him. Some that involve your lips wrapped around his cock, perhaps.

"Yes, you do, princess."

"But you're gonna work on your stupid map all night. And I don't want that."

Your lips are forming a pout now, more tears stinging in the corner of your eyes, and this time, Din can't be certain that these are just a result of being doused with love and yearning. Therefore, he stops his thrusts, although he remains buried inside you, his thumb hovering an inch over your hard clit.

"Okay, hon, I promise I'm not gonna work on the map tonight. Not until you fall asleep."

"And after that?"

Fuck, you're smart. Sometimes he forgets how smart, especially when you give him your pretty doe eyes and wide, blissful smile.

"I might work on it after you've fallen asleep. But you're not gonna notice any of that, baby, I promise. You're gonna be sound asleep, I'm just gonna be away for a little while and then come back to bed. I'll hold you until you've dozed off."

He removes his hand from your mouth to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear lovingly, then brushes his knuckles over your cheekbone.

"No. Then I won't cum," you hiss, brows drawn together.

Din is so close to snapping at you that he has to take a beat to inhale. He's lucky you can't see his facial responses because he's sure that the lines around his eyes and mouth are hard and stern, a view that might either upset you further or prompt a new wave of tears to cascade upon you. None of those options were very desirable to him at the moment.

"Sweetheart…"

"No. I will only cum if you promise me you won't work on the stupid map today. I wanna be with you, Din… Please. You've been away all day, and I – I just missed you so much. You always work, and you – you're busy and – and stressed."

There are a thousand explanations and justifications suffusing his brain, but he knows that none of them are going to calm you, let alone satisfy you. You're not in the right state of mind to be reassured by reason but by the patience and steadiness he wears like a second skin.

Another glance at your quivering lips, as well as the way you grip his shoulders, tells him all he needs to know. This isn't going to work the way he wants it to, and if he wants to fall asleep peacefully later, there is no way around giving in.

Screw it. The two of you can stay on this planet another day. The delay is worth preserving the peace, especially because he knows how bratty and stubborn you can get once you've worked yourself into a frenzy.

"Okay, baby, I promise. I won't touch the map again tonight. I promise you, I'm gonna cuddle you to sleep, and then I'm gonna stay with you. How does that sound, mhm?"

Finally, your face lights up, and he can spot brief surprise around your pupils.

"Yes, please… Yes, I want that."

He can't help the way his lips tilt upward, peace settling in his stomach just like it surely does in yours. If this isn't worth maintaining the balance, it's definitely worth regarding the joy etched into your features. How could he have possibly forgotten that?

"Okay, baby… Then cum for me. It's okay..."

After giving you a few more slow rubs around your bundle of nerves as well as gentle nudges against your g-spot, you unravel for him, just like he intended.

Part of him guesses that he could have made you climax anyway, and that you don't really possess the willpower to resist the urge to control your body as you claimed, but everything is easier like that. You surely would have thrown a tantrum, being driven over the edge by his nimble fingers without settling your deal with him first.

The second you reach your high, you collapse on the desk like a sack of potatoes, which is why you don't even realize or complain about the fact that Din hasn't spilled his seed inside you. Instead, you almost instantly fall asleep on the spot, so if it weren't for his arms slinging around your back, you might have hit your head on the hard surface.

"Shhh…" he coos in your ear and holds you up against his chest, listening to your breathing.

Fuck, you really are adorable like that, all hot-tempered and stubborn until his feather-light touch on your clit puts you into a coma-like kind of state.

He carefully pulls his cock out of you, tucks himself in, and then pulls your pants up your legs. His dick is still rock hard and strains under the confines of his underwear, but that's an issue he's going to take care of later. Or more likely, in the morning.

Before he can even consider taking any action to solve his problem, he carries you to bed, lying you down on your back and covering you with the blanket. The idea of leaving you to get some more work done flares in his head for a very quick moment before he discards it and takes his place to your left.

No, a promise is a promise. Even when you would never find out the truth. Besides, he suddenly doesn't feel like being alone in the dark, cold room anymore at all. He would much rather rest as well, being snuggled up against your warm body and feeling you pressed up against his front.

There is his straining dick in his pants, of course… Maybe it was a mistake not cumming inside you, but he was too focused on bringing you there safely and holding you through the aftermath, so his personal pleasure has been pushed to the margins.

Tomorrow, he thinks, possessively sprawling his hand out on top of your stomach.

Fuck, you're so incredibly warm and supple, the ground below Din shifts, and the following thoughts slip away before he is able to catch them.

[paulyenvol6]

@bbyanarchist @pleurspetal @armandispunk @katyispunk @mytearsricochetm @msxjennipascal @itsalovelylife @umadirectioner @hhjhgdaiqoqoan @magnificentbluebirdninja-blog @manuymesut @anqieluv @sarahhxx03 @severelysentientnova @madhatter-97 @illicitloves @stylesIfreak @laneyemm @slutforabbyanderson @quitchie @callmebyyournick-name @howlnwoolf @harriedandharassed @slxyquxxn @squeakowl @stillriri @arxia-8 @littlenicpascal @misstokyo7love @mxkhxx @speaktothehandpeasants @classybroad2 @gabymalikk @maliaslcver @fertilise-me @starkleila @thescxrpio @timeladyrikaofgallifrey @shewants7 @speaktothehandpeasants @nutbutterjellie @junescorner @elenamoncadaibarra @oneanddonelol @loveday1219 @ashleyfilm @brittmb115 @empresskatarina-blog

[fullmoonlovestuff]

Behemoth! Teaser

Bye...

[lady-bess]

JESUS HAVE A DAY OFF PEDRO I CAN'T TAKE IT

[kokoluwie]

so much hands...

[msxjennipascal]

[paulyenvol6]

Two Double Knots

Based on this wonderful request, enjoy :))

This is about Joel x autistic reader and I don't really know if I did a good job because it's my first time writing about an autistic reader but I really hope you're going to like it!!

Contains: panic attack, anxiety, angst, autistic reader, reader is neurodivergent, sensory overload, overstimulation, meltdown, comfort, crying, sound sensitivity, first time doing something scary, established relationship, soft!Joel, fluff, Jackson setting, Joel pays attention

Wordcount: 4,805

Masterlist Wanna be on my taglist?

You sat silently by the table, your spoon stirring the porridge Joel had prepared for you.

Five times clockwise, five times against the clock… The food looked nice and it tasted good as well, but you couldn't quite get over the fact that Joel and you had run out of maple syrup as you usually added a tablespoon on top.

"That's a lot of stirring."

You looked up at the sound of his voice.

"Is everything okay?"

"No. There is no maple syrup," you answered and tilted your bowl to show him proof.

"I know. I prepared it, sweetheart."

Your jaw locked, teeth grinding, which made a muscle next to your mouth feather.

"Breathe, darlin'… Breathe for me, c'mon."

You followed his advice and had to admit that it felt good to fill your lungs with that much oxygen whereas your panting had felt shallow and flat just a moment ago.

"Are you nervous?"

"About what?"

Joel leaned back in his chair, sipping on his coffee, which caused a delicious nutty scent to spread through the living room. You loved the smell of that inky liquid, but you detested the taste, which was why your mug was filled with cinnamon tea.

"About patrol."

"No, I'm not. I'm prepared. I talked to Tommy about everything, I know what route we're gonna take, I have all my stuff packed. Why should I be?"

You scooped up a spoonful of porridge and brought it to your lips.

"I know. You're prepared, darling, and there's nothin' you have to worry about. But I was askin' about how you're feelin'. About how fast your heart's beatin'… If there's any pricklin' or tinglin'."

"Oh," you made, taking a beat to go within yourself and analyze your emotions like Joel and you had practiced together many times before.

"I think I am a little," you replied in the end and ate another generous spoonful of porridge. It did taste better over time once you stopped thinking about what you could have had if there had been any maple syrup left.

"That's okay. Can you tell me how bad it is?"

"Mhmm… a six maybe?"

Joel nodded in understanding, then reached for your free hand, which you allowed him to grab. He drew soft circles over your wrist, which always made you smile gently as the sensation bordered between a tickle and pure tenderness.

"You don't have to go if you don't want to. No one's gonna be disappointed if you don't do it."

"I know," you said, shrugging. Joel had repeated it many times, and so had Tommy and Maria and quite literally every person you had spoken to about it. And you had talked to many people. Obviously to every single person accompanying you today during your first patrol, as well as other seasoned members of the community who you had hoped could give you some advice. So yes, you knew that you could just stay home if that was what you wanted.

"But I wanna do it, Joel. I need to do this on my own."

Something about his stance irritated you. He looked at you like he felt sorry for you, like you were heading right to your personal downfall but just didn't know it the way he did.

"I know, sweetheart… I'm just concerned about you, you know?"

"There's no reason to be concerned, Joel," you answered, looking at your bowl, which you scraped out in order not to let a single oat flake go to waste. You needed the strength for the long day.

"You know that I'm well-prepared, I spoke to Tommy, Maria, Arthur, Jane, Lily, Ny and George. And I had a lot of training."

"I know all that, baby," Joel whispered and squeezed your hand, which made you look at him at last. "I'm not concerned about you not having the skills to do this. 'Cause I know you do. But what if you get overwhelmed? Or if it's too much and you – you won't have me around to help ya."

Your upper lip twitched while you avoided his dark eyes. Sometimes, you liked looking back at him, when there was something deeply grounding and comforting about the color of his eyes. It was somewhere between a dark brown, but there were also green particles. Other times, it was too much, too intense to feel them on your face, like you were staring straight at the sun without any sunglasses. Exactly like right now.

"There is a chance that this is gonna happen. But I – I wanna do it. I wanna be brave and we – talked about taking risks. Breaking routines sometimes. And this is why I need to do it. Without you. Just on my own."

"I'm proud of you, darling."

Your gaze flew back to him, but it settled on the space between his eyebrows, as it was easier for you to focus on, you had learned.

"I'm so incredibly proud of you."

"Thank you," you whispered, squeezing his hand back firmly.

"Just promise me you're gonna take care of yourself. And talk to Tommy when something's triggerin' you. He'll know what to do. Not as well as I would, but it's better than nothin'."

"I know what to do too," you immediately claimed, causing Joel's smile to widen.

"I know you do, sweetheart. I know you're tougher than any of us, which is why these feelings that I have are so irrational and stupid. But do you know what they mean?"

Your brain worked hard, trying to figure out what the answer to his question might be, but when you had ruled out the option of him being unaware of how good you were able to take care of yourself, you shook your head.

"They mean that I love you. A lot."

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, your mouth curling automatically and your stomach fluttering like it always did when Joel said things like that.

Phrases that normally had a similar effect on your body were You look beautiful as well as You're the most important person to me. He had said the latter only twice to you so far in your relationship, but you had kept it in the back of your mind after your toes had so relentlessly curled and you hadn't quite been able to breathe steadily.

"I love you too," you whispered and bit down on your bottom lip while Joel lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it.

"I like when you do this," you then admitted and excitedly tapped your feet on the ground.

"Yes?" Joel murmured and touched your hand again and again, on your knuckles, your wrist, your fingertips until you felt like you were about to explode from all that happiness bubbling in your stomach. You laughed and grinned at him, watched him spoil your hand until your cheeks hurt, and then Joel dropped it again carefully.

"I hate that you're gonna leave," your boyfriend spoke while he stood up and carried his and your bowl to the kitchen sink.

"I'm not leaving," you scoffed and grabbed your cup that you always drank from after your breakfast. You hated it when different flavors mixed, which was why you also always ate one type of vegetable and one side dish after the other.

"I'm coming back at 5 o'clock. Maybe even 4, but Tommy said he can't always plan the time exactly because it depends on if everyone's gonna be on time and if there's gonna be any trouble on the route."

"I know," Joel uttered while he started cleaning the dishes. "I just hate that you're not gonna spend the day with me here. I'm gonna miss ya, sweetheart."

You blushed again. Right, you always reacted to that phrase as well, but it wasn't as profound as the other ones. There was just a little bit of warmth surging into your face, maybe some tingles in your fingertips.

"I'm gonna miss you too… Do you think it was a mistake?" You sat up straight at once, curiously looking at the back of his head.

"Goin' on patrol?"

"No." You shook your head.

"Well, what do you mean then?" Joel asked.

"I meant going without you."

He sighed heavily, putting down the sponge and leaning over the kitchen sink to look at you.

"Of course I would've liked to come with you… Selfishly. But objectively, I think it's the best thing to do."

"Why?"

"'Cause you told me that you wanted to do this on your own. That you wanted to go on patrol without any assistance, without anyone treatin' you differently. And I think it's a good idea to try new things and take on that challenge."

"Yes…" you murmured, scrunching up your nose. "I did."

"You wanna give me a kiss, sweetheart?"

Your lips contorted as you processed his words, hands impatiently drumming on the table.

"Yes."

He tasted like coffee, which you enjoyed. Sure, you didn't like drinking coffee for the taste, but somehow it was a different case when you could sense the hint of that nuttiness on his lips.

When Joel pulled back, he put a hand on your face, cradling you gently.

"I love you so much. And I know you're gonna do amazing."

Joel stirred his coffee, the second one today. He had wanted to wait for you, so that the two of you could sit together while you told him all about patrol, but he had begun feeling tired in the afternoon.

He peeked at his watch again, taking in the slowly moving minute hand. It moved too slowly for his taste.

Joel had planned on fully trusting you, sitting back and calmly waiting for you to come back, but at this point, he couldn't deny feeling nervous. Not that he wasn't convinced you were doing a good job. But goddamnit, he knew you, and there was always something unexpected that could happen on a patrol. And since you weren't always able to handle surprises so well, he found his anxiousness to be justified.

By the time the clock struck 4, Joel tensed up visibly. From now on, he might hear the door any second. He poured himself a second cup of coffee to distract himself, then stood up to circle the table.

4:12. Shit, what if it took until 5? How could he possibly wait until then?

By 4:28 Joel started setting the table and heated some water to prepare you a cup of tea upon your arrival.

Just when he had filled the mug with boiling water, he heard something. Finally. Joel quickly put the cup on the table, placed the box of cookies Maria had brought over the other day next to it and sat back down on his chair, the tip of his foot tapping on the floor nervously.

Then, he finally saw you, opening the door to the living room. Your hair was messy and a little wet at the crown. You took heavy, labored breaths that at first made him think that you were just exhausted. Because you had been calm at first, at least that was how Joel remembered it later.

You sniffled once, eyes nearly completely shut, and tugged at the straps of your backpack. That was the moment he realized that something was off.

"Baby? Are you okay?" he whispered and stood up slowly.

Your breathing became more shallow, sucking in large portions of air while your fingers fumbled with your bag. It seemed like the straps had caught on your hair that had been put up in a ponytail when you had left the house. But now it was falling down your shoulders, which caused Joel to hurry.

He was by your side immediately, his hands flying up to the thin strands that were wrapped around the buckles of your rucksack. By the time his fingers were touching your hair, you were trembling badly, a few first tears streaming down your face while your eyes unfocusedly scurried across his frame and your other surroundings.

"I'm right here, sweetpea. I'm here, I'm just gonna help your hair get loose."

He made sure to fully be in your view so that you wouldn't get startled by any sudden contact. He also avoided touching you anywhere else aside from the hair he intended to free from your straps, as the key during a moment like that was to reduce sensory load and shut down any noises or scents. But before he could take care of the open door, he had to get this goddamn backpack off you.

You were crying hysterically now, shivering like a leaf in the wind, which made a lump appear in his throat. He tried to swallow it quietly, turn down his own panicked breathing as well so there wouldn't be any more noise disturbing you. Everything had to be silent for you to be able to calm from the meltdown.

Finally, he was finished. Joel quickly slid the rucksack off your shoulders and let it drop next to the door, closing it in the same motion. Then, after switching off the lights in the house, he appeared in your sight again, careful not to be too close but showing you that he was there for you.

"I-I can't – Joel, I – I couldn't – " His heart broke at your frail, stammering voice, though he was glad that you were at least speaking. He could tell that a panic attack was particularly bad when you couldn't even get out a single word. And the fact that you were addressing him by his name was a good sign too, as it indicated that you weren't too far away from him mentally.

"It's okay. I'm right here, baby, it's okay. Do you want to sit down? On the floor?" His voice was quiet and measured, without many highs and lows in his volume. Stability and steadiness… that was what you needed right now.

You nodded frantically and sank to the parquet floor beneath you, pulling your knees to your chest and planting your hands flat on the ground. In moments like this, Joel knew better than to guide you to the couch as the fabric tended to overstimulate you during a bad meltdown. And then there were all the pillows, the carpet in front of the couch, the sun shining through the window that occasionally tickled your skin in an upsetting way. The parquet, on the other hand, was hard, even and sleek.

You were always quite sensitive to different materials. There were textures that you couldn't stand in general, no matter if you were feeling well or panicky like in that moment. For example, velvet and fleece.

Now that you were sitting on the floor, Joel knelt down in front of you, keeping his voice down as he spoke to you.

"Do you need to take more clothes off? Is this bothering you?"

He looked down at the tight lacing of your boots, then at your jacket that you had pulled up all the way to your chin to protect yourself from the cold.

"I – I don't – " you panted, bringing a hand to your neck.

"It's okay, it's okay. I'm here, you see? I'm right here, darling. Whatever you need, I'm gonna help you. Look at me."

Finally, your erratic gaze settled on him for an instant, though your chest was still heaving rapidly.

"Sh-Shoes, Joel," you stuttered, your fingers curled into tight fists while your eyes pinched shut again.

Shit… He had to keep your attention on him, make you look back at him. Joel's skilled fingers unknotted the shoelace effortlessly, although it took him a minute as you always tied two double knots that wouldn't accidentally come off even if you walked through deep snow.

Then, he quickly pulled them off your feet, planted them underneath the coatrack in a neat line and took care of your jacket next. You hadn't explicitly asked him to help you take it off, but given the way you tugged at the collar around your throat, he assumed that it was part of the reason for your meltdown.

Your body was still shivering uncontrollably once the fabric was off, little breathy sobs leaving your throat while your toes were rapidly curling and uncurling like you were fighting an invisible danger. Now that you weren't struggling with the jacket any longer, you put your hands over your ears, quietening any noise that might drift in from the open window, such as children's laughter and birds' singing. Joel quickly rushed toward it and closed it, additionally drawing the curtains so that the bright light wouldn't trigger you.

"It's okay," he uttered as soon as he sat in front of you again, offering you his hands like it was the most natural thing in the world. And you grabbed them immediately, holding onto his wrists to ground yourself the way you liked to do during a panic attack. You dug your nails into his flesh with light force, enough to leave a sting, but he could handle it. Of course he could handle it if it meant it helped you in any way.

"J-Joel, I – I can't – I – should've – "

"Darlin', it's okay," he hushed you while scanning the room to see if there was anything else that might overwhelm you that he hadn't noticed yet.

No… all windows were closed, there weren't any more noise sources, he had switched off the lights and you were sitting on the parquet floor with most of your restraining clothing off your body. You hit your foot on the floor, which Joel let happen without a word. Sometimes your body moved without warning during a meltdown, and as long as there was no reason to think that you were about to hurt yourself, he didn't interfere as it normally was the worst thing he could do.

"I'm here. It's okay," he spoke again, sensing that you were reacting to his words, given the way your eyes flickered toward him. "You're okay. It's just me, you see?"

He gave you a gentle, reassuring smile even though his stomach cramped seeing your parted lips that desperately tried to catch more air than was needed. It seemed like your breathing was still unsteady, something within your chest blocking you from inhaling normally.

"Breathe with me?"

You squeezed his hands firmly, but then, after a couple more minutes, Joel noticed how you were starting to take on his breathing patterns. Everything happened slowly like it usually did, but you were making progress, which was all that mattered to him. He would gladly spend hours on the ground with you if it meant he was helping you deal with your distress.

Your breathing became more regular gradually, and after a while, even your crying stopped. It took a lot longer for your body's shaking to stop, and the same went for the way you bit down on your bottom lip, but even that motion became better soon.

"You're doing so good, sweetheart… It's okay. Everything's okay."

You gasped and briefly let go of his hand to press yours over your chest.

"I messed up," you whimpered, shaking your head frantically while the muscles next to your eyes twitched relentlessly, lids fluttering.

"You didn't mess up. You're doing so well, baby."

"No, I did," you hissed, cheeks turning red with anger. You were rocking yourself back and forth like the panic was still so overwhelming you needed to move in order to let it run free and release yourself from it.

"I – I messed up everything, I couldn't eat the food that I brought with me, I – I shouted at Tommy when he told me I could only continue the patrol if I e-eat something, I couldn't go through the little forest by the river with Lucas and – and in the end, I snapped at Tommy again because he was riding too slowly, and I told him to go faster, but he didn't and so I got angry."

Joel took a deep breath.

He knew that you needed and that you deserved to talk to him about all these things, but he was also positive that for now, his job was to calm you. Assure you that for the moment, everything was fine. That every problem that you felt the need to discuss could be postponed to a later time.

"I understand that," Joel whispered and squeezed your hand once. It was a method the two of you had come up with, it had a soothing and grounding effect on you, but it was also a way to communicate during a panic attack. He squeezed your hand as a silent question, just asking you to do it back so he knew your body was responding to him. Fortunately, he felt a light pressure around his knuckles and took it as his sign to continue talking to you.

"I understand you. How about we talk about all that later? Just the two of us. Would that be okay with you?" Making you feel seen, reminding you that you were in charge, giving you options, making you feel like you were in control of everything that was happening around you such asthe lights, the noises and every other sensory input rather than being at their mercy.

"Later? How late?" you asked, pressing your toes against the parquet.

"Whenever you want. You decide."

"At 7?" you muttered, finally settling your eyes on him again without looking away every few seconds.

"Yes."

"Where?" you asked next.

"On the couch?"

"No." You shook your head, furrowing your brow.

"Where would you like to talk about it?" Joel asked calmly, letting you tighten your grasp around his hands.

"Kitchen table."

"Alright. We're gonna do it at the kitchen table."

"And now I want to take a shower," you breathed, dropping his hands at once.

"Of course. Do you want me to help you with anything?" Joel watched as you rose to your feet, still a little weak on your knees, but the sudden switch in your behavior wasn't something rare for you. He was just glad he had managed to pull you out of your stress relatively quickly, even though he knew that before he had discussed what had happened today with you, there was still a chance the emotions might overwhelm you again.

At his words, you stopped, considering his question for a moment before heading for the staircase. "No."

At 7 o'clock, Joel and you sat next to each other at the table, your elbows planted on the surface. You were clearly feeling better now, which he had noticed the moment you had left the bathroom, seeing that your steps weren't as hurried as before.

The shower had given you the opportunity to clean your skin, wipe off the dirt that might have splashed onto your ankles and successfully fight the coldness clinging to your body like a second skin.

Now, you were sitting next to him in fresh clothes, your hair still a little damp.

Joel waited. He always wanted you to initiate conversations like this, reestablishing the idea that everything was in your hands, and that nothing was going to happen or be said that you weren't comfortable with.

"I brought chaos into the group, I slowed everyone down and I wasn't a help at all. I should never go on patrols again, Joel. And the others probably think so as well. This was a terrible idea."

You took a sip of your tea, giving him the time to think about a reply.

"You're still learning," he said at last, causing your brow to wrinkle.

"I was learning over the past weeks while I was training to go on patrol. I was wrong when I said that I was ready. I shouldn't be learning while I'm on patrol. It's about trusting the people you're out there with, having each other's backs and supporting each other."

Joel knew exactly where you had gotten those words from. Tommy. He gave every person that exact speech and it seemed like you had etched it into your brain, word by word.

"You did an amazing job going out there. It was the bravest thing I've ever seen in my life. You were nervous about it, you were scared, but you did it. Just look at you, sweetheart. Look at where we were six months ago. Do you think you would've believed it if someone had told you back then that you would go on patrol six months later?"

"I shouldn't have gone on patrol," you insisted through clenched teeth, taking a deep breath. "I slowed everyone down, I wasn't any help at all and I screamed at everyone, but most importantly at Tommy. And he said once that he doesn't like loud noises, just like I do, and back then I told him that I didn't like loud noises either, and today I just ignored it and didn't think about it, and now I've caused him pain because I screamed at him."

Joel let you talk patiently, and only when you were done did he offer you his hand, which you took.

"Tommy is gonna be alright, sweetheart. You were so brave today. And the fact that you stayed until the end of patrol, that you got out there beyond the walls of this city is something I'm so proud of you for. I'm so fuckin' proud of you. I understand that you're upset about these things, but all of this takes time. Progress needs time. Today you went out there, which is such a big step. And if you wanna keep tryin', if you wanna go on patrol again, you're gonna take more steps, you're gonna keep makin' progress. We talked about all this before… You're doin' so well, baby. You're doin' so much, you're putting in so much effort. But stuff like that can't be changed overnight. I promise you, you did so wonderful. I'm proud of you and I love you."

Joel noticed your shoulders tense at the last three words, though it indicated joy rather than distress.

"But how am I gonna make progress if I just get scared straight away? I couldn't eat my food, Joel. I wanted to, but my stomach was so tight and I felt sick."

"It's gonna get better, sweetheart, I promise. Next time, you might be able to eat a little bit. And the time after that, you might notice a few trees that look familiar. And after that, you might associate a song with the landscape, which you can hum in your head. And that will make you calmer and you might enjoy the view. And after that, maybe your body doesn't feel tight anymore and you can eat. These are all slow steps, but they count, and they're important. Just please believe me when I say that today was an incredible step. Do you believe it? Do you believe me when I say that I'm proud of you?"

"Yes…" you mumbled, resting your chin on your palm. "I would like to apologize to Tommy tomorrow and then try it again. But I wanna do it with the same group hopefully. I think it's gonna be easier."

Joel nodded encouragingly while still holding your hand. "I think so too."

"Can I have a hug now?" you asked next and smiled when Joel shifted his chair back.

"Of course, baby."

After closing the distance between the two of you, you slung your arms around his neck and pressed your face against the crook of it, keeping it buried there for a minute. Joel threaded his fingers through your hair soothingly, allowing you to tighten your grip whenever you liked until you pulled away, wearing a broad smile that reached your eyes and made them appear all shiny and glossy.

"I love you too, by the way. I didn't say that earlier."

He grinned, crossing his legs while you sat back down. "I'm glad, baby."

"Can you say it again?"

You folded your hands in front of you on the table, looking at him expectantly. Joel cleared his throat, thinking that there was nothing in the world easier than what you had just asked for.

"I love you."

The smile that your features drew was genuine, your shoulders at ease now and your expression calmer than it had been at any point since your arrival.

Yes, he was fucking proud of you. How could he not be?

[paulyenvol6]

@bbyanarchist @pleurspetal @armandispunk @katyispunk @the-tr0ublemaker @mytearsricochetm @msxjennipascal @itsalovelylife @umadirectioner @hhjhgdaiqoqoan @magnificentbluebirdninja-blog @manuymesut @anqieluv @sarahhxx03 @vanishintoyoubby @severelysentientnova @madhatter-97 @illicitloves @styleslfreak @laneyemm @piastridreams @slutforabbyanderson @quitchie @callmebyyournick-name @howlnwoolf @harriedandharassed @slxyquxxn @squeakowl @stillriri @arxia-8 @littlenicpascal @misstokyo7love @mxkhxx @christinamadsen @speaktothehandpeasants @classybroad2 @gabymalikk @maliaslcver @biagaloree @fertilise-me @thescxrpio @timeladyrikaofgallifrey @alalalaqua @shewants7 @speaktothehandpeasants @nutbutterjellie @idknananchimaybe @junescorner @elenamoncadaibarra @oneanddonelol @loveday1219 @ashleyfilm

[sigourney42weaver]

The Mandalorian and Grogu (2026).

[laughhardrunfastbekindsblog]

Okay but like, ever since watching The Mandalorian and Grogu, I've been lowkey wondering if Favreau/Lucasfilm held a focus group composed of people who fully appreciate Pascal's attractiveness, to get ideas on how to fully capitalize on the impact of Din's face being on screen for the time it was...

Lucasfilm: "Okay, so, Din Djarin will have his helmet removed..."

Focus group: "YESSSSS!!!!!"

Lucasfilm: "... Uh, anyway, what should we..."

Focus group: "Keep the facial hair."

Lucasfilm: "Well, yeah..."

Focus group: "Make sure he gets to be protective about Grogu, while we get to see his expressions."

Lucasfilm: "We can make that work. Anything else?"

Focus group: "Make him wet."

Lucasfilm: "... What."

Focus group: "You heard us."

Lucasfilm: "?"

Focus group: "Make. Him. Wet."

(credit to @no-1-reylo-fan for the gif!)

[kiyosuku]

What does the role of a father mean to him?

[jobean12-blog]

Enticement

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader/The Mandalorian x reader

Word Count: 915

Summary: You and Mando get some down time on the beach of Adelphi and you know exactly how you want to spend it.

Author's Note: So it's hot as balls here- like I mean the car says 113F at the hottest part of the day in the sun. NYC is pretty much Mordor right now. Went to the beach and pool and it had me thinking of Mando at the beach and then how he'd probably want to keep his armor on and sand out but for you...he'd do anything. So here we are. Thank you all so much for reading and sharing! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: teasing and flirting, semi-public p in v, fingering, reader is sassy, Mando is too, they both know exactly what they're doing and get exactly what they want.

“What are you doing?”

You toe off your shoe and look up. “I want to go swimming.”

His hands land on his hips and he cocks his head. “Now?”

“Now,” you say, tugging at your pants.   

The rocks of the cliff are at your back, shielding you from the Razor Crest  where Grogu and Rotta lie sleeping and the ocean lies sprawling in front of you, the moonlight dancing across the calm surface of the water, sparkling like diamonds and matching the stars scattered across the sky.

He’s silent as he watches you discard one article of clothing after the next onto the cool sand.

Just as your bra falls he grabs your wrist and drags you against his chest. Every inch of your bare skin that presses into his armor erupts with goosebumps and when his gloved fingers cup your chin to lift your gaze to his a shiver of anticipation runs down your spine.

“You live to torture me,” he murmurs, his free hand gliding along the soft curve of your waist.

“You can come with you know. That will make it less torturous, I’m sure.” Your words are saccharine and you bat your lashes in feigned innocence. “There’s no one here. Just us.”

At that he releases you and pulls the helmet from his head, his eyes sweeping along your body from your head to your toes buried in the sand.

“You can’t look at me like that,” you state, lifting your chin.

“Like what?” he shoots back with a smirk.

“Like you want to devour me.”

In an instant you’re back in his arms and he leans in, running his nose along the side of your neck, grazing the soft skin there with his teeth. “That’s exactly what I want to do.”

“Mandalorian,” you warn, heat blooming between your thighs and your nipples aching against his hard armor.

He doesn’t move, keeping you pressed firmly to him, his dark eyes trained on your face as he rolls his hips into you. “Feel what you do to me.”

You’re already breathless, gripping his hand and freeing if from his glove. You guide it down between your breasts, and lower, until he’s groaning as your arousal coats his fingertips. You whimper his name. “Feel what you do to me.”

“Was this your plan all along?” he whispers into your ear as he grips the back of your thigh and lifts one of your legs.

“Yes,” you say, voice thick with want.

He grazes your clit with his thumb. “What are we going to do about it?”

Every one of your breaths is labored. “Please.”

The note of desperation in that one word makes his cock twitch, and he’s tempted to draw this out for hours, tempted to make you beg.

But the needy roll of your hips and the way your legs open up for him, has him caving. He strokes your bare skin, his breath catching at the contact.

“Are you going to stay quiet for me?”

Your lips turn up in a coy smile. “Because there’s so many people around to…”

The rest of your sassy retort is swallowed by his kiss, two fingers pushing inside you. He slides his fingers in and out in long torturous strokes, spreading your wetness over your clit and swallowing your lewd moans with another kiss.

“I need…I need more,” you gasp as you writhe against his fingers.

“Remember. I want you quiet,” he demands, still toying with you.

You let out a muffled whimper, digging your teeth into your bottom lip.

“The rocks won’t be forgiving,” he whispers as he gently pushes your back to their coolness. “And neither will I.”

He frees himself, sliding the length of his cock through the slickness between your legs. Every pieces of his armor is still on other than this helmet and gloves, and you love the feel of it against your naked skin.

A guttural moan escapes him as he pushes the head of his cock inside you, savoring the sweet sounds of desperation that you try to stifle.

And then he angles your hips upward and fills you completely. He keeps one hand anchored on the rock next to your head, the other gripping your thigh tight enough to bruise.

He grunts with every thrust, relishing in the every soft curve of your body. “You’re addictive.”

His words make you clench around him, grinding back against every pump of his hips.

“Yes,” you moan, uncaring how loud you are and at the sound, he feels himself spiraling out of control.

One hand falls between your legs, his eyes glued to where your bodies meet and he slides in and out of you. His thumb circles your clit, drawing you to the edge before you tip over, your body rolling and tensing, bringing him the edge until he’s biting back a shout as he fills you up.

Panting he leans into you, kissing along your neck and curve of your shoulder.

“Was that what you needed?” he asks, voice rough and husky, his body still trembling.

You cling to him, managing a breathless, “yes, exactly.”

Smiling softly, he slides from your body, running a gentle hand along your back. “Was I too rough?”

“You were perfect,” you reply as he gathers you carefully into his arms.

He kisses you soundly. “I live to worship you.”

You cup his face with your palm, brushing your thumb across his lips, tracing his soft smile.  “What about that swim?”

[joekeerysbellybutton]

Heyyy, so I read your “I like when you take care of me “ fic (I think that’s what’s it was called, sorry if it’s not 😅) , anyway, I was wondering if you could maybe do a part 2 where reader finally says I love you, you could do whatever you want, maybe some fluff and smug, but yea, I just loved it so much and I need a part 2 jaja. Ur an amazing writer btw

Hopeless Romantics

Part 2 of ‘I like taking care of you’ but can be read as a one shot

Synopsis: You’re in love with Steve Harrington, you just don’t know if he’s in love with you.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC: ~4.1k

Tags: 18+ MDNI, brief-ish smut, oral f!receiving, p in v, dry humping, idiots in love, angsty, miscommunication, happy ending <3, getting interrupted, stobin roommates!!

Notes: You know I have been wanting to write a part 2 for that fic so i’m so glad you’ve sent this request!!!

Masterlist

You didn’t know why you couldn’t just say it.

You and Steve had been very seriously dating for months. You saw each other every day, lived in each other's pockets, literally. You were essentially his and Robin’s third roommate.

God, your body ached, filled to the brim with love.

All those feelings and yet you just couldn’t say the words.

I love you, Steve.

They played in your head like a broken record, over and over, and over again. From the moment you woke up and saw his soft sleepy face, to the moment he kissed you goodnight. It was deafening.

You punished yourself every day in your mind for being such a coward but you didn’t want to put your heart on the line. Even though, whether you said the words to him or not, they were still very much true.

The longer you waited, the more the doubt set in. Because sure, you hadn’t said it, but neither had he. And Steve was a confident guy – surely if he felt it, he would just say it… right?

Another month went by and you pushed the words down so hard that they were starting to push back. Like they had developed a mind of their own and were trying to claw their way out. But now you didn’t even want to say it, not when you felt like you wouldn’t hear those words reflected back at you.

It took every ounce of self control to keep the lid on your feelings, especially in moments when the filter between your heart and your mouth felt more permeable.

In the morning before the weight of the day set in.

At night as you drifted off, the line of reality and dreams becoming blurred.

Or when you had sex.

Because it didn’t feel like just sex – it felt like making love.

He’d get so deep inside you it felt like he was physically pushing the words out all the way from the pit of your stomach, up out your throat. He’d press his forehead against yours, his mouth over your gaping one, like he could breathe in the words if you let him. And the things that Steve would say to you during did not quell your feelings in the slightest.

I love how you feel around me.

That’s it, that’s my girl.

Love those sounds you make, baby.

It was like he was taunting you with words so close to what you wanted – needed – to hear.

In those moments, you only allowed yourself restrained whimpers as you felt Steve invade every crevasse of your physical body and your spiritual soul, worried what might slip out if you fully let yourself go.

“Steve,” you gasped out one time.

Steve’s hips ground into yours, brushing against your aching nub and gummy walls with each thrust.

“What is it, baby?” He asked not to tease you, but with genuine care and curiosity.

Steve always wanted to make you feel good. It made your heart light up in your chest as you felt heat course through you.

“I–ugh–I lo–“

Your orgasm cut you off, making you moan out something completely unintelligible. You narrowly avoided the embarrassment of confessing your love to Steve during sex. But it was getting harder and harder not to say it each time.

You came back down to earth to see Steve laying next to you with the most radiant smile across his lips. For a split second you thought he might say it. Something in the way his eyes traced your face, lingering on each of your features. His lips parted like he was going to say something.

Then he leaned over, pecked your lips and said; “goodnight.”

One afternoon, Steve was making sandwiches for the two of you. Sunlight streamed in the tiny window above the sink as his broad shoulders took up most of the space of his kitchen. You sat at the counter watching as he carefully assembled whatever weird combination of ingredients he had recently discovered.

“You’re gonna love it,” he assured you.

I love you, you thought.

He sat the plate down in front of you, gave you a soft kiss on your temple, before sitting himself on the stool next to you, his knee brushing yours in a way that felt so natural.

He tucked into his sandwich immediately but you just stared at yours.

It was also in these kind of comfortable domestic moments where you felt it even stronger. When it felt like you had known him for eternity and eternity would never be long enough.

“I know it looks kinda gross, but trust me, you–“

“–Steve, I love you.”

It just came out.

Your tone wasn’t romantic or loving, it was matter of fact, like you were telling him the time. You didn’t even look at him, just kept looking at the sandwich.

“What?” Steve said through his mouthful.

Definitely not the reaction you wanted. You almost wondered if you just thought you said it but what came out was actually complete gibberish.

You whined, collapsing your head into your hands. “I love you,” you said again.

This time it was shakier like you were uncertain. Not of how you felt, but of how he would react.

Nothing came out of Steve’s mouth except for chewing noises.

It felt like hours passed before he finally spoke. “Shit.”

Okay that was definitely worse than the first time.

Steve got up from his stool and started pacing as much as he could in the confined space of the kitchen. You slowly lifted your head from your hands, peeking out from under them to look at him but he wouldn’t meet your gaze.

“I’m such an idiot,” he said to himself.

You just looked at him confused and panicked.

“Steve–“

“–Are you being serious?” He finally turned to you.

Your eyes went wide, a choked laugh of disbelief exited your throat before you could stop it.

“What kind of question is that?” You shot back at him, your voice stern but your eyes started welling up.

“You’re in love with me?” Steve said like it was a question. His eyes were glassy also but his brows were drawn together like curtains he was trying to hide behind.

You took a deep breath before you answered. “Yes.”

“Since when?”

You groaned in annoyance, again with the questions. You didn’t want to escalate an already tense situation so you decided to just answer, then maybe he’d stop and at least let you down easy the rest of the way.

“Probably since the first time we kissed.” You felt embarrassed admitting just how long you’d let Steve live in your heart while you were just a guest in his.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered as he ran his palms over his face.

“Okay, look,” you said, sliding off the stool. Its legs scraped along the tiles gratingly. “I’m, uh, I’m just gonna go.” Your eyes never left your feet.

“Hey, no, no, no. Wait!” Steve’s hand reached out to grab your forearm.

Every wrinkle of your brain told you to rip it away from him, but every beat of your heart told you to stay.

Against your better judgement, you listened to your heart and turned back to him. You could hardly see his features through the tears in your eyes.

“I have fucked this up so bad, just–“ he took a deep breath, “give me a second.”

You did, you stood there looking at him, just letting him hold your beating heart in his hands, waiting for him to rip it apart.

Steve placed his hands on your shoulders and gazed deep into your eyes like he was looking for something in them.

“Do you mean it? Everything? That you’ve been in love with me this whole time?”

“Yes.” Your voice trembled as you spoke.

“Like, love, love?”

“God damnit, Steve.” You shook his hands off you. “How many times are you going to make me say it! Yes, I love you, okay? But right now I feel like I wanna fucking kill yo–“

Steve lurched forward, his hands enveloped the sides of your face as he pressed his lips to yours. You stumbled back in shock. You couldn’t even kiss back, you were too stunned, confused, and you were still crying.

Steve pulled back after a moment, he wiped a tear that fell from your eye with his thumb and you hated how much you instinctively leaned into his touch.

“I love you too,” he said, his voice soft but certain.

“What?”

Much like Steve’s reaction before, you were slightly caught off guard by his confession.

He leant his forehead against yours. “I am so sorry I freaked out, this is so not how I wanted this to go.”

“Yeah, me neither,” you said as you stepped back from him. “What the hell was that about?”

It was your turn to ask the questions. Not quite ready to move on from the ordeal Steve put you through for the last few minutes.

He sighed, his head hung low towards the floor. “I wanted to be sure you really meant it,” he said quietly.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

“Well I’ve heard those words before and they didn’t mean shit.”

You knew about his past relationships, knew he had been hurt before, but you had no idea he still carried that weight around so heavily. As much as that made your chest tighten, you were hurt that Steve had let it shift on to you.

“Steve, do not take your insecurities out on me.”

Steve looked up when he heard the crack in your voice.

“I know, I’m sorry.” He closed the gap between you again, reaching carefully for your hand in case you pulled away – you didn't. “I didn’t mean to I– I was just scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“That you didn’t love me like I love you or that you’d say it and then…” Steve’s voice trailed off, like he was finding it hard to truly articulate the worries swirling around his head.

“Hey…” you reached a soft hand up to his cheek. “I’m not gonna leave you.”

Steve smiled at how you somehow could decipher the mess in his mind, but it quickly dropped into a frown.

“You say that now, but–“

“–Steve,” you interrupted. “The time we’ve had together,” you started, bringing your other hand up to cradle his face and force his eyes to lock to yours. “Has been the most amazing time of my whole life. God, I can’t even remember what it was like before I loved you, and I don’t want to imagine what it would be like after.”

That soft smile was back on Steve’s trembling lips.

“I don’t want there to be an after,” he said.

“There doesn’t have to be.”

You leant into each other like magnets, pressing your foreheads together.

Steve took a few deep breaths to center himself, feeling your presence anchor him. “Can we try this again?”

You giggled, “sure.”

You stepped away from Steve and composed yourself as much as you could, but the smile plastered on your face took over. You took his hand in yours and held it tight to your chest, right over your heart.

You opened your mouth to speak but Steve beat you to it this time.

“My sweet girl,” he tucked your hair behind your ear with his free hand, “I love you, so much.”

The moment made you instantly forget the panic that you felt just a minute ago.

“I love you too.”

As you said it this time, your voice was unwavering. There was no anxiety laced through it, just pure, reciprocated love.

When Steve crashed his lips to yours again, you didn’t miss a beat before kissing him back. His strong hands cradled your face as you ran yours all the way up from his elbows to the hair that fell over the nape of his neck. You were both smiling into the kiss as Steve walked you back to the kitchen counter. As soon as it dug into your back you gasped, opening your mouth, which Steve took as an opportunity to brush his tongue past your lips. His hands fell down to your hips to press you tightly against him.

“I love you,” Steve said between heated kisses, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You giggled agaisnt his lips as he kept up his loving words. “You don’t have to keep saying it.”

Steve broke away to look deep into your eyes. “Yeah I do. I’ve got all these ‘I love you’s built up inside me, I’ve gotta get them out.”

He lifted you up onto the kitchen counter but you were constantly tugging him towards your lips by the hair, he struggled to get you up. Steve’s hands flattened out over your thighs as he stood between your legs. His palms spread warmth over the exposed skin that your shorts didn't reach. You stroked your hands through his hair as the kiss intensified. Deep breaths into each other's mouths, little whines of satisfaction and wanting more. You reluctantly pulled back, Steve’s mouth tried to chase yours but you held his face between your hands.

There was one more question you had to ask. “When did you know?”

Steve was a little frazzled from your kisses and didn't quite pick up what you were saying at first.

So you elaborated, “I told you when I fell in love with you, now you have to tell me.”

Steve’s eyes lit up like he could see the memory replaying in his mind. “Do you remember when I picked you up for our first date?”

“Yeah, I recall,” you said, smiling uncontrollably wide.

“Do you remember tripping on the porch step?”

“Oh my God!” You brought your hands up to cover your face. “I was so embarrassed! I couldn’t stop thinking about it the whole night.”

Steve gently moved your hands out the way and kept them in his as he continued, “it was then.”

You looked at him with slight disbelief but mostly with complete awe.

“I just felt something when you grabbed my arm and I held you to stop you from falling face first into the gravel.” Steve chuckled and you mirrored the infectious sound. “I guess it was really me that fell, ‘cause I fell in love with you right there and then.”

“You mean,” you started speaking but had to pause for a second as you felt your mind, and heart, processing what Steve just said. “We’ve both been totally in love with each other since our first date and neither of us said anything?”

“Looks that way,” Steve shrugged.

“Wow, we are such idiots.”

“I think I prefer the term ‘hopeless romantics’.”

Steve’s hands snaked around your back, rubbing you through the soft fabric of your cotton t-shirt that was actually his.

You wrapped your legs tightly around him as you both pressed hard into each other. Steve leant slowly back in to kiss you, but you spoke before he could get there.

“Wait, you knew you were in love with me when you picked me up, but you waited all the way until you dropped me home to just kiss me?”

“Hey, I’m a gentleman. Isn’t that one of the things you love about me?”

“One of many.”

“Tell me more.”

Steve’s lips connected with yours again in a long, hot press of his supple lips.

“Well, I really love that,” you said.

“What about this…”

Steve gave the same treatment to your neck, just below your jaw. You felt the heat of his mouth radiate through you.

“Oh yeah, love that.”

“And this?”

Steve’s hips circled over yours and you felt the subtle hardness in his jeans press into your core.

Your eyes fluttered shut, a content sigh left your lips.

“Yeah, you love that,” Steve said on your behalf.

You matched his rhythm as you ground your hips against him. The denim of his crotch, rough over the thin material of your shorts.

“God, do you know the amount of times I had to stop myself from screaming ‘I love you’ during sex,” Steve said into your ear, his voice lower than before.

“Fuck, me too.”

You both rubbed agaisnt each other harder at the realisation that you had been holding back, and that you didn’t have to anymore.

“I love you, I’m gonna tell you all the fucking time, baby.”

You whined, whether from his words or the way pressure was building in your core, you didn't know, but it felt so good.

“Ugh, Steve, I love you too. Don’t ever stop saying it.”

Your hands roughly travelled up under Steve’s shirt and he took it as a signal that you wanted it off. You were both still desperately grinding on each other like you couldn’t even wait to get your clothes off to feel each other.

Steve then made quick work of your shirt, throwing it to join his in a pile on the tiled floor.

“I want you,” he murmured agaisnt your mouth before opening it wide over yours, making you do the same.

“Show me how much you love me, Stevie.”

The feeling of his hot hands running up your back to the clasp of your bra sent electricity all the way to your fingers and toes.

You two were so in your own world that you must not have heard the sound of keys jiggling in the lock of the front door to the small apartment.

“Woah!”

You both froze as you heard Robin’s distinctive voice enter the room. The front door opened straight into the living room, the small kitchen in full view. It must have been quite a sight to behold. You and Steve, both shirtless, hands grabbing, hips moving.

“Robin!” Steve yelled, using his bare torso to cover yours.

“You guys know we have bedrooms here, right?” She said, not sounding too fazed by what she walked in on. She had caught the two of you in far more compromising positions.

“Sorry Robin,” you said, although your voice held little remorse. “We got a bit excited.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Robin gestured towards Steve’s very obvious hard on in his jeans.

“Shit,” he muttered turning back to you to try and hide it.

“We just, uh, love each other a lot,” you told her, wanting to share the moment with the person who was witness to yours and Steve’s relationship as it bloomed.

“Wait, he finally said it?” Robin asked with a delighted look on her face.

“Well, she said it and then I was a total dickhead about it–“ Steve responded.

“–Total dickhead,” you added.

“But yeah, we said it.” Steve pecked your lips. “I have been telling Robin how crazy I am about you since that first date,” he said to you, his face close to yours like you were the only two people in the room.

“Really?” You asked him.

“Oh yeah, he’s been completely insufferable,” Robin confirmed, reminding you she was in fact still there.

“Aw,” you cooed at Steve.

You cupped his face and brought his lips to yours again, the rest of the world fading around you as you kissed him hungrily.

“Okay,” Robin clapped her hands together but it didn’t seem to have any effect on the two of you.

She turned around but could unfortunately still very much hear the sound of your lips smacking together.

“As happy as I am for you guys, I really don’t want to be in the building for whatever is about to, or is currently happening. So, why don’t I make myself scarce for, like, half an hour–“

“–An hour.” Steve broke away from you for a split second to correct her.

“Wow, okay, sure, whatever.” Robin walked back to the front door, grabbing her keys and opening it. “Just please, promise me you won’t do it there, that’s where we eat.”

“Promise,” you assured her, Steve’s lips now attacking your neck.

“Later, love birds!”

The door clicked shut and Steve let out a deep moan like he had been holding it in.

“Steve… C’mom, let’s take this to the bedroom.”

“No, here’s good.”

“I promised Robin,“ you whined reluctantly as you pushed his chest slightly away from you.

”I didn’t,” Steve smirked.

“She’s right, we eat here.” You gestured towards the kitchen island you sat atop. Steve’s half eaten sandwich to your left and your untouched one to your right.

A mischievous grin spread across Steve’s face.

“In that case,” he tugged at the waistband of your shorts, you in no way protested as he pulled them down and off your legs. “I better do this.”

Steve lowered himself to his knees, his eyes never leaving yours as he did. He placed a soft kiss to one of your knees before planting his large hands on the inside of your thighs and opening you up more.

As Steve’s head closed in on your core, you grabbed his hair, your other hand behind you on the cool worktop, allowing you to tilt your pelvis out for him. Nothing in your body told him you wanted him to stop, even if you were still hesitant with your words.

“Robin could walk back in.”

Steve placed a kiss to the damp patch in your underwear and held his face there as he hummed against you, the subtle vibrations flowing right through you.

“She won’t be back for an hour,” he mumbled, not quite able to move away from the part of you he was so close to tasting. “And I plan on spending that whole hour showing you just how much I love you.”

Steve’s hands moved up to pull your panties from your hips, down your thighs and off to join the pile of clothing that was building up. You were now completely naked in Steve’s kitchen, exposed to him in such a way that if it was anyone else you might feel shy. But Steve moaned just at the sight of you spread out for him. He was quickly back on you with his head between your legs, his hands on your thighs. You with your hands in his hair, pulling him closer against you. His mouth was hot, wet, desperate – just like you.

Something about knowing Steve loved you as he tasted you made it feel so much more euphoric, like you could feel the words on his tongue. It really didn’t take long for Steve to get you close to completely unravelling. Now that you didn’t fear the words escaping, you were much more vocal.

“God, Steve, ugh, that feels so good, you’re so good to me.”

And that seemed to make Steve even more ravenous.

“Want you to say it when you come, baby. I need to hear you say it.”

“I’ve wanted to for so long–ugh, fuck, I’m so close just like that Stevie, yes!

He sucked on your sensitive nub, every so often dropping his tounge to your hole, teasing it and tasting how he was making you feel.

“Steve… ah! I’m gonna come–ugh–I love you so much, so, so much.”

Steve mumbled, “I love you too”, against you as you came. Not that you could really make out what he was saying, but you got the idea.

He kissed your folds, along the inside of your thighs, before getting back up to face you at the same level.

“I do think I’m gonna need the bed for this next part,” he said with his mouth glistening.

“Oh really?”

“Hmm,” Steve hummed as he nuzzled his nose agaisnt yours. “I’m going to make slow, deep, passionate love to you.” He kissed you to share the taste of you. “I just wanna drown in you.”

Any air you had regained in your lungs seemed to leave it at his words.

“Steve.” You spoke his name like it was the only word left in your vocabulary.

He smiled against your lips as he lifted you off the counter and into his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist and kissed him all the way to the bedroom.

When Robin returned, just over an hour later, she peaked throguh the front door hesitantly. She breathed a sigh of relief as she found nothing but the empty living room and kitchen. That was until she saw the pile of clothes on the kitchen tiles, your underwear at the top.

“These freaks,” she whispered to herself as she realised you definitely didn’t keep your promise.

She then heard a loud, ‘fuck’, come from Steve’s room, followed by a down right pornographic moan that was obviously you.

“Nope,” Robin said out loud to the empty room.

Once again, she grabbed her keys and hurried out the door.

“I really need to move out,” she muttered as she clicked the door shut, leaving the chorus of moans and expletives behind.

A/N: as if I got to over 400 followers before I got a chance to thank you guys for 300??? You lot are crazy I love it <3

Taglist: @ribeiroteresa97 @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @delightfuldreamer09

*photos from Pinterest

[callittrueblue]

about us - joel miller

Summary: Joel Miller remembers dying. He remembers the swing, the sound of bone breaking, and Ellie screaming his name as everything went dark. So waking up in a clean hospital room makes no sense, especially when the world outside looks normal, Sarah is alive, Ellie is his daughter, and a woman is holding his hand like she belongs to him. Everyone says he was in a car accident and asleep for nearly two months. Joel knows that isn’t true. Because he lived twenty years somewhere else. Now he has to face a life he doesn’t remember building, a family that remembers him completely, and a woman who loves him… while he looks at her like a stranger. he's not her Joel, and maybe her boyfriend, the other Joel is died and Joel taking his body and his damn life.

Warnings ⚠️ : another life, age-gap (joel in his mid/late 40s, reader somewhere in lates/mid 20s), tons of angst incoming btw, post-TLOU2 Joel consciousness in modern AU, i named the reader (willow), memory loss / identity confusion, alternate reality disorientation, hurt/comfort (heavy hurt first), panic attacks & PTSD responses, canon-typical violence memories (non-graphic), emotional angst, family dynamics & grief, unintentional heartbreak, “you don’t remember loving me” trope, a few of flashback, slow emotional recovery….. there’s eventually smut and stuff but I’ll make it slow burn.

little note (pls read me!): why do I hate writing first chapters so much 😭 I keep thinking abt what’s next and imagining future scenes before I even finish the current one. I think this chapter might be a bit too angsty tho… so maybe next chapter there’ll be something cute w Willow or Joel getting softer and more comfortable around her.

leave the taglist here: @pleurspetal [ If anyone wants to be on my taglist too, just lemme know, okay? Luv ya❤️]

chapter I:

JOEL

Joel, get up.

The last thing Joel remembered was the whistle of something slicing through the air and the crack that followed it, and then, just final blank. He feels like his bone meeting metal and the sound of something ending.

He's die.

He remembered Ellie’s voice tearing itself open above him.

get up, joel---

Get up.

Joel, get the fuck up.

fucking get up.

He remembered wanting to answer her. Trying to get up just for her, and only her. Wanting to say her name back. Get his head up from the damn floor. Wanting to promise something he wasn’t sure he could keep, 'cause he already broke all his promise for her. But, there’s nothing, just a dense, not quite it was a silence for suffocating pressure that erased the edges of himself until there was no border left between thought and dark.

When he came back, it was violent.

It’s like air punched into his lungs and his chest convulsed and make his body jerked against something soft, and feels wrong under him. Too soft. There should have been cold concrete and smell of dust. Blood thick in the back of his throat.

Instead there was light above him. Something too white and flat to his eyes, almost hurt his eyes. also, He caught a faint smell of chemicals, something sharp and sterile, that pulled at an old memory of hospitals from back in the day.

He blinked, and the world did not shift into nightmare. It stayed clean and then he felt it.

Something that warmth. Warm from other person that live, not like fever or pain. But a hand? Like the hand hold his. Feel like live and soft? Wrapped around his own like it had been there for a long time.

His fingers twitched and brushed skin that did not belong to him. He move his finger again, it’s his index. He felt the curve of a cheek resting near his knuckles. A faint, even breath against his wrist.

He lay still, listening to the mechanical beeping near his ear and the hammering of his own heart, trying to reconcile the impossible fact of being alive.

He should not be alive.

He remembered the certainty of it. The way the world had tilted. The way he had accepted the end without ceremony. He had outlived enough people to know when his number had been called.

This did not feel like heaven.

Heaven, he thought, would be softer than this. It would not carry the faint, sterile sting of antiseptic in the air, sharp enough to settle at the back of his throat. It would not be this quiet in a way that felt watched rather than peaceful. And it would not, under any circumstance, feel gentle toward a man like him. He had never known what heaven was supposed to look like, never even tried to imagine it.

So the thought of this being heaven felt strange, almost absurd, like his mind had reached too far for something it didn’t understand. no, if this were heaven, it had made a mistake, but it wasn’t hell either.

Hell would have greeted him properly, maybe. It would have been loud, unbearable, honest in its cruelty. Fire, or something close to it. Pain that didn’t leave room for doubt. In hell, at least, he would understand where he was. There would be no confusion, no slow unraveling of thought.

And he would have accepted it, because that, at least, would make sense to him. He wasn’t a good man, after all.

He had done too much for anything else to fit. Too many faces that never left him, no matter how hard he tried not to remember. Too many moments where the line between survival and something darker blurred until it didn’t matter anymore which side he stood on.

So this? this quiet, more silence with something live behind the door, this almost-kindness, felt wrong in a way he couldn’t name it.

Like standing somewhere he hadn’t earned.

He tried to move but pain hit him fast, sharp enough to knock the air out of his chest before he could brace for it. It tore up his side and settled there, heavy and throbbing, like something inside him had been pulled apart and stitched back wrong. A rough sound slipped out of him, low and broken, before he could swallow it down.

The air smelled clean more like chemicals and something bitter sitting at the back of his throat. His mouth felt dry, tongue thick, like he hadn’t used it in days or months. There was a weight on his chest, or maybe just the feeling of it, pressure that made each breath slow and careful.

Something moved near his hand. Warm.

The weight shifted. A chair scraped lightly against the floor, the sound sharp in the quiet.

Joel’s vision dragged downward, slow and unsteady, like it didn’t want to cooperate. The light hurt his eyes, somehow. Everything looked washed out, edges blurred, shapes not quite holding still. He forced his eyes to focus anyway.

There was someone there.

A figure at his side, close enough that he could see the outline before the details came in. Hair. Shoulders. A face that felt familiar before he could place it.

Ellie?

His throat worked, tried to say her name, tried to push it past the dryness, past the weight sitting in his chest. But nothing came out, just air.

A low hiss escaped him before he could stop it as he tried to lift his arm, wanting nothing more than to brush the hair from your face. The pain flared hot through his chest, pulling a rough groan from deep in his throat. He hadn’t meant to wake you. In that half-second, a quiet sorrow settled over him, heavy and tender; he was sorry to pull you from whatever fragile rest you had found, sorry that even now, broken and useless, he still managed to disturb the one person who had stayed.

You stirred at the sound.

Your body tensed, shoulders lifting as if surfacing from deep water, and your eyes snapped open with the wide, startled clarity of someone who had trained herself to wake at the smallest sign of him. For a breathless moment you simply looked at him, hair tousled and falling loose around your face, the faint crease from the mattress still pressed into your cheek like a secret the night had left behind. The dim light caught in your eyes, turning them soft and luminous, and something in Joel’s chest tightened at the sight of you, impossibly alive in a world that had forgotten how to be gentle.

The slight flush still lingering on your skin. The way your lips parted, trembling just enough to betray the storm behind them. Everything about you felt etched with care, with sleepless hours and he drank it in without a word, letting the feeling settle somewhere deep where words could not reach.

"Joel?” you breathed. oh god, escaped from your lips.

The sound of his name in your voice slid through him like honey, low and trembling, almost fracturing on the second syllable. “J-Joel…”

It tasted fragile on the air between you, sweet and aching. He stared, the fog in his mind thinning slowly, and realized with a deep, visceral pull that you were not Ellie.

He didn’t know who you were.

You moved toward him without hesitation. Your hand rose, and when it found his face, the touch was so unbearably soft it made his chest tighten. Your palm carried the faint roughness of calluses, yet the skin was velvet-warm, alive with the pulse of your blood. Your thumb traced his cheekbone slowly, deliberately, sending small sparks of sensation racing across his jaw and down his neck. He could smell you clearly now, something faintly sweet, like crushed herbs or the inside of your wrist after a long summer night. You leaned in closer. Your breath brushed his lips first, warm and humid, carrying the ghost of water and exhaustion. Then your mouth pressed to his forehead, soft and lingering, the heat of it blooming across his skin like sunlight soaking into dry earth. He felt the gentle pressure of your lips, the faint tremble in them, the way your hair fell forward and tickled his temple.

His eyes closed on instinct. His body remembered everything his mind had not yet reclaimed, the quiet thunder of your heartbeat so close to his. A slow shiver moved through him, deep and involuntary, like the first touch of skin after years of winter.

Joel’s mouth opened, the words already forming somewhere deep in his chest. Who the hell are you? Where’s Ellie? What is this place? but nothing came. His throat was a dry riverbed, cracked and empty, the kind of desert silence that had swallowed whole towns back when the world still made sense.

He pushed again, harder, air scraping uselessly against raw tissue, and his brow pulled tight in that uneasy frown she knew too well, the one that carved lines between his eyes like he was bracing for a fight he couldn’t even start.

he saw that you noticed right away.

“Hey,” you said softly, thumb still moving in slow, steady circles over his knuckles like muscle memory. “It’s okay. The doctor just took the tube out. They said your voice is coming back, it just needs a little time. Just take it easy, okay?”

Tube.

The word hit him sideways. A tube? In his throat? The confusion sharpened, pressing in behind his ribs until it felt like something alive trying to get out. None of this lined up, He stared at you, eyes narrowed, trying to force the questions through the dryness anyway, but his lips only twitched uselessly.

you didn’t wait for him to try again. you reached for the plastic cup on the side table, the condensation cool against your fingers, and slid your other arm behind his shoulders with the careful ease of someone who had done this exact thing more times than she could count. She lifted him just enough, no rush, no fuss, and brought the straw to his lips.

“Here,” she murmured, voice low and close. “Drink some.”

The water touched his tongue, and slid down his throat like forgiveness he hadn’t asked for. He took small sips, eyes never leaving your face, the desert in his mouth easing just a fraction while everything else inside him stayed cracked wide open. you watched him the whole time, patient and steady and a little scared, like you were afraid the next thing he tried to say might break whatever was left of them both.

“where's Ellie?” he rasped. The word scraped out, dry and uncertain, barely more than breath.

Your expression faltered, just a small, exquisite fracture across your face. “She’s fine,” you whispered, the words warm against his skin, heavy with relief and unspoken nights.

The answer didn’t sit right. He doesn't know why? Just the word fine didn’t belong anywhere near the world he remembered.

He frowned, pain tightening behind his eyes, and the idea unsettled him more than the pain.

He closed his eyes for a second, overwhelmed by the quiet intensity of your presence. The warmth of your skin. The steady brush of your thumb over his knuckles. The way your body leaned toward his without calculation.

He hadn’t been touched like that in a long time. Not with softness that wasn’t earned through blood or apology. Not with care that didn’t feel conditional.

your forehead dipped gently against his temple, careful of whatever bandage lay hidden there.

“You scared me,” you whispered. There was no anger in it, just exhaustion. your fingers tightened more securely around his, like you were anchoring him to something solid. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake,” you said, he can hear the way your voice barely holding together. “You can’t do this to me. I… I can’t do it without you.”

He felt like a man standing in a house that used to belong to him, but the furniture had been rearranged and he no longer knew where the doors were. and not knowing what to do.

He opened his eyes this time, when he feel you pull away from him. you were watching him with your doe- alike eyes like he might disappear if you blinked.

Joel studied you. The soft press of your hands lingered on his shoulders as you eased back, just far enough to study him. Your gaze moved over his face with careful, practiced intensity, as though you were reading symptoms written in the lines of his brow and the tension around his mouth.

“Is anything hurt?” you asked, your voice low and steady. “Any pain I can’t see?”

He guessed you were a doctor, but the thought didn’t quite fit. A nurse, maybe? No, that didn’t sit right either. You wore a simple white fitted tee and jeans, nothing clinical about you. Still, there was something in the way you looked at him that made him wonder exactly who you were. He couldn’t put a name or title to it, only that you felt like someone who knew how to look for what wasn’t being said.

"Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah… there’s pain.” His voice carried the heaviness of someone unused to admitting weakness aloud. Like the confession itself sat wrong in his mouth. He didn’t even know why he was telling you this. Maybe because your hands had stayed still the whole time. Maybe because you looked at him like he was something breakable and not just a man stitched together by old violence and stubbornness.

Or maybe because, somehow, it felt right. Joel swallowed hard, eyes fixed somewhere past your shoulder, toward nothing at all. “Side,” he added after a moment, the word catching slightly in his throat. His hand drifted unconsciously toward his ribs before stopping midway, fingers curling into his palm instead. “Right side… feels like it’s been torn open.”

The room settled around the silence between you. The low hum of the light overhead. The faint smell of antiseptic and rain clinging to his jacket. His breathing had gone uneven now, careful, measured, like every inhale needed permission first. “Head too,” he murmured quieter this time, jaw tightening. “Keeps poundin’.”

And when he finally looked at you, it wasn’t with embarrassment. Not exactly. It was something softer than that. Something almost boyish beneath all the exhaustion. Like he hated that you were seeing him like this.

“okay, okay. You’ll be okay,” you said. “And I’ll tell the doctor after this.” you sound somehow a little too excited for what Joel is about to see.

Joel stared at you for a second too long, and in that second he became suddenly aware of everything at once: the faint crease between your brows whenever you worried, the careful way your fingers hovered near him without forcing contact, the scent of soap and cold air lingering in your sweater. Small things. Forgettable things, maybe. Yet they reached him with startling precision, lodging somewhere beneath the ache in his ribs.

“You said…” His thumb brushed unconsciously against the edge of the blanket draped over him, fingers tense, uncertain. “You’ve been waiting. For me?”

And God, the way he said it, almost hesitant, made the question feel larger than it was. As if he already feared the answer before hearing it. As if some part of him couldn’t quite believe anybody would wait for him at all.

She nodded once, and the small gesture seemed to carry more weight than it should have. Two months, she said, and the number landed in him like a quiet shock, something too large to hold all at once. He looked at her as if the space between them had changed shape, as if her patience had been sitting there in the room all along, waiting with her. Her hand stayed around his, steady and unshowy, but it made him feel suddenly aware of his own pulse, the fragility of being touched with such care. He had the strange sense that he was being looked after in a way he did not know how to ask for, and maybe had never once expected. It unsettled him, and softened him at the same time. He wanted to understand why she had waited, why she had stayed, but all he could do was stand there inside the quiet of it, feeling the tenderness of her concern like something almost unbearable.

He was trying to summon something, a memory of her voice, her face, the way her thumb traced his skin like she had mapped it a thousand times.

“Where… what hospital is this?” he asked.

“You’re at St. David’s Medical Center,” you said

The thought flickered, distant and half-formed. His eyes shifted past you, taking in the room again. the steady light, and quiet, the way everything felt… intact.

“what? no, no, no…” he started, then stopped. its just came out as a disbelife and whisper to himself.

His hand shifted against the sheets, slow, like even that took effort. He looked back at you, really looked this time, like maybe the answer was in your face instead of the room.

“…How?” he asked finally, quieter now. “Is it still in Jackson?”

joel could see it in the way your breath caught, like something fragile inside you had been nudged out of place. your eyes searched his face, not for an answer—but for how much he meant by that.

“No,” you said after a beat, her voice gentler now. “It’s not in Jackson.”

Joel frowned.

The word no didn’t settle right. It only made things worse. His gaze drifted again, slower this time, like he was trying to force the room to make sense if he looked at it long enough.

"Then where the hell am i—” he muttered, the curse fraying at the edges before it could even finish, stolen by the sudden weight of exhaustion that pressed down on him like wet concrete.

He swallowed, the motion pulling a faint wince across his face as fresh pain bloomed raw along his throat. His chest rose and fell unevenly, each inhale a careful negotiation, like his body was still learning the rules of this impossible place.

“you're in Austin, Texas, joel....” you added.

That made him freeze.

This was not the quiet, measured stillness Joel had learned to carry — the kind a man develops after twenty years of surviving, when every decision could mean life or death. No, this was something altogether different. Sharper. Colder. It seized him completely, freezing the blood in his veins as though winter had come from inside his own body.

Austin. Texas.

The words echoed strangely in his mind, hollow and unnatural, like hearing someone speak your childhood language in a dream. Austin no longer existed. Not like this. Not clean and bright and humming with life, with machines that worked and lights that stayed on and warm hands holding his as if love were still a simple thing.

"...are you okay?"

In the world he remembered, Austin had burned. It had died screaming along with everything else — swallowed by infection and fire and the long, merciless collapse of civilization. It had taken his daughter with it. Sarah. To hear that name spoken so easily now, in this bright, impossible room, felt like a kind of blasphemy. As if someone had quietly dug up her grave and expected him to be grateful that the earth had given her back.

His eyes lifted back to yours, sharper now despite the haze still clouding the edges of his vision, the confusion hardening into something edged and dangerous.

“…What do you mean?” he said under his breath, the question low and rough, barely more than gravel dragged across concrete. Then the suspicion broke loose, raw and unfiltered, the old instincts clawing their way up before he could stop them. “Are you fucking kidding me?” His voice cracked on the words, still hoarse from the tube they’d pulled, but the accusation burned through anyway. “Are you a one of FEDRA? Is the girl that shot me one of your people... or your leader?”

The questions hung between you, heavy and trembling, carrying every nightmare he’d lived through: the blue uniforms, the quarantine zones, the cold efficiency of people who called slaughter order. His fingers tightened in your grasp without meaning to, not pulling away but holding on like the contact itself might keep the floor from dropping out beneath him.

“Joel…” Your voice came out small at first, cracked and uncertain. “What… what are you talking about?”

He didn’t answer right away. The anger was already sharpening, turning his jaw to stone. He could feel it in the way his fingers flexed inside yours, but pressing harder, almost accusing.

"just tell me?" his voice getting angrier somehow

Because if this was some new game, if you were part of it, if the clean white room, the way you looked at him like he was yours were all just another way to break him—then he’d rather the club had finished its swing.

Your breath hitched, the sound soft and unsteady. You leaned in closer without thinking, “I’m not with anyone like that. I'm willow, and I’m yours. I’ve been yours for years.” Your voice cracked, confusion and hurt braiding together until it was impossible to tell which was winning. " y-you even give me this ring, remember?" the ring on your finger catching the light like a taunt.

willow

It started low, a slow burn behind his ribs, the kind that had kept him alive for twenty years. He watched the way your shoulders tensed, the way your free hand hovered halfway to his cheek before dropping, trembling. That look, wide-eyed and lost, like he’d just spoken in a language you didn’t understand, only fed the fire. Because if this was real, if you really didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about, then either the world had gone completely insane… or you were lying to him. And the thought that you, of all people, this woman who kissed his forehead like it was a promise, might be lying made something ugly twist tight in his gut.

“Joel, babe. There’s no... there’s no one who shot you. It was a car accident. On the highway. You swerved to avoid a truck and… and you don’t remember any of that?” you went on, words tumbling faster now, laced with a panic that only made his chest burn hotter. Your free hand rose again, hovering near his face like you wanted to touch him and didn’t dare.

A car accident. The words sounded so clean, so ordinary, they made his stomach turn.

He let out a short, bitter breath that scraped raw against his ruined throat. “A car accident,” he echoed, voice low and edged with disbelief. The anger was fully awake now, crawling higher, licking at the base of his throat. “You expect me to believe that? After everything? After the way the world ended? You’re telling me I’ve been lying here two months and the whole damn thing was just some fucking fender-bender in Austin, Texas?”

“what?… please, tell me what’s going on in your head. I don’t understand any of this. We... we can get through this. Us. you, me, the girls—” The plea only stoked the anger higher.

He could see it in your eyes—the genuine bewilderment, the way you looked at him like he was the one breaking something precious—and it made him want to shove the words back at you, make you feel the same fracture splitting open inside him.

“Yeah, well I don’t understand a goddamn thing either,” he rasped, the roughness in his voice turning sharp, ugly. His fingers tightened around yours, not gentle anymore, the grip almost bruising. “One minute I’m on the floor in Jackson with Ellie screaming my name, the next I wake up in some fairy-tale hospital with a woman I’ve never seen before telling me we’ve got daughters and a life in a city that shouldn’t even be standing. So forgive me if I’m having a hard time buying the ‘car accident’ story while you sit there looking at me like I’ve lost my mind and throwing around some bullshit about us—”

You flinched this time, but you didn’t pull away. And that, more than anything, unsettled him.

Are you out of your goddamn mind, kid? he thought. If this body weren’t already half-dead on me, I could put you down easy. But you stayed there anyway, close enough for him to feel the warmth coming off your skin, close enough that your hand still rested against him like you had forgotten it was there. Joel watched the confusion in your eyes shift slowly into hurt, quiet and unguarded, and the sight of it only made something uglier coil tighter inside his chest.

Because part of him had already begun to believe you.

“Joel,” you whispered again, voice trembling now, “I’m not lying to you. I swear I’m not. I don’t know what have you been through to this, or Jackson, or any of it. I just know I’ve been sitting here every day waiting for you to wake up and come back to me. To us.”

The room felt smaller suddenly, the beeping monitors too loud, the space between your faces charged with everything neither of you could quite name. His anger simmered there, hot and restless, while your confusion pressed back like a mirror, reflecting every fracture until it felt like the beginning of an argument neither of you had the strength for—but both of you were already stepping into.

The word us hit him like a gut punch.

His face twisted into something ugly, something mean and disbelieving, the kind of look he used to give raiders right before he pulled the trigger. Who the fuck is us? The thought roared through him, hot and vicious. There is no us between you and me. There never was. He didn’t know you. He didn’t want to know you. This soft, pleading stranger with her ring and her tears and her gentle hands had no right to that word.

“No,” he said suddenly, his voice rough and low. “No. No, that’s not what happened.”

you turned to look at him. Joel’s breathing had grown sharper, the anxiety clawing its way back up his throat. He pushed himself up slightly against the pillows, ignoring the burn in his side.

“Someone… a girl,” he continued, the words tumbling out faster, more urgent. “She shot me in the knee. Point blank. Then she beat the shit out of me. She had this goddamn club and she—” His voice cracked, but he forced the rest out. “She swung it at my head. That’s what happened. I’m not crazy. I didn’t get hurt in some fucking car accident. I know what I felt. I know what I saw.”

The room went completely still.

“Joel… hey, what are you talking about? There was no girl. It was a car crash on I-35. You swerved, hit the guardrail hard. They had to cut you out of the truck.”

Joel shook his head, jaw tight, eyes wild with frustration. “No. You’re wrong. All of it is wrong.” His gaze flicked toward you by the window, then back to you. “I was in Jackson. Ellie was there. She was screaming at me to get up. This wasn’t some accident on a highway that doesn’t even exist anymore. This was real. The blood, the pain, the way my leg gave out .... that was real.”

His chest was heaving now, the panic rising again, hot and suffocating. He looked between the two of you like you were both part of some elaborate lie meant to break him.

“I’m telling you,” he rasped, voice cracking with exhaustion and anger, “a girl beat me half to death with a golf club. She wanted me to suffer. That’s the last thing I remember. Not some fucking truck. Not Austin. Not any of this.”

The silence that followed felt suffocating. you glanced at him helplessly, clearly at a loss.

Joel’s hands were shaking where they gripped the sheets. He didn’t know who to trust anymore. Everything he said sounded insane even to his own ears, but it was the only truth he had left.

You cut him off mid-sentence, voice desperate, trying to reach the man you thought you still knew. “Joel, please—just breathe. tommy, ellie, and sarah are all waiting for you to wake up, okay. all of them is fine, there's no such a things like that, ”

"Sarah." the name landed like a blade between his ribs. "she so worried about ya,"

His eyes snapped to yours, the kind of look that had once made grown men step back. Anger surged through him in a white-hot flood, pure and blinding, drowning everything else. How dare you say her name? How dare you speak it so casually, like it was just another word, like you had any right to it? It felt like mockery. Like you were twisting the knife in the oldest wound he had, the one that had never healed, the one that still bled every time he closed his eyes. Sarah—his Sarah, his little girl, gone in a spray of bullets and screams—was not yours to claim. Not like this.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” he snarled, voice low and trembling with fury, the words scraping out like broken glass. “You don’t get to say her name. You don’t get to stand there and mock me with it. My daughter is dead. She’s been dead for twenty goddamn years. And you’re using her name like—like it’s some fucking game to you?”

You blinked, confusion crashing over your face like cold water, eyes wide and glistening. “Who?" you asks. "Ellie? Sarah?” The names tumbled out of you in helpless bewilderment, soft and uncertain, as if testing them might make any of this real. his eyes snapped at you. “Joel, I—I don’t understand. Sarah’s our-" joel see when you corrected yourself. "....your daughter. she is at school right now with Ellie and Tommy waiting for the doctor to say you're awake. She’s been so scared—”

His eyes snapped again at the second mention of Sarah, harder this time, the rage and raw grief colliding until his vision blurred at the edges. The anger was everywhere now, choking him, making his chest heave with the effort not to shout.

Part of him wanted to tear his hand from yours, wanted to shove you back hard enough to wipe that look from your face, to split the hurt between you so he wouldn’t have to carry it alone. The instinct came fast, ugly, familiar. Like anger was easier to survive than fear ever was.

But the other part of him: the worn-down, splintering part that had been holding itself together by habit alone, couldn’t stop looking at you.

At the tears beginning to gather in your eyes, shining stubbornly even as you tried to blink them away. At the way your voice cracked around his name, soft and trembling, as though it meant something sacred to you. As though he meant something.

It was unbearable.

Not because you were weak. Not because you pitied him.

But because you looked at him like you still believed there was something left in him worth reaching for.

And God, that was crueler than anything. Crueler than the pain in his body.

The room seemed to draw inward around the two of you, walls bending closer with every sharp pulse of the monitors. The sound filled the silence too loudly, too steadily, until even the air between your faces felt alive with it, thin and electric and breaking apart by inches.

Joel kept staring at you with that same ugly look—suspicion tangled with anger, exhaustion sitting underneath it all like something ancient and incurable. His hands trembled inside yours despite himself, not with weakness alone but with the effort of holding everything in. And your expression only undid him further: the confusion there, the hurt slowly opening across your face like light through cracked glass.

You looked at him as though you could not understand how someone already half-destroyed could still keep choosing to wound himself further.

The feeling hit him again before he could outrun it.

Anxiety came down hard and sudden, vicious as a storm breaking through rotten wood. His chest seized violently, breath catching halfway in as though invisible hands had wrapped around his ribs and begun tightening, until even the smallest inhale hurt. A sharp pain bloomed beneath his sternum, hot and blinding, spreading with every frantic beat of his heart.

"you okay?"

For one terrible second, he thought his body might simply split apart from it.

Old grief rose first. Then fear. Then something worse than both.

Because beneath the panic, beneath the confusion and fury and pain, there was the unbearable feeling that he was losing something again before he had even remembered what it was.

And you were still there, holding his shaking hands like they belonged to someone worth saving. but then, “I don’t know who the fuck you are, okay?” The words tore out of him, raw and cruel, each one aimed to wound. “I don’t know you. I don’t remember your face, your voice, that goddamn ring on your finger—none of it. You keep talking about us and daughters and some perfect little life like I’m supposed to just nod and play along. But I don’t feel any of that. You’re a stranger to me. You’re a fucking stranger holding my hand like you own it, saying my dead daughter’s name like it’s nothing, and I can’t—”

He stopped, breath ragged, the anxiety clawing higher, tighter, making his voice shake with something ugly.

“I wake up and everything’s gone. Jackson. Ellie. Tommy. My Sarah. And instead I get you. Some woman I’ve never seen before telling me I’ve got a whole family I don’t remember. How the hell do you think that feels? Like I’m losing my goddamn mind. Or maybe I already lost it and this is the joke.”

The words landed like stones. He saw them hit you — watched the way your shoulders curved inward, the way your lips pressed together to trap whatever sound wanted to escape. He saw the fresh hurt bloom in your eyes, bright and devastating, and still he couldn’t stop the poison spilling out.

“You want me to believe you’re mine? That I chose this? That I gave you that ring and built some goddamn white-picket life in a city that shouldn’t exist anymore?” His laugh was bitter, broken. “I don’t even know if I could love someone like that anymore. Not after everything. Certainly not someone I can’t remember.”

But even as the venom left him, even as the anger tried to keep its grip, something inside his chest fractured wider.

He looked at your eyes: They were the saddest eyes he had ever seen in his life. for one brief second, felt something close to shame crawl beneath his skin.

Not just guilt but the terrible understanding that he was hurting someone who did not deserve to be hurt.

A tear slipped from your eye before you could stop it. Joel watched it trace a slow path down your cheek, catching the pale hospital light as it fell. And then came the flush blooming beneath your skin, delicate and sudden, spreading across your face like your body itself was embarrassed by the honesty of your grief.

You looked away for half a second, as if ashamed to be seen hurting in front of him.

That nearly undid him. Because beneath the exhaustion and the confusion and the anger twisting inside his chest, you suddenly looked unbearably young to him. Young in the way bruised things are open and exposed. Still foolish enough to care. And God, he did not know what to do with that.

Something tightened low in his stomach, sharp and uncomfortable, almost like grief but not quite. The sight of your tears made him feel clumsy inside his own skin, like his hands had become dangerous things without him noticing. Like every hard word he threw at you landed somewhere tender he hadn’t meant to touch. For the first time since waking up, Joel looked at you not like a threat, not like a stranger hovering too close to his bed—

but like someone he might already have ruined.

Joel watched as you lifted your hand and wiped the tear away roughly, almost angrily, like you were punishing yourself for letting it fall in front of him. The motion was jerky, ungraceful, nothing like the gentle way you had touched him earlier. It hurt more than he expected it to.

Then something buzzed in your pocket.

You pulled out a slim, sleek rectangle, a phone? but not like any phone or even radio they usually use, he remembered from before the outbreak. those thick and got keyboard on it. but now It look too thin as the screen glowing bright and alive with color. Just a perfectly functioning piece of the old world, as if the last twenty years had never happened. Joel stared at it, a fresh wave of unease crawling over his skin. Phones didn’t work anymore. Not like that. Seeing it in your hand felt wrong. Unnatural. Like proof that none of this was real.

you glanced at the screen, hesitated, then answered.

“Hey… no need, can you just come here, please” you said, your voice quieter now, trying to steady itself.

You turned slightly away from him, but not enough to hide anything. Joel could still see the shine of tears in your eyes, the way your free hand gripped the edge of the bed until your knuckles paled. “No, he’s awake. He just woke up a little while ago.” someone on other side say something, and you says. "yeah, he talking, i mean we are,"

He watched you the whole time.

His eyes didn’t leave your face, not even for a second. There was a tight, animal caution in his chest, the old instinct still working even though his body felt half-broken. Part of him kept waiting for the shift — for your hand to move suddenly, for something sharp to appear, for the gentleness to crack open and reveal what was really underneath. He wouldn’t have been surprised if you pulled a gun. In his experience, that was how these things usually ended.

While you were still on the phone, he turned his head slowly to the side, jaw clenched against the pain that flared down his neck. Through the gap in the thin curtain, the window showed him the city. They were high up. Very high. Buildings stood straight and whole, lights moving along the streets below, everything clean and ordinary in a way that made his stomach feel hollow. It didn’t look like a world that had ended. It looked like one that had simply kept going without him.

“Okay,” you said into the phone, voice quiet and tired. “Can you tell the doctor on the way here? Yeah… okay.”

You hung up and slipped the phone back into your pocket. For a moment you stood completely still, looking down at the floor like you needed the extra second to collect yourself. Then you lifted your head and met his eyes again.

Joel didn’t say anything. He just watched you. The flush was still on your cheeks, faint now, and your eyes were red at the edges. You had wiped the tear away so roughly it was like you were annoyed at yourself for crying. He noticed the small things how your fingers kept gripping the edge of the bed rail, even after everything he had said, the way your shoulders carried a weight that wasn’t just physical.

“Tommy’s downstairs,” you said quietly, without looking at him. “He’s going to come up in a minute.”

The squeaking sound of the chair cut through the silence like a small wound.

You dragged it back toward the wall with a slow, tired scrape, the rubber legs protesting against the linoleum. Joel tensed instantly, every muscle in his battered body pulling tight. His pulse spiked. For one sharp, instinctive second he was certain you were going to lift it — swing it hard across the room and bring it down on his head, finishing what the world had started. He braced for it, breath shallow, eyes never leaving you.

But you didn’t.

You simply collapsed into the chair, throwing your body down as if all the strength had suddenly left your legs. The movement was heavy, defeated. You curled forward, back rounding like a question mark, elbows digging into your knees, and buried your face in your palms. The posture was so raw, so private, that Joel felt he shouldn’t be watching. For a moment he was sure you were going to cry, really cry! the kind of crying that tore itself out of the chest and refused to be quiet.

He waited for the sound of it.

Instead, you stiffened, as though reminding yourself you were still in the room with him. You straightened your back just enough to look composed, though your shoulders stayed heavy and your head remained low. Your gaze fixed on the floor between your feet. Then, almost absentmindedly, your fingers began to move — tracing the band of the ring on your left hand, turning it slowly, nervously, around and around your finger like it was the only real thing left in the world.

Joel watched the small motion with a strange ache blooming behind his ribs. The way the light caught on the simple silver band as you twisted it. The way your thumb kept brushing over it, again and again, as if checking it was still there. As if checking he was still there.

There was something unbearably intimate about it. Something that made the air feel thick and warm between you, even with all the distance and silence and cruel words he had thrown at you earlier. He could see the exhaustion in every line of your body, the quiet war you were fighting just to keep yourself from falling apart in front of him.

And still, those eyes, when they eventually lifted again, held that same devastating softness.

He didn’t know what to do with any of it. The fear, the suspicion, the strange pull in his chest. So he simply kept watching you, silent and unsettled, as the fluorescent light hummed above you both and the city glowed indifferently beyond the window.

The silence stretched between you for a long moment, heavy and alive.

Then you lifted your head slightly, eyes still fixed somewhere near the floor, and asked in a voice so soft it barely disturbed the air:

“You don’t really remember me at all, do you?”

The question came out small and fragile, almost apologetic for existing. With it, a sad smile touched your lips — weak, trembling at the edges, the kind of smile that wasn’t really a smile at all. It was more like surrender. A small, tired curve that knew it wouldn’t reach your eyes and didn’t even try. It made something inside Joel tighten painfully.

He stared at you, chest still aching from the earlier surge of anxiety, his body heavy against the hospital bed. The question hung there, simple and devastating. He could see the way your fingers kept turning the ring around and around, slower now, as though the motion could steady you.

For a second he didn’t answer. He just looked at that weak, sorrowful smile and felt the strange weight of it settle deep in his stomach. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. You were looking at him like he had once meant everything, while all he could offer back was confusion and suspicion and the cold certainty that he had never seen your face before today.

“No,” he said finally, his voice low and rough, scraped raw from disuse. “I don’t.”

Your sad little smile faltered but didn’t disappear completely. It only became sadder, thinner, as if you had already known the answer but still needed to hear it out loud. Your eyes shimmered again, that unbearable softness returning full force, and Joel felt the now-familiar twist in his chest — guilt and something else he didn’t want to name it.

You nodded once, barely perceptible, still playing with the ring like it was a lifeline.

“okay... ” you whispered, almost to yourself. “at least you didn't forgot your family.”

You simply sat there in the chair, back slightly curved, wearing that small, broken smile like armor, while the city lights glowed quietly beyond the window and the distance between you felt wider than ever.

Joel kept watching you, unable to look away, the image of that weak smile burning itself into him long after you lowered your gaze again.

His eyes were fixed on you as you shook your head, then you let out a small, broken sound, almost like a chuckle in disbelief at what had happened.

“I don’t know what’s worse, Joel. That you don’t remember me… or that some part of me still believes if I just wait long enough, you’ll come back to me anyway. Even though I can see in your eyes that you already left.”

Joel felt the words sink into him like hooks.

Something heavy and painful lodged itself in his throat. He stared at you, at that small, devastated smile still clinging to your lips, at the way your shoulders curved like the weight of loving him was slowly crushing you. The anxiety in his chest tightened again, but this time it was mixed with a guilt so sharp it almost made him flinch.

Jesus Christ, he thought. How do you say something like that to a man who doesn’t even know your name? How do you sit there and bleed like this for someone who looks at you like a threat?

He hated it. He hated how your sadness made him feel small. He hated that some broken part of him wanted to reach out and touch your hand anyway. Most of all, he hated that he had nothing real to give you.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he rasped finally, his voice low and rough, almost angry at how unsteady it sounded. “I can’t lie to you. I look at you and… I feel nothing. Not the way you want me to. There’s just this blank space where you say my life used to be.”

He swallowed hard, eyes dropping to your hands, to that ring you kept touching like a wound.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, the words feeling foreign and insufficient on his tongue. “I’m sorry you’re hurting like this. But I didn’t ask for any of it. I didn’t ask for you to wait two months by my bed. I didn’t ask for daughters I don’t remember. I woke up and everything I know is gone… and you’re looking at me like I’m supposed to fix that. Like I’m supposed to love you when I don’t even know who the hell you are.”

He met your eyes again, his own gaze tired and conflicted.

“I’m not him,” he said quietly, almost gently this time. “Whoever the man was who looked at you like you were his whole world… I ain’t him. Not anymore. Maybe I never will be again.”

Joel looked away toward the window, jaw tight, the city lights blurring slightly in his vision. Inside his chest, the guilt twisted deeper. Because even as he said the words, even as he tried to push you away, a small, terrified part of him wondered if he was making the biggest mistake of his life by letting someone who loved him this much slip through his fingers.

You looked at him for a long moment with those blank eyes, eyes so full of sadness they seemed emptied of everything else. There was no anger left in them, no fight. Just a vast, quiet exhaustion that made the room feel colder.

Then a sudden scoff from you that broke the silence, almost a sneer, like you were disgusted with yourself for still caring.

“i hope you do a little better and put a effort when you see the girls,” you said, your voice low and flat. “They’re your daughters. You’re their only hope right now.”

He stared at you as you said them. There was no longer any plea in them, only a weary resignation that somehow hurt more than any accusation. Joel watched as you pushed yourself up from the chair. Your movements were slow, heavy, like your body had grown too heavy to carry. You walked over to the large window he had been glancing at earlier and pulled the thin curtain open with one sharp tug. afternoon light flooded the room, softer and warmer than the harsh fluorescent glow. The city stretched out beneath you... alive, glowing, impossibly intact.

Joel stared past you at the view, his chest tightening again at the sight of a world that refused to match his memories. You stood there with your back to him, arms wrapped around yourself, silhouetted against the glass. The light caught in your hair and made the ring on your finger glint faintly. You didn’t turn around. You didn’t say anything else. You just stood there, looking out at the city like it might give you answers he couldn’t.

Joel felt something shift uncomfortably inside him. Those blank, sorrow-filled eyes stayed burned into his mind even now that you weren’t facing him. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. The silence between you felt thicker than before — full of everything you hadn’t said, and everything he didn’t know how to feel.

He stayed quiet, watching the gentle rise and fall of your shoulders, wondering how much longer you could keep holding yourself together when he kept breaking you apart.

The door burst open.

Both of you turned at the sound, your body pivoting fully from the window in one fluid, instinctive motion, no longer offering him your back. The golden sunlight that had been outlining your silhouette now spilled across your front, catching in your eyes and illuminating the quiet exhaustion etched into your features. Joel felt the shift like a current passing through the room. Your gaze landed on him first before moving to Tommy.

Tommy came in fast, boots loud against the floor, breathing hard like he had run the whole way from wherever bad news lived in this too-bright city. The rush of air that followed him carried the scent of outside—dust, engine oil, and the faint metallic tang of evening settling over concrete. His hair was disheveled, jacket half-buttoned, eyes wide with that familiar mix of panic and fierce love Joel almost recognized.

“Joel—Jesus Christ, willow said you were awake,” Tommy’s voice cracked as he crossed the room in long strides, stopping short when he saw you standing by the window, rigid and silent. "Jesus, you scared the hell out of us." His gaze flicked between the two of you, reading the thick air, the way your arms hugged your ribs like armor. Something in Tommy’s face softened with understanding, then tightened again with worry.

Tommy obviously knew you. There had been no hesitation in his brother when he looked at you, none of that suspicion Joel had first clung to because suspicion was easier than the alternative. Easier than believing you were exactly what you said you were.

Because if Tommy knew you, really knew you, then you hadn’t lied to him.

Which meant the look on your face earlier had been real too. The silence after his cruel words. The way your mouth parted slightly, as if you had almost said something back before deciding against it. He remembered it now with painful clarity. That quiet kind of hurt people try to hide because they don’t think they’re allowed to feel it in the first place.

And God, he had done that to you.

he’d rather die than speak to you now, knowing he was the one who hurt you.

...

YOU (WILLOW)

You sat in the parking lot with the food balanced on your lap, the paper bag already going translucent with grease. The Coke beside you had started sweating down the cup, dampening the fabric of your coat where it rested against your thigh. You could hear children somewhere outside laughing too loudly, backpacks slamming against lockers, car doors opening and closing in quick succession. Life continuing with this terrible ease.

when the doctor spoke, somehow made it worse.

Like if he had sounded alarmed, or uncertain, or visibly disturbed by any of this, maybe you could have matched his emotion properly. But he spoke in that careful, measured tone doctors used when they had already accepted the situation long before you had.

You sat across from him in the consultation room with your hands clasped so tightly together your knuckles hurt. There was a coffee stain on the sleeve of your sweater from two days ago. Or maybe three. You couldn’t really remember anymore. Time had begun collapsing strangely since the accident. Nights folding into mornings without edges between them.

“He remembers his brother,” you said. “his daughters.”

The doctor nodded once. “Yes.”

You stared at him. The fluorescent light above buzzed softly. Somewhere outside the room a phone rang twice and stopped. “But not me.”

Another pause.

You hated the pauses most. The pauses were where reality entered the room.

“Memory retrieval after brain trauma can be selective,” he explained. “Sometimes emotionally significant memories remain accessible. Sometimes certain relationships become… disconnected temporarily.”

Disconnected. The word made something sharp twist low in your stomach.

“He knew me before,” you said.

“Yes.”

“He loved me.” you murmur.

The doctor lowered his eyes briefly then. Not avoiding the question exactly. Just moving carefully around it, like somebody stepping over broken glass.

“I understand that.”

“No, I don’t think you do.” Your voice sounded strange suddenly. “Because if he remembers Ellie, and Tommy, and Sarah, then why not me?”

The question stayed there between you.

Why not me.

You realized then that you had been thinking it over and over since Joel opened his eyes.

Not: Will he recover?

Not: Will things go back to normal?

Just: Why not me.

The doctor folded his hands together on the desk. “The brain doesn’t organize memory according to fairness,” he said gently.

You almost laughed at that, not because it was funny, because the sentence felt obscene somehow. Fairness. As though this had anything to do with fairness anymore.

“He looked at me,” you said after a moment. “Like I frightened him.”

The doctor didn’t answer immediately. You kept speaking anyway because stopping felt impossible now.

“He kept asking for Ellie. He remembered Sarah immediately. Tommy too. He remembered things that apparently don’t even exist anymore inside his head. But when he looked at me,” your throat tightened suddenly. “Nothing. There was just nothing.”

Your voice cracked slightly on the last word and you looked down immediately, embarrassed by it. The doctor waited. You hated that too. The patience. The gentleness. As though your grief had become medically predictable.

“But he did know me,” you insisted again, quieter this time. “You understand that, right? We've been together like... almost five years. seeing him every single day, and we-we going to married, and-and i don't know have another kid. He used to…” You stopped.

'Used to' is the saddest phrases you could ever say. The phrase hollowed something inside your chest.

The doctor leaned back slightly in his chair.“Miss Grant,” he said carefully, “people often assume memory is purely factual. But autobiographical attachment is extremely complicated. Sometimes after trauma the brain preserves certain identities while suppressing others associated with emotional intensity, stress, or disorientation.”

You blinked at him. Suppressing others. The words sounded almost violent.

“So I’m stressful?” you asked.

“No, that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

He hesitated.

And again you thought: there it is. That terrible little hesitation before somebody says something that changes your life permanently.

“What I mean,” he said slowly, “is that memory loss is not always random. Sometimes the mind protects itself in ways we don’t fully understand.”

You stared at him for a long moment. Then shook your head immediately. “No.”

He stayed silent.

“No,” you repeated. “Because that makes it sound intentional.”

“I’m not suggesting he chose this.”

“But why me?” you asked again, suddenly unable to stop. “Why am I the missing part? Why does he remember everyone except me?”

Your voice had gone thin now. Almost shaking.

You pressed your palms hard against your eyes for a second, breathing carefully.

“He remembered his daughters,” you whispered. “Do you understand how strange that is? He remembers being a father. Just not being my.....”

The doctor’s expression softened almost imperceptibly.

And somehow that softness finally broke something in you.

“He used to know me better than anyone,” you said quietly. “He used to look at me and…” You swallowed hard. “God. He used to look at me like I was home to him.”

The room stayed silent after that.

Then finally, very softly, the doctor said:

“I know this is painful.”

And the strange thing was, hearing him say painful almost made you angry. Because painful sounded far too small a word for what this actually was.

Painful was a migraine. A broken wrist. Bad news over the phone.

Because if Joel truly felt nothing, this would actually be simpler. Cleaner. You could grieve properly then. People survived rejection every day. Survived divorce. Survived widowhood.

But this was something stranger.

He looked at you like there was something inside him trying unsuccessfully to reach toward you through locked glass.

And maybe that was the cruelest possibility of all. To still exist somewhere inside another person without them being able to find you.

...

You took another bite of the burger because your body needed something, even if your mind rejected the idea of eating entirely. The meat tasted too salty now. Or maybe that was just the tears reaching the corners of your mouth. You wiped your face with the heel of your hand and stared through the windshield at nothing in particular.

It’s strange, you thought. How quickly a person can become lonely inside their own life.

Not even this morning, Joel had still known your name. Maybe not speaking it, because he was unconscious and machines had been breathing for him and the doctors kept using words like pressure and swelling and wait. But somewhere underneath all that, he had still belonged to you in the ordinary way husbands belong to their wives. His toothbrush still sat beside yours at home. His coffee mug still waited in the sink. The flannel he wore most often was still hanging over the chair in your bedroom because you hadn’t washed it yet. It smelled too much like him.

And now suddenly you were somebody standing at the edge of his bed introducing yourself like a stranger.

The thought made your stomach turn violently. You laughed a little under your breath then, though there was nothing funny in it. What are you supposed to do with a relationship after only one person remembers it?

You kept thinking maybe there was a correct way to behave. Some proper version of yourself that would make this easier for him. Less frightening. Maybe if you had not cried. Maybe if you had touched him less. Maybe if you had not looked so devastated every time he stared at you blankly.

But then another thought came immediately after. No, because even if you had done everything perfectly, he still would not remember you.

That was the unbearable thing. You rested your forehead briefly against the steering wheel. You still had to pick up the girls.

Your eyes burned from crying.

You took another bite of the burger and forced yourself to eat half because otherwise Tommy would notice later. Tommy noticed things. Not in the way Joel did, quietly and immediately, but eventually. Like a storm warning arriving a little after the rain had already started.

The burger had gone lukewarm.

You chewed anyway.

People always say grief steals your appetite. This had never been true for you. Grief did not make you less hungry. It simply made eating feel absurd. The body continuing with its ordinary needs while the heart behaved like something mortally wounded.

You chewed slowly.

A girl crossed the parking lot holding hands with her father. She was laughing at something he said, head tilted back completely without caution, the way children laugh when they trust somebody absolutely.

You had loved Joel for years before you realized the frightening part of it wasn’t losing him.

It was building an entire life around somebody until your memories no longer made sense without them inside it.

You thought about the hospital room again. Joel looking at you with suspicion first. Then anger. Then something worse afterward. Guilt.

That part stayed with you.

Because underneath all his fear, he had looked ashamed after making you cry. As though some instinct inside him still recoiled from hurting you even when his mind no longer understood why.

The thought settled into your chest strangely warm and painful at once. Maybe memory lived somewhere deeper than the brain. Somewhere inside the body itself. Or maybe you were becoming pathetic now. The kind of woman who searched for signs of love in tiny meaningless gestures because the larger thing had already disappeared.

You swallowed hard.

You rested your forehead briefly against the steering wheel. Your chest tightened until breathing hurt.

if you hold back on the emotions, if you don't allow yourself to go all the way through them, you can never get to being detached. You stay afraid of them.

You wondered if that was true.

Because lately you felt like all you had done was feel.

Fear.

Hope.

Relief.

Then grief.

Then hope again.

Then grief again.

An endless cycle.

The doctor had told you memory loss was complicated. That emotional pathways could survive even when memories disappeared. That Joel might still feel connected to you in ways he couldn't explain.

Might. Such a terrible word and hope lives inside words like might. So does suffering, You took another bite, chewed slowly.

The truth was, you had spent two months preparing yourself for almost every outcome imaginable.

For a second you honestly considered driving somewhere else entirely. Just continuing down the highway without stopping. Leaving the city. Leaving the hospital. Leaving the terrible ache of being looked at by your husband like you were some woman who wandered accidentally into his room.

But the thought vanished almost immediately because there was nowhere you could go where your life would not follow you.

You closed your eyes briefly. For one absurd moment, you think it might be easier to choke on the burger and die right here in the school parking lot. Not because you want to die—you don't. That's the strange thing. You want tomorrow. You want coffee in the morning. You want Sarah yelling from upstairs that she can't find her shoes even though they're exactly where she left them. You want Ellie stealing fries and denying it with complete sincerity. You want Joel. More specifically, you want the version of Joel who knows you. But grief has a way of making death seem less frightening than absence. Because death, at least, is honest. Death closes the door and leaves you outside it. This is different. This is being invited inside and discovering nobody recognizes your face.

You imagine the burger catching in your throat, imagine the panic of it, the desperate search for air, and think how ridiculous it would be for your life to end over fast food and heartbreak. Then again, heartbreak itself feels ridiculous. You spend years building a life with someone. You memorize the way they take their coffee, the shape of their silences, the exact look they get when they're trying not to laugh. They become woven into your days so completely that you stop noticing where they end and you begin. And then one morning they wake up and look at you like a stranger.

You swallow hard and feel the food move painfully down your throat. No, you don't want to die. What you want is far more impossible than that. You want to walk back into that hospital room and have Joel look at you the way he did yesterday. You want him to remember why he loved you. You want, just for five minutes, to stop feeling like you're mourning someone who is still alive.

Then you heard knock on the car window and Ellie’s voice outside the car.

“Willy?”

You looked up too fast, wiping your face immediately with both hands, still chewing the last bite of burger like an idiot. Ellie stood a few feet away outside the passenger window, backpack hanging off one shoulder, staring at you with that sharp, observant expression that always made you feel transparently human.

For one horrible second neither of you said anything. Then Ellie frowned slightly.

“…you okay?”

am i okay?

next chapter 🏹 (still working on it… coming soon I promise)

[tomshiddles]

PEDRO PASCAL as Joel Miller The Last of Us 01x05

[texasafterdark]

trouser snake | joel miller

pairings: caretaker! joel x fem! reader

tags: 18+ only, ICKYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY joel, dark! joel, naive! and oblivious! reader, post-outbreak au, ellie doesn't exist, sweet nicknames, daddy kink, dd/lg elements, large and in-charge legal age gap, oral m receiving, corruption kink

word count: 1868

summary: you ask joel what a trouser snake is...

a/n: i was inspired by a story on an spicy lit website but i cannot for the life of me remember the authors name💔also lowk cant write smut anymore its been too long BOOOOO

in the early sweltering heat of spring, you wiped the sweat that was beginning to form at your hairline with the back of your hand. a cool breeze hit you, the air going straight up your back to dry off some of the sweat there. you were thinking about if maybe joel would be at home yet.

he helped out with the construction of things in jackson with his brother, tommy. joel was more-so the management and tommy was out there with the others, ever since tommy made him quit carrying heavy lumber due to his ever-aching back. as you walked by the swaying trees, the sound of a nearing car motor caught your attention from behind.

glancing back over your shoulder, you saw it was a truck full of boys and smiled politely at them. your late grandmother always told you to smile at everyone, including strangers, but you recognized some of them from town meetings.

you were fully expecting to get a kind gesture back, but were met with confusion instead.

"hey sweetheart! come sit on my trouser snake!" one boy said, invoking laughter from the others. furrowing your eyebrows together, you cocked your head to the side. "your what?"

they all laughed even harder and just sped away, yelling.

"trouser snake…" you mouthed the words back to yourself, trying to put the pieces together but to no avail. as you finally neared the house, you spotted joel's truck in the driveway, and skipped toward the front door as your skirt fluttered in the air behind you. opening the door, your eyes dart around in search of joel. you really wanted to ask him what a trouser snake was.

"hey darlin', that you?" his voice resonated from upstairs. "yes!" you called out to him, practically running up the stairs. he was in his bedroom, back turned to you, accompanied by a drilling sound. walking closer, you see that he was currently working on a miniature wooden house.

"hey princess." he greets again, not taking his eyes off of his work in progress.

you always felt so comfortable with joel. ever since you stumbled upon jackson during that extremely cold winter, he and tommy were the ones at the gate who let you come in. they wrapped blankets around your shivering frame and gave you endless cups of hot chocolate once you were inside the bar.

bringing your hands around his head to rest over both of his eyes, you giggled. joel smiled as well, even though he tried to hide it.

removing your hands, you stand to the side of him. "…um, i have a question?" you propose and he turns his head to you. his hair was mostly silver nowadays, the strands almost glistening in the beams of sunlight that came through the window.

"ok." he nods, awaiting said question.

you just come right out and say it. "what's a trouser snake?" your lips stay slightly apart in wonder in contrast to joel's, who's eyebrows were furrowed and his lips a straight line, mixed emotions on how you know what that is.

or who said that to you.

"where'd 'ya hear that from, princess?" joel asked cautiously, not wanting you to believe that you were in trouble or anything like that. as you shake your head, you recall the whole street interaction with the truck full of boys and them yelling it out to you, plus your confusion and everything.

"the boys outside. they said, 'sit on my trouser snake' but i don't wanna get bit by a snake!!" fear seeps into your brain, never having gotten bit by any type of animal, definitely not by a snake. "i was so confused, i thought you would know because you teach me everything." your eyes light up, so grateful that joel has learned you the ways of this new world.

joel looked like he had seen a ghost.

he sighed out, blowing out his cheeks and shaking his head slowly. "princess...i," he began to speak. "is it poisonous?" you ask carefully.

he stands up from his chair, a quiet groan evident, before going to sit on the edge of the bed, his hands on his knees. "honey, what those boys were talking about...it, well," you cut off his train of words once more. "have you seen one?"

the gears in joels mind were working overtime. he knew that you wouldn't know what a damn trouser snake would be. he didn't wanna ruin your innocence like that.

but he can't lie and say that the thought of you only being taught things by him was darkly exciting. you trusted him with everything in you. he began to nod to your recent question, making your eyes widen.

"what does it look like? he said it's in your pants! isn't that scary?" you asked these questions like you were asking what was for dinner. running a hand through his silver hair, he just went along with it.

"no. it's not scary." he simply said, with a sigh. "oh..." you brought your hands together, rubbing your nailbeds against each other, making a soft clicking noise as you thought.

joel's pants were already a little tight, but now they were restrictive almost. his "trouser snake" was getting a little excited at the whole situation.

"but, princess, don't worry about that. it's really not all that imp-"

"can i see?" you ask with hope. joel's expression contorted. his eyes darted around the room, keeping his head immobile. "see what?"

"your trouser snake!" you say matter-of-factly as you plop down next to him on the bed. he was now aware of how close you two were, and scooted away a little bit. "no, i don't think that's a good idea." he says firmly, he raises his hand in your direction briefly before setting it back down on his thigh.

your expression showed slight irritation. "joel! that's not fair, you said you'd always explain things to me. they didn't teach me anything at the other camp! pleaseeeee?" you drug out the last word. and it was true. the camp that you were previously at raised you from a baby to a now 20-something-year-old, but it was mainly elderly women who were nun-like. they told you to not think about or trust boys, but you knew you could trust tommy and joel.

"…no baby. i'm sorry." he managed to get the words out clearly.

you turned away from him before standing up and stomping your foot. "fine!" you call out, making joel raise an eyebrow at you, but you didn't care right now. "i'll just ask jesse! he'll show me what a trouser snake looks like since you won't show me yours." you huff out. you didn't understand why joel wouldn't agree to your request.

"jesse?!" he asked, anger seeping around the edges of his tone, making you retreat just the slightest. "you go ask jesse and see what happens." he spoke lowly as your eyes dropped to the carpeted floor, doubtful now. "you know better than to stomp your foot at me. go to your room." he pointed to the wall, to your room which was right next to his own. you knew not to push any further and begrudgingly obeyed his order, slamming your door shut before plopping face down on your bed. out of the corner of your eye, you spot your withered sketchbook and pencil, grabbing them both to doodle to calm yourself down.

you weren't aware of how much time had gone by until there was a knock at your door.

"princess? can i come in?" joel's soft voice spoke from the opposite end of the door. pausing for a moment, you answered yes and heard the door creak open. you stayed on your stomach, with your back to him, quiet. then he sighed. "you really wanna see one, hm?" this made you immediately turn over, making joel shake his head.

"come here." he motioned with his hand as you scurried to stand up and go over to him.

"close your eyes." he continued, and you did so. he grabbed your hand, flipping it palms-down and guided it until your fingers bumped into something…hard.

“keep those pretty eyes closed, babygirl.” his breath came out a bit labored. he hadn’t felt a touch other than his own in years. his fingers closed around yours, putting pressure on both his hand and his clothed cock. you gasp at the feeling of it in your hand. “joel yours is big?” you say curiously, making joel smugly smile.

“yea, baby. he is a little big, huh?” he speaks, his mind barely focusing on his words and more so on your hand rubbing him so good through his jeans.

“oh that’s a good girl baby. just like that.” joel breathed out, breaths uneven as your tongue glided up and down the side of his aching, throbbing cock. and an old tie as a blindfold over your eyes.

it was awful.

joel lying and saying that sometimes a trouser snake needed to be licked like a lollipop so it won’t be angry and bite him. your eyes enlarged to saucers at the thought of joel being injured and jumped at the idea to help.

the condition?

you couldn’t look at it or it would bite you too. that’s where the blindfold comes into play. so there you were, on your knees before him, mouth open and dragging your tongue around his heavy meat like it was the best lollipop in the world. his hand was on the back of your head now.

“open your mouth and stick your tongue out, baby.” seeing nothing but the darkness caused by the tie over your eyes, you do as he says. shortly after, you felt the heavy slaps of it on your wet tongue, with joel loving the site.

“will ‘ya be a good girl and do this for daddy when he needs it?” he runs his head across the flat of your tongue, then pulls back to rub against your lips. you nod almost immediately. “yes, yes i will.”

“say, ‘yes daddy i will’.” he softly commands.

you swallow briefly. “yes daddy, i will..”

“atta girl. open up wide, baby.” his length invaded your mouth, lips stretching as you try not to gag. soon enough, your spit was dribbling down your chin as joel gently fucked your mouth, his hands keeping your head close.

“oh baby. you’re making him realll happy. such a good girl.” each thrust in your mouth brought joel one step closer to his peak. his cock slippery with a mix of your spit and his precum, made every single one of his nerve endings buzz with complete pleasure.

“fuck fuck fuck. oh here i co—it comes. don’t be scared princess.” he warned you before his trouser snake sprayed its seed all over your pretty blindfolded face. spurts came out and landed on your forehead, cheek, nose, and even in your hair. you weren’t scared only confused.

“it’s warm daddy.” your fingers were splayed out, not used to the foreign substance. joel was still standing above you, trying to catch his breath from a mind blowing orgasm. “it’s okay, princess. that means he likes you.”

taglist: @sunshineflowersandkisses @taniamiller @ilovetoomanymen @ghuoab @joelsarchive @wand-erer5 @mydarlingjoel @pleurspetal @politeolive @twilightvelour @h3avenlyglory @kkatnapp

[msxjennipascal]