Pairing: Young Dad! Joel Miller x Firefighter! Reader
Summary: The calls keep rolling in, minor emergencies, big roaring fires. You take all of it in stride, but you begin to notice more than a few are all for the same house. A frantic father to a young girl that you calm down every time. He's so thankful and then one day, he shows up at the firehouse.
Word Count: undetermined
Warnings: canon typical language, younger joel, struggles of single parenting, accidents happen, minor fire emergencies, joel is kinda stressed, instant connection, a bit of the red strong theory in here (hehe), sarah is a little bit of a menace (with good intentions), reader is a trained firefighter / paramedic, mutual attraction, the uniform does something to joel, oral (m and f receiving), protected piv, more to be added!
A/N: this is something i had a vivid dream about last night and here we are!
little sneakie peek ->
"it's getting a little hot in here." joel murmurs with tug of his shirt over his head. his chest is just as tan as the rest of him, freckles highlighting the time he spends outside. you dip down to lick a strip from his collarbone up the column of his neck. his hips jerk up, the bulge in his jeans brushing against you in a delicious way.
"well, it's a good thing there's a trained professional here then, isn't it?" you whisper in his ear before you sink your teeth below it, he groans out a beautiful sound as you work a mark into the skin there.
his hands move from your hips, fingers trailing up your sides, the ticklish feeling making you giggle into his neck. his resounding chuckle is deep, vibrating through you as he cups your face. you're both smiling when you kiss.
chapter one - first call || chapter two - comes with the territory || chapter three - unexpected visitor || chapter four - strong as steel
You were discharged from the ED after four days on oxygen with detailed instructions to assist your recovery. You followed it to the letter, determined to keep things moving and get back to work.
Every few days, at least one member of the fire department came to see you. It wasn’t just your own crew, but a dozen others who’d worked with you over the years. It was exhausting, if you were completely honest. There were so many people moving in and out of your little apartment, dropping off food you couldn’t tell them would not be eaten by you or offering advice you had no interest in hearing.
You just sat through it all, practicing your breathing and keeping yourself ready to go back to work. You kept a go bag by the door, packaged all your leftovers for easy access; at a moment’s notice, you could get back into the swing of things.
The nightmares hadn’t stopped though. Every single time you tried to go to sleep, the flames and screaming returned. You were trapped in an endless maze, you were fighting off attackers, your mask was out of air and suffocating you.
When you finally got a return-to-work form from your battalion chief, you went to the hospital as quickly as possible. You ended up in the ED waiting room, you knee shaking nonstop, gripping the form that would spell your freedom. Once a nurse called your name, you were led to the back and sat in a chair in one of the exam rooms.
“Hello, Y/N. I’m Dr. Lawrence, I’ll be your physician today.”
“Just Dex is fine, everyone calls me Dex.”
She nodded and made a note in your chart before looking a little closer.
“So, it looks like you’re here for a follow up after being admitted a few weeks ago.”
“Correct. I’m a lieutenant with the Pittsburgh Bureau of Fire. My gear had an issue and I was admitted for smoke inhalation. I just need my paperwork signed so I can get back to it. I’ve had more than enough time off my feet.”
Lawrence brushed a stray bit of hair from her face and settled in on her stool.
“Do you mind if we talk a little about it? I’d love to get you back to work, but we want to be thorough. I don’t need to tell you how serious lung damage can be.”
You had figured this was coming. Everyone wanted you to take things slow. But you’d done that and now you were better.
“Uh, sure. What do you want to know?”
“Let’s start with your breathing.”
She ran you through a laundry list of tests and exercises to gauge your lung capacity and health. You answered all her questions about your habits, your environment, your diet. Then she touched a nerve.
“And how are you sleeping?”
“Hm?”
“Your sleep? Your incident was more than a simple malfunction in your gear. In your chart, it says you were also assaulted?”
Your eyes locked onto your hands.
“I, uh…”
“I only ask so we can get this form signed and get you back to work. I don’t need details, I just need to know if you’re getting better. How has your sleep been?”
You shut your eyes tight, trying to force away the overhead lights. A part of you was dimly aware that your hands were shaking.
“It’s been fine.”
Your tone was firm, your voice clipped.
Dr. Lawrence clearly didn’t buy it. But she took a beat, waited for your expression to ease just a bit.
“Your scratches look pretty much healed. How do those feel?”
You nodded, just barely. The words hardly reached your ears.
“Is it alright if I touch your face, just to get a better look?”
Another slight nod.
Her hands were gentle and slow, raising your face and turning your head from side to side. Her fingers felt cool over the edges of the scratches you’d received. It was a relief to your burning skin.
“Alright. I just have to check on something, but I’ll be right back. Are you okay waiting here while I do that?”
“Yes.”
Once she was gone, your shaking worsened. The flames raced back in, suffocating you. You lost conscious feeling of your limbs, legs dead weight, hands prickling. Your eyes were shut tight again, but the light never stopped, the heat never lessened.
Air escaped you, your lungs were being crushed. You’d never escaped the fire at all, it had you now and it knew no mercy.
After what felt like an eternity, the world came back to you piece by piece.
The flames slowly subsided.
Your vision began to clear, though you were aware there were tears in your eyes again.
Your body was still there, but not exactly as you remembered it. You’d been moved to lay back in the chair, with a cool cloth over your forehead.
Dr. Lawrence was there with you, along with a face you hadn’t expected to see again.
“...Dr. Robby…?”
“Hey, Dex. Just take deep breaths for me, okay?”
You attempted a nod and pressed your hands to your chest, putting all your focus into breathing. It made you cough and wheeze, your lungs aching with the effort. At least you could feel everything again.
Robby looked over the paperwork you’d brought with you.
“Dex. You’re trying to go back to work?”
You managed a nod this time.
“I’m ready.”
Lawrence watched the dumbfounded look on her attending’s face. He’d seen plenty in his career, she knew that. But you were showing a complete disregard for your safety and health here.
“Dr. Lawrence, why don’t you take care of the next patient, I’ve got Dex here.”
You looked so… fragile. Sitting in that chair, your arms wrapped around yourself, your eyes trained on your shoes. Robby was a good doctor, maybe he’d get through to you.
“Okay.”
Once she was gone, Robby fixed you with a hard look.
“Dex. What are you doing?”
“Going back to work.”
He shook his head and ran a hand down his face.
“You know what I’m asking. Why are you pushing yourself so hard here?”
You counted to ten, then back to one before responding.
“I have a job to do.”
“Not anymore.”
Your eyes snapped up to his.
“I’m going back. If I’m not better today, then I’ll be better soon.”
“I’m sorry to tell you this Dex, but I’m not signing off on this paperwork, and neither is Lawrence. You aren’t in any condition to go running back into fires.”
“But I will be. I’ll get better.”
Robby took a moment to consider how to explain this to you. It was clear how much your job meant to you and he didn’t want to take that away. You weren’t going to go back though. Your breathing was still too rough and the damage you’d sustained was enough to get you removed from your crew. Not to mention the panic attack you’d just had, which nearly triggered an asthma attack.
He took it step by step. You nodded along with a blank expression as he explained the potential of an asthma attack and how to treat it if one hit. You took the rescue inhaler he offered. He showed you the test results showing your oxygen levels and your scar tissue. Your stoicism broke when he settled on the point that your future had to change.
“What?”
“You can’t go back to work for the Bureau. As your doctor, I can’t sign off on this paperwork. I can’t recommend that you go out on any more calls.”
Your gaze hardened.
“Yes I can. I have an inhaler, fine. I won’t have any more panic attacks. I won’t let my gear get broken again. I can keep working.”
“Not as a firefighter, you can’t. I’m sorry, Dex.”
The rational core of your brain knew he was right. The emotional train just ran straight through that conclusion without stopping.
“Fuck that. I’m a good lieutenant and I can do my job.”
“No one is trying to say you aren’t a good lieutenant. But with your physical and mental health being what they are-”
“Oh, my mental health. Please.” You stood, your knees still feeling weak. “My mental health is fine. If you won’t sign my paperwork, I’ll just go to a doctor who will.”
“No one will, Dex.”
You glared at him and took the papers back from him.
“Fuck you.”
You abandoned the hospital without another word. You didn’t look back, didn’t catch Robby’s long suffering sigh.
He ran his hands through his hair and cleaned up the exam room. Lawrence asked about you later, but received no good news. She assured him he’d done everything right, not that it helped. He just hoped you’d see what kind of danger you were trying to put yourself in before you got hurt any worse.
