I want to eat pasta alone in silence. Al // Writer of ‘emotional torment’ 💁♀️ My Fic Masterlist // Jackson Joel Miller Are You Ready to Love Me Series // AO3 Link
You can call me Al (or Owl). I'm taking a little break from the tumbles and I've slimmed down my masterlist to reflect that.
If there's a fic you love & you can't see, just DM me and I'll be happy to send it to you. There's a few more still up on ao3 as well.
What can you expect? Emotional devastation, my favourite morally grey reader (always), angst and smut, but also magic and hope. Dieter is my muse but Joel is my love.
AO3 direct link / Hidden treasure fic list / From The Vaults / TBR @als-smutty-library
This is my loose fit Coffee Shop AU series, that has the same f!reader - we start with Dave York and then move onto Joel pre-outbreak. Finally, we end up in Jackson post-outbreak.
Dave York
Dave York x f!reader: Part 1: Down Bad (6,190)
Dave York x f!reader: Part 2: Good Luck, Babe (5,174)
Dave York x f!reader x OFC Claudia: Part 3: It Ain't Me, Babe (4,341)
Joel Miller
Pre-Outbreak Joel Miller x f!reader: Difficult (16,000)
Jackson Joel x f!reader: Are you ready to love me (complete series - 26,856 total)
Bonus Dieter for you.
🖤 Frith World War 1 Poet Dieter x f!reader (one shot)
Bonus Frankie Christmas
🎅 Be My Baby - A Very Frankie Christmas Frankie Morales x f!reader (one shot)
You can call me Al (or Owl). I'm taking a little break from the tumbles and I've slimmed down my masterlist to reflect that.
If there's a fic you love & you can't see, just DM me and I'll be happy to send it to you. There's a few more still up on ao3 as well.
What can you expect? Emotional devastation, my favourite morally grey reader (always), angst and smut, but also magic and hope. Dieter is my muse but Joel is my love.
AO3 direct link / Hidden treasure fic list / From The Vaults / TBR @als-smutty-library
This is my loose fit Coffee Shop AU series, that has the same f!reader - we start with Dave York and then move onto Joel pre-outbreak. Finally, we end up in Jackson post-outbreak.
Dave York
Dave York x f!reader: Part 1: Down Bad (6,190)
Dave York x f!reader: Part 2: Good Luck, Babe (5,174)
Dave York x f!reader x OFC Claudia: Part 3: It Ain't Me, Babe (4,341)
Joel Miller
Pre-Outbreak Joel Miller x f!reader: Difficult (16,000)
Jackson Joel x f!reader: Are you ready to love me (complete series - 26,856 total)
Bonus Dieter for you.
🖤 Frith World War 1 Poet Dieter x f!reader (one shot)
Bonus Frankie Christmas
🎅 Be My Baby - A Very Frankie Christmas Frankie Morales x f!reader (one shot)
This is so so kind of you, thank you!! I’ve enjoyed reading your comments here and on ao3 so much, I’m so happy you’ve enjoyed my words, I hope you have a wonderful 2026 🖤🖤🖤
Have a Holly Joel-ly Christmas 🎄 (belated) and a Happy New Year! 🥳
Hello my bbs! In true Emily fashion, I’m sliding in at the very end of 2025 to wish you all the best for 2026 and to thank you again for being my joy this past year 🥹
It’s been a hot minute since I did a fic rec of some sort and genuinely, the writers I read here more than deserve it. Trying something here, let me know if it’s something you might like to see for other PBoi characters? (Ummm for this audio to work I guess they would have to have bit it?! 😅😂)
Here is an edit for some of my fave Joel stories, series and authors 🥹🥰 by no means is this collection complete - there are so many talented Joel writers and brilliant Joel stories, I thank and love you all; was unfortunately restricted by the audio length and tumblr tag limits 😣 (maybe could do a V2?) I hope these fics find you and help start your new year off right! 😘😘
You can call me Al (or Owl). I'm taking a little break from the tumbles and I've slimmed down my masterlist to reflect that.
If there's a fic you love & you can't see, just DM me and I'll be happy to send it to you. There's a few more still up on ao3 as well.
What can you expect? Emotional devastation, my favourite morally grey reader (always), angst and smut, but also magic and hope. Dieter is my muse but Joel is my love.
AO3 direct link / Hidden treasure fic list / From The Vaults / TBR @als-smutty-library
This is my loose fit Coffee Shop AU series, that has the same f!reader - we start with Dave York and then move onto Joel pre-outbreak. Finally, we end up in Jackson post-outbreak.
Dave York
Dave York x f!reader: Part 1: Down Bad (6,190)
Dave York x f!reader: Part 2: Good Luck, Babe (5,174)
Dave York x f!reader x OFC Claudia: Part 3: It Ain't Me, Babe (4,341)
Joel Miller
Pre-Outbreak Joel Miller x f!reader: Difficult (16,000)
Jackson Joel x f!reader: Are you ready to love me (complete series - 26,856 total)
Bonus Dieter for you.
🖤 Frith World War 1 Poet Dieter x f!reader (one shot)
Looking for something? Read something good? You're in the right place!
This blog will have two main functions, the find and recommend. The intent is so build community and uplift others, writers big and small coming together.
So, how does it work?
Find
There are two sorts of "find"
Send an ask saying "I am trying to find this fanfiction. These things happened in it, this a detail or two, this character" whatever you can remember! Then, I will post your ask. I'll ask my followers to reblog the post so it goes around until it's hopefully found!
Send an ask saying something like, "i'd really love to find a piece with Joel and a reader with a disability" or "Does anyone know a good Frankie series with low smut, heavy on plot" or "Is there a fic with Ezra and a foot fetish?". I'll post it, recommend any that I can, and ask people to RB for a wider reach!
I'll tag the posts with tropes and characters so you can search the blog too, and look through comments and RB's
That being said, I ask that if you send in an ask, if you find what you're looking for, please reblog and comment. I won't enforce because I'm not a cop or your dad, just keep in mind reblogging helps spread works, you have it permanently even if they delete, and helps people find via tags. Comments, even small, let writers know you liked it, and also what you liked!
Recommending
Did you read something really good? Send it over via an ask! Tell me what you liked about it! I'll post the ask and @ the author so they know!
The hope is that you've already reblogged and left a comment, but it's great if you're shy!
There is NO requirment for how small the fic has to be. Does it have 2000 notes and you think it should have 2000 more? Send it in! Does it have 5 notes and you're shocked, send it in!
If you follow me, consider reblogging these works even if you dont read, just to help build community!
BOTH OF THESE INCLUDE ART! Send art my way!
Basic rules
ONLY AO3 and Tumblr links. I will not be clicking random links around.
Kink friendly. Yes that kink. Everything will be tagged so be sure to filter some tags I'll have listed below if they trigger you. My job here isn't too police a kink.
That being said, since it's my blog I will impose a few small bans. No underage, no bestiality. This includes aging up a minor but does not include monster fucking. What's the line between a animal and a monster? Well, I'll have to decide, I guess. I don't anticipate an issue. Just go ahead and send your werewolves and aliens. If something comes up that makes me very uncomfortable I have the right to delete the ask.
I won't be policing headers or language used, unless there's a slur or something (slur meaning used in a bad way. A gay man can use faggot in a fic). I know there's a lot of talk that I agree with on keeping things inclusive. However, I am not a cop and not your dad. If you have an issue with someones header or whatever, talk to the person.
In that line, I won't be reading everything I post. I have a job and a real life. Posting a fic is not an endorsement. Like Archive of Our Own, this is a place to host fics, not police content. If there is something egregious, like something breaking the rules, racist or homophobic language ETC then send a DM.
Same goes for the author. Think the author is problematic? You can send the issue in my DM's. I don't want to platform someone horrible, but a lot of stuff has gotten blown out of proportion in this fandom. Like AO3, I'm here to post, not police.
Use of AI or plagerism. If something is plagerised, LET ME KNOW THAT WILL BE DELETED. If you suspect something is AI, unless the author said "THIS IS FULLY AI" I'm not the AI police.
Outside characters allowed if within the PPCU. In the spirit of community and overlapping fandoms, you may rec or search if it's related enough. More below.
Rules subject to change and my discression.
Tags to block, even if you don't follow this blog, if they trigger you. (parenthesis are not part of the tagged words)
TW incest, TW rape, DDDNE (which stands for dead dove do not eat), dub con, non con, emetophilia (puke fetish), piss kink, tw eating disorder, tw domestic violence
Not all TW's mean it happens in the fic. TW rape could mean reader is a survivor, or its a dark fic.
Know that any concerns can be brought to DM's. If you say "i dont like this in this fic" we can talk about whether it follows rules or not. You won't get blocked for asking. Even many times about different fics.
RELATED CHARACTERS
You may follow all above rules and processes for related characters. For example, Tommy x reader is ALLOWED. Tommy exisits with Joel. Santiago Garcia x Ben Miller is ALLOWED. Santi and Ben exist with Frankie. Adrian Chase x reader NOT ALLOWED. Adrian does not exist with anyone. Matt Murdock x reader... I'm gonna say no even though the MCU technically has them existing together...... until seen together I'll say no. However, Matt Murdock x Reed Richards, ALLOWED and I am CURIOUS who would even think to write that.
If you have questions if it count, just send it in or DM.
This is not a side blog so it can function in all normal ways.
Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Doctor Female Reader
Chapter Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)
Chapter Summary: He can’t keep his eyes off you, you resemble every troublemaking girl from every western he ever watched. A possessive pride swells as he notices others glancing your way, also watching as the fringed edges of your skirt shake with each movement of your hips.
Chapter Warnings: halloween, cowboy joel! cowboy joel! cowboy joel!, drinking, drunken alley grinding, bulge worship of the belly and crotch kind, smut, riding, dick sucking, joel eating it while you're still wearing panties, reader wears pigtails so ofc joel has to pull them, a smack on the ass, joel miller is in love
Words: 6,500
A/N: Surprise! A day early. Thank you to @norththelemon who let me use her cowboy Joel in the header. When @valevntine sent me the gorgeous art, I knew I had to reach out and see if I could use it, because it fit his costume perfectly. Also, a thank you to my beloveds @schnarfer and @mothandpidgeon for looking through the chapter and forever being there for me when I Malloryize myself.
Healed Masterlist | Healed Playlist | Healed, The Video Edit | AO3
Masterlist
Previous Chapter
—-
Life before Jackson, before the safety and comfort of the walls, meant very few celebrations. No milestones, just a monotonous string of days blurring into each other. There were barely even holidays, no private rituals of birthdays or anniversaries, only the unsentimental keeping of time through a count of how many days since the last disaster.
But now, in the kitchen you share with Joel, a calendar is hung. Handmade by the middle schoolers on scrap and homemade paper. Important dates and birthdays are circled on it, your and Joel’s days off starred, and community events noted. The end of the month is marked by a pumpkin you’ve drawn with a lopsided cowboy hat.
You’re so engrossed in staring at the dates that you don’t notice Joel walking in from work until his arms circle you from behind, his chin lands on your shoulder as he hums a sound of contentment.
“Excited for Halloween?” he asks.
"Mmhmm," you say, nestling back into him, breathing in the scent of sawdust and crisp autumn air on him.
October has flown by quickly, the days falling like the leaves of the cherry blossom tree outside of your home. The fall chill that’s settled over the valley has you taking Joel’s flannel with you whenever you leave the house, the blanket you knitted laid across the bed you share.
This month has been quite busy for both of you. Joel’s been back at work full-time for the past week. His injury doesn’t even register to you anymore, until you see the fresh scar of it, darker than the faded ones spread out across his body. On some days, you’re even home before him, the construction team has a habit of working late as they try to beat the approaching freeze, checking off things high on their list like sealing windows with caulk, stuffing wool insulation into gaps, and fixing the cracks in the walls of the more worn buildings.
It feels as if October in Jackson is just a race to beat the winter. Prepare, prepare, prepare. Food reserves are piled high with harvested crops that are canned and preserved, clothing swaps are held, and firewood is cut and delivered to each home.
Even the clinic has had to prepare for the upcoming cold, sending you and Steven on another trip out to forage for medicine before the frost kills everything useful.
You could tell Joel still didn’t like the idea, the way you put yourself at risk outside the walls, the way you refused to let his protective ways control your decisions. You thought it would be a fight, but this time, he only held you tighter the morning you left, and the argument you’d prepared for never came.
“Come back to me,” he’d said that morning at the gates, slipping the wooden Jefferson into your pocket.
You returned to the meadow with Tommy, Jesse, and two other patrol members. Tommy had assured you that patrol had just been there the day before and found no signs of infected, but the entire time, you still kept an eye on every subtle movement, constantly telling yourself that what you’re doing is vital—bringing medicine that would save lives when winter came.
You kept the radio in the same pocket as Jefferson, checking in with Joel every thirty minutes. He never told you he was worried, but you could hear it in the way his voice would catch whenever you were a little late checking in.
You came back tired but satisfied, with satchels full of herbs and flowers. The same horse, Hope, had brought you back to Jackson again. Joel was at the gates to greet you, his strong arms held you tight before he helped unload the plants.
That night, after he washed your body clean in the shower, he had made love to you. “My brave girl,” he whispered against your skin, making you feel as if he had finally accepted all parts of your career and your love for Jackson.
Because you do love Jackson and being such a vital part of the community that allows you to now celebrate small things and grand things, one after another.
You’ve heard how special Halloween in Jackson is, almost like a reclaiming of normalcy, a hint of the life before the outbreak. The only rule is: nothing scary for the kids. No zombies, no fake blood, nothing that might even hint at what’s outside the walls. Monsters are already part of the world.
Halloween is an unofficial off day for Jackson’s children; school isn’t in session, and the kids are already out in costumes during the afternoon. Cats, ballerinas, princesses, and baseball players all galavant down Main Street holding frayed baskets, faded pillowcases, and buckets, collecting homemade treats and trinkets along their way.
You spot Benji, wearing the Yoda hat you knitted him out of all the green yarn Maria could scavenge and trade for. The ears you painstakingly recreated, flopping as he runs alongside his friend dressed as a bumblebee, complete with black stripes drawn over a faded yellow hoodie.
Other kids are just as disguised, faces painted with charcoal whiskers or smudges of bright colors from old eye shadow pallets. You and Wendy are outside the clinic, manning a small treat table topped with your homemade sunbutter fudge squares, dried apple rings made by Dr. V’s wife Jane, deer jerky from Linda’s husband Macon, and Steven’s hand-drawn cards featuring vampires, bats, and cute ghosts with only smiling faces.
Something is comforting in the way the whole town comes together like this, a tacit agreement to protect and nurture what remains of childhood. But once all the treats are gone, the sun has set, and the kids have crashed from all of the sugar, that’s when the real fun begins. You’ve heard about it all month. The Tipsy Bison Halloween party, with a barrel of spiked cider and bottles of whiskey, ready to be enjoyed by all who want to partake.
After work, you head to Wendy's to get ready for the party. She promised that she had the perfect cowgirl costume for you, after she scoffed at your “idea” of a costume being a pair of jeans and a button-up plaid shirt.
The frayed edges of the denim skirt she hands you barely reach mid-thigh. The red and white checked sleeveless button-up shirt is almost too tight, but she swears you look amazing in it. The black vest pinches at your waist when you button it, making you feel even more ridiculous. But when you tug the cowboy boots on and Wendy whistles at your complete cowgirl look, you know the slight discomfort will be all worth it.
“I’ve never had my makeup done by a pirate before,” you jest, as Wendy lines your eyes with kohl.
“It’s Halloween! Anything can happen,” she muses, with a smile.
She pulls your hair into two pigtails and ties a red bandana around your neck.
“Joel’s going to flip!” she excitedly says when she steps back and takes the sight of you in. “You look hot. Like, really hot.”
You roll your eyes and assess yourself in the mirror. You really do look good, damn good. Joel is going to flip.
The night air is chilly, it bites at the exposed skin of your legs, but you welcome it as you walk arm in arm with a pirate to the Tipsy Bison. The lights strung across Main Street are lit tonight, and carved pumpkins glow from every stoop. Nothing goes to waste here, they’ll be cut up and roasted tomorrow.
Laughter and music grow louder as you approach the Bison. Gone are the kids, some volunteers and teachers have taken them to the church for a sleepover, allowing the adults to party properly.
“Ready?” Wendy asks, one of her eyes blocked by her eye patch.
“Ready,” you respond, already reaching for the door handle.
The Bison is alive and chaotic in the spookiest, best way. Paper bats hang from the ceiling with fake cobwebs, the bar is lined with orange lights, and there’s even a black light hanging above the dance floor. There’s a riot of costumes: vampires, astronauts, and even a showgirl. You wave at Dr. V and his wife, and they raise their glasses in greeting, both of them wearing orange shirts with Jack O’-Lantern faces drawn on the front.
“We need drinks! Come on,” Wendy says, pulling you towards the bar. “Let’s warm up.”
Wendy dips the ladle into the spiked cider, handing you a cup before she takes one for herself.
The cider is sweet, and it leaves a nice warmth that burns. You will the alcohol to help calm your nerves, feeling a little too exposed from your short skirt and skimpy top while you wait for Joel’s arrival.
The door swings open, and Ellie and Dina walk in. Ellie’s wearing a red hoodie, her brown ponytail accented by a pair of devil horns, while Dina’s in a flowing white dress with a wire halo fashioned from an old coat hanger..
“Hey!” Ellie calls, spotting you and Wendy as she navigates through the crowd with Dina in tow.
"Angel and devil, huh?" Wendy asks, eyeing their costumes. "Fitting."
Dina laughs. "It was my idea.”
“Where’s Joel?” Ellie asks, looking around. “Don’t tell me he didn’t want to come and dress up.”
“He should be here soon,” you reply, trying to sound as casual as you can, as your eyes glance at the door again. “He promised me he’d be here in costume when I left this morning.”
“This party better be as good as last year's,” Ellie says, leaning against the bar. “It was so fun… from what I remember, at least.”
You’re only half-listening, your attention captured by the doors each time they open. Another group, no Joel. Another couple, no Joel. You try not to look too eager, but with each new arrival, your heart pounds a little harder with anticipation.
And then, the door swings wide open, and he’s there. You feel like the whole bar turns, because there are only so many men in Jackson built like Joel. Rugged, tall, broad, and handsome as hell. He stands in the entrance, his body filling the doorframe, backlit by the string lights outside, and you stare, your drink paused halfway to your lips.
Your greedy eyes roam over him, from the ground up. He’s wearing Tommy’s brown cowboy boots, making him stand even taller and more commanding than usual. His faded denim jeans are tight, so tight, they hug his strong legs in a way that makes you gulp. His blue shirt strains at the buttons where it tucks into his belt, the fabric stretching across his wide shoulders, his sleeves rolled up, exposing the gold of his forearms. You’re already thinking of getting home and ripping the snaps of his shirt open. There’s a bolo tie around his neck, crooked, the ends fraying, one side longer than the other. Beneath the shadow of a black cowboy hat, his eyes search the room. He’d be quite the intimidating cowboy if it weren’t for the way you can notice how he looks uncomfortable, like a fish out of water. The hard line of his jaw softens when his eyes find yours.
You’re already hopping off the stool, bounding towards him, weaving through the crowd. The lines around his eyes crinkle, and his mouth does that half smile that clutches your heart when you reach him. You throw your arms around his neck, almost knocking the hat off his head.
“Howdy, handsome,” you greet, kissing his cheek, feeling the admiring eyes of every bar patron on the two of you.
He tips his hat. “Ma’am,” he rumbles.
You step back to get a better look at him, hands lingering on his chest. “You clean up nice.”
He glances down at your costume, and you see his jaw flex as his eyes linger over every curve shown off by your skimpy-for-the-apocalypse costume. “Right back at you.”
“Looks like we’re right out of Lonsesome Dove, right?” you wink.
He chuckles, his body relaxing slightly, "We do, now c’mon baby, I need a drink so I feel less ridiculous.”
He takes your hand, leading you to the bar, and you can’t help but stare at his ass and thank yourself.
This cowboy costume idea was a great idea.
—-
Joel is not a party man—never has been, even before the world went to hell. The noise, the crowds, and the social expectations all rub against him. He feels self-conscious, this is the first time he’s dressed up since Sarah was a little girl all those years ago.
Ellie had nearly doubled over in laughter when she first saw him, teasing him relentlessly in the way only she could get away with it, and for a second, he felt a bit shy under her giggling scrutiny. Then, he thought about last year’s Halloween and how he sat inside his cold, lonely home with the lights off, convincing himself he’d only impede on Ellie’s fun. So he shook his head and accepted all of her high-pitched giggles and teasing. Besides, Tommy looks just as ridiculous as he does, if not more, with his detective hat and tan overcoat.
Tonight, you’re by his side, his arm around the back of your chair, your cowgirl skirt riding up your thigh as you laugh at something Tommy says. Joel takes another drink of whiskey, letting the warmth of it spread through his body and brain, before he offers it to you. You take it, downing the rest before standing and heading to the bar for another round.
He can’t keep his eyes off you, you resemble every troublemaking girl from every western he ever watched. A possessive pride swells as he notices others glancing your way, also watching as the fringed edges of your skirt shake with each movement of your hips.
He remembers the last party—Dina’s birthday—where he watched you laugh and galavant with others, feeling so far from you, seething with jealousy. And then later that night, in his bed, when you showed him how you felt using your hips and lips. Now, you’re all his, and he feels like the luckiest cowboy as he watches you happily strut across the floor with two glasses of whiskey in your hand.
“C’mere,” he says, patting his lap when you reach the table.
You smirk, your eyes lit with mischief and something heated, before you settle across his lap, your arm wrapping around his neck, fingers playing with the curls at the nape there. His arm wraps around your waist, thumb pressing against the strip of skin where your shirt has ridden up. He wonders what others might think when they see someone like him this free and open with his girl. He doesn’t care. Not anymore. Let them see. Let them know you chose him.
“You’re getting friendly tonight,” you whisper against his ear. He can feel your smile.
“Mmm,” he agrees, adjusting the way he’s sitting, the heat of your body against his lap tempting him more and more. “Hard to not be with you lookin’ like that.”
You press your lips to his, quick and reckless. He tastes sugar and salt with the slight burn of whiskey when he kisses you back. He forgets about the rest of the room until Maria, on her third glass of cider, catcalls from across the table.
Your lips leave his, and you hide your face in his neck, giggling against his skin. Joel feels his cheeks heat, a bit of red lighting them, especially when Tommy shakes his head at him from across the table with a joking tsk tsk.
Brittany and the Jug Boys finish their song to scattered applause, and then the familiar opening notes of “Wild Horses” begin.
You pull away, your eyes staring into his with a wide smile. Before he can react, you’re off his lap, hand extended towards him, “Dance with me, cowboy?”
His body tenses, even when he wills it not to. Dancing in public isn’t something he does, the thought of everyone being witness to his awkward movements, his stiff leg…
But then, there’s your smile and your hopeful eyes. How could he say no?
He sets his glass down, leaving his cane leaning against the table. Joel takes your hand, small in his hold, and lets you lead him toward the dance floor.
You turn to face him when you reach a small clearing of the couples already swaying, your arms sliding up around his neck, your hips swaying lazily in time with the music and he rests his hands against them. He holds you close, near enough to smell the faint scent of perfume you dabbed on your neck earlier. Floral and sweet, a scent that makes him want to bury his face in the curve of your shoulder.
He can’t remember the last time he slow-danced with someone; it was well before the end of the world. The music is off-key, the singer trying hard to sound like Mick Jagger, but it doesn’t matter to him, not when your fingers are brushing against the hair at the nape of his neck.
Wild horses couldn't drag me awayWild, wild horses couldn't drag me away
“See? Not so bad,” you whisper.
He grunts a response, a slight smile lifting his lips. He pulls you closer, his hands resting right above the curve of your ass. You place your head against his chest, and he feels the world outside of you fade. It’s just you and him, in a world that tried hard to kill his every last bit of softness before.
Years ago, Joel Miller would’ve found a night like this unworthy of his time, maybe even ridiculous, but your sweetness makes him see he was only lying to himself, because now, with you and the life he has, he’s learned to savor moments like this. The simple act of holding you, moving with you, being in this moment doing something he never expected to do… holding a pretty girl in his arms, while music plays and a gentle buzz of alcohol softens the hard edges of the world.
For so long, his happiness came in small, fleeting moments—a successful hunt, a safe return after patrol, a night without nightmares. But now, it’s all different. This feels sustainable, like something he can build his life around. You, who healed him with your ways and patient heart, have taught him that he’s allowed to have more than just survival.
All of these thoughts come to him on the dance floor of a bar, in the middle of an apocalypse, holding the woman he wants to spend every day with for the rest of his life. For so long, he let himself believe that this life isn’t one he deserved, that he could never allow the softness of someone like you into his life. The old-fashioned way of love always seemed so impossibly out of reach for him after all the things he’s done to survive. But now, as he holds you closer, he allows himself to dream, closing his eyes, imagining himself dancing with you on your wedding day, wanting to make it all real.
The song ends, and you pull away, the dim lights of the Tipsy Bison light your face, and Joel’s breath catches at the sight of you. You’re so happy and beautiful, he still can’t believe you’re his. The music changes to something faster, but Joel barely notices, transfixed by how goddamn perfect you look right now.
“Let’s get a drink,” you say, tugging his hand and leading him to the bar.
You take a seat at the bar, and he stands behind you, caging your body between his arms as you order another whiskey.
Seth slides the whiskey glass in front of you, and Joel leans closer, his chest pressing against your back. You lean back into him, your head resting against his chest, before you take a sip and hand the glass to him.
People filter in and out of the barstools next to you. You know every single person, greeting them with a smile. Steven approaches with Wendy and a couple of other people you know. Steven sends Joel a nod, and Joel sends one back. He’s surprised to find he doesn't feel the usual prickle of discomfort around him. Maybe it's the whiskey, or the way you're leaning into him so obviously, but Joel finds himself relaxing rather than tensing.
Jesse joins the group soon after, a pretty girl with curly hair on his arm. "This is Solána," he introduces, his voice soft and adoring. Joel recognizes the look he gives her, the way his body angles toward her. It's the same reverence Joel feels coursing through him whenever you're near.
Conversation flows, laughter growing louder and louder as the night continues.
Joel watches as you take a drink, your tongue darting out to lick a drop from your bottom lip. Heat pools low in his belly, and he knows it’s not from the alcohol. You catch him staring and smile, sending him a wink that makes his heart race.
He’s lost count of how many drinks he's had tonight, but he knows he's happier and looser than he's been in a long time. He can feel the music in his bones as your body sways slightly against his. When you reach for your glass again, your skirt rides higher on your thigh, and Joel's hand tightens on your waist.
You look up at him, and Joel leans down, his lips against your ear.
"We should get home, cowgirl," he growls, feeling the shiver of your body against his.
You nod, downing the last of the whiskey and setting the glass on the bar with a decisive clink. "Let's go.”
Waves of goodbye are sent across the room before you stumble out of the Tipsy Bison. It’s getting damn cold out, the alcohol coursing through your bodies keeps you warm. You press against him, your hand on his chest, his arm wrapped around you as you make your way down the street.
You giggle when you misstep and he catches you, his arm tightening around you. “God, I’m drunk,” you say, looking up at him, grinning widely.
He stops, gazing down at you, his smile matching yours. The air is just cold enough for little clouds of breath to escape between your lips as the string lights overhead cover you in a rich, golden glow. Sometimes he’s still in awe of how beautiful you are, how better his life is since he’s had you in it.
He glances around, noticing how empty the streets are at this moment, before he takes your hand, putting his finger up to his lip, “Shh.”
You nod, your eyes lit with mischief, before he pulls you to a dark alcove behind the clothing swap, pressing your back against a dark wall in the shadows, covering you with his body. His hat’s knocked askew when he bends down to kiss you, your mouth hot and tasting of whiskey. Your hands slide up his chest and grip the lapels of his shirt when you moan into his mouth.
“Fuck,” he growls against your mouth. “Do you know what you’ve been doing to me in this tiny skirt, baby?”
All night he’s been thinking about getting you home and finally radiating in the heat of your skin against his, tasting your tongue, feeling the tight squeeze of your pussy, he can’t wait. When it comes to you, Joel Miller is not a patient man.
He dips his hips, lifting your skirt up, grinding himself against your core. Your mouth is just as greedy against his, the small, sweet sounds you make for only him, making him even more desperate.
There’s a distant sound of voices and laughter, making you both freeze. Joel pulls back enough to see your face, your lips swollen, your eyes dark with the same need he feels coursing through him.
There’s no way he can let the doctor, an upstanding citizen like you, get caught with your skirt up in a dark alley.
“Home,” he whispers, righting your skirt. “Now.”
He doesn’t give you a chance to answer, he just takes your hand, tugging you back onto the street, walking as fast as his leg will allow. Every few steps, one of you pulls the other into another kiss, laughing against each other's mouths, drunk on each other and whiskey.
“C’mon, baby, let this cowboy take you to bed,” he growls when his house comes into sight.
—-
Joel’s taking forever to unlock the damn front door. His attention divided between the keyhole and your mouth. He’d probably unlock it a lot quicker if your back wasn’t pressed against the very door he’s trying to open.
You’re already unbuttoning your vest when the door finally swings open. Joel’s arm bounds around your waist, catching you before you fall back. You can’t keep your lips off of his, all night he’s looked like the cover model on every single worn and dog-eared western romance novel you’ve ever seen. Joel Miller is truly your dream man, and now he’s undoing his bolo tie, pushing you against the table of the entryway of the home you share with him.
He throws the tie over his head, and you finally get your vest unbuttoned and removed as Joel pulls at the buttons of your shirt. “Too many damn buttons,” he mutters against your lips. You laugh, helping him, your fingers just as clumsy.
You feel like the luckiest cowgirl in the apocalypse, when he pulls away, his eyes drinking the sight of you in the bright red bra Wendy gave you, before he bends to lave his tongue against your crimson-covered breast.
“Upstairs,” he orders, looking up at you, his face darkened by his cowboy hat.
You two don't even make it to the bedroom. Halfway up the stairs, on the landing, you push Joel against the wall. Finally, you’re able to do something you’ve been thinking about all night. Having to watch him exist in his too-tight jeans, bulging all over the place. You don’t want to have to wait any longer. You pull at Joel’s denim shirt, the pearl snaps of his shirt popping as you pull. You always love how he looks in an undershirt, the worn cotton turned thin and soft, the fabric stretched tight across his broad shoulders and chest, clinging to his stomach. You want to make sure Joel Miller knows just how hot you find him, so you drop down, your knees hitting against the hardwood floor of the landing.
You bunch his undershirt up with both hands, revealing the plush of his stomach spilling over the waistband of his jeans. You love the slight roundness of him here, showing he’s comfortable and has survived. You press your lips against his skin there, unbelievably warm and soft. Your tongue follows the line of dark hair down to the soft denim of his jeans.
He groans, his head falling back against the wall as your hand works at his belt, your other hand cupping around the shape of him already beginning to strain against his zipper. You unbutton and unzip, your mouth already drooling at the thought of stretching your lips around his cock.
To call Joel’s jeans tight is an understatement. The fabric is almost seared to his thighs, and you have to peel them down inch by inch. Once they’re mid-thigh, you press your mouth to the outline of his cock through his underwear, relishing in the way his hips jerk at the touch. He helps you shuffle him out of the jeans, and he kicks them to the side, the denim heap landing on the step.
You pull his underwear down, his cock springs free, heavy, thick, and already leaking for you. You can’t help but moan at the sight, the sound escaping your lips as you take in all of him.
“You gonna just stare at it all night?” he growls.
You smile before leaning forward and spitting on the head of his cock, watching as your spit drips off his dick. Joel hisses, his whole body jerking against the wall, his fists clenched.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans as you wrap your hand around him, beginning to pump slowly before pressing your lips to the tip of him. You kiss the crown of his cock before taking just the head into your mouth, moaning at the taste of him.
Your tongue runs along the length of his shaft, and you take him deeper, cheeks hollowing to suck him harder. His hands move to your pigtails, gripping them gently, helping guide your movements. The whiskey has made you sloppier, your lips wet and messy.
You look up at him through your lashes, and the sight you see is almost too good to be real. Joel Miller, towering above you, cowboy hat tipped low, white undershirt bunched up against his chest, the edge of his lip curled up as he watches his cock disappear between your lips.
"Jesus Christ," he growls. "Look at you. So fuckin' pretty with your mouth fulla’ me. Touch your pussy for me.”
You can tell you’re drenched for him, your hand moving from the meat of his thigh to up your skirt and between your legs. Your panties are soaked through, you’re slick and swollen for him. You moan around his cock at the first touch against your clit. You take his cock so deep he hits the back of your throat, making you gag slightly. The wet sound drives Joel wild, his fingers tightening even more in your hair.
You pull back to catch your breath, looking up at him, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his cock. You slurp it up before you spit it across his dick, pumping him with your hand.
“You nice and wet for me, pretty girl?”
You nod. “I’ve been wet all night for you.”
“Christ!” he bellows. “Bedroom. Now. Need to feel that pussy.”
You scramble up the rest of the steps, Joel following right behind you. He slaps your ass, hard, and you yelp in delight as you burst into the bedroom. He wraps his arms around your chest, his hands rubbing against the lace of your bra.
“This looks good on you,” he whispers in your ear. “Damn good.”
“It’s a matching set,” you say, pulling away, turning to face him.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yep,” you say, stealing the cowboy hat off his head, placing it atop yours with a wink. “Wanna see?”
He nods, bobbling his head up and down, his eyes wide and hungry. You press your palm against his chest, and he steps backward until his calves hit the mattress. He falls on the bed, the springs creaking when his back lands atop it with an oomph and a deep chuckle. He props himself on his elbows, his smile is pure hunger, wide and crooked as he watches you pull the zipper of your skirt down. You don’t let it fall, you keep it on, and send him a teasing wink. His eyes sweep over you, awestruck by you in the orange moonlight shining in. You want to see him go crazy for you.
“Stay there, I’ll be right back,” you say.
—-
Joel’s head thuds against the mattress, his head spinning from the whiskey and you. He can’t stop smiling. Tonight feels like another life, like something he never thought he’d experience, even in his life before. Allowing himself to enjoy the night, a good drink in his hand, and a pretty girl at his side.
The door creaks open, and he looks up at the sound.
He blinks, once, twice, not believing what he’s seeing. You’ve kept the cowboy hat on, it sits low on your head, your lips lifted in a tempting smile revealed under the shadow of the brim. You flick the light switch on and step into the room. Your skirt’s gone, revealing it is indeed a matching set, bright crimson red lace. A cowgirl in lingerie, how in the hell did he get so lucky?
The mattress underneath dips deeper as he props himself high on his elbows, his mouth drops open, and his greedy eyes wander from the red curve of your breasts down to the lace stretched across your hips. He tries to commit every sway of your hips to his memory as you strut towards him. He stares, unable to stop. You’re perfect.
His cock twitches, already hard as hell and aching for you, the whiskey definitely hasn’t dulled anything tonight. All he wants is to have you, to fill you, to fuck you so hard you scream his name. Tonight’s been a goddamn tease. And now, you’re here, standing at the foot of the bed in nothing but his cowboy hat and red lace.
You turn around, and his mouth waters when he sees the red thong disappearing between your ass cheeks. He can’t help himself when he sits up, a groan escaping as he reaches out to touch.
“You like it?” you tease, voice low and sweet, glancing over your shoulder.
He can hardly breathe. “Yeah, baby. Love it.”
Your hands run up and down your body when you turn around and lift a leg up onto the mattress, your hand trailing down to pull the edge of your thong higher and tighter. Joel watches, transfixed, as the lace digs into your lips. He can see the outline of you through the thin fabric, already damp with the want you’ve been spilling for him tonight.
“Kiss it,” you command.
Joel doesn’t hesitate, leaning forward to press his lips against your lace-covered cunt. Even now, after all this time, he still finds it hard to believe that you, the healer, the doctor who saved his life, has become such a tempting force in his world. He breathes in the essence of you, filling his lungs as he savors you.
You moan when he wraps his arms around your thighs, pulling you closer to his face. He tongues at the lace, desperate for the taste of you, licking your pussy through the fabric, looking up to see your face partially shadowed by the cowboy hat.
“Wanna see if you can tear ‘em, cowboy?” you ask.
He grunts an affirmative, gathering some of the delicate fabric between his fingers. With a sharp yank, the lace tears away, exposing your pussy to him. He lets out a deep sigh when he sees you glistening for him.
You giggle at his eagerness, a deep, tempting sound leaving your lips when you push him back down onto the bed and climb on top of him to straddle his hips.
Spit dribbles from your mouth onto your palm before you reach down to wrap your fingers around his cock, stroking him a few times, and he hisses through his teeth at the feel.
Then you're hovering above him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. You reach down, guiding him to your entrance before you lower yourself onto him. His head falls back, a sound like he's been punched escaping him as you take him all the way to the hilt. Fuck, you’re always so tight and perfect for him. You’re always so tight, wet, and perfect, he swears your cunt was made for him.
Your pussy strokes him slowly as you ride him languid and sweet at first, but when you reach up to keep the cowboy hat secure on your head, your hips buck faster, the rhythm starting to build as you take him harder. You brace yourself, hands resting on his chest, fingers digging into his skin as you bounce on him. Your moans and high-pitched keens mix with his grunts and groans.
Joel reaches up, his fingers traveling up your spine, finding the clasp of your bra. He pinches at the hooks, releasing your bra with a soft snap. You slide the straps down your shoulders, the red lace dangles from your fingertip before you twirl it around your index finger like a lasso, and throw it across the room with a playful grin.
The sight is so ridiculous and perfect, he can’t help but laugh—actually laugh—during sex. You join him and giggle, removing the cowboy hat and tossing it off your head in the same way. It sails through the air, landing squarely on the table lamp beside the bed. The lamp wobbles precariously for a moment before it topples to the floor with a crash.
You turn to assess the damage, but Joel reaches up, gently tugging one of your pigtails to bring your attention back to him.
"Don't worry about it, baby," he grits, pulling you down until your chest is pressed against his, capturing your mouth in a hungry kiss.
He makes you forget about the broken lamp, gripping your hips as he plants his feet on the mattress, leveraging himself to pound up into you. The bed slams against the wall, your cunt and the wall collectively getting overwhelmed by Joel Miller’s power.
You're screaming for him now, gasping for air between broken calls of his name. Joel watches in awe as your eyes roll back, your body tensing above him. He can feel your cunt squeezing him impossibly tight as your orgasm crashes through you, your pussy pouring all of your desire for him all over his cock.
It’s too much. Joel fucks you harder, chasing his own release as you continue to pulse around him.
"Gonna cum," he grits out, his rhythm faltering as the pressure builds at the base of his spine.
"Fill me up, Joel,” you tell him, your lips against his neck, licking up the salty taste of his skin there.
He empties himself inside you with a shout of your name, his fingers locking against your skin so hard, he knows you’re going to be marked by him come tomorrow. He pulses in your cunt as his body lies rigid, a deep, guttural sound leaving him when you kiss him, sloppy and needy.
He’s still catching his breath when you climb off of him. He gets up with a grunt, assessing the broken lamp on the floor.
“I’m gonna clean this up before Jefferson thinks it’s a new toy,” he says. “Guess we’ll need a new lamp.”
“Mm,” you respond.
“Marcus probably has an extra one around. I’ll ask tomorrow.”
As he puts his robe on, he looks at you, you’re on your back, one hand over your heart, staring at the ceiling, grinning with your pigtails in disarray. He wants every celebration to end just like this, you happy and light, lying in the bed he shares with you.
—-
A/N: My taglist has grown too large. Please follow @whocaresposted and turn on notifications to be alerted about new chapters!
My perma tags: @forspringcleaning, @schnarfer, @mothandpidgeon, @valevntine
LOVE THIS. LOVE THEM. LOVE YOU. Thank you for letting me get a sneak peek of your words before the world, I always feel so honoured to be invited into Joel & doc’s cosy, loved-up life 🖤🖤🖤
All of these thoughts come to him on the dance floor of a bar, in the middle of an apocalypse, holding the woman he wants to spend every day with for the rest of his life. For so long, he let himself believe that this life isn’t one he deserved, that he could never allow the softness of someone like you into his life. The old-fashioned way of love always seemed so impossibly out of reach for him after all the things he’s done to survive. But now, as he holds you closer, he allows himself to dream, closing his eyes, imagining himself dancing with you on your wedding day, wanting to make it all real.
Obsessed with how this section turned out, OBSESSED. All the softness for our man, all the hope, all the future possibilities of a life with Doc for him, please 🥹
Nine Lives (witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader) - Part 7
Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!
SERIES MASTERLIST
pairing: witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader
rating: T
summary: As you came into your powers and your curves filled in, Ezra realized he feelings for you were more than just affection. The only problem? He's a 300 year old crused witch. Oh, and he's a cat.
contents: age gap (like 300 years), trauma, moth never uses y/n. (there's probably more)
wc: 4.1k
a/n: Happy spooky season, babes. I started this fic about a year ago. I'm so glad that I could get this chapter together for this month. I think we just have two more parts left (plus an epilogue) so I hope that you are enjoying Ezra and LM as their story winds down. Thank you all for reading.
Thank you to Birdee for the beta. And @whocaresstillthelouvre, @schnarfer and @toomanytookas for holding my hand every step of the way.
🐈⬛
Ezra’s seated in the armchair, looking out the living room window with a dour expression. This was one of his favorite spots when he was a cat. You often found him perched on the cushion, poking his whiskers between the lace curtains, largely motionless as hours ticked by.
Sometimes you’d join him there. He would sit in your lap as you read a book and stroked his sleek fur. Every once in a while you’d pause and gaze outside, taking a moment to notice the world around you through his eyes– a bird hopping on the roof, a dry leaf drifting to the ground. You wonder now if it was silly to assume he was watching squirrels like a normal cat might. Perhaps instead he was ruminating, brooding over the reality of his situation, the pain of his memories. As he is now.
The sun is sinking, though it’s spent most of the day hiding behind thickening clouds. You’ve been sitting on your bed for what feels like hours, waiting.
Neither of you have spoken to each other since your spat this morning. You retreated to your room, still fuming, stubbornly waiting for Ezra to make an apology. He didn’t come.
You shoved clothes around noisily in your closet, angry with him, with everyone, with yourself. What was he thinking? Why couldn’t he trust you to handle this?
Hangers caught on one another and you wrestled them apart, hot, indignant tears prickling in your eyes. You opened drawers to hunt around in your dresser. What did one wear to their own judgement before a panel of Elders? What difference did it even make? You were going to lose it all. You pulled sweaters out and tossed them onto your unmade bed.
Why did River have to be such an asshole? He hadn’t changed at all. In fact, he was worse. Jealous and petty and judgemental. Why had you confided in him? Had you really thought he was sincere when he apologized? Ezra was right. On top of everything else— the dread and anger— you felt like an idiot and you didn’t want to admit it.
Your anger took another turn as you rummaged through your shoes. Why had you taken out your anger on Ezra? As soon as you’d snapped at him, you wanted to take the words back. His hurt expression haunts you as the hours of silence pass.
You feel ill, sitting amongst the shirts and skirts and scarves, the sword of Damoclese hanging closer than ever. It’s all ruined. You’re about to face the Elders and you’ve hurt the witch you care about most.
Your eyes fall onto your bedside table. The little box sits discarded where you tossed it when you returned. There was so much joy when you’d snuck down to the office to get it, when you had so much hope.
You finally step out of your room and seat yourself at Ezra’s feet. There’s pain in his eyes when they shift to you. It gives you another stab in the chest.
“I’m sorry, Ezra,” you croak out.
“As am I. For what I said, for what I did,” he replies.
Relief smooths at the deep crease between his brows. You feel it too as that invisible wall lifts between you.
“I’ve bungled this haven’t I?” he asks.
You shake your head. “I wish you’d hit him,” you say.
“Now, now, little mage,” Ezra tuts.
“It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have told him. You were right,” you say.
He tilts your chin up, looking at you with sweet, round eyes. “You see the good in everyone. As you did with me.”
“I shouldn’t have said–”
“Alright,” he quiets you by sliding his palm across your jaw to cup your face. “Let’s not squander a minute more with foolish squabbling.”
He’s right. There’s no time now, not even for apologies. There could be just hours left and you’ve spent the entire day hiding from each other.
“I have something for you,” you say and reveal the little box that’s tucked beneath you. “It was for Yule but...”
You can’t bring yourself to say the words, that you may not make it past today. Instead you flip the box open to reveal its contents.
Ezra’s eyes round and he pulls you up to sit on his lap. You curl your legs up and one of his arms encircles you, heaving you in close. It finally feels safe here against his warmth, his scent surrounding you.
His dark eyes dance between you and the ring.
“Do you like it?” you ask.
He nods and you watch him swallow hard. It all but breaks you apart. You press your hand into the flat of his chest to ground him, his sweater soft beneath you. Ezra circles your hand in his own, bringing your fingertips to his lips.
“Here,” you say, and Ezra lets you slide the ring onto his finger.
It’s been enchanted to fit perfectly but it looks as if it had been designed for him. The stone shines against the gold of his skin. You smooth a finger across it, the band already warm to the touch.
“Why me?” he asks.
The expression on his face is so earnest, so sweet, you can’t help but giggle. How could he not know?
“Because you’re mine,” you say.
You’ve always thought of Ezra as yours. And he always has been. Whether he was your familiar or friend or lover, he’s always belonged to you.
Ezra pulls you into a deep kiss. You melt into him, wanting to live in this moment as long as you can.
He keeps you close once your lips part, the stubble of his jawline grazing against your skin.
“Little Mage, no matter what is to pass, whatever becomes of us, whatever they decide. I promise I will stay with you,” he says.
You shut your eyes as if you can blind yourself to the future.
“Don’t say it,” you tell him.
You want him to reassure you, to promise that this will all blow over, but it’s not fair to ask that of him now. He’s in just as much danger.
“I must,” Ezra says.
You stay like that, clutching each other as you wait for the oncoming storm.
You’re not sure how long passes before there’s footsteps on the stairs, a knock at the door.
“They’re here,” Margot says. “Waiting in the cellar.”
You nod. “We’re coming,” you manage to say though there’s a knot squeezing your throat tight.
She gives a sympathetic look to each of you before retreating down the stairs.
You put your hand in his and feel a reassuring squeeze.
-
When Ezra was tried the first time, his hands were bound in enchanted shackles that dulled his powers. It was a grey day just like this. Dreary and damp.
That was a far more grandiose affair. A full counsel of seven elders sat before the crowd. The entire village had come to bear witness. It took years of careful thought to block out their scornful faces but now, as he descends to the basement behind you, they come flooding back to him. Disgusted looks, even jeers from the witches who had once been his neighbors and kin. He remembers a familiar, another cat, arching her back and hissing.
None of it compared to the sight of his father ashen, his hair thinning and grey. The death of Ezra’s mother had all but crushed him, weakened his magic and zest for life and now he was losing a son. He would pass not long after, another life Ezra would feel responsible for.
And then there was Cee. The young woman sat at the front, shoulders drawn up to her ears. Her eyes held that determined anger Ezra would come to know so well. Stern yet tired, always on the edge of giving up the fight yet carrying on.
The shame consumed him. He could imagine the whispers behind him—how tragic it was that his mother, so beloved by the community, wound up with such a son, that no real witch would ever do something so heinous to one of his own kind. They were right. Ezra decided then and there that he wouldn’t speak for himself, that he would accept whatever punishment was handed down to him and spare his family any more embarrassment. He would be forgotten, spend the rest of his worthless life in penance.
He should have stayed that way. His greed for you had brought yet another witch to peril.
The ceiling of the basement has never felt so low, the room crowded by the quickly growing shadows and the palpable anticipation. Flickering candles make the scene look just like that other trial. If he weren’t so anxious, Ezra might laugh at the drama of it all when there are perfectly good electric lights overhead. The wide table where he once sat and drank down your potion is gone, magicked away somewhere leaving only three wooden chairs and a wide expanse of bare floor. At the far end of the room, six sets of eyes are fixed on him– three elders and their familiars.
The sight of them makes Ezra’s stomach drop. Only three. There was a full panel of seven Elders at his trial. This is almost an afterthought by comparison.
He recognizes the first of the Elders. Esme stands behind her chair as if guarding herself, a long silver braid on her shoulder. On her face is a familiar repugnance. That sour expression must be hereditary because River wore the very same. Her owl glares down from a shelf laden with jars of coffin nails and cicada husks and yet more candles. Ezra wonders what she’s told the others, how deeply she’s exaggerated what happened with River, though it really doesn’t matter. Even if he’d just given River a friendly pat on the back, it wouldn’t change the fact that you and he had broken the law.
Opposite Esme is a witch Ezra knows only by reputation. Oswin Thorne spent his youth running with bootleggers during prohibition. He used his powers to confound police and conceal whole truckloads of moonshine. His suit is many years out of fashion but he still has an elegance about him. The tight white curls on his head and in his beard are a stark contrast to the umber of his skin. The lines in his face deepen as he sizes Ezra up.
Despite the fact that she’s seated, Hester Dreadmoor still commands the room. As Grand Matron, it’s only natural that she’s powerful but Ezra can feel the magic rolling off of her like an especially strong perfume.
Hester is an elegant witch. Tall, slim, and pale. Her dark eyes are knowing, calculating. She must have been born at the turn of the century but she doesn’t look a day over 75. She would have you believe that her immense power has kept her from aging but rumor has it she’s delved deep into blood magic to keep herself looking as youthful as she can.
A little monkey called Boggin chitters and hops in restless excitement, bouncing from one of Hester’s shoulders to the other. It doesn’t perturb her if she notices at all. She sits sipping tea from one of Margot’s delicate cups as though this were a social call.
There’s a collective gasp when Ezra’s feet land at the bottom of the stairs. Ezra fights the urge to reach for you, clasp your hand in his own, whether to comfort you or himself, he’s not sure. His instincts and the sneer on Esme’s lips tell him that a show of affection won’t help either of you right now.
“So it’s true,” Oswin says. He leans his weight on his cane as he lowers himself into a wooden chair. At his feet lies a large Great Dane, his familiar.
You raise your chin, set your shoulders, put on a brave face. Ezra’s never been more proud of you.
“Outrageous,” Esme gasps.
“Hester, I object to this entire proceeding,” Margot jumps in. “Esme must recuse herself.”
“Why? Because my grandson was accosted by this ne’er do well?” Esme says.
“‘Accosted,’” you scoff.
“There is no need for Esme to recuse herself because there is nothing to discuss. There he stands. Any witch with eyes can see that the law has been broken,” Oswin grumbles.
Ezra clenches his jaw. Already two of the Elders are set against you.
“This is not the only crime to litigate. They’re fornicating. Did you know that?” Esme asks.
Oswin’s lip curls.
“Is that a crime?” Margot asks.
“It ought to be,” Esme says. “And there’s the matter of the spell. There are other conspirators, no doubt. She couldn’t have cast such a spell on her own.” Esme’s eyes fall once again on your aunt.
“Margot had nothing to do with this,” you say.
“Even if that were the case, she aided and abetted,” Esme says and turns to Margot. “How could you be a party to this?”
“That’s between me and my niece,” Margot tells her, puffing up defensively.
In an instant, Ezra watches decades of friendship dissolves into nothing. All because of him.
“Do you really expect us to believe that you did that magic single-handedly?” Oswin demands of you.
“I did,” you say.
“There’s no witch living capable of such magic,” he scoffs.
“There’s one,” you reply.
Your bravado brings a smile to Ezra’s lips but the laughter he hears is not his own. The room falls silent with Hester’s low chuckle and his chest tightens.
“You certainly are a precocious little thing,” Hester purrs. She hands her teacup off to the little beast on her shoulder and it hops to the floor without spilling a drop.
Hester approaches you, gliding more than stepping. She is the only one dressed in robes, their fabric something enchanted– soft like velvet yet flowing like silk, the color impossible to distinguish between inky blue or a verdant green, embroidered in oxblood and aubergine.
She hooks a finger under your chin and turns you this way and that for examination. Her dark eyes dance over your face and then come to rest on your own. They narrow as she gazes at you, searching deep within. There’s no knowing exactly what Hester Dreadmoor is capable of seeing. Her powers exceed the rest and she’s been alive long enough to have honed them.
Ezra holds his breath, every muscle in his body taut and ready to pounce but he controls himself. He won’t make the same mistake he did at the diner. He works his thumb against the tiger’s eye in the ring you gave him, its smooth surface tempering his heat.
Hester’s brows come together then lift and her lips part. Finally she releases you.
“My word,” she marvels.
She looks Ezra up and down and then allows you the smallest smile.
“She is talented,” she tells the others.
Now is hardly the appropriate time but Ezra’s heart swells anyway. The Grand Matron has confirmed that you are no average witch. He’s known that perhaps from the moment he met you. He might not have been aware of how deep your magic went but your love for him made you just as rare.
“You’re also audacious. Defying the judgement of our predecessors. Were you not afraid of having your gifts severed? And taking your own familiar as your lover? Have you ever heard of such a thing?” She asks the room. “Though I could be tempted.” She looks at Ezra once again with a hungry grin.
“Ezra has more than paid for what he did. No witch has been given such a harsh sentence for 150 years,” you say, ignoring Hester’s leering.
“That is true,” Hester considers.
Her familiar easily scales her robes and situates itself in the crook of her arm. She strokes at its neck absently. The monkey preens under her fingers.
“If the sentence has changed, his sentence should have changed with it,” you say.
“Then make an appeal,” Esme says.
“The murder of a witch is one of the most egregious crimes one can commit. Perhaps the sentence has changed now. But when this Damon was slain, the witch hunts were within living memory. There was a reason for such punishments,” Hester says with a grave expression.
Ezra shudders at the reminder. His mother ended up in their little village fleeing those mortals. Midwives were easy targets so she picked up and left for a place where she didn’t have to live in secret. Somewhere safe for their kind.
“Ezra was acting in self defense. And defending another witch,” you go on.
You make him sound so heroic but he feels like a fraud even now.
“Convenient that the witnesses are dead,” Oswin grumbles.
“We’ll get the testimony of a necromancer,” Margot insists.
“If I may have the floor,” Ezra tries.
They all hush again and Ezra realizes he hasn’t said a word. He scolds himself for not speaking up sooner. He’s never been one to hold his tongue yet his throat is dry. Meanwhile you, his brilliant little mage, have refused to let them make you small.
“You’re correct. Were you to try me once more, I would be just as guilty as I was then and I would plead no differently. I killed Damon,” he says.
Esme squirms, clutching her shawl closer around her shoulders.
“It was my life or his and for centuries I wished he’d finished me. I would have been saved from many lifetimes of servitude. It was not until late that I had reason to wish for a pardon. I’ve served many witches since my transfiguration and not one of them considered me anything more than a witchslayer. Save for one. A witch singular in every way.”
You watch him with glistening eyes, so beautiful. He’s lived a miserable life but you were there at the end of it. Even if it were just for what little time you’ve had together, it’s undone all of the loneliness and despair he’s ever known.
“When she offered me her spell I knew the risks. Selfishly, I agreed though my mightiest regret is that she faces your censure,” he says.
He draws in a deep breath. These next words he decided on as he watched out the window, listening to your shaky breaths in the other room. He made a promise to protect you and he would stand by it even if it spelled his own doom.
“I have little reason to hope for a commutation of my sentence and no reason to believe you will heed a word I say. But I implore you to limit your punitive measures to me and me alone. She did this for me and I am the one that should be held to account.”
The elders will have their pound of flesh but it needn’t be yours. It’s hardly enough but this is all he can do for you.
Hester walks back to her place between the others.
“Such a dilemma. The most powerful witch we’ve seen in a generation wasting her magic on criminal mischief. She could have a bright future ahead of her,” she says almost to herself. She strokes a finger down the side of her face in thought.
He can’t help it. In that moment, Ezra allows himself to hope. He can nearly see a future flash before his eyes– so many solstice bonfires, mornings waking in your arms.
“Then again it is not for one solitary witch to decide which laws should and should not be obeyed, do you not agree?” she asks Oswin. It’s another rhetorical question.
Ezra’s stomach turns so quickly he’s afraid he’ll be sick.
“Such formidable gifts are not playthings,” she scolds. “I believe the rest of this council agree with me.”
The others nod, though Esme adds a harumph to the end of hers.
“But I must admit that I am impressed by what you have accomplished here so I will be generous. Ezra, you will complete the rest of your sentence. And you, my dear, you will forfeit your powers from this day forth,” Hester concludes.
A whimper escapes from Margot.
“That’s generous?” you ask.
“It’s munificent,” Hester says, her voice biting cold. “I could add a hundred years to Ezra’s sentence. I could make him a bird and you a fish. I could try Margot for her collusion in this mess.”
You quiver but Ezra boils.
“No,” Ezra says. He can barely manage to bring his voice above a whisper, afraid that everything roiling within him might spill out. His nostrils flare as he glares at Hester from under his eyebrows. There’s a familiar flame of rage flickering to life in his chest, a sensation he remembers feeling so clearly when he was under Damon’s weight so many years ago.
“I was convicted to a thousand years of labor for killing a witch. And yet you would unmake one ten times as powerful, just like that?” He asks. Any congeniality has abandoned him. He has nothing left to lose.
“The verdict has been rendered.” Hester raises her chin.
“I won’t let you do that to her,” he demands.
Hester’s eyebrows raise as if to ask how. What could he possibly do to save you? To save those powers that had saved his life time and time again?
“No. You can have my powers. Give me another millennium. Whatever it must be,” he says. “It’s my burden to bear.”
“Ez,” you gasp and he feels your hand around his wrist.
“How gallant,” Hester says. Her voice drips with sarcasm.
Boggin climbs up her arm, a vial of blue liquid clutched in his paw. The potion within gives off a dull glow and Ezra’s heart quickens at the sight.
“Now,” Hester says. “Since I do hate to have to do this, I’ll give you both until dawn. You can have tonight to say your goodbyes.”
“Goodbye?” you breathe.
“My dear, if you’re not a witch, what use have you for a familiar?” Hester asks.
The words crash down on Ezra, nearly knocking the air from his lungs. Your hand clasps in his, holding on like he might be torn away by a great wave.
“You can’t take him from me,” you snarl.
“Hester, please,” Margot tries.
“Don’t worry. We’ll find a suitable witch for him,” Hester says.
“You’re making a grave mistake,” Ezra says through gritted teeth. His nostrils flare.
She is unmoved, holding the potion aloft. “I suggest you drink this if you care for your little mage. I could always turn her into something unsavory. A cockroach?”
“Don’t, Ezra,” you say. You squeeze his fingers so hard that the ring bites into his flesh.
The last time he came in front of the Elders, he knew his life was over. He would keep living. A long, unnatural life, but he would no longer have any of the pieces that made him. His body, his powers, his community were all stripped in an instant. And yet you happened. It took centuries, nearly broke him. He found someone that looked at him as worthy of love.
Now he was losing you, too.
He’s never felt more impotent. There’s only one thing he can do to keep you safe.
Ezra snatches the vial and throws it back, hearing you cry out in protest. It’s a bitter brew, more foul than the one that made him a man. His throat burns and he nearly gags but he refuses to let it show. He won’t let them see him flinch. He won’t let you see him suffer.
Instead he casts the vial to the floor where it shatters. He glowers at Hester and spits at her feet. She merely raises her chin.
“I curse you,” you snarl with a venom Ezra’s never heard in your voice. “All of you.”
Tears stain your cheeks but your eyes are sharp enough to cast actual daggers.
“Don’t,” Margot warns.
Esme staggers backwards despite the fact that Margot has a grip on your arm to keep you from bursting forth.
Ezra should stop you, keep you from doing something you regret, but what’s the point?
“Be careful, little witch. You still have much to lose,” Hester says.
There’s nothing Ezra can do now but hold you. He pulls you against his chest and you tremble in his arms.
Hester joins hands with Esme and Oswin and the three begin to chant the words he heard so many years ago. The candles flicker as their power swirls around the two of you. Esme’s familiar flutters its wings while Boggin hops from one foot to the other, clapping his paws together. Ezra can feel the magic heat his skin, a painful prickle, but he glares defiantly until their spell is cast.
“We’ll return at dawn and see this out. Don’t be foolish,” Hester adds.
4k5 | Frankie Morales x fem reader ; Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist
Summary: after your first date with Joel, Frankie and you want more
Warnings: 18+ mdni. Cuckolding, cucking chair, pet names (baby, sweetheart, good boy) masturbation (m), dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, oral (f), dry humping, pussy slapping, piv, creampies, cum eating (m), rimming, anal play, anal. No age specified
a/n: sequel to The date, but can be read alone
@aurorawritestoescape thank you so much for holding my hand, always, and for beta-ing me. ily so much 💕💕💕 dividers @/saradika-graphics 🙏
Two weeks passed since that night with Joel and Frankie.
You thought about it often, your mind lost in the memory of those moments, your fingers brushing your lips without even realizing it.
The way Joel perfectly knew how to put you at ease. The sensation of his mouth on yours, kissing you so softly. And once he was sure you were comfortable, you saw another side of him: dominant, self confident. Just like you’d dreamed about.
“Cuckolding, man in his 40s, dirty talk appreciated, dom vibes.”
Yeah, he was perfect, better than you and Frankie could have hoped for when you’d signed up on this app.
You thought about how Frankie fucked you that night, right after Joel, taking his turn in your sore pussy filled with another man’s cum, while Joel watched you getting railed by your man.
Frankie. You loved him so much, maybe more now.
Fucking him was even better than before. Thrusting into you, he loved to ask who you were thinking about. Whose cock you were thinking about.
“Yours,” you usually answered.
“His,” you answered sometimes. Because it was true, and because Frankie loved to hear it. It turned him on and made him hard as steel.
“I wanna watch him fuck you again.”
“What?” you stammered, as his cock was spreading your walls relentlessly, leaving you already panting. His balls slapping against your ass each time he thrust all the way in, your thighs wrapped around his waist. His smothered moans against the delicate skin of your neck resonated in your ear, until he straightened up and looked at you, keeping only his tip in the warmth of your core.
“You want it? You wanna fuck him again, baby?” he asked, his beautiful soft brown eyes fixed on you.
“You liked it, right?” He sounded a little worried that maybe he was somehow pushing you, as if you hadn’t told him dozens of times during those last two weeks that it was a perfect date. That it couldn’t have been more perfect. You brushed his cheek, your fingers running over his patchy beard.
“Slide in me, baby,” you pleaded, and he buried his length inside you slowly. Answering your request, your need, as always. “I loved it, baby. Very, very much.”
Your pelvis tilted forward, letting him sink even deeper.
“Tell me what you liked.”
You loved that he often asked you about that night. You loved that he enjoyed it as much as you did, that it didn't change anything. That you both came, thinking about it.
“Loved to suck his cock. His…” you panted, as he thrusted harder. “His- oh! His big cock.”
“Yeah. He's got a big cock. Just like you love them.”
Him and Joel had the thickest, fattest cocks you‘d ever seen. And he was right, you loved this feeling of being spread apart, barely able to take them, struggling to breathe while they pushed in. Or barely able to take them in your mouth, rounding your lips as best as you could to suck them off.
“What else did you love, baby?”
“I.. oh god Frankie… I loved that he watched me while he was eating me out, kept his eyes on me. I loved to watch him too, to see how much he liked it.”
“Shit, baby… He ate you good?”
“Y.. yeah, so… so good.”
“Mmm… Course he loved it. Pussy tastes like heaven. I could eat you for hours. What else, baby? Tell me.”
“Loved when he fucked me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Loved to feel his cock in me. Feeling your eyes on us.”
“Fuck, baby… yeah… I loved it too.”
“You wanna watch him fuck me again, Frankie?”
“Yeah… fuck… yeah. Wanna watch him fuck you dumb. Want to…oh fuck!”
You felt his cock twitch inside you, while his jaw tightened as he struggled to hold back his climax. Your perfect, handsome man. You kissed his plushy lips, then encouraged him to keep going. “Tell me, baby. What do you want?”
“Wanna eat your pussy full of his cum,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on yours. A little shyly. It made you clench hard on his shaft, eyes rolling in the back of your head.
“Oh my god, Frankie… I'm gonna…”
“Shit baby, you’re soaking me. You want that too?”
“Yes, fuck, that’s hot baby.”
“You're gonna come for me, baby?”
“Fuck… Frankie, baby?”
“Yeah,” he pants.
“I want you to come, thinking of Joel fucking me in our bed. Filling me up in our bed, right here.”
Nothing but gasps came out of his mouth as he was rutting into you, chasing his climax, eyes closed. Probably seeing you on all fours in his head, Joel fucking you hard and deep, his thumb filling your puckered hole.
“You see him, baby?”
“Yeah…”
You kissed his neck and slid your hand between your bodies to rub your clit, and you pulsed on his cock.
“Oh fuck… I'm coming, I'm coming! Fill me up, Frankie, please!”
His neck tensed, veins throbbing, as his head raised towards the ceiling. His moans became erratic, until he finally stopped shaking, your core full of him.
You held him close and like so often, you wondered how this former special forces agent, with his dark past in the military, could change into such a soft man in the privacy of your home.
You skimmed his cheek and he brushed your neck with his nose, catching his breath.
“Call Joel, baby. I wanna do it again.”
The date was set for Saturday night. Joel required that you wear a dress no longer than knee length, and panties that you didn't care much about. When Frankie read his message to you it was enough to soak your panties, and he bent you over the dining room table before shoving into you in one go, whispering filth in your ear.
Joel arrived right on time and after the two men shook hands, Joel’s eyes landed on you.
He didn't say hi, didn’t nod or walk towards you. He just gave you that confident smile, even though his gaze was soft, their color oscillating between brown and something darker.
His hair was slightly damp, brushed back. You thought that it would be messier soon and the simple thought of it made your pussy clench.
You checked him out, shameless, your eyes lingering at first on the salt and pepper of his beard. He wasn’t wearing his green plaid shirt this time, but a black t-shirt stretched by his biceps, and he was rubbing his thumb against his index and middle fingers.
When you finally looked up, the two men were staring at you, and you wondered how long you were staring at him, heat rising to your cheeks.
Joel slowly took the three steps that were separating you and enclasped you in a warm embrace.
“Missed me, baby?” he asked, grabbing your ass in his hands, his cock pressed against your crotch, his nose at your neck. He kissed you there and then nibbled your earlobe, making you close your eyes.
“Tell me, sweetheart.”
“Yes. Yeah, I missed you.”
“Mmm… you really liked that cock, uh?”
“Yes,” you replied, sliding your hands under his shoulders. “Of course I did.”
“You smell good. But I like it even more when you smell like me.”
His hands were roaming your body, and you thought about how much you loved his touch, so different from Frankie's. Not better, but different. Even though it was only the second time you saw each other, he was acting as if your body belonged to him, when Frankie could still act shy and amazed in the intimacy of your bedroom.
Joel grabbed your dress to pull the hem up slowly over your ass, allowing him to feel your skin under the tips of his fingers. He hummed softly against your ear as his cock strained a little more against his jeans, then grabbed your chin between his fingers, his gaze lowered to you. “You’re ready?”
You knew he wanted to hear your words out loud, and you let him know that yes, you were ready, trying not to be too shaky.
“Good,” he replied, making you shiver all the way down to your toes. “Let’s go to the bedroom then.”
You followed him, like you did on the first date, and Frankie settled into the chair. He was wearing sweatpants. You figured he didn’t choose jeans this time to be more comfortable in his clothes. To be able to brush his cock, to feel it through the fabric. To take it out easily when he needed to. He had been as impatient as you while waiting for the weekend to come.
And right now, thanks to those sweatpants, you could see how hard he already was at the idea of sharing you again. You nodded to each other, silently confirming that you were both okay with it. Then you turned to Joel, who was standing in the middle of the room.
“Tell me your safe word again, baby.”
“Red if I want you to stop, orange if I want you to slow down.” You paused for a moment, then added “and if my mouth's full, I tap on your thigh twice.”
“Perfect,” he said with a smile, before turning to Frankie. “And if you tell me to stop…”
“You'll stop, no questions asked,” Frankie finished.
“That's right. Needed to hear it, even if I don't think you will,” he added, looking at you this time. “You really loved watching your girl get fucked, didn't you?” he asked Frankie, without taking his eyes off you.
“Yeah, I did. I love to watch her when she’s falling apart, all shaking and panting. She’s so hot, so beautiful.”
“She is. And she takes it really, really good,” Joel said as he took off his t-shirt. “How many times did you come thinking about me, sweetheart?” he asked, caressing the bare skin of your shoulder covered only by the strap of your dress, making you shiver under his touch.
“I… I don’t know.”
His hand paused, his gaze found yours, and you wondered if he was picturing you coming, thinking about him, his name on your lips. “You don’t know?”
“I don’t… Too many times to count.” His lips remained still, but his eyes shone.
“I told you you’d never forget that night,” he murmured in the hollow of your ear, before sucking your earlobe. You felt shivers run down your spine, while your fingers were caressing and squeezing his arms.
He kissed you, his warm lips pressed to yours. His tongue brushed them delicately, as if asking for an invitation to let him pass that you willingly granted. His hand on your cheek, he held you against him, as your tongues mingled. He pressed his pelvis lightly against you, just so you could feel his hardness, and you moaned into his mouth, your arms around his waist.
Like the first time, he took his time. Caressing your tongue with his, then your lips. Feeling his thick body against yours made you swoon.
His hand slid from your face to your covered breasts, his touch firm and confident, then continued his path to the front of your dress which he pulled up and his palm covered your mound through your panties. A slight groan escaped his mouth when the dampness of the fabric covered his fingers. He pushed it to the side, freely sliding his finger along your soaked folds.
“See how good you taste,” he then said, placing his digit on your lower lip. You ran your tongue over it, then took it in your mouth and sucked the tip of his finger. You were looking at each other, you probably already an impatient mess, him a waiting feline. He grabbed your wrist to pull it away and kissed you again, running his tongue over your lips.
“Mmm… I can’t say I forgot it, but I couldn’t wait to taste you again. Now lie down on the bed, baby.”
Your core heated up at his words as you followed his command. He stood at the foot of the bed, only wearing his jeans, and you looked at Frankie. He smiled at you, his curls slightly sticking out of his cap, and god he was beautiful. You took a few seconds to look at him, knowing that all your attention would be on Joel soon. He smiled at you then nodded, and you heard Joel unzip his jeans, making you turn your head towards him, and once again his body left you breathless. Shirtless, fly down, his happy trail leading the way to his boxers that he was wearing low.
He was gorgeous, his eyes on you. You felt lucky that you had crossed his path. That he was single, that you could have him, even while being in a relationship, even for a few times.
He palmed himself through his pants, as you were taking a full view of him and his broad body, anchoring this image in your brain. Then he knelt down on the floor, and slipping his hands under your thighs, pulled you towards him.
You swore you heard Frankie hold his breath, just like you, with the way Joel tugged you, claiming you and your body like he owned it.
“I missed your taste. Thought about it several times,” he said, while looking at your covered pussy. “Loved it.” He glanced at Frankie before adding “you love it too. Eating her out,” with no question in his voice. “Heard it, that breath you held. It's special to you.” He stroked your covered folds with his thumb, where the fabric was darker, beaded in your wetness. “I can understand why,” he mumbled, then grabbed the material and suddenly pulled, tearing the garment.
“Oh fuck,” you whined, and he spat on your cunt “Fuck, Joel…”
“I’m gonna eat your cunt. I’m gonna fuck you with my tongue, and you’re gonna come on it.”
You nodded eagerly. Impatiently.
“Didn’t need my spit, you’re already soaked. But you wanted me to do that, didn't you?”
“Yeah… yes, Joel.”
He growled and spat again.
“Fuck.”
You heard Frankie but were unable to turn your head towards him, mesmerized by Joel's face between your thighs.
“Got something to say, Frankie?”
You wondered if Joel was implicitly asking if he was still okay, or if he was taunting him. You dreaded Frankie’s answer, like the first time. Even though, of course, you would comply.
“Eat her. Eat her cunt,” he breathed, almost whining. “Eat my girlfriend’s cunt.”
Hearing them was turning you on, maybe like never before. Seeing them being possessive of you in their own way.
Your wetness was flowing down your folds, all the way to the sheets.
Joel smirked when he heard him. “Sharing is caring, right? But this cunt's mine tonight. You're mine, tonight, sweetheart.”
He leaned forward and licked a long stripe, smiling when you whimpered his name, before sliding his hands under your thighs. He dove into your pussy, slurping and sucking, his beard lightly scratching the inside of your thighs which he held tight against him. You vaguely heard some clothing, then the sound of Frankie fisting his shaft.
“You taste so fuckin’ good. Drippin’ so much I can barely drink all of it.”
Your fists clenched on the sheets, and your moans increased, his name escaping from your lips.
“That's right. Say my name, sweetheart. Say it.”
“JoeI… oh fuck. I'm so close, please…”
He licked your folds with the flat of his tongue, his eyes staring into yours over your trembling belly. “Not yet,” he growled, leaving you panting, your stomach rising and falling quickly. He pushed your thighs apart with his hands, firmly, pressing your knees against the bed. His beard was glistening but he didn't wipe it away. “Joel, please….” you whimpered, as he brushed your folds with his thumbs, his eyes lowered to your open cunt.
“Look at that… She’s throbbing, baby. Begging me to let her come…” His smugness gave way to softness when he saw the need in your eyes. “I can’t say no to you when you look at me like that, with those beautiful eyes,” he said, leaning down to eat you out again, then circling your clit with his lips. He pushed two fingers into your soaking pussy, his digits rubbing against your g spot each time he pumped in.
Your breathing quickened and you let your fingers get lost in Joel’s hair.
“Don’t come, Frankie. Not yet.”
Your gaze shifted from Joel's confident look to Frankie. Eyes so soft, mouth half-open, he was breathing raggedly, his gorgeous cock oozing into his hand.
“W… what?” Why?”
“I’m gonna need you soon,” he added, still pumping your cunt, peppering kisses on your throbbing clit that were making you crazy with desire, and you grabbed his head in your hands, hoping to keep him where you needed him.
“Ok,” he answered, starting to fuck his shaft again, but more slowly. You rolled your hips against Joel.
“That’s right, use me sweetheart. Use me to get off, damn, you’re so hot.”
You clung to his curls, fucking yourself on his fingers, riding the wave of heat rising in your stomach until you came, head thrown back in your pillow.
“Oh fuck, Joel…”
He let his saliva flow again and spread it on your skin, smirking when your overstimulated clit made you blench.
“Frankie, I want you to stretch her for me. But don’t come in her cunt. I’m the one who fills her first.”
Your pussy clenched again at his words as your man was already pulling his sweatpants mid-thighs, his Adam's apple barely finding its place in his throat as he settled between your open thighs.
“Oh fuck, baby, lemme… can I… can I fuck you?”
“Please, Frankie. Fuck me, I need to be filled,” you said, crushing your lips against his, then nibbling and licking them.
“Oh fuck,” he moaned as he pushed in, your sweet, wet pussy swallowing him. You looked at Joel, standing at the edge of the bed, looking down on you, his large palm cupping his cock and balls through his jeans.
“How does it feel, sweetheart?”
“Good,” you panted, spread on your bed, your man pushing in slowly. He was so eager to fuck you that he didn't even take off his cap. You looked at him tenderly, stroked his cheek, and his dimple appeared. He was so different from Joel. “It's good, baby. So, so good. You like it?”
“My favorite place in the world,” he said, leaning up to watch his cock sink in and out of your walls. “Oh fuck baby, you’re soaked, covering my cock with your juice. If only you could see how much you’re drooling.”
“I can hear it, baby, it’s almost embarrassing,” you laughed. “You like getting me ready for him, my love?”
“Yeah, I love it. It’s so hot. You’re gonna take it good, aren’t you? Make him feel how perfect you are.”
“I will,” you answered, looking at Joel.
“You’re gorgeous, sweetheart, you know that? Your man’s lucky. Now, spread a little more for him. Let him fuck you deep, lemme look. Yeah, just like that, you’re perfect.”
Frankie kept pushing in and out, slowly, and you placed your hands behind your head, searching for the bars of the headboard to hold onto, as Joel removed his jeans and boxers.
“I think she’s ready.”
“Yeah? Lemme see then.”
Joel knelt between your thighs, his large hand around his cock, and slid the tip between your folds to coat it. You held your breath, knowing that you would finally feel it again.
“You know,” he started to say while pushing in, your fingers tightening on his broad thighs, "I came so often, thinking about you these last weeks," he added, thrusting deeply into you, your walls spreading under the fat head of his shaft, his hands gripping your hips tightly. “Fuck!”
“Rea… really?”
“Yeah, sweetest cunt I ever fucked. Tightest one, too.” Clinged to your hips, he manhandled you, making you slide along his length. “You wanna come on this dick again? Want your man to watch it?”
“Yeah, I want Frankie to watch me come on it.”
“Naughty girl,” he smirked, then suddenly slapped your clit with the tip of his fingers.
“Oh my god!”
“Yeah. Even tighter when I do this. She’s squeezing the shit outta my dick, Frankie. Did your man tell you I’d spend the night here? He wanted to make it a surprise. So I could fuck you all night.”
“No… he didn't tell me,” you whimpered.
He slapped your pussy again, and you felt another climax build in your core, making you bite your lip.
“Come on, baby, come on it. Come on it, I know you can do it.”
You felt full. Full of his cock, full of the heat rising in your core, and heard Frankie remove all his clothes hastily.
“Shit, baby. I’m gonna come just like that. Buried in your cunt, swallowing me whole.”
He slapped your clit one last time and you came, your cunt clenching around him, and you felt him spurt deep inside your walls, coating them in white.
“Oh god, Joel….”
“Fuck… fuck, yeah, just like that. Let me fill you up in front of your man.”
He kept squeezing your hips while you milked his cock to the last drop.
“Shit… you did so good, baby…” He looked at Frankie then added, “wanna take your turn, man?”
“Yeah, fuck.”
Joel lay down, his head resting against the headboard, and Frankie rushed over to you, flipped his cap backwards, and plunged his head between your thighs, licking your wetness and Joel’s cum.
“Yeah, that’s what you wanted, baby? Drinking all of it? Me and Joel?”
He hummed in your cunt, lapping and sucking, moaning so loudly and humping against the bed.
You grabbed his head, tilting it slightly upwards so he could focus on your clit, until you climaxed again, and you heard Frankie groan even louder.
“Shit, I… I came on the sheets. Turn around, baby.”
You looked at him, surprised, before lying down on your stomach. He kissed your cheek then your shoulder, moving his lips down your spine. His soft mustache brushed against your skin, and you closed your eyes.
You moaned when he brushed your ring with his tongue, then pressed it a little harder.
“He said he'd wanna fuck your ass.”
He let his saliva flow and spread it with his fingers, lightly brushing your ring.
“Shit… it’s throbbing... You want him to fuck all your holes, don’t you?”
“Yeah… yes I do.”
“That’s right. Make it fit, I'm gonna be hard soon. You're gonna make it fit, right, Frankie?”
“Yeah.”
His tongue slipped in your puckered hole, while his hands were spreading your ass cheeks.
“Fuck that's good. Covered with his cum here too.”
He kept teasing your hole, working it with the tip of his tongue or lapping at it with the flat of it, until it softened under his touch. Then he brushed it with his thumb, pressing a little more until his knuckle passed in, alternating digit and tongue just like he knew you loved.
“You're gonna take him so good baby. I can't wait to watch you lose it, my beautiful, perfect girl,” he praised. You heard Joel fisting his shaft, meaning he was ready.
“Ok, on your knees for me, baby. I've been dreaming of fucking this hole.”
Frankie gave him a bottle of lube and went back to the armchair, as you put your cheek on the pillow to look at him, your eyes meeting when Joel nestled his tip into your smaller entrance. “I love you, baby” you said, just before closing your eyes as you felt Joel tonguing your hole, mixing his saliva with Frankie’s.
“So fucking good, baby,” he said, covering your ring and his length with lube. “I'm gonna fuck you all night, you know that? We're gonna take our turn and make you feel so good. Just like you deserve it.”
He pressed against your ass and pushed in slowly. His tip was so thick that you frowned, looking at Frankie. “You can do it, baby. You're gonna feel so good, very soon.”
You nodded and held your breath when his crown sank in. He was gentle and brushed your clit with his finger to make it easier, then pulled back and pushed in again, a few times, until you welcomed him fully. He kissed your shoulder and murmured “you're fucking perfect, sweetheart,” then held your hips.
“I'm gonna fuck you slow,” he said as he started thrusting in and out, and you already saw stars.
“If you want more, you say “harder”. If you want me to slow down or to stop, you know the colors. Ok?”
“Yeah. Fuck me slow, for now. And then,” you said, looking at Frankie, “then when I'll say “harder,” I want you to rail me. I can take it.”
“Shit. Ok. This little hole is already taking me so well. Gonna take my time, and then… oh fuck… then the neighbors will know my name, too.”
“Let them know it,” you breathed, as Frankie spat in his hand and started to jerk off, while Joel's length was pushing in and out, slowly. You could feel every nerve of his cock, every vein. It was so good and almost surreal, getting assfucked there, in your bed, in front of your man. But he loved it, was fully hard, moaning while watching you, naked except for his cap, sweat dripping from his curls.
“Harder,” you murmured.
“Yeah, you're sure?”
“Yes. Fuck me, Joel.”
“At your service, m'am.” His big hands tightened on your flesh, and he pushed in, his pace harder and deep. His big balls slapping against your folds, you were breathless, except for his name that you screamed a few times. You let him use you fully, it was hot, forbidden and so good.
“Touch yourself, baby,” he panted. “Come on it, again. Make it almost hurt, when you clench on me, come on.”
You brushed your clit as he kept fucking your ass, and soon you felt another climax coming. “I love you,” you mouthed to Frankie again, just before you came, making Joel moan. Then he nibbled at your shoulder, his chest pressed against your back. He didn't slow down and kept thrusting until he froze, buried in you and spit his load in your guts.
“Fuck… Are you ok, sweetheart?” he asked, before kissing your skin right where he nibbled it a few minutes before.
“I'm ok, it was perfect, Joel.” You looked at Frankie, his brown eyes fixed on you, pleading. “Come here, baby. Your turn.”
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Thank you for reading 🙏 Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️
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My friend, @schnarfer, here's a little treat I've created for you. "Are you ready to love me?" is such a beautiful story. I loved reading it! And you've made me fall so hard for Joel and his Darling that I've been itching to do this for a while. The only problem has been finding the images that felt right, and with how picky I can be, it can take me a second, lol! Love you!♥️
Love you so much Wym, thank you for being such a wonderful friend and for creating this BEAUTIFUL tribute to Joel & his darling 🖤🖤🖤 each of the images is so thoughtful and fits the story so perfectly.
Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Doctor Female Reader
Chapter Rating: Mature, but still minors DNI.
Chapter Summary: Joel can almost see what Steven is thinking—your life is already so interwoven with Joel’s, and it will always be. It’s as plain as day, your home and your heart lie with Joel. Now, he almost feels bad for the guy. Someone like you just doesn’t show up every day, let alone in the apocalypse.
Chapter Warnings: domesticity x a billion, hurt/comfort, steven's getting a redemption arc even though he really didn't need one, jefferson on joel's lap mention because little cat big man, shower joel!
Words: 3,300
A/N: Hey! I can actually tell you when to expect the new chapter! I will be releasing Joel's birthday chapter on his actual (like he's a real man) birthday: September 26. I didn't want to include all of this in that chapter, so here's a nice bridge for Doc and Joel to get to his special day.
Healed Masterlist | Healed Playlist | Healed, The Video Edit | AO3
Masterlist
Previous Chapter
—-
Joel is a dream patient… for the most part. He always lowly thanks you after you check over him and wash his wound with a homemade saline solution, his dark brown eyes sincere when he looks up at you. He’s healing, amazingly. The wound is no longer red and angry. There’s no sign of infection, no signs of any other injuries, just some lingering aches and pains, and in general, grumbles of annoyance and boredom from him as he’s relegated to the hospital bed.
You’re there for him as much as you can be, while still taking care of your patients during the day. You’ve never had an easier walk to work: open the door, go down the hall, and take a left.
His hospital room is slowly beginning to look quite lived in. You’ve gone home a couple of times to shower and pick up a few odds and ends to make Joel’s time pass more easily. His book, a deck of cards, and the wooden Jefferson figure from your bedside table are now placed next to his hospital bed. You’ve even brought his pillow and a bigger blanket, the hospital tends to get cold at night, an issue you, Dr. V, and Steven are still trying to fix.
Ellie visits every evening and sits with Joel, regaling her patrol runs or what Sally and Jefferson are up to.
Tommy always stops in with a bag of food, compliments of Maria. Today, Tommy walks in holding a lidded mug of tea and a folded square of off-white paper. He greets you with a nod and hands the tea to you, “For you, from Maria,” then turns to Joel and hands him the paper. “For you, from Benji.”
Joel unfolds the paper, and a kaleidoscope of colors bursts from the pages.
“He’s getting good use out of those crayons we found him last year,” Tommy says at the sight of Joel’s soft smile spreading.
You lean in closer to take a look at the art. It’s you—or a stick figure drawing of you—and Joel, holding hands under a sky complete with a smiling sun. A happy warmth spreads from your heart at the sight of the childish scrawl above the figures: Uncle Grumpy & Aunt Doc.
“He said he wanted to put you, because he knows you’re the one fixing Uncle Joel,” Tommy notes.
“You do look pretty grumpy in this picture,” you say, pointing at the frowning brow Benji bestowed on him.
Joel only grunts, but there’s a reverence in the way he props the picture onto the table by his bedside.
“S’great,” Joel says. “Tell him thank you.”
You look at that drawn picture often, when Joel dozes, and you’re catching up on patient files. There’s something about seeing yourself through Benji’s eyes—as family.
Every night, you and Joel somehow make fitting on the small, hospital bed work—his body pressed against yours, your arm draped over his chest, careful to avoid his bandage, your legs tangled with his. It’s a delicate balance to make sure you don’t push each other off. It’s much more comfortable than the chair, but all you can think of every morning as you stretch your tight back out is your big, comfortable bed at home.
The days slowly tick by, and Joel begins to be able to move around more; his wound is far less tender than it was. He’s able to stand without wincing, walk around the hospital room, and take care of his basic needs without too much pain or help.
And, on the sixth day—only three days before his birthday—Dr. V and you agree that Joel can continue his recovery from home.
Joel refuses the wheelchair that Steven rolls in, mumbling lowly that he will absolutely not be seen by everyone else in a damned wheelchair.
“The walk is far, and you’ve barely been on your feet since,” you say.
“Absolutely not,” Joel says, folding his arms, still bruised from his fall. He looks ridiculous, sitting on the edge of the bed with a frown on his face, looking almost like a petulant child clad in his sweatpants and shirt. “I’m not gettin’ in that and letting everyone see me.”
“I can’t support your weight for that long a walk,” you challenge, mirroring his tight shoulders and folded arms. “It’s almost half a mile.”
“I’ll manage,” he growls, his fingers digging into the meat of his arms.
“If you fall now, we’re right back at the beginning,” you implore. “You have to use the chair. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“I can help,” Steven offers, his eyes not meeting yours or Joel’s. His voice is so soft, you nearly miss it. You can practically see the discomfort radiating off of him. “I can escort him… that way he doesn’t have to use the chair.”
Joel stares at Steven, and it’s not hard to guess that he’s considering what it means to let another man, especially Steven, support his weight all the way home. But he surprises you. “That works fine,” he acquiesces, but you can still see the stubbornness set in his jaw. “Anything to not have me deal with that damn chair again.”
“That sounds great, Steven, thank you,” you say, sending him a smile of gratitude.
He nods a quick, single nod before he excuses himself.
As you begin to pack Joel’s bag, you’re relieved he’s going home now. The thought of him spending his birthday in a hospital room had been weighing on you. Now, instead of the sterile, white walls of the clinic, he’ll wake up on his special day in his bed, with you and Jefferson.
—-
Dr. V does a final check on Joel’s vitals before discharge. “You’re lucky as hell, Miller,” he tells him, hanging the stethoscope around his neck. “Not many people would be walking out of here so soon after an injury like that.”
Joel nods without a response. Sitting up like this for so long is uncomfortable; the bandage wrapped around his torso digs into his skin.
“You do need to take it easy for the next couple of weeks. No work, no lifting, and minimal movement until the stitches are removed. Absolutely no climbing stairs unsupervised.”
“I’ll make sure he’s doing what he needs to be doing when I’m with him,” you say.
Dr. V nods. “I’m giving you time off, too,” he tells you. “For the week, so you can watch for any infection or complications. We’ll manage without you, you deserve a break.”
“Thank you,” you respond. Joel can hear the relief in your voice. He feels a twinge of selfish happiness knowing he’s going to get you for a week straight. Now, if only it didn’t come with a wound in his side.
Standing is still a challenge, no matter how many times he’s practiced it, he has to lean heavily on his cane and try to hide the grimace of pain. Steven steps to his side, and Joel swallows his pride as he accepts his help—anything to get back to his home.
The crisp autumn air outside is a huge contrast to the antiseptic smell of the hospital. Joel breathes in the cool, fresh air, wincing as his lungs push against his injured side. It’s a slow walk home, and Joel’s thankful it’s later on in the evening, most of Jackson’s residents are comfortable inside their homes. With each jostle from the uneven ground, he leans more heavily on Steven than you.
He can’t help but feel the overwhelming relief that overtakes him when he turns the corner and sees his house, complete with his rocking chair and your chair sitting side by side on the porch.
“Careful with the steps, go slow,” you caution when you approach the porch.
Joel feels Steven’s grip tighten as each foot is lifted enough to clear the step. He feels slightly embarrassed by the need for Steven’s assistance, but at this point, he’d do anything to get back to the home he shares with you.
When he steps through the door, the corner of his mouth ticks up in a smile. It’s good to be back in the home he shares with you.
Steven hesitates in the threshold of the living room, unsure whether to enter or leave. After a moment, he steps inside, looking around at all the signs of cozy domesticity. A pile of books and VHS tapes on top of the coffee table, your half-finished scarf project hanging out of your knitting basket, Joel’s guitar resting against the fireplace, and Jefferson’s cat tree in front of the window. All evidence of a life shared.
“You should sit on the couch,” you say, helping Joel out of his jacket. “It’ll be easier to keep pressure off the wound.”
Joel settles on the couch and sighs a breath of relief as the cushions envelop him; the trip home has exhausted him, and the wound on his side now radiates throughout his body.
Steven lingers awkwardly in the middle of the living room, his eyes still cataloging the details of your shared life—a ball of yarn Jefferson plays with on the floor, the wooden animal Joel’s almost done carving on the mantle, your sweater draped over the back of the recliner.
Joel can almost see what Steven is thinking—your life is already so interwoven with Joel’s, and it will always be. It’s as plain as day, your home and your heart lie with Joel. Now, he almost feels bad for the guy. Someone like you just doesn’t show up every day, let alone in the apocalypse.
“Thanks for your help,” you tell Steven, adjusting the pillows behind Joel’s back.
"Of course," he responds. "If either of you need anything, I'm always happy to help.”
"Appreciate it," Joel says, surprising himself with the sincerity he feels. Maybe Steven isn't that bad of a guy after all. In fact, he thinks Steven is a lot like him… madly in love with you.
After Steven leaves, you carefully sit beside Joel on the couch, resting against his uninjured side. He immediately wraps his arm around you, the feel of your body against his heals him more than any medicine.
“How do you feel?” you ask, looking up at him.
“Perfect,” he answers. Despite the pain and injury, he’s in his home with you. He’s lucky to have his second, or third, or fourth chance at life.
—-
Jefferson’s purring contentedly in your hand when you push open the back door to the kitchen, his tiny body vibrating against your palm. The kitten was so happy to see you; his green eyes widened, and a contented mew left his tiny mouth when you found him curled up next to Sally on Ellie’s unmade bed.
Now, as you walk through your house to the living room, it feels like a piece of normalcy slides back into place.
You pad into the living room and pause in the archway, watching Joel on the couch. The TV’s playing Spaceballs, again, there’s a peaceful smile on his lips as he sits, his feet lifted and resting on the coffee table topped with a pillow.
“Look who’s here,” you say, softly, not wanting to startle him, holding up the bundle of black and white for Joel to see. His tired face lights up, gifting you a wide, crinkling-eyed smile.
"Hey buddy," Joel says, his voice soft, only for this small creature you share. You imagine it’s the same voice he’d use on Sarah or Ellie. Only reserved for those smaller and more precious.
Jefferson seems to recognize his voice, his purrs growing louder as you walk over and place him onto Joel's lap. His tension seems to melt as soon as the kitten sits on top of him. The contrast amazes you—your broad, strong Joel with his big hands, petting this tiny kitten. Both of them depend on you in different ways, both of them making your life more meaningful than you ever thought possible.
"He missed you," you say, watching as Jefferson begins to knead Joel's thigh.
“Missed him too.”
For the first time in days, you’re allowed to fully relax. Tonight, all of your energy can be focused on your little family of three.
The stairs to the bedroom are too daunting an accomplishment for Joel tonight, so you bring down the blanket you knitted for him, cocooning yourself and him underneath it on the couch.
“Good night, Joel,” you say, exhausted, the long few days finally catching up with you.
“G’night, baby,” he says, his eyes already closed. “S’good to be home.”
—-
Joel’s days of recovery are much better in the comfort of his home, but his couple of nights sleeping while sitting up on the couch have been hell on his lower back. The recliner is worse, the arm presses against the stitches, no matter how many times he tries to readjust himself. He misses his bed.
After dinner, he watches as you pull his shirt up and check his wound. It takes him back to months ago, the memories where he was falling for you, sneaking glances when you weren’t looking. Now you peel away the old bandage. He’s freely able to watch you… And he does, relishing in the small smile you give him as you tend to him.
“You look good, no signs of anything. Still want to try the steps?” you ask. “Maybe get you a shower before I put the bandage on?”
He nods. He’d love nothing more than a hot shower, especially if you join him.
You help him stand, though he now really doesn’t need it. The steps are easier than expected, his side only twinges in pain a few times. When he reaches the top, his heart is pounding, not just from exertion, but from the sight of your wide, proud smile. He loves making you feel this way.
A hint of nostalgia hits him when he walks into his bedroom. It was only earlier this year that he stood in the same spot, his cane supporting most of his weight, still catching his breath from the exertion of conquering the steps. Back then, his leg had radiated pain across his body, his lungs felt like they were on fire, and you stood behind him, your hands hovering near his back, still ready to help support him in any way.
He remembers how proud he’d felt that day, finally able to get to the second floor on his own after months of recovery. But what he remembers the most is how much he had already fallen for you.
Back then, he had fought with himself to allow him to dream of the thought of you sleeping next to him, and imagined what it would be like to wake up with you in his arms.
Now, this bed is yours too. Your pillow next to his, the nightstand by your side covered with your things.
“Joel,” you say, interrupting his reverie. “Did you hear me?”
“Huh? No, sorry,” he says, shaking his head.
“I said, go ahead and get undressed, I’ll take care of the water.”
The vanity mirror above the sink has already begun to steam over when he steps into the bathroom. He expects to find you naked and waiting for him, but you’re still fully dressed, testing the water temperature with your hand.
"Not joinin' me?" he asks.
You shake your head, looking over your shoulder with a sly smile. “Of course not. You’re still recovering.”
He can’t help the grumble that leaves him. It’s been days since he’s seen you naked, and the thought of having your wet body against his in the shower was the perfect motivation to get him up the steps. Though if he’s being honest, he’s not sure he could handle the sight of you naked and not be able to do anything about it.
You help him into the shower and step back, and he fights every urge to pull you in alongside him.
“You sure?” he asks, trying not to sound too desperate.
You smirk, crossing your arms. “I’m sure.”
He gives you one last look before reluctantly shutting the curtain.
—-
Joel turns off the tap and pulls the curtain back after his shower, water droplets falling down his body, paths tracing down his chest along the contours of his scars, muscles, and the curve of his stomach. His hair is slicked back, all of his handsome face revealed to you, his dark, brown eyes focused on you, a fire behind them lit when he notices you’ve changed into your pajamas–one of his flannels that hangs oversized on your body. The way he looks at you sends a wave of heat throughout your body. This is going to be torture.
“You changed,” he notes, voice rumbling.
“I did. It’s bedtime,” you answer, reaching for his gray towel before handing it to him.
“Thanks,” he gravels, beginning to dry himself. His focus stays on you as he runs the towel across his broad shoulders and down his chest.
You remind yourself to breathe, swallowing, trying not to let Joel see just how turned on you are right now.
He wraps the towel around his waist, the fabric hanging low on his hips. You try to hide the heavy pattern of your breathing when you step in front of the tub to help him out. He leans slightly on you, his damp skin resting against yours as he steps out. He stands in front of you, blinking water from his lashes, waiting for your next order.
“Go ahead and get on the bed, so I can wrap you.”
He nods, scooting past you as you try not to let the heat of him give away exactly how you’re feeling.
You grab the bandages and salve before moving to the bedroom, and with each step, you silently remind yourself that Joel’s still recovering, and you absolutely cannot give in to temptation. Joel’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes darken when you kneel before him, with gauze in hand, and wrap his torso.
“Y’know, you don’t have to wear all ‘a that,” Joel says.
You look down at the flannel, then back up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, I do,” you answer. “I like it. Plus, it smells like you.”
He grins, a wolfish smile, all teeth and mischief. “I could really make you smell like me, if you let me.”
You snort, biting your lip to hide the temptation. “Nice try, Mr. Miller. But you’re on doctor’s orders.” You tape the gauze, then stand, leaving a kiss against his forehead. “Nothing that’ll make you… tense.”
“Mm,” he grumbles. “But, I ever tell you how pretty you look in my clothes?”
“Every time I wear something of yours,” you respond, handing him his robe. He wraps it around himself, tying it loosely before you pull back the covers and help him into bed.
When you get into bed, lying against him and resting your head on his chest, he sighs. “Thanks for saving me, again.”
You roll your eyes, turning to look up at his handsome face. “Stop trying to die on me, Miller.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m trying not to, baby,”
“Try harder,” you say with a smile, leaning up to kiss him. Joel hums against your lips, his hand resting against your cheek, his arm tightening around you. His tongue traces your lower lip, seeking more until you force yourself to pull away.
“Calm down, Mr. Miller, and get to bed. You’ve got a birthday tomorrow.”
—-
A/N: My taglist has grown too large. Please follow @whocaresposted and turn on notifications to be alerted about new chapters!
My perma tags: @forspringcleaning, @schnarfer, @mothandpidgeon, @valevntine
The image of Joel being so soft and gentle with Jefferson is going to stay with me for a loooonnngggg time 🖤🖤🖤 gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous as always my darling Mallory, you’re created something so beautiful and special with doc and Joel, I’m excited to read the birthday chapter when you’re ready. ILY 🦆
a/n: @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog Kate, I can't thank you enough for helping me and beta-ing me. Thank you SO MUCH ILY 🫶🫶🫶❤️❤️❤️
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Joel had to go pick up supplies from Bill and Frank. He had started to prepare his equipment for the next evening, and was waiting for the usual guard to give him the agreed Oxy pills. But another guard showed up at the appointment. A new one, arrived in the QZ a few weeks ago. Joel had seen him some times since then, and he didn't like his smugness.
“John was assigned to another position. He told me about you. You’re gonna do business with me, Miller, if you want to get out of the QZ tomorrow.”
Joel frowned. Annoyed by this unexpected situation, and having to deal with a soldier he didn't know, and whose smirk he just wanted to wipe off his face.
“And John thought I would trust a guy who just got here?”
“John and I were together in Kansas City, before he came to Boston. The KC QZ is down now, and I joined him here so that we work as a team like we did there. There are guys like you in every QZ Miller, don’t think you’re the boss.”
Joel smiled and said “you have a big mouth for a new guy. I'll check if John can vouch for you, and we'll do business if everything’s ok. Your name?"
“Javier Peña. Peña, to you” he said with a smirk. Joel thought Peña was an asshole and the worst part was he totally owned it.
Joel handed the usual ration cards to Peña, who laughed at him.
"Oh no. I'm not a softy like John. You’re gonna have to give me more than that if you want to get out.”
Joel’s nostrils wrinkled at this guy’s insolence.
“Your price?”
“Oh, no worries, it will cost you a lot less in resources.”
“Spit it out.”
"Your girlfriend. Tonight," Peña smirked.
Joel grabbed Peña by the throat and pushed him against the wall, but the man pushed him back.
“I saw you walking around with her in the area. You must be proud to walk around with a woman like that. You see I'm nice, it won't cost you anything in ration cards."
Joel smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
“You know Miller, I know enough about you to ruin your life here. Your small domination of the contraband market, if you don't want it to end, you'll have to review your priorities. And your possessions. It's up to you how much you need to get outta the QZ tomorrow night"
Joel was thinking fast. His desire to beat Peña’s face quickly gave way to his concern about rationing. Survival was complicated in the QZ, with Fireflies' bombardments creating a shortage of supplies. He looked Peña in the eye and said, “see you here in 2 hours”
“Sure, Miller,” the man replied with a smirk.
Joel came back to the apartment, you were packing your backpack getting ready to leave for Bill and Frank’s. As soon as he entered, you saw that something was wrong.
“What’s going on?”
“John has been reassigned. A new guard took over. I stopped by at John’s before coming home, the guy is sure”
“Okay, what’s the problem then?”
"His price."
“Damn Joel, we’re almost out of ration cards. How much does he want?”
“He doesn't want cards. He wants… fuck… He wants you. Tonight”
You leaned back in your chair when you heard his words “son of a bitch…”
“We’ll think of something. We'll try to exit through another passage,” Joel said.
"You know we can’t, we already tried. Damn that motherfucker… what did you tell him?”
“That I'll meet him… in an hour now, at the usual rdv point.”
"OK. We’ll go meet him then.” You saw Joel’s look, and you explained to him: “we’ll try to find something else to offer him”
You looked at each other, gloomily. One motherfucker was screwing up your business, asking you the worst possible thing.
When you arrived, Peña wasn't there. Just as you were about to leave, he showed up.
“You make us wonder if you’re serious, Peña. Will you be that punctual when you have to take us out?”
“When I take you out, we’ll be doing business. Here, we lay the foundations, right?”
He turned to you, and looked at you from head to toe.
“You’re pretty, Hermosa. Ready to do business with me?”
“We can offer you pills. Meds. What do you want instead of ration cards?”
“The problem, Hermosa, is that I don’t need any pills or meds. I'm not some junkie guard you can pressure in exchange for his fix. My offer is non-negotiable. Either we agree right now, or you take another path.”
He looked at you, then at Joel, smiled and said “Oh right… there ain't any other paths”
You looked at Joel who was clenching his fists, furious. And you said, “Okay. My terms.”
“Let’s see if you can be reasonable”, Peña replied, smiling
“Our apartment. Joel will be there the whole time. And it will only happen once.”
“Mmmm… I don’t mind the idea of having an audience. But it will be in my apartment, no way I’m going to yours, what if it’s a trap. And it will happen once, okay. Once per exit. If you need to leave the QZ again, the conditions will be the same”
Peña looked at you, then at Joel. “Deal?”
You answered “deal”, with a crestfallen face. Joel nodded, his lips pursed.
"Perfect! Pleasure making business with you!” The soldier was smiling again.
As you were leaving, you heard him say “Don’t fuck with me Miller”
Neither of you turned around.
You walked home in silence. Once home, Joel let his anger out “No way. No way we’re letting him win this… that… That’s insane. As if you are a fucking commodity”
“Enough Joel”
“Enough? How can you be so calm?”
"We have no choice. Many women go through… this to get resources. I had to do it in the past.”
Your gaze softened when you saw Joel’s expression.
“I’m supposed to prevent this from happening, sweetheart”
“We have no choice, Joel. This bastard got us. But we’ll get out of this. And we’re gonna grab everything we need so we won’t have to go out before this asshole gets assigned somewhere else.”
You arrived at Peña's apartment at the agreed time.
He opened the door, a cigarette in his mouth and a smile on his lips, and you saw him for the first time without his uniform and helmet.
Brown mustache, broad shoulders. Tight black shirt that showed off his biceps. Tight black jeans. Quite a handsome man, you thought. Telling yourself that it would possibly be more pleasant that way, before feeling guilty.
Joel’s presence made you hope that he wouldn’t behave like a total psycho.
He let you in, and gave Joel a nod, to which he didn’t respond.
A bottle of whiskey and 3 glasses were placed on the coffee table in his living room. His apartment was clean and smelled good. Turning your head to the right, you saw part of his bedroom. His bed with white sheets. Looking good.
You swallowed your saliva, and said “let’s get it over with, Peña”
He smiled at you, and said “Javier for you. Javi even, if we get along”
You rolled your eyes and placed your hand on Joel’s arm, ready to explode.
Javier filled the three glasses and said "let's have a drink, we're not savages."
Javier was enjoying his drink looking at you, smiling.
Joel finished his quickly, tapping the glass against the table to set it down.
You drank yours in one go, in need of liquid courage.
Without taking his eyes off you, Javier told Joel to go and sit in the armchair in his bedroom, near the bed. Joel looked at you then walked towards Javier pointing his finger at him “nothing twisted. You hurt her I’ll tear you apart”
“Relax man. I'm here for her pleasure and mine. I never hurt ladies. Quite the opposite in fact.”
Joel looked at you again and went to sit in the assigned place.
Javier extended his arm in the same direction, smiling at you - without his usual smirk - to invite you to go to the bedroom.
Near the bed, you turned towards him and began to undress.
“Wow wow Hermosa. No rush.”
You stopped your movements and lowered your arms alongside your body, while Javi moved closer to you.
To your astonishment, he caressed your cheek with his hand, and kissed your other cheek delicately. His mustache brushed against your skin, it was silky and didn't sting. He smelled good.
“You’re beautiful, baby”
You were confused.
“Listen, Hermosa. I’m not a freak. I won’t hurt you. I just want us to have a good time. Not just me, but you too. If you let me take care of you, maybe it will be more pleasant for you, and for me too. And your boyfriend sitting next to you might be able to relax too.”
Your gaze shifted from Javier’s eyes to Joel’s, who nodded. He also thought that it would be more pleasant for you if you could relax.
You thought about the times you had to have sex with men in exchange for equipment, ammo, meds. When you had to look at the ceiling waiting for them to finish, with the urge to vomit at hearing their grunts. And when, disgusted, you did your best to make them cum in your mouth as quickly as possible.
Ok…why not try something else and let him do as he said?
“Can I have another glass of whiskey?” you asked.
“Of course, Hermosa”. He went to get the bottle and the three glasses, which he filled. You bottomed yours in one go, and said “Ok, Javier” using his first name to try to keep him in this rather… pleasant state of mind.
Joel had his 2nd drink.
Javier didn't.
Javier moved closer to you, unbuttoning your blouse, and brushing his hands over your breasts, going down to each button. You couldn’t help but shiver when you felt his touch, which made him smile.
He pushed aside the tails of your blouse and revealed your breasts in a bra. Their soft plus, spilling out.
“your breasts are beautiful Hermosa”
He took them in his hands gently, stroking their roundness, then slipped his hands behind your back to unhook your bra. He took it off and dropped it to the floor, before taking one nipple in his mouth and sucking it gently, your other breast covered by his warm hand. You moaned and closed your eyes under the effect of his mouth and his tongue. He was good at it. You opened your eyes, looking at Joel, who nodded again, and saw him readjusting in his jeans.
Your attention shifted back to Javier, who was unbuttoning your pants and then tugged them down to the top of your thighs. He slid his hand against your crotch and felt your wetness in your panties. He smiled.
He kissed you, first placing his lips on yours, and pressing your body against his. You felt the bulge of his crotch as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, mingling it with yours. You welcomed him with desire, his actions and words made you forget why you were in this soldier's bedroom, with your partner watching you, sitting in an armchair near the bed.
Javier grabbed the hem of your panties and pulled them down, getting on his knees as he grabbed your pants as well, before removing the entire thing from your ankles.
He looked at you and just when you thought he was going to get up, he ran his tongue over your pussy. You tensed and looked at Joel who had grabbed the arms of the chair. You shook your head “no”, telling him to stay seated.
No man you had to fuck for resources had ever eaten you out. They were there to fuck, and didn't care about your pleasure. This was… new. And even if the intimacy made you uncomfortable, the contact of his tongue was already having its effects.
"You're wet, Hermosa. Good"
And you couldn't help biting your lip and closing your eyes, as he continued to lick you gently, parting your pussy with his fingers so he could push his tongue deeper between your folds.
You put your hand over your mouth, holding back a moan. No one else had made you cum, besides Joel, in years. And you were now standing in front of a man who had blackmailed you, and whom you had met a few hours before.
Javier got up, and asked you in a soft voice to go sit on the bed. Then he took off his shirt, revealing his broad, hairless torso. He was handsome, muscular, but not too much. His broad shoulders made you want to curl up on them like a cat.
Then he unzipped his jeans.
He approached you and you looked at Joel, who had a less… furious look than you thought. You looked at Javi’s crotch, he was hard. Before you could think about it further, Javi was in front of you.
“I won’t force you to suck my dick. But I really wish you would, when I see those pretty lips. Would you like to pull down my jeans and see if you like my cock enough to?”
Shit… you definitely didn’t expect the evening to go like that.
You placed your hands on his hips, and looked at the bulge that the jeans couldn't hide. He had a big cock. You started to pull down his jeans. He had no underwear. His cock sprang out, pointing up at the ceiling.
“Fuck…”
He smiled and said “come on baby, don’t tell me that this big guy doesn’t have a big cock too. Everything about him exudes cock domination. The big, strong, man everyone is afraid of”. But apparently not Javi.
You looked up at Javier then rolled your eyes.
You looked down at his cock again. Tanned. A few veins, including a major one on the side. He was well groomed, his balls firm and… tempting.
The thickness and length was equivalent to Joel's cock.
You hesitated for one last second then spat into your hand, before grabbing his cock and starting to jerk him off.
Joel in the armchair, was watching you from the side, then his eyes raised towards Javier who was caressing your cheek. His blood, which was boiling with anger, gradually gave way to the excitement. He never thought that would be the case, but seeing you seduced by another man, wanting another man, excited him. He felt more and more cramped in his jeans.
You grabbed Javier by the hips and pulled him closer to you, before running your saliva onto the tip of his cock. You placed your thumb and swirled it gently before starting to jerk him again. Then you brought your tongue closer, and licked his slit, tasting his precum, slightly salty. You moaned and took him into your mouth, gently sucking and licking his tip. His cock felt…good. The more you had his cock in your mouth, the more you salivated. You lowered your mouth to the edges of his tip, licking them with the tip of your tongue, before taking him entirely back into your mouth, this time encircling him with your lips, and starting a back and forth movement where you took him more and more into your mouth.
“Fuck Hermosa you… that’s so good” Javier hadn't said a word for several minutes, your effect on him was that big.
Your hand that was placed on his hip came down to cup his balls.
“Damn… you’re gonna kill me”
You were sucking his full length, your nose burying in his pubic hairs. You moaned, having forgotten the situation completely. You moved your mouth up from the base of his shaft to the tip, wrapping your lips around it, then you pulled him out of your mouth.
You couldn't resist tasting his balls. You looked up at him, the tip of your tongue level with the tip of his cock, and gently lowered it down to his balls.
“Mierda…”
You started to jerk him off again, and you licked his ball. Hairless. You felt it rolling under your tongue, before moving on to the second one. You licked them for a long time, moving from one to the other, before taking his cock back into your mouth and sucking his entire length.
Javier’s hands, previously resting on your head without applying pressure, began to press against your temples. He accompanied your movement, moaning, until he said “ok pretty girl, come lie down otherwise I’m gonna cum in your mouth”
You released him, licking his tip one last time, and lay down, looking at Joel. He had unzipped his jeans and pulled out his cock. Hands resting on the arms of the chair.
Javi removed his jeans and came to lie down, his head between your legs. “I can’t wait to have my mouth on you, the taste was delicious”
He parted your folds with his fingers, and without taking his eyes off you he ran his tongue over your wet pussy, from your hole to the clit. You moaned and said “oh god…Javi”, cupping your breasts in your hands. You spread your thighs to give him more access and you heard him say "mmm...you taste so good Hermosa...you're so wet"
You looked at Joel again. He held his cock in his hand and was jerking himself gently. He looked wrecked. He saw your gaze blurring with pleasure, and he gripped his cock tighter, continuing to jerk off.
Javi was still eating you out, running his tongue through your folds, then lingering on your clit. He gently rubbed against the mattress and you heard him moan. You felt his fingers caress your pussy, mingling with his tongue. Then he inserted two fingers into your soaking pussy, focusing on your clit with his tongue.
“I want you to cum on my tongue and on my fingers hermosa. Cum for me, I wanna hear you”
He turned his fingers to find your sensitive spot, you felt an incredible heat and pleasure rising from deep within your insides. He came to place a hand on yours, which was caressing your breasts, continuing to finger fuck you with the other, and to suck your clit with his tongue.
You exploded in pleasure, your stomach tightening in spasms. He continued to suck on your clit gently, then when your twitching subsided, his tongue joined his fingers inside your pussy. He groaned as he licked all your juices.
He then moved away from your crotch, his mouth and chin glistening. He wiped them with the back of his hand, smiling.
"It doesn't surprise me that you want to keep her so much" he told Joel, but without insolence this time.
“I’m gonna fuck you now baby”
He lay down between your legs and took his cock in his hand, before inserting the tip into your pussy. He stopped at the entrance and kissed you languidly, his tongue searching for yours, then sucking it from his lips. While the two of you were still kissing, he slowly pushed in half of his cock, before pulling back and then pushing in again, this time bottoming out.
He groaned and started to fuck you. Slowly and deeply. You felt every nerve rubbing inside you. His rhythm was soft and sensual. He kissed your cheek, and watched you before kissing you again, softly.
Then he said, still looking at you “wanna join us Miller?”
You widened your eyes, before turning your surprised gaze to Joel.
“I can share. I'm sure the two of us would do you even more good. So?" he asked looking at Joel who was looking at you. You swallowed, and nodded at him. Joel waited a few seconds, stunned by the situation. Then he got up and took off his clothes, before moving closer to the bed. Javi pulled out of you, and said “take my place”. You looked at them and felt yourself getting even wetter.
Joel moved between your legs, stroked your hair with one hand, and entered you gently.
“Oh fuck… Joel…”
Joel closed his eyes from the pleasure he felt. Fucking you after Javier woke something animalistic in him. Feline.
His hips thrusts were almost as gentle as those of Javier, who had settled into the chair that Joel had occupied a few minutes before, jerking off.
“Do you like being shared like that hermosa?”
Your eyes locked with Joel's, you nodded “yeah… yeah I love that”
After a few minutes, Javi stood up and said, "on all fours, pretty girl"
Joel got up, and you settled on your hands and knees. Javi came to sit against the headboard in front of you, his cock clutched in his hand.
Joel put his hands on your hips, and thrust into you, picking up a faster pace this time.
You took Javi’s cock in your hand, and began to suck him, to the rhythm of Joel's cock strokes.
“That’s good hermosa… you’re doing so well. Do you like that, having both of our cocks in you?”
You nodded, your mouth full of his cock. You worked hard to suck him deeper and deeper.
Joel groaned as he watched you suck Javi, and he started to fuck you harder. The pace kept you from taking as much of Javi into your mouth as you wanted, causing you to groan at the loss, and you focused on his tip with your tongue.
Joel slowed down and said "you wanna suck him sweetheart? All of him? Go ahead, suck him”
"Come on Hermosa, listen to your man. He wants you to feel good"
You grabbed the base of his cock, and took him back into your mouth, sucking up and down, deeper and deeper each time. Until he held your head with his hand, and told you "keep me warm princess"
Joel stopped and frowned, waiting for your reaction, to see if you wanted to back off or not. You didn't move, and kept Javi's cock deep in your throat until he released you.
“Good girl”, he said.
You resumed your movement, and that time Joel grabbed your neck, holding you down on Javi's cock back down your throat, which made him smile.
Joel released his grip, but kept his hand on your neck, accompanying your movements.
Joel picked up the pace slightly again, making you moan under his thrusts. He slid his hand up to your clit, and brushed it gently, before rolling it under his finger. You moaned, Javi’s cock deep in your throat for the 3rd time.
“Come on, cum for both of us this time hermosa. Cum with his cock deep in your pussy and my cock in your throat”
Javi's words turned you on to the max, Joel stroked you just right to make you cum, and you moaned during the climax of your pleasure, your nose in Javi's public hair again.
Joel slipped out off you and said "fuck him now sweetheart". Javi slid underneath you to lay down, you took his cock in your hand and pushed him inside you. Both of you moaned.
Joel sat on his knees, staying behind you, and he spread your ass cheeks with his hands to watch Javi’s cock sink into your pussy.
“Fuck baby… I never thought it would turn me on so much to see you take a cock other than mine”
“Yeah baby? You like that?”
“Mmm mmm”
Joel leaned over your ass, and dropped his saliva on it. He placed his thumb on the ring, and began to caress you.
He told you “wanna try more baby”?
You turned to look at him, and said “Yes Joel…. Yeah” You looked at Javi, who said “fuck me…” with a surprised but delighted look.
Joel spread your cheeks, and licked your ass. Dripped saliva on it. Touched it with his thumb. Then he focused his tongue on it, working to roll it against your ring to relax it.
“Do you like it Hermosa? Do you like getting your ass licked?”
“Yeah… fuck… yeah i love that”
Regularly, Joel would pass your thumb over your ass, bringing it in gradually, spreading your buttocks as far as possible. The indecent position excited you immensely, coupled with Javi's cock ravaging your pussy.
“You have lube Peña?”
“Yeah 1st dresser drawer”. Joel went to retrieve it, opened the bottle and took a dab on his fingers, coming to apply it on your ass. His thumb went in easily now.
Javi gave you a boost for a few minutes, before slowing down to let Joel settle in.
“You’re naughty, baby… you know that?”
You licked his lips before biting them gently.
Joel opened the bottle again and applied lube to his cock, then he settled between your legs.
“Ready baby?”
“Yeah… go ahead Joel, fuck me”
"You often take it in the ass?" Javi asked.
“Yes… but the double, it will be the first time”
“Ok hermosa, you’re in good hands”
Javi stopped, his cock buried in your pussy, letting Joel manage the pace. Joel pressed his cock against your ass, and began to thrust, your ring gently spreading as he went in.
You felt every inch of your body acclimating to his shaft.
He pushed in slowly, grunting. Before pulling back, and pushing again. He started to move back and forth, until his balls hit against your pussy occupied by Javi's cock.
“Fuck baby… didn’t know you were such a slut.”
Each of them felt the other's cock through the thin wall of flesh.
Your clit rubbed against Javi, you felt your pleasure rising. Joel’s hands were fixed on your waist, Javi’s on your hips. You weren’t moving, letting your body sway according to their movements.
Looking up, you saw that Javi’s gaze was on Joel, watching him with a satisfied smile.
Javi looked down at your jiggling breasts and said, “Cum hermosa. One last time. Squeeze our cocks, make us cum in both your holes”
You kissed him, in a messy way, until your orgasm made you capsize. They gave you time to come back to yourself, then gradually increased the pace, until they were fucking you hard.
Javi said “I’m gonna cum…I’m gonna fill your pussy. You have an after pill, Miller?”
“Yeah go ahead. Fill her up”
Javi kissed you passionately until his moans became grunts, and you felt him shoot the jets of cum deep into your pussy. He pulled out, and you heard Joel's panting speed up.
Joel's hands tightened on your hips, and he froze deep in your ass, sending his hot cum deep into your insides.
He collapsed on your back, while you were lying on top of Javi.
Your breathing struggled to calm down.
Then Joel got up, and Javi followed him.
You laid down on your stomach, and felt their cum dripping from both of your sore and swollen holes.
“Well… you deserve to go out of the QZ tomorrow,” Javi said, smiling.
Part 2
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Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Doctor Female Reader
Chapter Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)
Chapter Summary: You feel like you’ve been living in a loop. You prepare, administer, rest, prepare, administer, rest. The virus has yet to mutate into anything worse, and you hope it stays that way, but you’re tired, and you feel like more of an apothecary witch than a doctor.
Chapter Warnings: smut inspired by joel miller in a robe reading a book (aka riding joel while he sits on the couch in his robe), pearl jam in the apocalypse, domestic fluff as always, illness, blood, injury, surgery, hurt/comfort
Words: 6,300
Header illustration courtesy of @valevntine's gorgeous Healed Joel drawing.
A/N: Imagine me talking about how stuck I feel and then all of a sudden I find myself in the zone while writing this chapter. Shout out to Mr. Louvre for packing orders and making me breakfast while I wrote and respecting my love for a fictional man. 🙂↕️ I've been wanting to write this chapter for a loooong time and now that it's here, I'm glad I followed through with this idea.
Healed Masterlist | Healed Playlist | Healed, The Video Edit | AO3
Masterlist
Previous Chapter
—-
Joel’s side of the bed is empty when you wake, Jefferson is missing as well, but there’s a scent of coffee floating in through the bedroom door along with the low hum of music from the stereo downstairs. You leave your warm burrow of sheets, your feet cold against the wood floor. Fall is beginning to appear, and you’re still not used to the chilly mornings. You slip on one of Joel’s flannels, the fabric that smells of him instantly warming you as you make your way down to the living room.
You find Joel on the couch, a paperback spread wide in his large hand, his reading glasses slipping toward the tip of his nose, one arm stretched along the cushions, making him look even broader. Jefferson is a small ball of black and white sleeping on his thigh. You’re able to stay undetected and watch, leaning against the doorway, thanks to Joel being so lost in his book and Pearl Jam softly playing from the corner.
You clear your throat to catch his attention, and Joel looks up from his book before setting it on the table. He gifts you a soft smile before lowly saying, “C’mere.”
You cross the room, scooping a sleeping Jefferson up and into your lap before you settle against Joel’s side, burrowing into the soft, blue robe he wears, the tie loosely knotted into a bow.
“Mornin',” he rumbles, pressing a kiss against your cheek.
You hum a happy noise in response, still waking, but happy to feel the warmth of him and share in the quiet nothing of the life you have with him.
“What time is it?” you ask.
“Early,” he answers. “Wanted to let you sleep in for your first day off.”
You look at the clock sitting on the mantle. It’s only 7:20.
“What’re you reading?”
“All the Pretty Horses,” he says, picking the book up. “Figured I oughta finish it.”
“Read me some?” you ask.
He clears his throat in that soft, conscious way of only Joel’s.
“The room smelled of old cigarsmoke. He leaned and turned off the little brass lamp and sat in the dark. Through the front window he could see the starlit prairie falling away to the north. The black crosses of the old telegraph poles yoked across the constellations passing east to west.”
You get lost in his deep voice, his Texas drawl slow and comforting in the early morning hours. Your hand moves to the exposed part of his chest, stroking the soft, golden skin before it drifts farther down absentmindedly. Joel’s words hitch as you rub against the plush of his stomach. Your hand travels even lower, and his hips buck at your first touch against his bulge. He groans, blinking and getting lost in the page. You smile against his chest, happy to be the source of his distraction.
“Go on,” you say, “it’s hot when you’re flustered.”
He’s trying hard to concentrate; his cock presses against his thigh, the robe doing little to help conceal it.
You sit up, moving Jefferson to the back cushion of the couch, before you kneel on the floor, your knees pressing into the cold, hardwood. Joel quirks a curious eyebrow up, though the slight smirk on his face tells you he knows exactly what you’re doing.
“I’m listening,” you tell him, nuzzling against the soft fabric of his robe. He swallows, picking up his place. Just as he begins to read again, you leave a kiss against his exposed upper thigh before dragging your mouth across the outline of his cock.
“Fuck,” Joel grits, blinking hard, trying to stay focused on the book.
You tug the knot of his robe loose, parting it and letting it fall open. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, the fullness of him. He’s all broad and strong and plush. Thick thighs, the bulge of his slight belly, dark hair that travels from the dark nest around his cock, up the plush of his stomach, to across his chest.
You run your palms up along his sturdy thighs, watching the way his cock bobs, as he tries to read, his words collapsing when you part your lips and take him into your mouth.
“Fuck,” he shudders, trying to make it through a sentence, but his voice tremors, and you can practically hear him trying to stay focused on the words on the page and not the way you’re bobbing your head in tandem with your hand wrapped around him.
“For a brief time,” he reads, breathless, “they—” He grits his teeth, his free hand gripping the top of your head. “—were not at all afraid.”
You look up at him as he reads, his jaw tight, glasses barely still perched on his nose. You hum an approval against his cock, swirling your tongue around his head. His hips buck, head falling back against the cushion. The book falls out of his hands and slips off the sofa onto the floor.
“You’re gonna kill me, baby,” he groans.
You smile around his cock, bobbing your head faster, using your other hand to massage his balls.
“Fuck,” he says, “baby, fuck. C’mere,” he says, tugging you upward, to straddle his lap. He kisses you, his soft lips pressed against yours, his tongue licking into your mouth. He’s messy and needy, early morning be damned, Joel Miller wants you.
He pulls away, his eyes roaming your body, only clad in the dark blue plaid of his flannel. “I love you in my clothes,” he grunts, opening your shirt just enough to expose your chest. He stares at you, a mix of possessiveness and awe in his dark brown eyes.
“Wanna fuck you while you wear my flannel,” he growls.
His hand snakes down between your bodies, a cocky smile appears when he feels how wet you already are for him. You can hardly believe Joel is yours. The early morning sunrays filter in through the curtain, lighting him in aureate tones; his hair falls in gentle waves, a curl landing against his forehead. His big body supports you, his broad, strong chest rising and falling rapidly as he breathes for you and only you.
“Joel,” you moan. “Let me feel you.”
He grunts, gripping his cock, softly painting your slick across himself as he drags it up and down your wet cunt, leaning forward to capture your lips. As messy and eager as his mouth is against yours, he’s slower and gentler as he moves your pussy over his cock. The sting of the stretch he gives you still makes you gasp after all these times, and when you take all of him inside, Joel’s head falls back, exposing the long, strong column of his throat, his mouth half-open in awe. You lean forward, finding that column, licking against his warm skin, feeling the live pulse of him beat for you.
When you begin to rock against him, his pulse grows faster. You get lost in the rhythm, lost in the feel of Joel.
“I love you,” he groans, hips bucking up into you, before he finds the gentle curve of your breast, sucking your nipple into his mouth, hot and wet, teeth grazing across it.
You fuck him faster, and he groans into your skin as he thrusts up to meet your cunt. "Joel,” you whimper. “Close.”
“I know, baby, I can feel it,” he grits, his thick finger pressing against your clit, rubbing circles across it.
You gasp and groan, the heat of everything Joel gives you–his cock, his heart, his lips, his hands–sears you, and you feel the fire spread across your body. His finger presses harder against you, flicking against it as you bounce on top of him. You feel like you’re going to burst into flames.
“Cum f’me,” he grunts.
And you do, your body tensing and overheating, as your orgasm sparks through you. You gasp his name, your hands clutching the lapels of his robe as he urges you on, growling your name against your throat as he pounds up into you.
“Fuck,” he swears. “Fuuuuck baby.”
Joel cums with a long, low growl of your name, the vowels dripping in his accent. He heats you even hotter when he pulses his cum all over your walls. His arms wrap tightly around you, holding you in place, as his whole body shudders.
Your head rests on his shoulder as you cling to him, panting for air as he breathes deeply against you. He strokes your back gently as the two of you hold each other.
“Jesus,” he whispers in awe, kissing the top of your head.
You lift your face to his. His hair is a mess, the glasses sit askew, and the smile on his face is wide and happy.
“Good morning,” you say.
He chuckles. “Best morning.”
—-
Joel checks the clock hung on the kitchen wall as he finishes his cup of tea. He still has fifteen minutes before he has to leave for work. He always has a hard time waking up the mornings after your shared days off. It’s even worse today, the coffee’s been out for over a week, and he’s still dragging, but he lies to himself, telling himself that the peppermint is waking him up. When he hears the sound of your footsteps pad down the steps, a smile lifts his lips.
“Good morning,” you yawn, coming over to wrap your arms around him.
“Hey, baby,” he says with a kiss to the top of your head. “Was just gonna wake you up before leavin’. Why are you up?”
“Mm, wanted to get to the clinic early and make some tea satchels,” you say with your soft, sleepy smile. “There’s a respiratory thing going around, and I think it’ll help.”
There it is again, the ever-present thoughtfulness you have. He holds you against him tighter, overwhelmed by how much he loves you and your gentle ways.
“Remember to take care of yourself, don’t get too close,” he says, unable to keep the concerned tone out of his voice.
“I know. We’ve been keeping the windows open in between patients, and my hands are suffering from washing them so many times. Trust me, I don’t want this, and I definitely don’t want to give it to you, especially with your birthday coming soon.”
Right, his birthday. He leans back. “How do you know when my birthday is?”
“Ellie,” you smile before leaning up to leave a gentle kiss against his lips. “I’m not doing anything big at all, but I do want to celebrate you.”
“Just us?” he asks.
“Just us,” you say, your voice so soft.
The relief washes over him. He nods, bringing your hands to his lips as he stares into your eyes. It’s not lost on him that these same hands are the ones that saved him. He brings your right hand to his mouth and kisses it before holding up your left hand and leaving a kiss against it. He looks down at your hand in his, imagining a thin band of metal around your ring finger.
Once the thought is in his head, it won’t leave. When you pour yourself a cup of tea, he thinks of how the ring would glint in the light. When you slice the bread, he wonders if you’d prefer silver or gold. When you hand him his lunch bag and kiss him goodbye, he wonders how it would feel, his calloused thumb running over the smooth surface of it as he holds your hand.
Yes, Joel Miller once scoffed at the idea of a second marriage. Of ever handing his heart and soul over to someone else, to allow himself the vulnerability of falling in love, but you have made him want something he thought he’d never want again.
—-
Open satchel. Licorice root, lemon balm, chamomile. Close satchel.
Open satchel. Licorice root, lemon balm, chamomile. Close satchel.
Open satchel. Licorice root, lemon balm, chamomile. Close satchel.
Fall has begun its approach, and the respiratory illness has been spreading through Jackson. The virus doesn’t care that summer is waning; it only cares to settle in people’s chests, causing high fevers, terrible coughing fits, and sore throats. Your fingers ache from tying off muslin pouches, and you try not to think about the mass of patients in the waiting room, or the random coughs you hear on your walk to and from work.
You feel like you’ve been living in a loop. You prepare, administer, rest, prepare, administer, rest. The virus has yet to mutate into anything worse, and you hope it stays that way, but you’re tired, and you feel like more of an apothecary witch than a doctor.
Dr. V had warned you about the fall and winter, telling you the cold season often brings the worst. “You get a small, living community, sharing air, it’s a petri dish.” You’re grateful it’s not cordyceps, not anything disastrous like that, just an ordinary sickness, the kind that once made its way through schools and office buildings before the world changed.
Every day turns into the same. Monday, start work early and end work late. Tuesday, start work early and end work late. Repeat over and over, even on weekends. You and Dr. V rotate through patients at the clinic, while Steven makes house calls across Jackson, serving those too sick to make the trip.
It’s hard work; the past couple of weeks have been brutal, but you’re already starting to see the relief in the waiting area, though on some days it still feels like you never stop moving until you reach home. You haven’t had a day off in sixteen days. You, Steven, and Dr. V are exhausted, but you persist for Jackson.
Joel has been your solace through it all. He’s always waiting for you, sitting in his chair on the porch. Some nights, he holds a book. Other nights, it’s a block of wood and a knife. Tonight it’s his guitar. He rises as soon as he sees you, setting his guitar aside, stepping down from the porch, and meeting you in the middle of the yard. He takes your bag and hugs you, whispering a soft “welcome home, baby,” against your hair. You always melt against him, from relief, from exhaustion, from the immense love you hold for each other.
You love being home with him.
—-
With the library done, Joel and the construction team have set their sights on rebuilding and refurbishing a set of houses near the east wall.
Joel traces the path of the exposed wiring from the circuit breaker to the switch, marking the electrical wires that still work with the help of his voltage tester. He lucked out today. Most of the wiring looks good. He’ll have Dina test the circuit tomorrow, make sure everything powers up properly.
The house is quiet; he can hear the distant sound of hammers and work getting done from the rest of the crew working outside.
These homes haven’t been lived in for over twenty years, and there’s a lot of work to do. The drywall has been ripped out, and the upstairs and downstairs have been reduced to just studs. He’s already dreading the plastering process.
He loves the sense of accomplishment that settles inside him each time he surveys the progress of construction, yet he does still long for the freedom of patrols. He reminds himself that he’s needed here, inside the walls. Building, repairing, making Jackson stronger… it's a different kind of purpose, but one that matters just as much.
The stairs in this old house are steep and uneven, the boards warped from years of disuse and weather damage. He’s mindful as he makes his way down the first few steps, but when his boot and cane land on the fifth step… his bad knee buckles instantly. His hand reaches for the railing, but it’s rotten at its core. He falls, hard and fast, his body tumbling down each step—shoulder, hip, back—a tangle of splintered wood following him as he lands on the hardwood floor at the bottom of the steps, his skull cracks against the hardwood.
It all fades to black.
“Joel! JOEL!” Dina’s panicked voice sounds far, too far for him to reach. He feels so much pain, sharp and unrelenting. Something’s wrong. A pain in his side, familiar like the time he was stabbed all those years ago, familiar like the time he was shot even longer ago. No. He tries to open his eyes, tries to lift his head to look, but everything is too heavy.
“Joel!” Dina shouts again.
He tries to respond, tries to tell her he’s alright, but all he can produce is a weak groan. His last thought before his consciousness fades is of your smile.
He wants to sleep; maybe then the pain would disappear. But a sharp slap against his face pulls him from the fog.
"Joel! Oh my god! Joel, wake up!" Dina pleads.
His eyes flutter open, Dina’s a ripple of a human.
"Joel! Jesus! Okay! Someone's on their way." She takes off her sweater and presses it to Joel’s side, finding something, anything to catch the blood.
The clinic. You. The thought of you somehow lessens the pain that's radiating through his entire body. You'll fix this, you’ll fix him again.
"Can you hear me, Joel? Try not to move, okay? Mike went to get help."
Joel nods, and the pain is too much, he grits his teeth to keep from crying out.
He hears the door slam open, and he can feel the footsteps pounding across the wooden floor all over his body. Joel turns his head slightly, expecting to see Jesse or Tommy. Instead, Steven's concerned face appears above him, his doctor's bag clutched tightly in one hand.
"I need to see the wound," Steven says without preamble.
Dina pulls the sweater away. Joel hears the sharp inhale from Steven. He tries to lift his head again, desperate to see for himself, but Steven pushes him back down. "Don't move.”
Steven leans closer, examining Joel's side, finger prodding against the wound a bit. Joel hisses through clenched teeth.
“He landed on wood, and it’s embedded in his side," Steven assesses. "We need to get him to the clinic fast. I don't want to pull this out until I know we can operate."
Operate.
"Bad?" Joel manages to rasp, fear beginning to overshadow the pain.
Steven looks up, gone is the shy guy that Joel only knows as your coworker who’s madly in love with you, replaced by a confident doctor. “We need to move you.. This is going to hurt."
Joel doesn’t even realize Steven didn’t answer his question when he feels several hands slide under his body and lift him onto a makeshift stretcher made out of a door. The movement and jostling send blinding flashes of pain across him.
It’s too much.
He resigns himself to the darkness, accepting it, his last thought of you.
—-
The clinic is the quietest it's been in weeks today—a few patients with lingering coughs from the respiratory infection, but nothing urgent. You’re chatting with Wendy between patients about your knitting projects when there’s a commotion of movement at the front door. Steven and a few faces that you recognize as some of Joel’s workers burst in. Joel’s body lies limp on an old, battered door. The sight makes you almost faint in the middle of the waiting room.
"Oh my god!" you scream, your whole world shattering down. "What the hell?!"
Joel’s face is pale, and when you see blood soaking through his shirt, time stops as you try to process the horror. Joel broken and bleeding.
Dina rushes in her face, almost as pale as Joel’s. "I think he fell," she says shakily. "I don't know—I don't know how long he was out for."
You remind yourself to stay calm and let your years of experience kick in, trying to silence the panic that threatens to take over your whole body and mind. You follow as they carry Joel to the surgery room; the irony isn’t lost on you that this is the exact room where you first saved his life all those months ago.
"What the hell happened?" you ask.
"Something with the staircase," Steven answers. “Think he fell.”
You lift the fabric of his shirt away gently, almost crying when you see the jagged wood protruding from Joel's side, blood staining his golden skin. Seeing Joel’s blood like this reminds you of how battered and broken he was those first few weeks.
"We have to be careful," you say, hardly believing you can speak. "He could... he could—" You don’t dare bring yourself to say it.
"I know," Steven says. His face serious.
Dr. V walks in, heading for the sink to wash his hands. "Status?"
"Wood impalement, lower right quadrant," Steven reports. "Unconscious since arrival. Unknown how long he was out before discovery."
Joel’s skin feels clammy when you move to his head, brushing the soft curls back from his forehead. "Joel, wake up for me, please." Your fingers trace the contours across his face, willing his eyes to open.
Dr. V steps beside you, checking Joel's pulse at his neck. "Pulse isn’t great. We need to get this out and stop the bleeding. We need to wake him," he says. "He might flinch when we extract the wood if he's unconscious. That could cause more damage."
You nod, continuing to stroke Joel's face, you call his name louder, more insistent this time. "Joel! It’s me, I need you to wake up for me."
His eyelids flutter, and a small groan escapes his lips. "Baby?" he murmurs, his words slurred.
Tears instantly spring at the sight of his dark brown eyes. "Joel, we have to get the wood out," you say, trying as hard as you can to keep the fear out of your voice.
He manages a small nod.
"You have the best hands," Dr. V says, placing his stethoscope against Joel's chest to listen to his heart.
"I know," you say. "I know."
Your hands have saved Joel before. They will save him again. You have to believe that.
You lean down and kiss Joel's forehead, not caring about Dr. V and Steven bearing witness to such an intimate act. "I love you," you whisper against his skin.
Then, you straighten, wash your hands thoroughly, and grab a scalpel.
Clinical.
"Could be liver, could be bowel, but we have to get it out." Steven looks at you seriously, grim, but determined. "I'll hold him down."
Steven pins Joel's shoulders to the table while Dr. V stands ready to help you. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself after one last glimpse of Joel’s handsome, fatigued face.
"Joel, this is going to hurt, but I need you to try to stay still," you tell him.
He grunts a reply before you begin.
You widen the wound carefully with your scalpel, making space around the wood. Blood wells immediately, but Dr. V is there, trying the best he can to clear it out. Joel's body is impossibly tense, and you try hard to ignore the muffled groans of pain leaving through his clenched teeth.
"Almost there," you assure, hating that you’re causing his noises of despair.
You’re now able to see how deep the wood goes; it’s pierced through muscle and fascia, but seems to have missed any vital organs. You breathe a sigh of relief before you focus on what you’ve been dreading most… pulling the wood out.
"On three," you say, positioning your hands to pull the wood straight out. "One, two, three—"
You pull, and the wood slides free with a sickening squelch, blood immediately welling in its place. Joel's body arches off the table, a primal cry of agony tearing from his throat that you can feel in your bones.
“I know, I know,” you incant. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”
Joel doesn’t respond, losing consciousness from the pain again. You want to sob, you want to scream, but you can’t. You have to stay focused.
Dr. V immediately presses gauze into the wound, reducing the flow while you assess the damage and prepare your needle and thread for stitching when the bleeding slows.
You don’t think you take a single breath while Dr. V’s keen eyes assess Joel’s wound. "I think we're good," he finally says.
You allow your first breath of steadying air since you first saw Joel on the stretcher before you sew his wound. When the last stitch is knotted, you take a step back and make your way to the sink on legs that feel like they might give out. Only now, as you wash Joel’s blood from your hands, in the same sink as you did New Year’s Day, do you notice how hard your hands are shaking.
You almost lost him.
Again.
But he’s still here.
He's going to be okay.
He's survived worse.
—-
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
An incessant high-pitched nuisance pulls Joel away from the dark. He forces his eyes open, though it seems impossible to do.
A white drop panel ceiling and fluorescent light are the first things he sees.
Where the hell is he? He tenses when he remembers the last time he woke up in a room like this. Salt Lake City. Before he panics, your face appears above him, leaning in. He’s okay. He’s safe.
“Joel?” Your eyes are rimmed with red, and you look unbelievably tired.
He grunts in response, trying to give you a smile, but he’s too weak. "Baby?" he manages to rasp.
"I'm here," you assure, a tear rolling down your cheek. You lift a glass of water to his lips, instantly taking care of him. "Drink. Slowly."
He takes small sips, his eyes never leaving your face.
"What happened?" he asks once he can speak more clearly.
You set the glass aside, your hand coming up to brush back his hair, before resting it against his cheek.
"You fell, knocked yourself out, broke a bannister, and it got you in your side."
His hand instinctively moves toward his side, where the pain sits right at the surface, but you gently catch it. "Try not to touch it," you caution. "The stitches need time."
He glances around, taking in the hospital room. "The hospital?" he asks.
"There's room now," you explain. "Better for us to keep an eye on you for the next couple of days."
“How long have I been here?”
“They brought you in this afternoon, and it’s almost dawn. You’ve been sleeping the whole time, but your vitals are good,” you say, before you lean forward and kiss him. The heart monitor speeds up slightly, and you pull away, smiling at the audible proof of his love for you.
You settle back into the chair beside his bed, reaching to hold his hand before bringing it to your lips. Joel turns his head, though it hurts to do so, but he needs to see you better.
You look exhausted. He wonders if you've slept at all. Knowing you, probably not. There's a smudge of something maroon on your shirt collar—possibly his blood. Even like this—tired, worried, rumpled—you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
"You should rest,” he says.
You shake your head. "I'm fine. You're the one who needs to rest."
He wants to argue, to insist that you take care of yourself too, but he knows you won’t listen.
His eyes begin to close, drowsiness setting back in, he knows you notice it. Your thumb runs soothingly across his knuckles. “I'll be right here when you wake up,” is the last thing he hears before he falls back asleep.
—-
The sun is up now, and you’ve watched its slow ascent out the small window. You try for the thousandth time to get comfortable in the chair, trying to find a position that doesn’t make your body ache more. Dr. V brought in a nicer chair from the waiting room for you, though the plastic cushion has long since lost whatever minimal padding it once had, but you refuse to leave Joel's side.
Joel’s been sleeping for hours now, and you’ve managed to nod off a few times, but only for minutes at a time. You look at your watch, it’s a little before 8 am. On a normal morning, you’d be just arriving at the clinic, but now, you’re living in a pattern of checking Joel’s vitals on the monitor, counting his breaths, and placing your fingers gently against his wrist to feel his pulse for yourself. The machines are a miracle and reliable, but nothing reassures you like the feel of his heartbeat against your fingertips.
The familiar few knocks of Tommy’s land against the hospital room door, but this morning they’re softer than normal. He and Ellie walk in, both of their faces somber.
"Hey," Tommy softly says. "How's he doin'?"
"Okay," you answer. "He woke up for a little while earlier. The wound is clean, no signs of infection yet."
Tommy nods and places a canvas bag on the small table by the door. "Maria sent some food. Sandwiches, fruit, and some tea."
The kindness makes you smile. You haven't thought about food since Joel was brought in, haven't even thought of what you needed at all. "Thank her for me," you tell him with a grateful smile.
Ellie moves closer to the bed, her eyes focused on Joel. "He looks better than I expected," she notes quietly. “Dine said it was scary.”
“He was lucky,” you say. “The wood missed his organs.”
You stand and stretch, trying to loosen your sore body before moving to check Joel's bandages. There's no fresh bleeding, and it still looks good. He sleeps through it all.
“Ellie, can you do me a favor and get Jefferson from the house?” you ask. “It might be a few da—”
“Jefferson’s already at my place,” she smiles reassuringly. “I got him last night. Sally loves having him around. They slept curled up together on the couch last night."
“Thank you for taking him," you say, relieved. "I was worried about him being alone."
"He's family," Ellie says with a matter-of-fact shrug.
"Did you sleep at all?" Tommy asks, his eyes taking in your disheveled appearance.
You shrug, unable to remember clearly. "I dozed off and on."
"In that chair?" Tommy scoffs.
"I'm fine," you insist with a shrug.
"You should go home," Tommy says. "Just for a bit. Shower, change, get some real sleep."
You immediately shake your head. "I won’t leave him."
"We'll stay with him," Ellie counters. "He won't be alone."
You stand frozen in indecisiveness. Stuck between staying vigilant at Joel’s side and the need to allow yourself to rest to be there for him when he needs you.
"Just an hour," Tommy coaxes. "That's all. Then you can come right back and torture yourself in this chair some more."
"Okay," you agree. "But just an hour. And you'll send someone for me if anything changes?"
"Course we will," Tommy promises.
You lean over and place a kiss on Joel’s forehead. "I'll be back soon," you whisper.
After you pick up your bag, Ellie steps forward impulsively and wraps her arms around you. You try not to let her feel the way you tense up at the surprise—this is the first time she's hugged you. You soften, hugging her back, holding her tight.
"He's going to be okay," she says.
“I know,” you say, pulling away and staring into her eyes. “He’s too damn stubborn to be anything else.”
You put your jacket—one of Joel’s heavier flannels—on and take one more look at Joel before reluctantly leaving the room.
The air is crisp against your tired eyes as you make your way home. You’re sure by now, word has gotten around about Joel’s condition. You keep your head down, knowing how news spreads in small towns.
You’re almost reluctant to step inside when you reach home, but you do. It feels wrong. The emptiness. No Joel in his recliner. No Jefferson racing to greet you with a meow. Just silence, the warmth of your home disappearing out into the cold morning through the door.
You yearn for a return to the normal of just yesterday morning as you make your way up the steps.
You go through the motions, in almost a mechanical way—grabbing clean clothes for you and Joel and stuffing them in his old patrol backpack. You step into the bathroom and turn on the shower. Once the hot water hits your body, washing away all remnants of the hospital and Joel, you feel the tears begin to fall down your face. You don’t fight them, you don’t fight the sobs, you don’t find the way your body crumples onto the shower floor.
You almost lost him again. But this time, it's different. It’s worse. This time, you love him. This time, you know him. You can't imagine living without him now.
You have to be strong. For Joel. For yourself.
And you will be.
But right now, alone in the shower inside the big home you share with Joel Miller, you allow yourself this moment of weakness.
—-
This time, when Joel wakes, he recognizes the ceiling. The pain in his side is still there, but it’s now more of a persistent throb rather than a sharp, overbearing beast.
When he turns to find you, he’s surprised to see Tommy sitting beside his bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Ellie’s next to him, her head tilted back, looking up at the ceiling. They both notice him moving at the same time.
“Where’s—” he begins.
"We made her go home for a bit," Tommy explains. "Girl was about to fall over. Been sittin' in that chair since they brought you in."
“She okay?” he asks.
“She’s fine,” Tommy answers, looking over at Ellie. “Can you go get Steven? Let him know Joel's awake and talkin’."
Ellie nods, peeking her head out the door, yelling, “Steven! Joel’s awake!”
“Well, that’s a way to do it,” Tommy grumbles with a smile.
Steven walks in, checking the monitors. “Good to see you awake," he says, reaching for Joel's wrist to take his pulse manually. “How's your pain, on a scale of one to ten?"
"Five," Joel answers, though it's closer to seven. Old habits die hard.
Steven nods. "Vitals are good. The wound looks clean. I’ll be back later to check." He makes a few notes on the chart before he leaves.
“Good man,” Tommy notes.
“Sure,” Joel responds.
Joel’s just about to close his eyes to end the Steven conversation until the door opens.
There you are.
You quickly drop his old backpack, slung around your shoulder, and rush to his bed to kiss him.
"How are you feeling?" you ask, pulling away just enough to look into his eyes.
"Okay," he answers. He can’t look away from you, even if it pains him to see how exhausted you are, red-rimmed eyes and all. “Better.”
Tommy stands, picking up the bag you dropped, and places it on the table beside the bed.
“We’ll get outta here,” Tommy says. “Let you guys have your time together.”
Ellie comes over, gripping his hand in hers. “I’ll see you later,” she says softly.
“I’ll be here, kiddo,” he answers.
After Tommy and Ellie leave, you check over him, but in the soft way that makes him feel special and loved. When you check his pulse, two fingers on his wrist, your other hand softly strokes his arm. When you check his heartbeat with your stethoscope, you stare into his eyes with a sweet smile. When you check his wound, you softly coo encouraging words about how well he’s healing. When you’re done, you settle in the chair next to him, he can’t look away from you, the peace you bring him, the way you’re already healing him again.
He’ll get through this, all thanks to you.
—-
It’s impossible to find a position in this damned chair. You close your eyes, trying to will yourself to at least doze. But it doesn’t work. You adjust again, and the chair legs scrape against the linoleum with a high screech.
Joel’s eyes open immediately. "Can't sleep?"
"I'm fine," you insist, not wanting him to worry about you.
“There’s room in the bed for you."
You shake your head. “I’m okay, I’ll fall asleep eventually.”
He sighs. “Baby, you need real sleep."
"Joel, I shouldn't sleep in your hospi—"
"Please, I sleep better with you next to me anyway."
That breaks your resistance. "Okay," you relent, "but you have to tell me if I need to move."
He nods, carefully scooting over. You take off your shoes and climb onto the bed, overtly aware of your every movement. You lie down next to him, settling your head carefully on his outstretched arm.
"If you feel uncomfortable at all, tell me. I really shouldn't be doing this, but I missed you so much."
"I missed you too, baby," he says, his arm wrapping around you.
It’s not exactly comfortable. The bed is too narrow, the mattress is too soft and yet firm in all the wrong places… but being next to Joel and his warmth, hearing his heartbeat directly beneath your ear, is more soothing than the best bed you can imagine. The tension you’ve been holding soon begins to dissipate.
"Sleep, baby," he whispers. "I've got you."
The role reversal isn't lost on you—Joel comforting you when he's the one injured and hospitalized.
You nestle closer against him, letting the rhythm of his breathing lull you to sleep as you finally allow yourself to rest in the arms of the man you love.
—-
A/N: My taglist has grown too large. Please follow @whocaresposted and turn on notifications to be alerted about new chapters!
My perma tags: @forspringcleaning, @schnarfer, @mothandpidgeon
Ms Mallory, the way you write their domestic intimacy has me by the actual throat.
His hand snakes down between your bodies, a cocky smile appears when he feels how wet you already are for him. You can hardly believe Joel is yours. The early morning sunrays filter in through the curtain, lighting him in aureate tones; his hair falls in gentle waves, a curl landing against his forehead. His big body supports you, his broad, strong chest rising and falling rapidly as he breathes for you and only you.
And then you have written Joel’s fall SO WELL. Honestly it felt like an episode of ER to me, the tension and the emotions.
You’ve crated something so beautiful my friend, we’re so lucky to have your wonderful words 🖤🖤🖤
