Summary: You and Joel Miller have known each other for ten years, have been together for nine, and married for six. You live together on a peaceful ranch outside of Jackson, your life peaceful and free- but maybe, in this freedom, it's time to consider expanding the Miller name.
Pairing: Joel Miller (The Last of Us) x fem!wife!reader
Word Count: 3.5k
Warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, unprotected piv, breeding kink, creampie, bit of fingering, dirty talk, marriage kink?, joel is down bad, pregnancy mentions, sweet moments, reader and joel growing old and grey together on a ranch, small undefined age gap, #bushnation, no description of reader aside from female anatomy
A/N: sorry about the disappearance... trying to get myself back into the groove of writing regularly, but life has just been real busy lately. not my best work, but at least it's a little something. enjoy, and thanks to anyone who reads! <33 dividers by @/andromeda-graphics
Masterlist
Time is greying like the strands of hair on your scalp that are beginning to mirror the salt of your husbands.
It passes swiftly, faster than you ever could have imagined after the world fell into calamitous despair. It festers and drips away like the sweep of hay in a hurricane, and yet, still; peace follows, light and gentle.
You and Joel have been together for nearly nine years now. He proposed six ago, dropping down to one knee that wasn’t as creaky as it is now by the front porch of your house. It was in the bloom of Spring, unprompted, when you were both still living in Jackson.
Eventually, you both moved outside the gates, towards open land. Despite being vast, it’s still patrolled regularly by the both of you and occasionally Dina and Ellie when they find the time to ship off from young JJ. Sometimes, Tommy assists Joel whilst you and Maria chatter mindlessly, exchanging stories of how quickly Benji seems to be growing, and how the rest of the town seems to be expanding just as rapidly. And in return, you bake Tommy and Maria a pie with fresh, handpicked blueberries from the bush that sits delicately in your front yard, or you’ll clean the guns they keep on their person, or Joel will mend some sheep wool onto their jackets to keep them warm and solemn for the upcoming winters.
You and Joel regularly patrol your land together.
He had taught you to ride upon your arrival to Jackson ten years ago now.
Both atop your horse, perfecting how to settle on the saddle and direct the reins, and also in his bed, large hands curled over your waist, aiding you in the desperate rock of your hips as you bounce up and down in his lap.
Back in Jackson, everyone always asks you what’s so great about living away from those you love. What could be so great in having to travel a far distance to even just trade with your peers?
And the answer is exactly that. You’re far away from everyone, except for the only one who truly matters. With just the two of you, it’s so quiet. Which means that there’s no one to disturb you, and no one for you to disturb.
“Tha’s it, darling. Keep ridin’ my cock.. just like that,” Joel rumbles from beneath you, his head tilted back in bliss, jaw slackened, mouth open with ragged pants.
His fingers dig deep into the soft flesh of your hips, enough that bruises in the shape of your large, towering husband will remain painted across your skin by morning. He’s getting older; his skin growing rougher, the crows feet by his eyes forming in deeper crevices, the lines on his face growing weary. He would never admit it, but you know he’s conscious about it, no matter how many times you assure him that you adore the new signs of his aging; it tells you that he’s living. Life and freedom carving out roadmaps along his body that you like to trace with your fingers and tongue.
Besides, you’re also getting up in age. Your stamina isn’t the same as it used to be, and sometimes your knee pops when you’re dismounting the saddle of your horse.
Joel always complains and snarks back that his back aches constantly, which often leads you to opting to ride him, so all he has to do is sit there, legs splayed, grip tight on your hips and pupils dilated as he watches his wife rise up and down over the thickness of his slickened cock.
“Shit.. so good, baby,” he groans, his brows pinching together, unable to shield the extent of the pleasure you always provide him willingly and eagerly. His fingers are still smeared with grime from the day, his temple and chest cast over with a thin layer of sweat after his day out in the fields, caring for the crops and your flock of sheep.
He huffs, jaw flexing, “Always know exactly what I need, don’t’cha?”
You whimper softly, gyrating your hips just right, circling them, grinding down so your needy, puffy clit rubs against his pelvis, the coarse, greying hairs of his pubes brushing along your own delicate curls. Your sweaty chest drags against his, your hardened, sensitive nipples pressed to his collarbone, drawing ragged gasps out of your kiss-swollen lips.
“So pretty like this,” he praises dutifully, his blown-out pupils travelling over you swiftly, like he doesn’t know where to look first, where to settle his gaze, determined to swallow down all of you.
He’s raptured, and you’re stuck aside him in the same tide. You have been for years, since you met him on the trail to Jackson; what started as a vicious meeting of pointed weapons divulging into a careful, gentle introduction to something softer. Something neither of you were particularly experienced in, but longed for.
It became a devotion that neither of you ever recovered from. And you never wish to.
You drop your head down towards his shoulder, heavy breaths cast over his slick skin, his own warm pants swimming over your neck. You whine, rutting your hips down into him with increasing desperation, that knot in your pelvis pulling tighter, tighter, until it’s almost unbearable, your thighs tensing and releasing in anticipation.
“Fuck.. can feel you tightenin’ around me, honey,” Joel growls, his large hand sliding beneath your hair and cupping you over the nape of your neck. You part your mouth against his shoulder, needing a distraction against your blurry mind, your tongue lathering over his sun-kissed skin, preening into his body. You feel his hips jerk beneath you, a groan tearing from his throat like he just can’t control his noises anymore with you.
“Okay, a’right, sweetheart,” he sighs in a coo, almost to himself, his other hand splaying comfortably over your lower spine. Then with a grunt of effort, he’s lifting you from his lap, his soaked cock slipping from you with a wet sound, followed by your reluctant whimper.
“Shh.. it’s okay. Let me,” he assures, maneuvering you around onto your back, pawing your thighs open again, his calloused fingers so gentle on your tender skin. He leans down, his lips ghosting over your flushed cheek, his voice a low hum, “Been doin’ all the work for me, baby. Know you’re tired- let me.”
You yield instantaneously, your body slackening for his hold as he lifts your legs to delicately wrap them around his waist, his body bending down towards yours until his soft belly presses to yours. You love the weight of him on you- firm, a solace you can only find in him. A comforting warmth washes through you, settling into your veins, soothing your sore limbs.
Perhaps this is redemption. Relief and succour in the form of this hulking, gruff man, who has never been anything but consoling- carving your body to his, linking the thump of your heartbeats from that first patrol he led you on out of Jackson.
You had felt naive then. Younger, disheartened by the world. Joel helped in ensuring that small, miniscule glimmer of hope that still remained was highlighted for not just you to witness, but for everyone to make a spectacle of.
Surprising, everyone said; for a man of his stature, to bring out such a light.
His breath comes in short pants now as he curls his large hand around the base of his cock, guiding himself back towards her eager, weeping entrance. You both sound a simultaneous noise of bliss as he sinks back inside your soaked cunt, wrapping around him like the band of silver and diamond around your ring finger.
He watches as your head tilts back towards the fluffy pillows lining the arm of the couch, before he’s reeling his hips back, and slamming back into you. No matter how many times you take him- he still splits your body in half each time, especially in such a position where it feels as though he’s engraving his name- your shared name- into your cervix with each thrust.
“Fuck, Joel-” you gasp out, rounded eyes snapping down again to watch where his pelvis rocks towards yours, his stomach rubbing over you, his cock sliding in and out of your drenched pussy. He hums in concurrence, but cuts off your shaky moan by dipping himself down and capturing your lips in a fervent, messy kiss. Ragged pants mingling as your tongues tangle and your teeth bump, his hands pawing at your sides, grinding you up into his length.
“I know, baby. So good- doin’ so good for me,” he purrs, his teeth catching at your bottom lip before he chases his tongue with yours again, his groan reverberating through you in a pulsing echo of need and arousal.
“You gonna let me fill you up, baby?” he asks in a pant, one thick arm sliding down until his hand splays over your pelvis, applying pressure there. He can feel the indent of his hard, pulsing cock through the flesh there, rounded with the size of him. He huffs in effort, a bead of sweat drooling from his temple, his hips rocking faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin budding through your living room space.
“Gonna- gonna let me drip out of you?” he continues in a haphazard ramble, his jaw loose, his eyes glazed over with lust. You gasp, your chest arching up towards him as his cock stabs at somewhere particularly deep inside you, hands lifting to curl tightly over his shoulders.
“Or maybe I should stay inside. Keep.. shit- keep you plugged up,” he suggests next, his thrusts stuttering briefly at the thought, his fingers curling into the soft flesh of your pelvis, palm hot and heavy against your flushed skin.
Your lips part in a pleasured ‘O’ at the idea, and he’s quick to notice the way your eyes glaze over, the way your cunt flutters and hugs his cock like you never want him to leave. And God, he’d satisfy that wish.
“Yeah? You want that, sweetheart? Wanna be full of me, let it stick?” he tutters, his brows pinching with ecstasy, his thrusts turning into deep, firm grinds, his cock nudging up against your sensitive, gummy walls. His calloused hand brushes down over your stomach, “Get your belly all rounded with me. With my baby.”
You and Joel have discussed the idea of becoming parents before, but there had never been the right time to commit to it. For years, you had been running from haunted memories and the threatening jaws of the dangers that lurk in your worlds- but now, out here, it’s different. Each year, those memories break away from their chains, drowned out by the slow, but steady rise of peace. Contentment.
Your eyes roll their way back into your skull, your pussy clamping down around him as a shiver strikes up along the base of your spine. He moans haggardly, cock twitching against your g-spot, his grinds accompanied by the wet squelches of your needy, hungry pussy.
“She likes that… the idea of being full a’me,” Joel comments with a heady, dark chuckle, his gaze planted on the gorgeous way your cunt wraps around his cock, the skin glistening with your arousal each time he tilts his waist back. “Can feel her tightening around me, thinkin’ about being fucked full of my come.”
“Gonna make you all mine.. make sure every part of you belongs to only me,” he promises, leaning down, his warm chest pressing flush to yours, his breath disappearing in hot waves against your flushed neck. His mouth drags over your clambering pulse, climbing higher with the forceful hammering of his thrusts.
“Yes-” you moan out raggedly, head nodding haphazardly.
“Come on, baby. Gonna be both Mrs. Miller and a mother,” he groans by your ear, his cock twitching violently inside you. His hand raises, lifting your shoulder up to pin your hand against the arm of the couch. His left hand ties with yours, the shimmering evidence of your binding affection wrapped around both of your ring fingers, the silver bumping together.
His other arm hooks down and underneath your ass, heaving you up. You yelp softly at the change in angle, his cock lodging impossibly deeper inside your belly. He can’t seem to help himself, grinding himself down into you, his pelvis rubbing over your swollen bundle of nerves.
“Sorry, honey,” he huffs under his breath, but he doesn’t seem very apologetic as he reels his hips back again to slam forcefully into your cunt which squelches and welcomes him in like you’re starving for it. He squeezes at your hand clasped with his, bottom lip pursed in concentration as he winds both of you closer and closer to that promising edge of bliss.
He kisses down and over your jaw, wet and loving, his stubble scratching deliciously over your pliable flesh. The living room filled with the cacophony of your shared noises and the wet sound of skin smacking, existing in just this quiet little ranch between the both of you.
“Fuck, m’close,” he warns, lips mouthing over your pulse. You whine, your hips bucking up to haphazardly meet his thrusts, which turn increasingly frantic, chasing his pleasure whilst simultaneously driving you towards yours.
“Gonna fill you up… fuck you full of my baby,” he gruffs out, forehead wrinkled downwards with determination, ignoring the aching twinge in his back, sweat plastering his hair to his skin. “Let everyone know you’re mine- fuck, honey-”
He lifts his head to rest his forehead against yours, heady breaths mingling in the space between you. You’re delirious on bliss, your head foggy, unable to voice anything tangible, so you stick with just moaning along to the symphony of his promises whisking through your blurry, lust-fueled mind.
“Gonna make me a husband and a daddy, huh?” He purrs, the question settling like a rock on your pelvis, churning around that knot that has pulled itself tight in your belly. It’s this final sentiment that sends it crumbling, ecstasy pulsing through your stomach.
Your chest arches upwards with a choked gasp, cunt fluttering violently around his cock through ragged cries, your juices following in a gush. His balls become soaked with your essence swiftly, smacking against your ass as he groans like he’s in pain, rutting into your quivering pussy.
“Shit, shit- that’s it, baby. Come all over my cock- feels so fucking good. Gonna pump you full of me, gonna give you a baby- I promise, gonna make it stick-” Joel rambles out, lost in a haze of pleasure and a primal, raw need to consume you entirely.
A beat later, he follows you over the edge, plummeting into the depths of his own rapture. His shoulder blades roll as his head drops down into the crook of your neck again, breathing you in with shaky gasps and moans as his cock pulses streams of thick, warm come inside you. You can feel it gushing through your sensitive, gummy walls, your belly bulging gently with the heft of his seed settling inside you.
The comedown is a shared combination of exhaustion and tenderness; slow, amorous kisses passing through you in the syncing movement of swollen, needy lips. Chasing after each other to litter the other with kisses over their skin.
Joel mutters careful, sensitive praises against your cheek that fall hushed on your blurry mind, still floating somewhere above yourself. He pulls his softening cock out of you, and you can hear the faint, disapproving tutter of his tongue as dribbles of his come follow him from your fluttering pussy.
A pitched whine slips from your lips as he uses two thick fingers to collect the smooth whiteness and push it back inside your throbbing cunt. Easing it back inside, curling his come against your hypersensitive walls.
“Shh, baby, I know. I know, but we need to keep it all in there, yeah?” Joel croons, hovering over you, placing reassuring kisses over your chest, along your collarbone, between the valley of your breasts.
“Gotta make sure it sticks,” he adds as he pumps his fingers slowly in and out of you. Your vision spins around you, lips parted with gentle mewls and whines, which he muffles by swallowing them with his own mouth. His tongue chasing after yours, soothing you until your eyes are being coaxed to shut, the shadows of your lashes dispersing.
Coerced into a succoured state by your husband, who continues easing his come-slick fingers in and out of your used, puffy pussy.
The wood crackles under the forceful, swinging weight of the axe, crackling into splintered pieces.
Joel’s chest heaves with a breath of exertion, a droplet of sweat rolling its way down his temple. His red flannel is bunched up to his elbows, his jeans hanging low on his hips, accompanied by the hefty buckle of his belt, a light blue teatowel hitched into the loops that he can use to wipe away the condensation painted across his forehead.
A stray, dark curl hoops and sticks to his skin, his forearms flexing as he throws the wood pieces into the evergrowing pile of firewood. He sways the axe’s blade down into the edge of the uprooted log, etching it there to rest, whilst his attention lifts to you.
Sitting on the porch chair, on the seat he had carved and structured himself. You have a warm mug of tea cupped in your palms, your fingers flexing carefully around the rim as you watch him. You aren’t discreet about it- dilated eyes ogling him from a distance, watching the way his back arches and his neck strains each time he stretches to slice another piece of wood down the middle.
He’s so effective, your husband. In all ways possible. So competent, in a way that makes your thighs squeeze together, knowing the slick gathering between them isn’t just sweat from friction and the heated summer sun beating down against your tender flesh.
His warm, mahogany eyes meet yours, and you can physically see the way he softens. Like despite his exhaustion, all of it peels away with just a glance at your radiating company. His shoulders sag like an anvil has been lifted from them, his boots crunching heavily through the mixture of dirt and grass as he sludges towards you.
Footfalls landing promptly over the wood of the porch stairs that he climbs to you, pausing by your side. You tilt your head, squinting against the peeking sun that slides past his towering silhouette. From here, he could almost be considered threatening.
But then he leans down, his lips ghosting over your cheek, and he’s placing a chaste kiss against the flushed skin.
“Hey, baby,” he mutters, voice a low whisk of warmth. His hand shifts downwards, brushing down over your belly- which is rounded, large and plump. Occasionally twitching with the beats of life the baby gleefully kicks, as though they can sense their father hovering nearby. You can hear the gentle chuckle tsking off Joel’s talented tongue.
“Eager today, huh?” He teases, a grin stuck to his tone. You grin lopsidedly, leaning into his touch, the tea in your mug sloshing lightly. “Bet she knows her daddy is near.”
You hum softly, your eyelashes fluttering as you draw out your own soft, content laugh. Joel is convinced that your baby will be a girl- a gut instinct, he says. But he also says he’ll be pleased no matter what; this is your creation, a burning life formed into a bundle of vigorous light only you both get to hold in your palms.
“Nothing will change that,” he mutters to you each night.
“Here. You stay here, finish your tea. I’ll go start dinner,” he assures before you can inflict protest on your sore limbs. He presses another quick kiss to your head, before he’s straightening with a stifled groan, and padding back inside.
The screen door closes gently behind him, before the sounds of the nearing afternoon settle into the air. Crisp, simple, a harmonious buzz of insects and chirp of distant birds, a light translucent fog covering the distant flow of winding valleys. And if you listen close enough, you can still hear Joel’s voice, mumbling away inside the house, drifting through your mind.
You can always hear him- the soothing roll of his voice swimming in your veins constantly, overflowing you with affection. A tenderness that beats to the crashing of waves, because with him; you are a sea of affection, unyielding and powerful, refusing to crash.
And soon, that tide will whisk over not just the two of you, but an additional third. And you’ll then have your own ocean of love.
“But I have seen the best of you and the worst of you, and I choose both." - Sarah Kay and Phil Kaye, "An Origin Story"
Comments, reblogs and feedback are so greatly appreciated! I’m slowly starting a tag list, so if you’d like to be added, let me know.
summary: as queen you can handle many things (like the assassination attempts threatening your life) but the alluring mandalorian hired to protect you might be your heart’s biggest threat
word count: 9.2k (i’m sorry)
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. post season 3, royal & bodyguard AU, use of gendered language, threats & moments of violence, reader wears makeup/gowns/headpieces but has no physical description, hidden identity, protective!Din, discussions of marriage, forced proximity, the starfighter can fit two people in the cockpit no matter the size (canon can fight me), competency kink, major yearning, spicy themes, good sweet fluff
a/n: this is my entry for the WIRED4YOU challenge [Din + Butterflies by Kacey Mushraves] huge thanks to @chaotic-mystery for hosting & letting me join! This is also a mini love letter to “the phantom menace” & “attack of the clones” because I believe we deserve our queen moment too lol, dividers thanks & credit to the ever talented @saradika-graphics
Assassination attempts on your life are, unfortunately, not new. In this final year of your reign, the threats have recently doubled though, which surprises you.
But finding out a mandalorian is now assigned to your personal guard surprises you even more.
While sitting in the throne room surveying him, you admire the striking warrior. Sleek in his ancestor armor, unwavering in his presence, you stay composed as possible but…
Curiosity blooms fast, already wondering about this new guard.
“Captain Teva highly recommended this bounty hunter.” Your head advisor, Hildegard, explains dutifully.
A bounty hunter? That’s even more interesting.
“We are glad to have you here, mandalorian.” Senator Trystan adds brightly. He starts rambling like the politician he is, and you tune him out, especially as your focus remains on the mandalorian.
“Your majesty,” the timbre of his voice is striking like a steady river. “I vow to keep you safe until the assassin is caught.”
Hiding your voice within the composed steady tone the Queen of Naboo is known for, you thank him.
With a final nod, the warrior departs.
You notice a brown satchel slung at his hip half hidden under his cloak. You swear the minute the mandalorian leaves the room, a small tiny green clawed hand crawls out from the bag.
—
“I bet he’s ugly”
“No, I’m sure he’s handsome.” You and your handmaidens have discussed the new mandalorian guard for weeks now.
He’s a rather elusive figure. Silently moving around the castle, he reminds you of a sleek phantom just out of reach. When the mandalorian does accompany you anywhere, he remains silent. You simply amount it to the warrior doing his job diligently, which you greatly appreciate.
His presence alone seems to deter any more attempts. The tension in the palace already has eased greatly. So much you now roam without any supervision along the grand lakeside today.
The glory of Naboo is one you take pride in, from the illustrious buildings, to the underwater depths of the Gungan city. You savor these moments when you can freely walk among the splendor of your planet.
There’s a secluded, normally untouched, lake villa near this area you enjoy visiting from time to time.
Until you discover it’s no longer abandoned.
The sight stops you frozen in your tracks. By the edge of the lake, under the soft shade of the looming trees, stands the mandalorian. But he is not alone.
A wonderfully tiny and precious green creature waddles around through the grass.
Both of them turn towards you. It feels like you’ve just stumbled upon an ancient secret.
“Handmaiden.” The mandalorian greets you steady, cautious.
For a split moment, you had forgotten you’re in these robes.
“Mandalorian.” You greet back, thankful you don’t have to hide your voice.
Being under the guise of a handmaid offers you this freedom.
“And may I ask, who is this little one?” You smile and kneel down to the height of the small creature staring up with starry curious eyes.
A moment passes.
“He…is my son.” His words hit you like a blaster shot.
“Your son?” The monarch mentality leaks out momentarily as your voice jumps. You never would’ve hired this hunter knowing he has a child who could be put in harm's way.
“Yes.” The mandalorian nods.
“I’ve never seen him around before.” His little hand must have been the one you saw that first day in the throne room.
The mandalorian’s son curiously shuffles to you. You don’t miss his father’s fists clenching tense, hesitant and cautious, worried about this interaction.
“I…was not sure the queen would allow him to accompany me. So I keep him hidden.”
The baby is adorable with shimmering eager eyes. He rests his tiny hands against your robes. You can hear all your advisors screaming at you to consider releasing this hunter from your duty.
But you can’t now. Not when you tickle his son’s chin and the little one giggles sweet like a bell.
“Don’t worry,” you tell the mandalorian confidently. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“And besides,” you add casually. “Between you and me…The Queen won’t mind. She has a soft spot for little ones.”
You smile as the baby, now deeming you worthy, starts climbing onto your knee.
“What’s his name?” You ask.
“…Grogu.” The mandalorian answers.
As if on cue, Grogu chirps hearing his name and you laugh.
“Well it’s nice to meet you Grogu.” You nod then gently poke his tiny nose.
Infectious giggles greet you.
You then officially introduce yourself to the youngling, and in turn his father, freely giving your name.
Again you can almost hear all your advisors' horrified screams. Of all the things sacred and needed to be hidden, your name is the most important.
Even though the crown keeps you protected under an alias, it doesn’t mean your true identity is forever safe.
But you believe you can trust this warrior.
Or you hope so.
The University’s belltower rings off in the distance. You didn’t realize how late it got. You’d need to head back soon.
Grogu chirps confused when you softly place him back on the grass. His bright moon eyes almost make you stay longer.
“It was wonderful meeting you Grogu. I hope I can see you again soon.” You truthfully tell the little one.
Then you glance at his father.
You knew enough about mandalorian culture to understand how precious children are to them and how protective they are of their own.
Grateful for this moment, you thank the mandalorian for allowing you to meet his son.
Without another word, the warrior silently nods.
This strong hunter with the most adorable son plagues your mind the rest of the day. So much that you rearrange your calendar so you’re available to walk along the lake again.
You continue sneaking back to the lake home as much as you can.
The moments here away from the palace, from the politics and headache, are a precious respite. Currently Grogu watches enraptured by the butterflies fluttering in the air.
You glance back at the lake house secluded in the lush countryside and how it perfectly fits a mandalorian.
“Is this where you’re staying?” You ask.
“Yes. Unless I’m needed at the palace.” The mandalorian answers.
“Thankfully it’s been rather quiet again since you’ve arrived. So I’m grateful for that.” You speak as both handmaid and queen.
“I…” the warrior begins then stops, as if realizing he shouldn’t be saying much.
“You can talk freely. Trust me, whatever you say the queen probably already knows.” You almost dryly laugh at your own joke.
The hunter nods.
“I believe the threat is still at large. Simply hiding and waiting for the right time.” He admits strained.
You agree. It’s what everyone close to you believes as well.
There have been whispers, rumors, of a darkness looming among the edges of space. Now it seems to be slithering into your home.
But for now, you simply hold onto these glimmers of peace - like watching Grogu chase after the butterflies among the field.
His little claws reach for the soft colored creatures, and you think of your own childhood days where you chased after them too. You remember the trick your old tutor taught you when you were little.
So holding out your finger, you wait. Patience pays off. A lone butterfly flutters to land on your finger believing it to be a branch.
Grogu instantly notices, makes a noise of surprise, and scurries over.
But his fast movement scares the butterfly, and it rapidly flies away. The sad confused noise Grogu gives breaks your heart.
“It’s alright, they just get frightened easily.” You explain.
So again you hold your finger out, a welcoming rest spot. This time you place it closer to the baby.
Another butterfly thankfully floats down on your finger.
“Bweh!” Grogu shrieks giddy.
Very steadily, you move your finger closer to Grogu trying not to scare the bug.
“Here… can I see your hand, little one?” You softly ask.
The mandalorian helps his son out, raising Grogu’s little claw besides yours.
The butterfly gently wanders from your finger to Grogu’s hand, and the sweet baby giggles in pure joy.
The bug of course doesn’t stay long and flutters away. But it brings enough excitement to Grougu. He’s completely taken over by twinkling giggles the rest of the time, eagerly chasing after more butterflies.
“Are you often away from the queen for this long?” The mandalorian’s sudden curious question takes you by surprise.
“As long as one handmaiden is with the queen, no protocol is broken.” You effortlessly recite the mandate.
“Besides, we all deserve a bit of fresh air and some time alone.” You add.
From the corner of your eye, the mandalorian nods.
Then, the belltower rings signaling your return.
Grogu, now in his fathers arms, waves at you goodbye then yawns.
Wishing the little one good night you, you then bid the same goodbye to his father.
“Take care, mandalorian.”
“…Din...”
The phrase stills you.
“My name is Din.” He reveals. “Seems only fair since you gave me yours.”
Din, it fits him beautifully.
“Until next time, Din.” A grateful glow swirls in you knowing his name.
You vow to keep it sealed safe in your heart. You wouldn’t be able to use his name while wearing the crown anyway. Faintly, it reminds you how in the same way the mandalorian, Din, would never know your true name as queen.
That realization digs a hollow hole into your heart.
—
Peace doesn’t last long.
The assassin fires shots from one of the high towers near the capitol. Chaos erupts wild and dizzying, sending everyone into a panic.
Except the mandalorian, Din.
Effortlessly he jumps in front of you blocking the second blaster shot with his armor, a literal shield before you.
Once you’re secured safely, your eyes widen witnessing Din in action, flying up to the tower.
Even with the distance, you catch glimpses of the mandalorian fighting before you’re escorted away.
And he’s marvelous.
There’s a swift deadly power to him, a legend of myth right before your eyes.
Then he’s by your side again.
“Are you alright?” He immediately asks returning to you breathless.
You want to ask if he’s the one alright, if Grogu is with him. Instead all you can do is nod, earnestly thanking him.
“He’s doing his job, m’lady.” Hildegard jokes.
But it’s true.
You’re getting tangled in a web of emotions over a man who will vanish from your life once the threats are eradicated.
Yet it still doesn’t stop you from visiting him again. It takes more convincing this time to sneak away, but you’re thankful you still can.
Worried you’ll miss seeing Din and his son, you rush to the lakeside. But you forget how hot the handmaiden robes can get, and exhaustion hits.
Your heart drops seeing the field vacant.
Guess you were too late.
Exhausted and annoyed at yourself, you rip back the robe’s hood allowing yourself a relief of air before you dejectedly walk back to the palace.
Someone says your name, your true name.
Din steps out from the villa, a sleek beautiful hunter emerging from the shadows.
Soon he stands frozen, his sleek helmet focused on you. A moment passes, an awkward stand off of you and him simply staring at each other.
Petrified, you suddenly realize you’re facing the mandalorian without any cover or protection of the robe’s hood.
“Sorry, you must be busy.” You blurt, ready to turn around and scurry away.
Din again says your name.
“It’s fine. I was just gathering my things.” He explains.
“Oh?” The confusion in your voice or on your face must be embarrassingly blatant for him to explain.
“I’ll be staying at the palace full time after today.”
Oh… so you’ll be seeing him more.
“You were amazing today.” Admiration flows from you.
He thanks you with a hesitant mumble, vaguely shy.
“Are you alright? Is Grogu okay?” You immediately ask, knowing those questions have been bothering you since this morning.
“We’re both fine. You should be worried about the Queen.” Din replies firm.
“The queen’s fine.” You snort, hoping he doesn’t notice your dryly amused tone.
“There was an amazing mandalorian that made sure everyone was safe after all.” You mean those words.
Din stays quiet keeping his helmet directed on you. A dread sets in, worried if you’ve overstepped or said something you shouldn’t have.
The sun has just set over the horizon casting an illuminating glow on the planet. It paints the mandalorian a shining warrior bathed in golden glory.
You wonder if you’re staring at him too much.
A familiar coo arrives, and soon after Grogu waddles out of the villa. Witnessing this armored warrior move to cradle his son, who snuggles into his father’s arms, unfolds a warm wave in you.
“I’ll let you two get back to your evening,” you smile gentle as Grogu yawns adorably in agreement.
“And I guess I’ll be seeing you around more.” You half joke with Din.
He dryly chuckles, and the sound is a gift.
“If you’re heading back to the palace I can return with you. So that you’re not walking alone.” He offers and your eyes go wide.
You immediately accept his offer.
With a nudge of his helmet you follow him inside the cabin. The layout is similar to all the other lake homes, except a cluster of weapons sit on the table. You’re in awe knowing he knows how to handle so many of these.
Grogu now wiggles fussy in Din’s hold.
“Here, I can take him.” You offer.
Hearing your words immediately Grogu lifts his little arms towards you ready to be carried.
“Kid,” Din dully sighs.
You reassure Din and happily scoop the baby up. Feeling him snuggle against your shoulder is a precious thing
Din goes silent and returns to gathering his belongings.
Now the night sky casts a blanket of midnight blue over the lake.
Out of the villa, a gleam of silver draws your attention. You inhale sharp but try staying quiet with Grogu sleeping peacefully in your arms.
“Is that a N-1 Starfighter?” Your voice, even whispering, jumps shocked. The familiar bright yellow coating has been stripped, but you could recognize that ship anywhere.
Din chuckles beside you.
“You know your ships.” He sounds impressed.
You didn’t. You just know that one.
You remember seeing the starfighters in your history lessons. They looked like beautiful sea creatures soaring among the clouds. You were heartbroken finding out they were retired.
You even tell all of this to Din.
A humorous thought emerges. You wonder if one dramatic last act as Queen could be you reinstating the starfighters.
“How does it fly?” You ask Din curiously.
“Like a dream.” His wistful voice lets your mind soar into a daydream wondering what it would be like to witness the N1.
“Maybe one day you’ll see it fly.” Din offers and you turn to him, grinning.
“Now that would be a dream.” You warmly mirror his phrase.
If you manage to make it through your final days as Queen, maybe you could beg the mandalorian to let you see the ship in action.
The walk to the palace is peaceful among the lake. You treasure Grogu snoring soundly in your arms, and you’re thankful Din allows you to hold his son.
But approaching the palace, you return the baby back to his father to hide him, just in case.
Your instincts are right. At the very edge of the palace steps, all your advisors, along with the senator and his aids, wait anxiously.
You stayed out too late.
Immediately they spot you with the mandalorian, and the reactions are mixed. You’re however more worried when Din reacts.
“Seems you were needed.” He comments.
“I stayed out later than planned, that’s all.” You half lie.
“Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” You joke again, and he nods.
Even though you made the joke, you do end up seeing Din much more.
Except as the Queen of Naboo.
He stays in your personal guard close to the head captain. Even when you return to your private study, you’re surprised Din stays, truly acting as a loyal personal guard.
While overlooking legislation orders, a rustling comes. Off to the side, the mandalorian fidgets with his satchel.
Grogu.
“Mandalorian,” you speak in your composed tone. “Are you alright?”
“Yes.” He huffs, trying to sound calm himself.
But it’s too late. One of Grogu’s adorable ears pops out from the satchel. And despite his father’s best attempts to settle him, the baby pokes his entire head out.
Two of your handmaidens gasp excited.
“I apologize.” Din quickly stammers.
You don’t even hide the grin on your face seeing the baby.
“No need to apologize. I’m quite fond of little ones.” You assure Din, remembering what you told him previously.
“Mweh.” Grogu squeaks glancing around at the new room with sparkling curious eyes.
Your handmaidens are already smitten, trying not to rush over to him.
“Is it a pet?” One asks eager.
“No.” Din bluntly answers, and you even feel a bit insulted for him.
Ever the trouble maker, Grogu climbs out of the bag and starts waddling around exploring with ease.
“Kid.” Din sighs, a frustrated parent, and your handmaidens giggle amused.
“It’s fine, mandalorian.” You again reassure him.
Grogu turns to blink curiously up at you. Under the thick ceremonial makeup, wearing your ornate headpiece, you understand how strange you must look to a child.
Instantly he scurries towards you, little clawed hands grabbing the air signaling he wants to be picked up.
Panic seizes your breath.
There’s no way Grogu could recognize you. You rationalize that this is simply him finding your Queen persona interesting.
Din moves to snag Grogu, even saying his name sharp and reprimanding.
But you chuckle swooping down to the little creature first. Your gown today weighs heavier, yet you don’t mind knowing Grogu gets to settle in your arms.
His sweet eyes search your face. You smile politely and gentle. Then his tiny hands press against your cheeks, and a bright smile lights up his face.
And you can’t help it, you smile back.
The curious eyes of your handmaidens burn holes into your face. They whisper like a pack of loth cats plotting their next attack. So diverting their attention you place Grogu back down on the ground letting him roam.
Immediately your handmaids rush kneeling at the baby’s level, completely captivated by the new arrival.
“He seems to enjoy the attention.” You tell Din.
The mandalorian simply hums, an agreeing sound.
You wonder if he’s upset or possibly nervous about all of this.
“Please know he is safe here and free to roam.” You say encouraging, hoping to soothe the tension.
“Thank you…m’lady.” Din replies low, and your heart trips over itself.
It’s the first time he’s ever addressed you by the proper title, and his voice sparks a wildfire.
After this introduction, Grogu happily now enjoys being carried in the arms of your handmaidens or resting openly in Din’s satchel. A little wave of jealousy rises when the baby plays with one of your handmaids during a council meeting. You ache to trade places with her more than ever.
Seeing his son giggle freely unhidden relaxed Din more. He starts walking besides the captain of your guard and chatting with her, the two of them now easy comrades.
Now Din steps in pace right behind you, a beskar coated shadow you think of often.
During a particularly rainy day, you accidentally slip among the sleek stair tiles.
Immediately Din grabs you fast, steadying you from falling. His hand, unwavering and strong, holds you. Your heart thrashes furiously hearing his magnetic voice so close asking if you’re alright.
This unfortunate infatuation towards the mandalorian blooms a wicked weed digging its roots into your heart, and it’s become more unbearable.
Thankfully, your final months as Queen help keep your mind mostly occupied.
After meeting with the current Gungan Boss, you sigh exhausted.
Glancing at the wall, the portraits of monarchs past loom watching you, waiting to see what you do next.
“Many of the queens seem… younger than you.” Din suddenly comments observing the previous rulers.
“Are you calling me old, mandalorian?” You tease as much as your steeled composed tone allows.
“I…” he’s stunned, taken off guard for a minute. It’s adorable. For a split moment you smirk, keeping a laugh firmly locked away.
“I jest.” You recover quickly.
You explain how customarily many of the previous rulers were chosen at a young age, some even children. The belief was that those who possessed a child like wonder and wisdom should rule. Of course, that slowly faded away over time.
“And when the empire arrived?” Din asks.
When the Moff assigned to Naboo arrived, dark days followed. Terror seemed to choke your planet. You quietly tell Din of this.
“I…understand. I’ve seen the damage that can be done because of a Moff’s rule.” An ancient sorrow hangs within his voice.
Your eyes flicker to the shining warrior besides you. Din is striking, incredibly so. A selfish desire grows wishing to know him more, to know the face of the man taking residence in your heart.
Until another asassination attempt reminds you danger persistently lurks ready to steal your peace.
One of the food testers in the kitchen has a dangerous reaction to your meal. Thankfully she is tended to in time and will make it. But these threats grow deadlier.
“This might be … when we should start considering you going into hiding, m’lady.” One of your advisors suggests.
Those words hang over you an ominous storm.
After the recent attempt, you hide in handmaiden robes more.
You shouldn’t be wandering around this late in the night among the hallways, but you can’t sleep.
Turning the corner, you stumble upon Din standing by the hallway’s edge. He focuses on his transmitter, reading a holo message.
Ever a warrior, his keen senses notice someone else is here and he looks up. Not wanting to startle him, you pull back the robe’s hood to reveal yourself.
He exhales your name, and it flutters into your heart.
“It’s been a while.” You sleepily grin.
“Indeed.” He nods, and his voice sounds warmer.
“Been a bit busy around here.” You joke, but a somberness hangs.
“It has.” Even his reply mirrors the underlying tension.
“It’s also been difficult trying to figure out which handmaiden you are.” Din says, as if trying to break the thick tense clouds.
You laugh, and it’s freeing.
“That means it’s working.” You snicker. “No one should know who a handmaid is, much less what they look like.”
Each handmaiden was handpicked because of how similarly they fit your height and vaguely your appearance.
Handmaids are the silent heroes of the crown, quiet protectors ready to step in and surround you any given moment. Guilt festers in you knowing their lives are at risk too.
“And yet… you let me see you.” Din curiously notes, and your chest tightens.
“Well, I trust you.” You tell him simply. And you do, completely and irrevocably.
“Besides, if you decide to do anything suspicious the Queen would be the first to know.” You jest, enjoying the double meaning.
“Never.” He shakes his head earnest.
Under the lowlights of the hallway, Din steps closer. Your fingers itch to touch his beskar, to run the cool armor beneath your touch.
You wonder every night what color his eyes are.
The sound of glass shattering erupts, and suddenly the world blurs. You’re in Din’s arms falling to the floor.
His hand cradles your head from colliding on the hard marble floor. But you don’t have time to process that. Instantly you reach for the small blade hidden in your robes.
“Are you alright?” Din rapidly asks, and you nod stunned.
Someone shot at you through the window.
Someone knows who you are.
—
“You must go into hiding,” Hildegard, ever your most trusted and wise advisor, urges begging now.
Stubborn, feeling raw, exposed, you sit in angered silence. No makeup on, no crown, just a simple soul at the mercy of fate.
“Maybe we should keep the queen here?” Senator Trystan suggests.
“Because…to me, it seems like the Mandalorian isn’t quite living up to the legends told of his people.” He adds dangerously untrusting.
A blazing fury bursts in you.
“I’m alive because of him.” You snap glaring at the senator.
“And he is the only one I’ll trust accompanying me if I must go into hiding.” Your declaration rings absolute, the voice of a ruler.
Yet that night you can’t sleep. Neither can your handmaidens, especially with how curious they are.
“So…are you going to tell us what you were doing with Mando in the hallway?” One of them asks curiously.
Partially lying, you say how you couldn’t sleep and simply ran into him.
“Are you having secret rendezvous meetings with the mandalorian and haven’t been telling us?!” Another handmaiden shrieks giddy, and you rapidly deny.
But it’s hard when the fluttering feelings in your stomach now thrash wanting to fully take flight and escape, revealing your truth.
As playfully pestering as they are, this time with your handmaidens lightens your spirits immensely.
Because you know the looming decision.
The spring equinox here on Naboo will be your official final outing as ruler. That day, you’ll give your final address to the planet, sign your final law into action at the gala, then step down in the eyes of the New Republic.
It will be a momentous day.
For one month until then… you’ll be in hiding.
One moon cycle away from Naboo.
But as declared, you’ll be departing alone with the mandalorian.
A war rages in your heart as you clutch your small pack.
You wish to stay and fight, stand your ground. Yet you understand the danger that will come if you stay.
So walking into the darkness alone, you find a gleaming warrior among it.
A curt nod is how he greets you.
Din has been quiet since your identity was revealed. You wonder if he’s disappointed or angry knowing who you are.
But all the emotions get shoved aside when you see your mode of transportation.
The starfighter gleams glorious under the moonlight.
“Will we fit?” You wonder aloud a bit hesitant.
“Might be a tight squeeze, but we’ll make it. The trip is not too far.” Din answers and his voice again does strange things to your heart.
He wasn’t lying about the tight fit.
You’re practically slotted between his legs in the compact pilot’s seat. His arms reach around you effortlessly readying the systems. Your mind goes over boring litigations and mandates trying not to let it wander into dangerous territory.
Then, the ship bolts to life airborne.
Immediately your gaze flickers back to your home planet watching it drift further away in the night sky.
“Don’t worry,” Din suddenly mutters, comforting. “Everyone will be fine.”
You swallow hard and nod.
The atmosphere dissipates all around until you’re among a sea of stars.
“So…you’re Queen of Naboo.” Din speaks first. It feels like a peace offering.
Your lips twitch back a laugh.
“Apparently.” You joke.
His chuckle lightens the ache trying to consume you.
The trip, as promised, isn’t far.
Nevarro resides in the outer rim. Even though Naboo is considered mid-rim, its bordering location is close to the outer rim, so you know of Nevarro. The planet’s growth and evolution has been admirable to witness.
You find it’s easy to settle in and embrace the planet wholeheartedly.
Or… you embrace Din’s world wholeheartedly.
His home sits peaceful at the edge of the lava flats. You begged him to let you stay at an inn in town so you wouldn’t be a bother. He adamantly shut that option down.
“Being here means I can keep you safe.” He explained.
So now you take the spare room in Din’s abode. The spartan walls, bare minimum furniture, they all strangely perfectly reflect Din. But you enjoy spotting the various stuffed toys littering the floors.
Grogu enjoys being back at home, showing you the pond he loves chasing creatures around.
Suddenly he magically lifts a small frog into the air and you gasp. These abilities…
In secret, you briefly had studied the Jedi, the ways of the force, and knew of the strange abilities that came with it.
“He can use the force?!” You squak, turning to Din.
The mandalorian simply tells you it’s complicated. You don’t press the topic. Yet it makes sense now remembering how Grogu was able to notice you single you out even in your makeup.
He really is a special star. His giggles brighten the home, a joyous little light.
Currently he sleeps peacefully in your arms, belly full from the dinner you cooked.
“A queen who knows how to cook?” Din had joked earlier when went into the market to grab supplies.
“I haven’t always been queen.” You huffed back.
You had a life before your crown, but now you wonder how it will look after.
“What was it like before you were queen?” Sitting besides you outside on the porch, you’re surprised Din is this curious.
This spot here is quickly becoming a favorite of yours. The warm Nevarro air floats thicker than Naboo, yet there’s a gentle comfort to it.
You tell Din of your early university days, secretly holding a dream of abandoning everything to become a rebel spy.
“A spy?” His voice curls amused, and you wish you could see his face.
“I read too many adventure romance tales.” You shrug.
You used to dream of meeting a handsome rebel pilot while fighting for your home planet and then falling in love.
Now your dreams only contain a warrior clad in beskar.
“Were you always a bounty hunter?” You now question Din about his life as much as you can.
You treasure all he gives you, telling you about days hunting bounties across the galaxy until he stumbled upon a certain little green creature.
The mudhorn, the empire hunting Grogu, the days they spent apart from each other… It all led to Din gaining a son. And it’s all because of that single bounty.
“Your job led you to a wonderful gift.” You fondly praise while Grogu snores peacefully against your shoulder.
“Yes...” Din agrees, yet his voice seems to trail off.
“After you step down, what will happen to you?” He softly changes the subject, pressing another question.
One that strikes deep.
“There are two recommended options…” you mutter.
The first choice is to marry a noble and stay within the royal sphere.
The other option is becoming a senator.
For some reason, your heart doesn’t feel compelled thinking of either option.
You aren’t attracted to any of the nobles trying to court you. And the role of a senator is demanding. You already feel frustrated with the state of politics and after being around it for this long…you wish for quieter days.
“What if you don’t want either?” Din sounds somber, yet inquisitive.
You suppose you could simply walk away from everything, slip into the galaxy to become another soul simply passing through.
You’ve never given that option much thought.
“You could stay here.” Din says, and a burst of light crashes into your chest.
Here? With him?
“Nevarro has good housing options. You would always be welcomed here.”
Then his second comment, more formal in tone, becomes a splash of water immediately diminishing any hope wanting to ignite you. You weakly grin.
“You just want me nearby for the free babysitting services.” You joke hoping to quell the heartbreak trying to leak in.
He chuckles amused.
You still earnestly thank him for the offer. But now, the future looms more nebulous than ever.
—
Through secret comlinks and encrypted messages, you discover another assassin tried striking the palace.
“You think it’s a group at work?” You ask Din, sounding more like the concerned ruler you are.
“No, it feels too planned, like the culprit is trying to mislead us or lure you back.” And he sounds like the sharp skilled hunter he is.
“May I ask… why does someone want you dead?” He questions hesitant.
You sigh.
The last law you want to sign into action would undo a final decree the Moff put into order. You want all traces of that evil gone.
“It could be an old sympathizer wanting to stop you.” Din immediately concludes.
That doesn’t narrow down any choices. But you suspect the assassin is connected to someone within your circle since they knew when to attack you even as a handmaid.
Paranoia has you restless, on edge. It’s why you return to your blade.
The familiar self defense moves flow through you. Simple, effective, enough to strike before you can try making an escape.
“Your arms need to move faster.”
You swore Din had been working on the starfighter and with Grogu down for the night, you took the alone time to practice among the fading twilight.
Now he saunters to you eased.
“Your arms have the right motion. They just aren’t steady.” He instructs.
“Well it would be different if someone was attacking me.” You scoff.
“Alright then,” something excited sparks in Din’s voice. “Spar with me.”
You think you misheard him. Then Din pulls out a seasoned, rather deadly looking, vibroblade and stands at the ready.
You stammer out excuses. There’s no way you can fight a mandalorian.
Suddenly he strikes first. Din rushes fast, darting forward and swinging his blade to swipe at you.
It becomes a fast dance, evading and dodging as Din attacks unrelentlessly.
“You haven’t tried striking me.” He doesn’t even sound tired while you’re barely hanging on.
“Because I have a mandalorian after me!” You wheeze frantic, and he chuckles.
Din stops his offensive and places his blade away.
“The way I moved is how you should.”
“I’m not a trained warrior.” You huff catching your breath. Even without seeing his eyes, the way his helmet tilts you know he’s rolling his eyes.
Gently, his gloved hands slide to your arms, and you freeze. Your mind momentarily shutting down. He touches you gingerly, delicate. Then he begins maneuvering you into the same stance he was in.
In a steady patient voice, Din explains every move and guides you through them. The close position, feeling his sturdy build pressing against you, the way his voice oozes with a gentle dominance, it overwhelms you.
Din makes you go through the motions repeatedly, a patient teacher.
“Your stance is good. You were taught well.” He admires, and you shakily thank him.
“Had to be ready as both queen and handmaid just in case.” You say lighthearted trying to battle the raging emotions swirling like a dangerous riptide.
“At first I didn’t understand your guard system or the handmaidens.” Din explains.
“Now I see why you go to great lengths to hide your identity. It reminds me of mandalorian tradition and why we hide our faces.” Din’s voice floats out kind and gentle.
The realization unfurls in you quietly that you almost miss it. You and him have run parallel in different ways, wearing masks to protect yourself and your people.
You’re grateful the force brought you to this man, one you will always hold in your heart even when fate decides to take him away.
You and him practice late into the night. He even lets you spar with his blade. Surprisingly, you take to it well, and Din even notices.
“Keep it.”
You gawk, stunned at his words. Immediately panicking, you tell Din you could never take a weapon from a mandalorian.
“I have another. And trust me, it will be useful if…I’m not around.”
His somber words dig into you, another sharpened knife, one you wish he could take back.
—
Your final week on Nevarro approaches and sorrow tangles itself around you constricting. You’ve grown attached to this planet. You’ve made friends with the floral shop keeper. The merchant who sells your favorite dried fruits now jokes with Din wondering how a grumpy mandalorian snagged someone as lovely as you.
You laugh weakly at the jokes, yet Din stays silent.
The silence has multiplied between you and Din, creating a terrifying canyon separating you from him.
Grogu senses it. Whimpering, he stubbornly tries hanging onto both you and Din more.
You shove away tears at night.
This dream, this carved out home you’ve started settling into…you knew it was going to end eventually. You just became so foolish hoping it wouldn’t.
Slowly, you start packing, childishly dragging your feet as if it will prolong your stay.
A knock arrives at your door, and it slides open.
“Can I show you something?” Din’s voice, hesitant and cautious, snaps your spine straight.
You agree without hesitation.
With Grogu currently enjoying a play date with one of the children in town, it’s just you and Din together for the day.
But you regret your choice of not accompanying the baby when you realize you’ll be jumping back into the starfighter.
Having Din’s arms enclosed around you, his strong chest pressing against your back, all the close proximity heats your skin, a reminder of what you’ll be losing in just a few days.
“You said you wanted to one day see how she flies.” Din says soft.
You technically had seen her fly when Din brought you here. Unfortunately your mind was so foggy you honestly couldn’t savor the journey.
“You didn’t get to see much last time. So…Let’s stretch out her legs.” Din’s voice holds a proud smile.
Your eyes widen. He remembered. Before you can say anything else, you become one with the wind.
Din was right. The N1 soars like a dream. She glides gracefully among the craters and canyons, dipping low among the lava flats and zooming with ease past the town.
But you also realize, Din is an amazing pilot. He effortlessly maneuvers the ship with a fluid flow and striking awareness. As if you couldn’t be anymore attracted to him, knowing he’s not just an amazing warrior but an incredible pilot makes your blood hum.
“You’re amazing.” You tell him earnest and true.
You swear his arms curl around you tighter.
“Ready to see the best part.” He purrs, sounding eager.
“Wait, best part?” You can’t imagine what’s next.
He points to a switch and when he hits it, you fly out of your body reaching a speed you never expected.
And it’s dazzling.
You laugh bright and alive. The weightless sensation overflows into your bones.
The atmosphere melts away as Din pushes the ship to the very edges of the planet.
The stars float just out of your reach, twinkling with knowing eyes.
Suddenly, Din lets the ship drop. The N1 plummets into a free fall that has your stomach jumping into your mouth. You almost scream.
In the descent, Din quickly spins the starfighter swiftly, a dramatic turn that sends it flying fast in a new direction. The move is a trick, one he seems to be showing off proudly.
You laugh breathlessly relieved.
“You know I’m still queen. I can punish you for that!” You wheeze.
“I’d like to see you try, m’lady.” He challenges back amused. You grin wild and greedy hearing the title.
The flight, the exhilaration, it dissipates the tension of this week, almost purifying you. Because now you notice… you’ve fully melted against Din’s chest.
Your head even leans back to rest against his helmet.
Yet Din hasn’t moved you.
The silence thickens as he flies the ship back towards town.
“Thank you for showing me this.” You mutter, barely able to get those words out.
Din’s helmet nods moving against the side of your head. One of his hands leaves the control panel and gently rests against your thigh.
You and him remain this close the rest of the flight.
The next time you’re in the N1 -
You’re flying home to Naboo.
The entire flight is silent.
You sit as furthest away from him as physically possible within the cramped space. Din maneuvers the controls and trying to keep yourself steeled, composed, your eyes focus on his movements.
That’s when you catch it.
His gloves shift and a sliver of his skin is exposed.
Sun kissed and beautiful, you think you just imagined it. Until you notice it again when Din steers the ship out of the atmosphere.
Countless nights you thought about what he looked like under his helmet, wondering how his lips would feel against yours. Now you’re allowed this one small peek at the man beneath the armor, and a dangerous greed immediately slithers in.
Your lips ache to kiss that spot, that glimmer of Din unmasked.
Greed morphs into a deadly lust. You imagine yourself, if you were braver, grabbing his wrist and lifting it to your lips to kiss him, taste him, at least once.
How would he react if you did that? Embrace you? Reprimand you?
Punish you in a way that turns filthy…
You wonder how extra tight this cramped space would be trying to ride him in, to feel the heat between you and him build into a blazing cloud. Even now, if you concentrate hard enough in this terrifyingly quiet flight, you can hear his soft breathing, his gentle exhales modulated through the helmet.
Your mind melts thinking of him whispering deep against your ear as he thrusts up into you-
Instantly your mouth goes dry at the erotic thought and you close your eyes, trying to reset yourself.
When you open your eyes, Naboo approaches fast, a gorgeous gemstone among the stars. Your dreams and lustful wishes shatter like broken titles leaving you feeling empty to pick up the pieces.
—
Your final gown as Queen gleams stitched with a final goodbye. It’s glorious, dripping in grandeur and beauty. Wearing it, clusters of emotions clash with each other. You’ve allowed yourself a minute alone just to compose yourself. Giving one final glance at a mirror, you silently bid farewell to this piece of you.
A knock comes, and one of your handmaid's pops her head into the room.
“Senator Trystan wishes to speak with you.”
Of course you let him in.
The familiar face beams at you proud.
“You look splendid, m’lady.” The senator bows his head, and you thank him.
He updates you on the various monarchs and other planetary senators who have arrived. Your mind unfortunately only thinks of one beskar wearing guest.
Tonight is your last night with Din. Once the grand event finishes and if you remain safe, he would receive his hefty sum. Your paths will seperate.
He hasn’t spoken more than five words to you since you’ve returned. You’ve barely seen Grogu either.
You understand the rush of trying to prepare for everything has kept you busy. But you catch the looks your handmaidens give you of heartbroken understanding as though they can sense the turmoil in you.
Your mind, even now, feels like it could burst holding so many thoughts.
Then footsteps stamped forward.
The senator, blade in hand, lunges at you.
A surprised scream escapes you before you swiftly move, jumping into action.
Pulling out your vibroblade, Din’s blade, you swipe at the traitor.
The moves Din taught, his weapon, they become your saving grace.
You keep the attacker on his toes. But Senator Trystan acts fast stepping on your gown causing you to trip before you can run to the door.
You fall hard onto the floor. Hissing in pain, your eyes close.
Move, a voice in your head sounding intensely like Din, urges you to react.
Then a thundering collision crashes into your chambers, and your eyes snap open.
One moment the senator stands poised above you, blade in hand ready to attack. The next he’s gone.
Scrambling up, you discover Din wrestling Senator Trystan onto the floor.
“The Moff was right!” The traitor screams in anger trying hard to thrash against Din’s hold.
“You’re pathetic!” You snarl back.
“You are ruining our world!” Sentaro Trystan screeches staring you down. “Long live the empire-”
Din aggressively knocks the raging senator unconscious.
Immediately your handmaidens and a few healers rush to your side tending to you, trying to calm you down.
A thick haze swirls in your mind. Senator Trystan was the one behind the assassinations. Why hadn’t you noticed it?
Suddenly a warm gloved hand grabs yours and squeezes. Blinking out of the mental haze, Din now kneels before you. The stark black visor of his helmet stares unwavering.
He whispers your name.
Tiny little hands climb their way up your gown. Glancing down, you find Grogu staring up and whimpering worried. You stroke his soft head and it eases you and him both.
“Are you alright, m’lady?” Din asks cautious, concerned.
You nod still slightly overwhelmed.
“I owe you my life, mandalorian.” You tell him through a shaking voice.
Din doesn't reply, instead squeezes your hand tighter. The exhaustion slowly creeping into your body begs you to lean forward, to rest against Din’s shoulder. But you don’t know how he’ll react.
And even if you did try to lean on him, you noticed your grand headpiece would’ve gotten in the way of you moving closer to Din, a literal barrier reminding you of the truth.
New Republic officers along with the rest of your advisors and guards storm in.
You’re grateful the threat is over, eternally in debt to Din. But the truth settles in cold and bleak. Your time is up. The mandalorian will be leaving you.
“Your reward will be doubled.” Hildegard says grateful through tears patting Din on the shoulder.
“I was just…doing my job.” He nods curt.
A job, that’s all you are.
You eventually hand Grogu to one of your handmaidens. This night will be busy. Din however refuses to leave your side.
“She needs to rest.” Din orders sharp after realizing you’re still attending the gala.
“I can rest once this is all over.” Your monarch's voice, the voice of a queen, slips in.
Din remains silent.
Even though you feel caught in the waves of a turbulent sea, a queen must bottle all those things and store them away.
So wearing your crown proudly, you sign your final law into motion and hold your head high.
The previous queens still alive arrive at your side. You kneel, and their hands lift the weight of a planet from you.
Queen no more.
Among the roar of applause, among the illustrious crowd, your eyes only seek out one guest.
Din leans against a column, hands crossed over his chest sticking out a sore thumb. And he’s beautiful.
“I suppose you want this back.” You hold out his blade waiting for him to take it.
His helmet shakes an adamant no.
“I told you, it’s yours now. Knowing it kept you safe is even more reason for you to keep it.”
A thick sorrow and adoration, the strangest mixture, shred your heart wide open. But under the glimmering lights, along the magnificent marble ballroom, you have to seal everything away tight.
The Gala is a gorgeous celebration, the triumph of Naboo slowly returning to its beauty. The Gungan Boss teases how his nephew would make a fine match now that you’re available for marriage. He isn’t the only one making suggestions.
Many suitors from noble families blatantly make their courting intentions known. You smile with as much grace as you can.
One of the noblemen, a man you vaguely remember from your university days, even gets bold and places a kiss on your hand when he bids you farewell.
“It seems royal marriage is what everyone wants for you.” Din comments stiffly.
You stay quiet, numb.
“What do you want?” He asks.
Your eyes return to him, his glorious helmet, and you wish more than ever to know his eyes.
“What I want doesn’t matter.” You reply just as stiff.
“But it does. You deserve to make that decision.” He argues low, deadly, reminding you of the bounty hunter he is.
“Maybe who I want doesn’t want me back.” Your words strike sharp under your breath.
“Who…who do you want?”
Terror barrels in hearing Din’s question. You didn’t even realize you had said who.
Din’s stare, even without seeing his eyes, is unflinching.
An overwhelming panic overtakes you like a feral rancor.
So you flee, scurrying away fast.
Immediately you tell your advisors and handmaidens you need to be excused, saying how the rush of the night has finally caught up to you.
Understanding, everyone allows you to slip away from the gala’s ballroom towards the palace.
But ever the persistent shadow, Din stays close behind.
“I don’t need your services anymore, mandalorian.” You snap, refusing to turn around to him.
“I’m your guard until the night ends.” He growls back.
“I thought our agreement was fulfilled when the threat was discovered. Besides, my crown is gone. You can leave Din Djarin.” Your voice bounces off the empty hallways like an angered ghost.
Earlier, the new republic officers had scanned his chaincode and when you heard his full name, it felt like a final goodbye.
“Is that what you want? For me to leave?” Din’s tone cuts deadly, stopping you in the middle of the hallway.
You don’t want him to go. You never want to leave him.
Din says your name, pleading.
“It doesn’t matter what I want. Leave.” You robotically order, except your voice cracks, and you regret speaking.
You force yourself to move forward.
He doesn’t follow, and your footsteps echo alone in the hallway.
Arriving at your chambers, your hands shake as you wipe away tears.
Queen no more, now all alone.
A solid knock arrives at your door making you jump out of your skin.
Still worried from earlier, you cautiously open the door, holding Din’s blade at the ready.
Then you slide it open fully and let the weapon drop instantly.
Din stands in the doorway.
“Tell me what you want, who it is you want. And then you will never see me again.” A plea aches in the mandalorian’s voice.
“It’s you, Din…” you sob, unable to hold it in anymore. “I want you, you ridiculously stubborn man-”
His warmth is engulfing. His strong arms wrap around you tight with the promise of never letting go. Beskar presses hard and unyielding, but you welcome it.
Your arms wrap around him just as tight.
“When I thought you were just a handmaid, I searched for you every time and I felt guilty. I knew my loyalty needed to be with the queen, when all I wanted to do was protect you.” His voice whispers soft, tender, soaking into your bones.
“It was only until I realized… I’ve been protecting you this entire time.” He squeezes you tighter.
Gravity shifts. Your orbit now becomes tied to this warrior.
Gently, you lean out of his embrace to stare at him. Placing your hand against his helmet, imagining his cheek below your palm, you reverently stroke the sacred beskar.
“My future is with you, whatever it is. I want it to be with you, Din.” You tell him through watery croaks.
A gloved hand now holds your face. Din exhales your name, delicate and reverent. Then he moves forward.
His helmet leans against your forehead, a holy act that makes your eyes close. The cool beskar against your skin feels like a sealed vow, the promise of a kiss and the hope of many to come.
Now, no crown keeps you from him.
—
Sunlight gently wakes you.
Your mind groggily starts thinking over the things you have to do today. An exasperated sigh escapes you.
The bed is cozy. You don’t want to leave, but you need to. So wearily you wiggle to slip out from the covers.
Until a solid sturdy arm drags you back into the blankets, pulling you against a warm broad bare chest.
“You can’t keep me in bed all day.” You mutter half asleep, half amused.
“We’re on our honeymoon. We’re allowed to stay in bed all day.” Din’s voice, unmodulated and thick with sleep, drips with pure delicious decadence.
Soft kisses pepper your bare shoulder. The soft scrape of his facial hair, the tickle of his mustache, feel glorious.
“We did that yesterday. And the day before that.” You remind him amused.
“Then today should be our final time.” Din smirks, nipping at your shoulder while his hands map out your skin.
“There’s still things I need to do for the coronation.” You try sounding determined, but your voice instead is a dreamy sigh, blissed in pure newlywed reverie.
“A queen’s job is never finished.” He teases letting his lips kiss across your jaw lazyly.
“Not a queen anymore.” You cheekily remind him, and your hand reaches back to run into his soft curls.
You’re a wife now, a title you cherish just as much as Queen.
“Always will be a queen to me… m’lady.” He mutters into your skin.
Immediately his words make you twist in his arms. You take a quick glance at your husband - your incredible husband with the most gorgeous rich soil soulful eyes. Then you lean forward to kiss him fierce.
Din meets your frenzy passion with a steadiness that disarms you. He kisses you slowly, unworried, like he plans to savor every moment, and you become a cloud ready to float into his atmosphere.
Then a small crash comes from the living room. An amused little giggle reveals the culprit.
You and Din now sigh for another reason.
“We should have let your handmaids keep him another day.” Din mumbles.
You laugh swatting at his shoulder.
With a final playful kiss, you grab your robe and slip out of bed.
Grogu squeals excitedly seeing you. Scooping him up into your arms, you kiss his sweet adorable cheeks.
“You adorable little trouble maker.” You snicker ticking his tummy.
You don’t even mind that Grogu knocked over the lovely congratulations bouquet the gungan boss sent. Your son’s giggles are worth it.
The morning sun dances beautifully across the grand Naboo lake. Sitting among the lush grass, you now watch Grogu once again chase after the fluttering butterflies.
Heavy boots crunch approaching. Then Din presses against you. You snuggle closer to lean against his paladin covered shoulder. His arm slides to curl you even closer into his side.
“Always hoped we would get to come back here.” Din admits.
You did too. It’s why when the coronation for the next Queen of Naboo arrived, coincidentally taking place just a month after your wedding, you eagerly convinced Din to take a break from Nevarro to return to this special place.
“Thank you for bringing us back.” You tell him grateful, pressing a kiss to his beskar.
“No, thank you for suggesting this.” You knew Din was kind hearted before. But now, as your husband, he shows you a pure adoration that doesn’t feel real at times.
“They will need you at the palace soon.” Your mandalorian reminds you gently.
He’s right of course. So many events, things to plan, all wait for you.
But for a few more moments, you stay within the golden glow of your little family…simply letting the butterflies dance all around.
Summary: She’s been riding his nerves for years, but when she waltzes into his bar in that little dress, pushing every damn button, Joel’s patience snaps. One jealous glare, one bar fight, and one heated moment against his truck later—he’s finally got his hands on the one thing he was never supposed to have. She may be forbidden, but tonight, she’s his to break.
Warnings: 18+ afab and fem reader, p in v sex, dbf fic, unspecified age gap, no description of reader but has big boobs and ass, dirty talk, no use of y/n, unsafe sex, oral (f! receiving), creampie, degradation, praise kink.
Word count: 3.5k
Joel Miller had never been a patient man.
Life had never given him the luxury of it. He had worked with his hands since he was young, learned early on that the world didn’t give second chances. He was a man of discipline, a man who knew how to keep his head down and his wants buried.
But she was making it damn near impossible.
She had been a teenager the first time he met her, trailing after her father, all wide eyes and laughter, running barefoot in the summer heat. He had watched her grow up, watched her turn into the kind of woman who could bring a man to his knees.
And now, she was back.
Older. Smarter. Dangerous.
She had always been off-limits. The daughter of his best friend, the one woman in the world he had no right to want. But she was making it impossible not to want her.
It had been easy to tease him, to poke at that ironclad patience of his and see ifshe could get a reaction. A lingering touch here, a too-sweet smile there. Watching the way his jaw clenched every time she called him Mr. Miller in that honeyed voice just to watch his ears turn red.
But no matter how much she pushed, Joel never broke.
Miller’s was packed, bodies moving, voices loud, music twanging through the air.
Joel had been behind the bar all night, pouring drinks, barely listening to the conversations around him. He had been doing a good job of keeping his mind on work, on anything but her.
Until she walked in.
The air seemed to shift, a pull in his gut that made his grip tighten around the glass in his hand.
And then he saw her.
That pretty little dress clung to her, the hem swaying just high enough to make his throat go dry. The cowboy boots only made it worse, giving her the perfect mix of sweet and wild, like she belonged there, like she wasn’t trying at all.
Except he knew she was. She knew exactly what she was doing.
Her gaze found his across the room, and a slow smile curved her lips.
His gaze dragged over her, slow and deliberate, before snapping back up to her face. He looked pissed.
Good.
Smiling to herself, she let her friends pull her toward the bar, where Joel was still watching, still brooding. She leaned against the counter, resting her elbows on the wood, waiting for him to say something.
He didn’t.
Instead, he grabbed a glass and poured her a drink, sliding it across the bar without a word.
“Not gonna say hello?” she teased.
Joel kept his gaze on the glass in her hands. “You ain’t supposed to be in here.”
She tilted her head. “Since when?”
“Since you started struttin’ around like you want trouble.”
She let out a soft hum, dragging her fingers along the rim of the glass he had just poured for her. “Maybe I do.”
Joel’s jaw tightened.
She was doing it again—pushing, testing, seeing how far she could go before he snapped.
“Not tonight,” he muttered.
“Not tonight what?”
His jaw clenched even harder, his teeth grinding.
She leaned in just a little, voice soft, sweet, coaxing. “You don’t like my dress, Mr. Miller?”
Joel exhaled sharply. “You think this is a game?”
Her lips twitched, like she was trying not to grin. Joel had to look away before he did something stupid, something reckless.
Like pull her across the damn bar and show her exactly how much he liked that dress.
The night carried on, the bar growing louder as the drinks flowed. She was laughing with her friends, sipping her whiskey slow, when she felt it—
A hand.
Not Joel’s.
Rough fingers slid along her lower back, dipping too low, too familiar. She tensed, turning sharply to find a man standing too close, grinning like he had a right to touch her.
“Hey there, sweetheart,” he slurred, breath heavy with beer.
She moved to step back, but he caught her wrist, holding on just tight enough to make her stomach twist.
“Let go,” She said, voice cool.
He laughed. “Aw, don’t be like that.”
Then, all at once, he was gone.
Yanked back so hard he stumbled, nearly falling on his ass.
Joel.
He was furious.
She had never seen him like this, not even when he was arguing with her dad about football scores or fixing some busted-up truck in the heat of summer. This was different.
Dangerous.
His hand was wrapped around the man’s wrist, squeezing so tight she could see the strain in his forearm.
“I told you,” Joel said, voice low, steady, lethal. “Get your goddamn hands off her.”
The man tried to laugh it off, but Joel yanked him forward just enough to make his breath hitch.
“You touch her again, I will break your fuckin’ hand.”
Dead silence.
The man swallowed, eyes darting around the room, looking for anyone who might step in. But no one did.
They knew better than to cross Joel Miller.
He let go, shoving the guy backward. “Get the hell out of my bar.”
The man didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t even look at her again. Just turned and left, tail tucked between his legs. And then Joel turned to her.
“Outside. Now.”
"Lets go," he barked, his voice cutting through the cacophony of the bar like a knife. The other men gathered around her table with protested, but Joel's icy glare sent them retreating faster than a coyote with its tail between its legs. She was still taken aback by his sudden aggression, but didn't struggle as he practically dragged her out of the bar and to his truck.
He didn’t stop until they reached his truck, the metal cool against her back as he crowded into her space.
“What the hell were you thinkin’?” he growled.
Her pulse was racing, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. “I wasn’t doin’ anything.”
Joel exhaled sharply, his hands braced against the truck on either side of her. His body was close, heat rolling off him in waves.
“You been runnin’ me in circles since you got back,” he muttered. “Wearin’ these little dresses, givin’ me that damn smile, callin’ me—”
She licked her lips, voice soft. “Mr. Miller?”
Joel groaned. His fingers flexed against the truck, like he was fighting every instinct in his body to keep from touching her.
“You don’t know what you’re doin’, girl.”
She tilted her head, her lips a breath away from his. “What if I do?”
Silence.
Thick, heavy, charged.
Joel’s hand came up before he could stop himself, rough fingers tracing the line of her jaw, tilting her face up. His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, slow and deliberate.
Her breath hitched.
“Joel—”
He kissed her. It was desperate, all fire and hunger, years of restraint snapping like a damn rope pulled too tight.
His hands slid to her waist, pulling her flush against him, pressing her against the truck. She gasped against his lips, and he took advantage of it, deepening the kiss, claiming her.
Her hands fisted in his shirt, tugging him closer, like she wanted to crawl inside him, like she had been waiting for this just as long as he had.
Joel lifted her onto the edge of the tailgate, his grip firm on her thighs. Her dress rode up, exposing soft, smooth skin against the rough denim of his jeans.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, breathing ragged.
“You sure about this?”
She didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him back in. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
Joel groaned, resting his forehead against hers. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
She smiled, breathless. “Then at least you’ll die happy.”
His control shattered.
He kissed her again, deeper, hungrier, and this time, he didn’t stop.
He opened the door of his truck and threw her into the backseat, the leather cool against her bare skin. He didn't bother with pleasantries or explanations; he knew she was playing with fire, and it was high time she felt the burn. His eyes raked over her, taking in every curve and freckle that made her uniquely her. She met his gaze, a mix of defiance and curiosity in her own eyes. He leaned in, his breath hot against her neck, and whispered, "You've been asking for this all night, darlin'."
Her heart raced as he climbed in beside her, the weight of his body pressing her into the seat. The smell of his cologne, leather, and something uniquely Joel filled the small space, making her head spin. His rough hands began to roam, tracing the lines of her body as if they were an ancient map, each touch setting her skin alight. Her own hands found his beard, and she pulled his face closer, feeling the prickle against her cheek. His lips claimed hers in a kiss that was as fierce as it was possessive. She could feel his hunger, his need to claim her as his own.
He pulled away, his eyes dark with lust, and grabbed his hat from the front seat. "Wear it," he grunted, placing it on her head. The brim shadowed her face, making her feel a mix of excitement and naughtiness. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of her in his cowboy hat, a stark contrast to the bratty persona she had been putting on all night. She bit her bottom lip, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
With surprising gentleness, Joel pulled her shirt over her head, revealing her ample breasts that bounced free, the cool air making her nipples tighten into delicious little buds. He took one in his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, while his hands found there way under her dress, tracing her soft thighs. She gasped, arching her back, the fabric of the hat brushing against her neck as she reached for him. Her hands roamed over his muscular chest, feeling the strength beneath.
Her own dress was quickly discarded, leaving her in just her lacy panties. He groaned, taking in the sight of her. His own desire was evident, pressing against the fabric of his jeans, but he took his time, savoring the moment. He reached down and slid her panties off, tossing them aside. "You're going to be the death of me," he murmured against her skin as he kissed his way down her body.
He settled between her legs, his breath hot against the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. He took a moment to appreciate the sight before him, her pussy glistening with want. "So sweet," he whispered, his voice gruff with desire. He dipped his head and licked her, a long, slow stroke that made her moan. She was already close, her body tightening with every flick of his tongue. He chuckled darkly, the sound sending vibrations through her. "You're eager, aren't you?"
Joel didn't wait for an answer; he feasted on her, his tongue delving into her depths, lapping up her sweetness. She squirmed beneath him, her hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair as she pushed herself closer to his mouth. "You taste like heaven," he murmured, his breath tickling her clit. His hands gripped her thighs, holding her in place as he worked her over with his mouth, his teeth grazing her sensitive skin.
The tension built, coiling tighter and tighter within her until she couldn't take it anymore. She shuddered, her orgasm ripping through her like a tornado, leaving her panting and trembling in its wake. He looked up at her, a smug smile playing on his lips, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Good girl," he praised, his voice thick with lust. "Now, you've been teasing me for so long, let's see if you can handle the real deal."
With a swiftness that belied his size, Joel stripped off his clothes, his muscles rippling in the dim light of the truck's cabin. He was a vision of raw masculinity, a stark contrast to the gentle care he had taken with her moments before. He grabbed her, pulling her onto his lap so that she straddled him, his erection pressing against her soaked pussy. "Ride me," he ordered, his voice low and commanding. She didn't hesitate, sliding down onto him, feeling him fill her completely.
Her gasp was music to his ears, and he watched as she adjusted to his size, her eyes fluttering closed as she began to move. Joel's hands found her hips, guiding her movements, his thumbs tracing lazy circles on her skin. "Look at me," he said, his voice a gruff whisper. She obeyed, her eyes locking with his, and he could see the trust, the need, the desire all swirling together in their depths.
He leaned back against the seat, watching her ride him with a fierce determination that sent bolts of pleasure through his body. The hat sat askew on her head, her hair a wild mess around her face, and she had never looked more beautiful. His grip tightened on her hips, urging her to go faster, deeper. "Take what you want from me, darlin'. Show me what you've been hiding from me all these years."
Her movements grew more frantic, her breasts bouncing with every bounce, her moans filling the space around them. Joel could feel his own climax building, the base of his spine tingling with the promise of release. He leaned forward, capturing one of her nipples between his teeth, giving it a gentle bite that made her gasp and ride him harder. "That's it," he murmured, his voice a dark rumble in his chest. "You're going to make me come sweet girl."
The words seemed to spur her on, and she began to grind down on him with a fervor that was almost animalistic. Her nails dug into his shoulders, leaving little half-moons that would likely bruise by morning. But Joel didn't care. All he could focus on was the exquisite pleasure she was giving him, the way her pussy clenched around his cock with every movement she made. He knew he wouldn't last much longer.
With a growl, he flipped their positions, her back now pressed against the cool leather of the seat. He was relentless, pumping into her with a force that made the truck rock slightly. His hands found her breasts again, kneading them roughly as he claimed her mouth in another bruising kiss. She could feel his dominance, his need to possess her, and it only made her wetter.
Joel's hand slipped down between them, his calloused fingers finding her clit. He began to rub it in time with his thrusts, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her body. She moaned into his mouth, her nails now digging into his back, her body begging for more. "Cum for me," he murmured, his voice a dark promise in her ear. "I want to feel you come all over my cock."
Her walls tightened around him, and she knew she couldn't hold out much longer. With a cry, she shattered, her orgasm tearing through her like a wildfire, consuming every part of her being. Joel followed her over the edge, his own release hot and powerful as he buried himself deep within her. They stayed there, locked together, for several long moments, their breathing the only sound in the quiet parking lot.
When he finally pulled out, she could feel the emptiness he left behind, both physically and emotionally. He didn't say a word as he tucked himself back into his pants, his movements efficient and practiced. She watched him, her chest heaving, the hat still perched on her head. It felt strange now, a symbol of what had just transpired between them.
Joel reached for a pack of cigarettes from the dashboard, lighting one up with a shaky hand. He took a long drag, the tip glowing red in the darkness before he turned to her. "You know, you've been playing a dangerous game," he said, his voice a low rumble. "You can't just tease a man like that and not expect consequences."
She sat up, her breath still coming in ragged gasps, the hat slipping slightly on her head. "I know," she whispered, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "But you liked it, didn't you?"
Joel's expression was unreadable, his eyes hooded as he took another drag of his cigarette. He beckoned her closer with a crook of his finger, his voice a soft rumble. "Come here, darlin'." She complied, sliding over to him, the leather of the seat sticking slightly to her skin. He pulled her into his arms, holding her close, the hat still perched on her head.
The warmth of his embrace was a stark contrast to the coolness of the night air that had seeped into the truck. His heart thudded against her ear, a steady rhythm that seemed to echo the beat of her own. He inhaled deeply, breathing in her scent, a mix of sweetness and sex that was uniquely hers. "You know your daddy's going to kill me if he ever finds out about this," he murmured, his breath hot against her skin.
She giggled, the sound a little shaky, and snuggled closer to him. "Don't worry," she whispered, "I won't tell." Her fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath her touch. The gravity of their situation settled on her, the reality of what they had just done heavy in the air between them.
"You're mine now," Joel said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "All those pretty dresses you wear, all for me to peel off." He reached down and picked up her discarded panties, holding them up with a smirk. "And these," he added, tucking them into his pocket, "are mine now."
She looked up at him, the hat tilting slightly to the side. "What are you saying?" she asked, her voice a mix of surprise and excitement.
"I'm saying," Joel began, his eyes dark and intense, "that from now on, every time you wear those little dresses that drive me wild, it's my cock you're thinking about. Every time you spread your legs for anyone else, you're going to remember whose cock you really want." He took another drag of his cigarette, his gaze never leaving hers. "And when I say no one else gets to taste you, darlin', I mean it."
Her heart fluttered at his possessive words, a thrill of fear and excitement racing through her veins. "But, Joel, my dad—"
"I don't care about your daddy," he cut her off, his voice firm. "You're mine, and I'm not sharing." His eyes bore into hers, leaving no room for argument. "You'll wear those dresses, keep 'em guessing, but they'll never know what's hidden beneath. They won't get to taste what's mine."
He took her hand and placed it over his heart, the steady beat beneath his palm a declaration of his ownership. "You're not just a pretty face in a short dress anymore. You're mine to protect, mine to cherish, mine to fuck." He leaned in, his breath a warm caress on her neck. "And when you wear that hat," his voice grew gruffer, "you're riding the cowboy."
Her cheeks flushed with a mix of excitement and trepidation. The weight of his words was intoxicating, a heady blend of fear and desire that had her knees trembling. She knew the rules had changed, the line she'd been toeing all night had been crossed, and there was no turning back. "I won't let anyone else have me, I'm yours," she murmured, her voice a soft promise that seemed to vibrate through him.
Joel's grip on her tightened, his eyes never leaving hers. "You'd better not," he warned, his tone playful yet laced with a hint of seriousness that made her stomach flip. He leaned in and kissed her again, a kiss that spoke of ownership and passion. His hand found her bare thigh, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin, sending waves of pleasure through her body. "Every time you wear one of those dresses, I'll know that underneath, you'll be dripping full of me, my cum will make sure it says 'property of Joel Miller.'"
The thought made her blush, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned into his touch, her hand sliding down to his crotch, feeling him harden again. "Only for you," she murmured, her voice a siren's call in the quiet night.
He groaned, his hand coming up to cup her face, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. "Good girl," he praised, his voice thick with lust. "Now, let's get you dressed and back inside before anyone starts asking questions." He helped her into her clothes, his movements almost tender. As she adjusted her dress she couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret, knowing that she'd be giving up the thrill of the chase. But the look in Joel's eyes told her that the real fun was just beginning.
Content Warnings: smut, dbf!Joel, lap sitting, soft!Joel, praise kink
Summary: When your college boyfriend breaks up with you a month after you graduate who is there to comfort you but your dad’s best friend, Joel Miller.
A/N: Writing is how I’m coping with the new season of TLOU. This one might be a one off, or maybe more I haven’t decided yet.
P2 | P3
Read on AO3
Dividers thanks to @saradika-graphics
The small gravel stones of your dad’s driveway dig into your feet as you run barefoot out the front door in a desperate attempt to follow after your boyfriend. Three years you’ve been together. Three years, most of your college life, just for him to show up at your childhood home a month after you graduate to break your heart.
“So that’s just it? You’re fucking leaving?” You yell after him as he gets in his car. He doesn’t respond, or even look at you, while he hurriedly starts the engine. He nearly peels out of the driveway in an attempt to speed away, but not before you hurl one more insult in his direction. “Fuck you and your fuck ass car!”
You throw a rock at the car, but given the tiny size of the object it does nothing more than cling against the metal of his vehicle. He disappears into the night, leaving you standing in your driveway crying your eyes out.
Your whole body shakes as you sob. You allow your body to crumple to the ground. The rocks that were digging into your feet now scrape against your legs and hands. You aren’t sure how long you are out there before a familiar southern drawl calls your name. You glance in the direction of the voice to find none other than your father’s next door neighbor Joel Miller, watching you from the edge of his front porch.
Joel and his daughter Sarah moved into the house next to your dad the summer before you left for college. Both of them were single dads, your mother having left when you were too little to remember, and shared similar interests. It didn’t take long for Joel to become your father’s new best friend, even though Joel was nearly 15 years younger than him. Especially considering how lonely he’d been after you moved away to school.
Whenever you came back to visit it was inevitable you’d be spending time with Joel and Sarah. The two were invited to holiday dinners, barbecues, football games, pool parties. You didn’t mind though, you were glad to see your dad had someone to spend time with when you weren’t around. Sarah was a sweet kid, and looked up to you so much, and her father was always kind. It helped that he wasn’t bad to look at, but now he was looking down upon your pathetic state.
You considered what you must look like right now. It must be concerning, if not purely insane. You can feel the way the tears soak your cheeks, little droplets dripping off the edge of your jaw. Chunks of your hair came loose from the bun you had thrown it in earlier and now flew around your face, sticking out every which way. You’re sitting on the ground wearing nothing but an oversized shirt and sleep shorts, which are doing nothing to protect your skin from the cold winter air. How long have you been out here?
Joel is standing next to you now. He crouches down to your level and takes your face in his hands, his warm calloused hands. His eyes survey your face, his thumbs rubbing circles over your cheeks.
“You okay sweetheart?” Joel asks, even though he can see you very much are not okay.
You try to catch your breath. You take your trembling lip between your teeth in an attempt to pull yourself together. You nod, but you aren’t even able to finish the action before another sob wracks your body.
“Oh darlin’, come here.” You let Joel wrap you in his arms while you continue to sob into his chest. His t-shirt is balled up between your fists and you’re certain your tears are soaking into the material, but Joel just holds you while you cry. One of his hands rubs circles between your shoulder blades while the other rubs along your arm. His fingers brush the goosebumps that have begun to form there. “You’re freezing. C’mon why don’t you come inside. I’ll get you something warm to drink.”
You allow Joel to pull you to your feet. He directs you over to his house, and you numbly follow. The inside of his house is warm. Joel has you sit at one of the chairs surrounding his kitchen table while he puts some water on to boil.
“Sarah?” You ask.
“At a friend’s house for the night.” Joel says in explanation. You nod, though his back is still to you, and start to take in your surroundings.
You’ve been in Joel’s house a couple of times now, but you haven’t spent much time looking around. Pictures of Joel and Sarah are positioned all around the house. The fridge in the kitchen holds up several drawings you’re assuming Sarah did. Your eyes are focused on a picture of Joel, Sarah, and another man with curly black hair. He looks similar to Joel, so you would probably guess that they’re related somehow though you haven’t seen the man from the picture around.
“That’s my brother, Tommy.” Joel says, following your gaze to the picture on the wall. He sits down in a chair next to you as he places a mug on the table in front of you. “He lives in Wyoming now with his wife and son.”
You grab the mug he set down, and hiss a breath through your gritted teeth when your palms sting under the heat of the ceramic. Joel quickly grabs the mug out of your hands and places it back on the table. He turns your hand in his to look at your palm.
“Jesus,” Embedded in the heels of your hands are several small pieces of gravel, some of them deep enough to actually draw blood. Upon further inspection your knees and chins are even worse for the wear. How hard did you fall to the ground to cause such injury? “Give me a second.”
Joel hurries away up the stairs. You attempt to pick some of the gravel out of your hands yourself, the embarrassment of it all finally washing over you.
You are not this girl. You are not a girl who cries in her driveway over a boy. Did you even love him? You thought you did. You told him so at least. You spent three years of your life with him. You planned on moving in together when he graduated in the spring. But now that he left you can’t help but wonder if you’re sad about losing him or just angry about what he had said to you.
Joel returns with antiseptic, bandages, and a pair of tweezers. He arranges the items on the table before he sits down across from you again and begins carefully picking the gravel out of your skin. He does his best to be gentle but it still stings a bit.
“You fighting with your boyfriend?” Joel asks while he starts working on your knees. His thumbs splay across the bare skin of your thighs.
You realize you’ve never been this close to him. You don’t think you’ve ever even touched him aside from shaking his hand before tonight. Now you can feel the warmth of his skin against yours. You soak in the scent of him— the combination of cedar, whiskey, and something soft. There’s a stirring in your stomach when you feel the strength of his hands on your thighs, a fluttering of nerves but something more intense as well. He says your name, snapping you out of your thoughts and causing a blush to creep across your cheeks.
“You okay?” He asks. You bite your lip and nod, doing your best to pretend you weren’t just thinking about the way his hands would feel on other parts of your body.
“Yeah I’m fine. I’ll be okay.” You say, faking a smile. Joel raises his eyebrow at you, silently communicating to you that he doesn’t buy it. You sigh and let the smile fall from your face. You’re too exhausted to keep up the act anyway. “We broke up. He broke up with me.”
You feel the tears trying to force their way back up again and aren’t able to say anything else. Joel simply shakes his head in return.
“Idiot.” He mutters as he cleans your knees with the antiseptic. You let out a half hearted chuckle at his reaction. “I’m serious, he doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
You shrug. The truth is your boyfriend, or rather ex-boyfriend now, had a point when he told you earlier it seemed like you didn’t have any ambitions. You were never really passionate about your degree in business. It just seemed like a good option to make decent money later, but now that you graduated what do you have to show for it? You’re living at home with your dad. You have no idea what you’re going to do next. All of your friends are still up at school finishing their degrees. Soon they will be moving across the country to start internships, and here you are floating through life aimlessly.
“Hey,” Joel whispers. His thumb brushes along your jaw. You fight the urge to shiver as his eyes stare deep into your own. “I mean it. You’re a beautiful girl, you’re smart, you were way out of his league. You’ll land on your feet.”
You smile back at him, and this time it’s genuine. His fingers squeeze your jaw lightly before moving back to putting bandages on your knees.
“What about you?” You ask when he finally sits back down across from you.
“Pretty sure you’re out of my league too,” Joel jokes. He finally takes a sip from the mug of coffee he brought for himself, which is certainly cold by now.
“No,” you laugh. “I mean you’re attractive. You’re smart. You’re kind. You’re good with your hands. Why don’t you have someone?”
“Just haven’t found the right person I guess.” Joel shrugs, though he seems more tense than before. ”I haven’t really dated anyone since Sarah’s mom.”
You vaguely remember your dad telling you about Sarah’s mom. She left when Sarah was little, much like your mom did with you. Unlike your dad, who has no concerns about sharing how much he despises the woman who left you, Joel doesn’t ever really talk about his ex. Sarah hasn’t really mentioned her either, though you’re not sure how much she would really have to talk about anyway. You certainly don’t have any memories of your own mother.
“What, you’ve never been interested in anyone? Sarah’s what, eleven now?” You chide.
“She’s nearly thirteen, and no. I never said I wasn’t interested in anyone, just that I haven’t acted on it.” Joel stares down at the table
You might be imagining it, but it feels as though there’s a tension in the air. The stirring in your stomach grows. You know it’s a stupid idea. It’s been a long night. Joel is double your age, and your father’s best friend, but you’re feeling vulnerable and something about the way he’s refusing to make eye contact with you after the conversation you were having lowers your inhibitions.
Without thinking about what you’re doing, or the repercussions you could face, you get out of your chair and stand in front of Joel’s. He drops his hands to his sides and looks up at your figure, his lips pursed in a question before you lower yourself onto his lap.
“What’re you-“ Joel’s hand quickly grabs the small of your back as you slowly move your hips forward until your chest presses against his. His bulge is aligned with your center now. Any concerns you had about reading the situation wrong instantly leave your mind when you feel his length start to harden beneath you. “Your dad…”
“Is working late.” Your breath fans against his lips. ”It’s just us.”
Joel’s eyes are wide and focused on yours as he attempts to find an argument for why this can’t happen. There are so many reasons, but he can’t seem to mention one or think at all for that matter. He only murmurs your name in warning.
“Please Joel,” you whisper. “Help me forget.”
You circle your hips slowly over his again. His entire body jolts when you do. He shakes his head and moves further back on his chair, but you follow his body with your own.
“We can’t,” he says quietly, but his eyes are fixed on the way your body moves against his.
He could easily stop this. He could push you off. He could stand up and walk away, but he doesn’t. He seems transfixed on the way your body molds into his.
“Nobody has to know Joel.” You feel yourself leaking all over him as you press yourself into him again. His hands move from your back to your hips while he watches your wetness seep into the fabric of his sweatpants. “Please, I want you.”
“Darlin’,” Joel rasps beneath you. His hands squeeze your hips tightly as you continue to grind your clothed core against him. “Darlin’, this isn’t- Fuck- It isn’t right.”
Despite his words Joel doesn’t do anything to stop your actions. He simply drops his forehead to your collarbone and lets out a long groan. You whimper at the sound of his desperation and the feeling of his breath fanning across the top of your breasts.
You need him. All of him. You know the situation is precarious. He’d stop you immediately if you took it any further than this. You fear even lowering your shirt may snap him out of the pleasure filled haze you find yourselves in, but you need more, so you speed up your movements and bear down on him harder which seems to snap any remaining resolve he had.
“Fuck, fuck it. God fuckin’,” Joel groans. His hands dip lower until his fingers dig into your ass. You grip his shoulders as if they are the only thing grounding you to the earth, and you think maybe they might be. “God damnit baby, that’s good.”
You shudder under his touch, allowing him to push and pull your body against his. Your hands leave his shoulders to travel up his neck. You plant your fingers in the greying curls in the back of his head.
He lifts his head from your collarbone to press his lips delicately on the side of your neck. You cry out when you feel him suck your skin into his mouth and then gently nip at it with his teeth.
“C’mon baby,” Joel moans against your skin. “That’s it, be a good girl for me.”
Your cunt throbs at the words. Be a good girl for me. Yes please, anything he wanted. Anything he ever wants is his.
Your climax builds quickly while he continues to guide you across his lap. You don’t think you’ve ever had it this good, certainly not with your loser boyfriend. Most nights he couldn’t make you come at all and now here you were, in the lap of your father’s best friend on the brink of orgasm without even taking off one piece of clothing. You’re starting to think that asshole breaking up with you might be the best thing that ever happened to you.
Joel must sense how close you are because he grips you tighter and bucks his hips up into you, rutting his clothed cock against your pulsating clit.
“Joel,” you whimper. “Joel please.”
“I got you baby. I got you.” He breathes into your ear. You shake uncontrollably in his grasp as he tugs on your earlobe with his teeth. “Come for me sweet girl. Come all over my lap. Show me how good I make you feel.”
His encouragement is the last thing you need to push you over the edge. You scream out as your walls clench around nothing and pull at his hair. Your body twitches in his grasp but he continues to push and pull you against his throbbing cock. He keeps the motion steady, extending your climax for as long as possible until you collapse into his arms.
“Good fucking girl,” he hums against the top of your head. He brushes a strand of hair out of your face with one hand while the other rubs soothing circles on your lower back. “Did so good for me sweetheart. So good.”
When you finally return to your body you can feel the insistent pressure of Joel’s hard on pressing into you. You reach your hand down to grip his length and slowly lower yourself to the floor. Joel gulps while he watches with dark eyes. You run your finger along the outline of his dick, licking your lips at the sight of his impressive size.
There’s a dark spot soaked into the material of his sweatpants where you just came on top of him, evidence of how good he just made you feel. Now you’re going to get to make him feel just as good. You reach your hand up to the waistband of his sweats, ready to pull them down his thighs when you’re interrupted by the sound of a car pulling up to your abandoned house.
“Fuck, your dad is home. Get up!” Joel says through gritted teeth.
“It’s fine,” you whisper. “He’ll probably just think I’m asleep.”
Joel pulls you to your feet despite the way you whine his name. Joel stands up and puts distance between the two of you.
“You should go home.” He says.
You want to tell him no. You want to pull him back into the chair and feel him inside your mouth. You want to hear his groans as he releases on your tongue, but you know it’s no use. Joel stands behind the kitchen island now, putting a whole room between the two of you. Just as quickly as it started, the moment is over. The exhaustion from earlier crashes over you again.
“Yeah, okay.” You mutter. “Goodnight.”
You hear him lock the door behind you as you walk back across the grass to your house.
Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?
Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader
Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Celebrities, Starstruck,
Main Song: It Could Happen To You by Laufey
CONTENTS:
Chapter 1: Hide Your Heart From Sight
Chapter 2: God, I’m Actually Invested
Chapter 3: The Air Buzzes Whenever You're Near
Chapter 4: Everybody Wonders What It Would Be Like To Love You
Chapter 5: As If The Street Lights Pointed In An Arrowhead Leading Us Home
Chapter 6: I Keep These Longings Locked In Lowercase Inside A Vault
Chapter 7: What Are You Doing To Me Now?
Chapter 8: He Got My Heartbeat Skipping Down 16th Avenue
Chapter 9: The Silver Lining's I'll Be There With You
Chapter 10: You Should Be Mine For Life
Chapter 11: Coming Soon
Chapter 12: Coming Soon
Chapter 13: Coming Soon
Pairing: dbf!/cowboy Joel Miller X fem!Reader | W/C: ~6.5K | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI
Summary: You fuck your dad's best friend on a camping trip with him asleep in the other room.
A/N: Well babes, I once again find myself trapped in the hole of dbf! / cowboy Joel. Sorry I've been mia lately. I have been espresso depresso lately, and writing has been difficult. This helped. I hope you all enjoy it.x
Warnings: POV-Switching. Tension. Flirting/Teasing. Age gap but not mentioned (make it your own). Pet names. Camping. Chair Sex. Sex with a parent in the other room. Forbidden lovers. Some fighting/sexual accusations. Drinking. Guilty feelings. The smut is pretty straightforward, just a passionate fuck without a lot of fanfare. Creampie. TLOU au. No use of Y/N. No use of daddy. Reader has female sex anatomy and has slight implied feminine descriptors. Let me know if I missed anything!
Masterlist | Notifications | Read on AO3
JOEL
Nothing good happens after midnight.
He’d heard it his whole life, and he’d believed it. Why wouldn’t he? Every bar fight, every reckless choice, every memory drowned in half-truths and fog always seemed to come alive after twelve.
And here you are in his orbit, confirming it all.
It’s like you’re eating up all of the air around him, eyes locked on his with something he can’t quite name—a hunger, a challenge, maybe even a warning.
You smile, pulling him closer.
Oh yeah, none of what’s happening right now is good, not in the traditional sense, anyway. Good men wouldn’t even entertain this, whatever the fuck this is.
A good man would veer his gaze.
A good man would tell you to go to bed.
A good man wouldn’t have let you get this far.
Much like what happens after midnight, he’s not so sure he’s good, either, but fuck it. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
YOU
“Come on, sweet pea. It’ll be just like old times,” your dad coaxes, with that look in his eyes that you swear only dads can pull off.
You sigh, dragging out the sound for maximum effect, but he’s not buying it. It’s not that you’re against camping, per se. It’s the timing. You’re buried under a mountain of work, and the idea of stepping away—just to battle November mosquitoes clinging to life in the woods—isn’t exactly screaming relaxing weekend getaway.
“Hey, we can make s’mores. For old time’s sake.” He grins, tugging on that nostalgic heartstring he knows you have.
You roll your eyes but feel your resolve start to slip. He knows it, too. The man has a sixth sense for it. Left to yourself, you’d probably spend the evening sipping wine, convincing yourself that going would be nice, that you should go. But your dad doesn’t even give you the chance. He pulls out the big guns—the line that always gets you.
“You know, your mom and I… we used to love camping. She would’ve loved…” He trails off, leaving the words unfinished, their weight lingering in the room.
You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and before you’re ready for them, the words tumble out of your mouth. “Fine, Dad. I’ll go. But if you’re expecting me to kill anything, you’re out of your mind.”
His face lights up, and he claps you on the shoulder. “You sure? You were a pretty good shot back in the day.”
Your stomach twists. All these years later, and the memory still makes your skin crawl. You’re not a vegan or even a vegetarian—you’re just not about to take something’s life yourself. “I’m sure. I’ll go, but I’m not going hunting. I’ll make the s’mores, I’ll play the card games, and I’ll even cook up whatever you happen to kill. But I’m not… I’m just not doing that.”
“Deal, sweetie,” he says, his grin returning as he gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll leave Saturday at 6 a.m. sharp. Try not to be late, yeah? I’ll let Joel know you’re coming along.”
Wait—6 a.m.? And… Joel? Joel?
Your mind screeches to a halt. This is not what you agreed to. Campfire s’mores and father-daughter bonding? Sure. Throwing Joel into the mix? Not exactly in your plan.
You want to protest, to blurt out a thousand excuses and maybe even bail entirely. But you don’t. You just nod, though that funny, fuzzy feeling is creeping into your stomach. The thought of spending a weekend in the woods with Joel… and your dad… leaves your mind spinning.
What could possibly go wrong?
++++
The late afternoon sun catches the black cowboy hat Joel’s wearing, pulled low enough to cast a shadow over his face. The silver threaded through his beard glints in the light, making him look older and annoyingly good in a way that feels unfair.
His Wranglers, worn and faded, fit just right, and his white shirt is crisp but rolled up at the sleeves, showing off his tanned forearms. It’s cold out, but he doesn’t seem to care. His boots scuff against the gravel as he leans back, one hand resting on his hip, the other steady on the gas pump.
“Your hair’s longer,” Joel says, his voice easy, low enough to carry over the soft hum of the pump. His shoulders shift as he turns toward you, his shirt stretching over them in a way that feels borderline illegal. His whole posture is casual, like he’s completely comfortable with himself.
You’ve managed to ignore him the whole drive, keeping your eyes glued to the passing scenery and answering his small talk with vague nods or single syllables. But now, there’s no avoiding him, not with the way he’s watching you, his hat tipped back just enough to reveal the razor edge of his jaw.
“Uh, yeah, I cut it since the last time I saw you,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair like that’s not the most awkward response ever. Bella Swan much?
“Looks good,” he says, his gaze dropping to the pump as if he’s letting you off the hook. “You look… lawyer-y.”
“Lawyer-y?” you scoff, crossing your arms. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
Joel smirks, slow and infuriating. “Depends. You takin’ it as one?”
You’re halfway through thinking up a comeback when your dad bursts out of the gas station, waving a bag of snacks over his head like he’s just hit the jackpot. “Got the goods!” he hollers, grinning from ear to ear.
You laugh despite yourself as he jogs over and drops the bag onto the truck’s hood. “Almost ready,” he says, rubbing at his wrist with a grimace. “Joel, mind taking over? My carpal tunnel’s acting up.”
Joel just nods, all effortless and understated, and slides into the driver’s seat. In seconds, you’re back on the road. The hum of the truck fills the silence, but you can’t stop noticing Joel—one hand on the wheel, the other draped casually on the passenger seat as he glances over his shoulder to back up. His gaze flicks to you for half a second, and then—of course—he winks.
It’s not the first time. He’s always been a winker, like it’s just part of who he is. Usually, it’s harmless, even kind of charming. But this time? This time it feels different. There’s something else to it, something that leaves your stomach flipping and your mind wandering places it really shouldn’t.
This weekend’s going to be long, and you already know it. You tell yourself to let it go, to focus on something else, but a tiny, traitorous voice in your head wonders just how long Joel might be in other ways.
You shut that thought down fast, dragging your focus to the road ahead. Get a grip, for fucks sake. Your efforts to try and convince yourself that you aren’t into Joel, you’re just horny, fail miserably.
++++
“Alright, I think this is a good spot for the night. Joel, can you help me pop out the sides?” your dad asks, already moving toward the camper.
“Yeah, sure,” Joel says, his voice easy, warm like the sunset spilling over the campsite.
“I’ll get started on the campfire,” you blurt too quickly, the words tumbling out as you scramble for a task that puts some space between you and Joel. Anything to escape the pull of those chocolate-brown eyes that seem to find yours a little too often.
You grab the logs with more force than necessary, tossing them onto the firepit like it’s a personal vendetta. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” you mutter under your breath with each thud. The sharp cracks and snaps of the fire feel like it’s mocking you, every ember rising in the dark like it’s carrying your secrets skyward.
It’s ridiculous, you tell yourself. Sure, maybe you’d had a crush on him when you were younger—who wouldn’t? Joel Miller, with his broad shoulders, arms like tree trunks, and that rough-edged charm, had no business looking like that in front of impressionable teenage girls. It was practically criminal. And now? Now it was just plain infuriating. No man his age had any right to still be this... magnetic.
You shake the thought off with a huff, stacking the last log and striking a match. It was ages ago. You’re an adult now. You have a real job, real friends, real responsibilities.
You jab the fire with a stick, coaxing the flames higher, like punishing the wood might burn the thought out of your mind. You’re too grown for this. Joel Miller is your dad’s best friend. Off-limits. End of story.
By the time you sit down, PB&J in hand—the kind your dad always makes on camping trips—the fire is crackling high, warming the cool night air. Joel and your dad drop into their chairs across from you, their voices low as they reminisce about old trips and laugh over some forgotten mishap. You focus on your sandwich, chewing methodically, trying not to let the rich baritone of Joel’s laughter stir something you’d rather ignore.
And then Joel looks at you.
It’s not much—just a glance, a soft smile as the firelight flickers over his face, but it’s enough to make your pulse stutter. “You did a good job with the fire,” he says, his voice gentle, easy, but there’s something in it. A thread of admiration. Maybe even... praise.
The words hit harder than they should, settling square in your chest and unraveling something you’d worked so hard to keep stitched up. “Thanks,” you murmur, focusing on the flames and hoping the fire’s glow hides the warmth creeping into your cheeks.
Joel’s eyes linger on you a second too long before he turns back to your dad, diving into another story, but you’re already lost. The tension hums in the air, in you, in the spaces between his words. It’s like the fire’s not just crackling but buzzing, alive with something unspoken, something you’re not sure you’re ready to name.
++++
"Well, I’m more stuffed than a Thanksgiving turkey," your dad says, patting his belly with a grin that always makes you roll your eyes—but secretly, you love it. Not that you’d ever let him know; you don’t need a never-ending stream of bird jokes in your life.
“I should probably turn in,” he adds, draining the last of his Coors with a practiced ease before crushing the can in his hand. “Make sure that fire’s out completely, alright? Don’t need any tickets,” he grumbles, heading toward the camper. His heavy steps creak up the stairs, and the screen door slams shut behind him, leaving you and Joel alone by the fire.
The quiet settles in immediately; the only sounds the crackle of the dying fire and the faint rustle of wind in the trees. Joel leans back in his chair, his beer dangling casually from one hand, his face softened by the flickering firelight. You catch his gaze across the flames, and for a moment, it feels like there’s something unspoken hanging in the air.
“So, your dad tells me you’ve been pretty successful—” Joel starts, but he doesn’t get to finish.
A group of guys strolls into the circle of light, beers in hand, all wearing denim jackets like they’re auditioning for some rugged outdoorsman catalog. One of them, blonde and overly confident, steps forward with a wide grin.
“Don’t mind us,” he says, voice smooth as he gestures toward the fire. “We just couldn’t resist the smell of whatever you’ve been cooking over here. Smells too good to pass up.” His eyes land squarely on you when he says “good,” his grin turning into something sly.
“Must be another campsite,” Joel cuts in before you can answer, his tone calm but edged with something sharp. “Just beers for us.” He takes another sip of his beer—lifting the can with slow precision, his eyes locked on the guy over the rim—like he’s daring him to keep going.
The blonde doesn’t miss a beat, smirking as he tips his PBR toward you. “Well, maybe you’d like to come have a drink with us instead, sweetheart?” he says, tilting his head toward their campsite. “We’re just over there playing beer pong. No pressure, though.”
Joel’s scoff is low and quick, barely audible over the fire. His hand tightens around his beer can, quiet tension radiating off him. Without looking at you, he clears his throat and stands, brushing dirt off his jeans.
“I’ll leave you to it,” he mutters, his voice cool, almost detached.
Your stomach twists as he turns on his heel, heading toward the camper without a glance back. “Night, kiddo,” he tosses over his shoulder, the nickname sharp and slightly bitter.
Kiddo? Really? Your jaw tightens as you watch him walk away, his boots crunching over the pine needles. He knows damn well you’re not a kid, but he’s made his choice clear. Frustration flares in your chest, mingling with something sharper—something you’d probably rather not admit you know you feel.
And maybe that’s why you do it. Maybe that’s why you turn back to Mr. Denim-on-Denim, meeting his cocky grin with one of your own, smile bright. “Beer pong, huh?” you say, letting your voice dip just enough to carry. “Sounds fun.”
Joel’s boots hesitate for half a beat, just long enough for you to notice. And even though he doesn’t turn around, you know he’s listening.
++++
The slam of the screen door echoes through the quiet camper as you step inside, cursing under your breath at how impossible it is to sneak in silently. The steps creaked, the latch stuck—every sound you made felt amplified in the thick stillness of the forest. You stop just inside, exhaling as you prepare to tiptoe to your makeshift bed on one of the side bunks.
But then, the low rumble of a throat clearing freezes you in your tracks.
“Have fun while you were out there?” Joel’s voice cuts through the darkness, low and rough, like a storm rolling in. You glance toward the faint green glow of the stove clock, your eyes adjusting to the shadows enough to make out his silhouette. He’s sitting back in a chair, one leg stretched out, the other bent, his posture deceptively casual.
Your heart thuds in your chest as you pull the oversized Carhartt jacket tighter around you. His jacket. The one he draped over your shoulders earlier tonight without a word when he caught you shivering, your puffer no match for the chill of the Colorado air. You hadn’t been able to escape the scent of him all night—sawdust, peppermint, and that faint trace of smoke he could never quite shake even though he quit a year ago.
“I didn’t realize I needed a chaperone,” you reply, keeping your voice even, though you can feel the heat rising in your chest.
“You don’t,” Joel says, his tone clipped, his jaw tight as he leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “But I don’t think they were exactly looking out for your best interests.”
The implication in his words stirs something sharp inside you. “Oh, so now you’re worried about what’s best for me?” you shoot back, stepping closer, your boots clicking softly against the linoleum. “That’s rich, Joel.”
His head tilts, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” you say, voice firm as you close the distance between you, “that you don’t get to play the protective card when you’re the one sending mixed signals all night.”
His brow furrows, his gaze holding yours, unflinching. “Mixed signals?” he repeats, the roughness in his voice softening, but the tension is still there, coiled tight beneath the surface.
You take another step closer, close enough now to see the flicker of something raw in his eyes—anger, frustration, and something else you can’t quite name. Your fingers brush against the edge of the jacket draped around you, a reminder of how his presence had lingered even when you were trying to distract yourself with someone else.
“Did you fuck him?”
The question falls from Joel’s lips like a hammer, hitting the air between you with a weight that makes your breath catch. His voice is low but rising, edged with a tension that’s almost suffocating. You blink at him, stunned, the words reverberating in the small space of the camper.
“Joel,” you whisper, your voice sharp but quiet as you glance toward the thin wall separating you from your dad. “Keep your voice down.”
He doesn’t move, his jaw tight and his eyes burning into yours. “Did. You. Fuck. Him?” he repeats, slower this time, but no less intense.
You take a step back, your arms folding across your chest defensively. “Are you serious right now? Do you even hear yourself?” you hiss, keeping your voice low, though it’s laced with incredulity. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Joel leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly as if he’s trying to hold himself together. “What’s wrong with me?” he mutters, his voice still low but brimming with frustration. “What’s wrong is the thought of him touching you, being with you—it’s been in my goddamn head all night.”
You feel the heat rising in your cheeks, part from anger, part from the sheer intensity of his words. “You don’t get to ask me that. You don’t get to be this way when you’re the one who’s kept this…” You gesture vaguely between the two of you. “Whatever this is, in limbo.”
Joel’s eyes narrow, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before returning to you. “You think I don’t want this? You think I don’t feel this?” His voice cracks slightly, the words raw and unfiltered as he rises to stand. “I’m trying to keep this from blowing up, trying to do the right thing—for him, for you—but you…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair.
“Then don’t accuse me of something you don’t even have the right to ask about,” you snap, your voice trembling slightly despite your effort to keep it steady. “You don’t get to claim me, Joel. Not like this.”
His gaze drops to your lips for a brief moment before he looks away, exhaling sharply, his shoulders slumping as if the fight has drained out of him.
“I’m sorry,” he says finally, his voice softer now, almost resigned. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Damn right you shouldn’t have,” you cut in, though your tone lacks the sharpness it had before.
His hands flex at his sides, his jaw clenching as he looks away, as if searching for the right words. But when his gaze snaps back to yours, there’s no hesitation. “You don’t see it, do you?” he murmurs, his fingers brushing your arms, his gaze locked on yours. “You’re everything. And any guy with a pulse would be a fool not to want you.”
Your breath hitches as his words sink in, striking something deep inside you that you’ve kept locked away for too long. Slowly, your hands reach up, brushing against the rough stubble of his jaw, tilting his face toward yours. “Even you?” you whisper.
Joel doesn’t answer—not with words, anyway. His hands move to your waist, his grip firm, grounding, but he doesn’t pull you closer. He doesn’t have to. His hesitation lingers for just a second too long, and that’s all the permission you need.
You push him back firmly, your palms flat against his chest, sending him sprawling into the chair behind him. His eyes widen slightly, surprised, but he doesn’t stop you. His hands instinctively find your hips as you step forward, sliding one leg over his and straddling him.
For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you, the heat radiating off his body and the way his gaze locks onto yours, dark and hungry. You grab his face, your fingers threading into the scruff of his beard, and then your lips are on his, fierce and demanding.
The kiss is a collision of fire and frustration, years of restraint finally snapping like a brittle string. His hands grip your hips tighter, anchoring you against him as your body presses flush to his. He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips, and it’s enough to make your pulse race faster.
You pull back just enough to catch your breath, your forehead resting against his. His chest rises and falls against yours, his eyes searching your face like he’s still trying to figure out how this happened—or if it’s even real.
But you’re done second-guessing. You’re done fighting the pull. You tilt your hips against him, testing the waters, and the way his breath hitches, sharp and unsteady, tells you everything you need to know.
JOEL
He isn’t sure which heartbeat demands his attention first—the one pounding in his chest, the one ringing in his ears from your words, or the one throbbing lower, urging him forward. But like any race, there’s always a clear winner, and as his hands tighten around your hips, his choice becomes undeniable. He’s done pretending, done trying to act like he doesn’t want this as much as he does.
He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, a low, guttural groan escaping his throat, because the weight of you on top of him like this is almost too much. It’s torture—sweet, unbearable, and wholly consuming. What makes it worse—or maybe better—is the way you seem to know exactly what you’re doing to him. The maddening curve of your lips says it all: you’re enjoying this. Enjoying him unraveling beneath you.
He swallows hard, trying to keep some semblance of control, but the slow roll of your hips against his is enough to push him dangerously close to the edge. It’s intentional, a tease, and a dead giveaway that you know exactly how he feels—how much he wants you—and that you’re about to take him for all he’s worth.
And fuck if he isn’t ready to let you.
But then, the weight of reality crashes down like a bucket of ice water. The camper is too quiet, save for the faint creaks of the old chair beneath you and the soft rustling of fabric as your movements shift against each other. It’s too close, too confined, and just across the narrow hall, your dad is fast asleep.
Or at least, Joel hopes he is.
The thought freezes him for a split second, the guilt clawing its way back to the surface. This is wrong. He knows it’s wrong. Your dad is his best friend—his closest confidant for nearly thirty years—and here he is, letting that sacred bond dissolve into heat and desperation in a single heartbeat.
He doesn’t move to stop you, though. He should, but he can’t. Not when you lean closer, your breath warm against his ear, and whisper, “Do you like what you feel?”
His hands tighten on your hips, his fingertips pressing into your skin like he’s trying to anchor himself, to remind himself that this is real—and that it shouldn’t be happening.
“I think you know the answer to that,” he rasps, his voice rough and thick with want. He’s trying, God, he’s trying to hold on to some shred of control, but the way you’re moving, the way your body fits against his—it’s breaking him. He knows your dad is just feet away, separated by a flimsy door and thin walls, but the tension between you is louder than logic.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he murmurs, his words barely more than a breath. “Your dad—” His voice catches, his gaze flicking to the door across the hall, like he expects it to fly open at any moment. “He’s right there.”
“I know,” you reply. Your hands trail up his chest, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “But do you want me to stop?”
Joel’s resolve wavers, cracking under the weight of your words and the hunger in your eyes. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” he says, his voice low, almost pleading. But even as he says it, his hands slide beneath your shirt, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your waist, as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of you. “If he finds out…”
“He won’t,” you whisper, leaning in until your lips are just a breath away from his. “Unless you make me loud.”
And shit, you’re filthy. A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be this sexy; it’s kind of intimidating. He groans, a deep, guttural sound that’s part frustration, part surrender, and pulls you closer, his lips crashing into yours with a desperation that feels like it’s been building for years. His hands grip your hips, holding you tight as if to keep you from slipping away, even though you’re right there, pressing against him with just as much fire.
The weight of the moment presses down on him—what this means, how easily it could all unravel if even one sound gives you away. But for now, all he can do is drown in your heat, every kiss, every touch.
"Fuck, baby. Pants off, now," Joel growls, his voice rough and edged with need. The demand sends a thrill racing down your spine, and you can’t help but smirk, satisfied by how easily you’ve unraveled him.
You rise slowly, your hands moving to the button of your jeans as you step back just enough to give him a good view. You shimmy the denim down your legs, kicking them off one foot at a time, your eyes never leaving his.
Joel watches you like he’s starving, his gaze dark and focused, a storm brewing behind it. His hands move to his belt, undoing the buckle with a practiced ease. The faint metallic clink of the buckle is followed by the soft sound of his zipper, and then he shifts in the chair, pushing his jeans halfway down his hips.
Your eyes drop, and your pulse kicks up at the sight of him, hard and thick, his cock curving against his stomach. The dim light of the camper catches on his skin, the glisten of precum beading at the top of him, and the sight sends a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body.
Joel leans back slightly, his legs spreading just enough to make room for you, one hand braced on the armrest of the chair while the other wraps loosely around himself, stroking once up his length. His lips curl into a smirk that matches yours, and his voice is low, almost a growl.
"Now come back here, darlin'," Joel murmurs, his voice rough and thick with desire. His hand wraps around himself at the base, holding himself steady and straight. "Show me just how bad you want it."
YOU
Your breath catches at the sight, heat pooling low in your belly as you step closer. You don’t rush, letting him feel the weight of your gaze, letting him see exactly how much you want him. The camper feels smaller, the air heavier, and the faint creaks of the old chair beneath him only seem to amplify the tension between you. The thin walls, the quiet rustle from the next room where your dad sleeps, only add to the heady mix of adrenaline and desire coursing through your veins.
You straddle him again, your bare legs brushing against the rough denim of his jeans, your hands sliding up his chest. The warmth of his skin radiates through his t-shirt, and his breath stutters when your nails rake lightly down his torso, leaving a faint trail of fire in their wake. His free hand moves to your waist, gripping firmly, his thumb brushing slow circles against your hip bone.
“Like this?” you tease, your voice low, sultry, as you roll your hips against him, feeling the hard heat of him pressing against you, igniting a delicious ache in your core. The friction pulls a sharp inhale from him, his grip on your waist tightening as though holding onto his last shred of control. Each slow movement chips away at his restraint, leaving only raw hunger in its wake.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Joel groans, his head falling back for a moment, exposing the strong line of his throat. The sight of him like this—vulnerable, undone, and utterly yours—sends a surge of confidence through you, emboldening you to take more, to push further.
You lean in, your lips brushing against his ear, your voice a whisper. “Good.”
His reaction is immediate, primal. His hand slides from your waist to the back of your neck, pulling you into a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, fierce and desperate. His stubble is rough against your skin, his lips hot and insistent, and the way he devours you sends sparks shooting down your spine. You lift your hips slightly, just enough to feel him notched at your entrance, the anticipation stealing your breath.
When he thrusts up into you, it’s all at once—hot, hard, and unrelenting. A broken gasp escapes your lips as he fills you, stretching you, splitting you open in a way that’s almost too much and yet exactly what you need.
His hand returns to your hips, gripping with bruising intensity, guiding you against him as he sets a punishing rhythm like he’s trying to bury himself deeper with every movement. The chair creaks beneath you, a harsh reminder of how precarious this moment is, how easy it would be for it all to come crashing down.
The thought of being caught—of your dad just a door away, oblivious—makes it all the more intoxicating. Every thrust, every sharp inhale, feels like defiance, like daring the universe to stop you.
“Fuck, baby,” Joel rasps against your lips, his voice raw and trembling. “You’re gonna ruin me.”
You pull back just enough to look into his eyes, your hands sliding up to cradle his face, your thumbs brushing the rough edges of his jaw. His gaze is dark and heavy, filled with something that feels like surrender. “Then let me,” you murmur, your voice low, indecent, dripping with the weight of everything you feel.
The way you say it, the way your body moves against his, has him breaking apart beneath you, every ounce of resistance shattering. And you don’t care. Not about the consequences, not about the wrongness of it all. All you know is the way you feel wrapped around him, the way he fills you completely, and how nothing else in the world has ever felt so right.
Joel’s hands tighten on your hips as you move, his grip firm enough to leave imprints. You lean forward, your lips brushing against his jaw as he groans low in his throat, his head tipping back just enough to give you access to the sensitive skin beneath his stubble. You let your tongue flick over the pulse point there, your teeth grazing lightly.
“Jesus, darlin’,” he mutters, his voice thick, strained, every word trembling with barely contained restraint. “You don’t know what you’re doin’ to me.”
You pull back, your lips curving into a wicked smile, your hips rolling against his with an agonizing slowness. “I think I do,” you reply, your voice dripping with confidence, daring him to deny it.
Joel’s hands move, one sliding up your back, pressing you closer to him, while the other trails lower, his fingers digging into the curve of your ass as he guides your movements. The friction between you is dizzying, every shift of your body drawing a new groan from his lips, a new wave of heat pooling low in your belly. You’re close.
The faint murmur of your dad stirring in the room across the hall sends a jolt of adrenaline through you, the danger of being caught making everything feel sharper, more electrified. Joel’s eyes flick toward the door for the briefest moment before snapping back to you, dark and full of something primal. His jaw tightens, his breath hitches, and his fingers dig into you harder.
“You hear that?” he whispers, his voice low and gravelly, like a secret meant just for you. “He’s right there. You keep movin’ like that, and he’s gonna know.”
The words should stop you, should make you pull away, but instead, they send a rush of heat through you, your body responding with an involuntary shudder. “Then maybe you should stop me,” you murmur, leaning in so your lips brush against his, the challenge clear in your voice.
Joel groans, deep and guttural, his hands tightening their hold on you as he presses his forehead against yours. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters again, but there’s no conviction in the words—only unfiltered desire.
You tilt your hips, taking him deeper, and his response is immediate—a sharp inhale, his body tensing beneath you as his control slips even further. His lips find yours again, his kiss desperate and hungry, as though he’s trying to drown out every reason this shouldn’t be happening. The rhythm between you grows frantic, your bodies moving in perfect, reckless harmony.
Every thrust, every gasp, every whispered curse is a challenge to the thin walls, to the line you’ve already crossed. And with each passing second, the tension builds, coiling tighter and tighter until it feels like the whole world might shatter if you stop.
“You gonna come on my cock, sweetheart?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear, his hands gripping your hips as though anchoring you to him. “Show me how pretty you are when you come for me.”
The words hit you like a lightning strike, sending a rush of heat through your body. You can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, your body trembling as the rhythm of his thrusts drives you closer to the edge. Every thrust, each growled word, pulls you deeper into the haze of desire, until all you can feel, all you can think about, is him.
“Joel—” you gasp, your voice breaking as your hands clutch at his shoulders, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. You’re teetering on the brink, every nerve in your body alight, every sensation magnified.
“That’s it,” he rasps, his voice thick with want, his gaze locked on yours. His thumb finds your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to send you tumbling over the edge. “Let go for me, darlin’. Let me see you.”
The coil snaps, your body arching against his as the wave crashes over you, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you breathless. His name falls from your lips in a broken cry, your hips stuttering against his as pleasure floods your veins. Joel doesn’t stop, his hands steadying you, his movements slower now, deliberate, as though drawing out every second of your release.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Joel murmurs, his voice low and reverent as he watches you fall apart in his lap. His hands roam your body, grounding you, holding you steady as you come down, your breaths ragged and uneven, your heart pounding against his chest.
You bury your face in his neck, your body still trembling from the aftershocks, and his arms wrap around you like a cocoon, pulling you closer. His lips press softly against your temple, a quiet comfort in the passion you’ve just shared. For a moment, it feels like time has stopped, the two of you frozen in the intimacy of the moment.
But then his hips buck beneath you, the motion pulling a sharp gasp from your lips. The low, guttural rumble that escapes his chest vibrates against your skin, and you realize he’s right on the edge, holding on by a thread.
“Fuck, baby’,” he groans, his voice rough and strained, his hands gripping your hips tighter, guiding you to move again. His breath is hot against your ear, his words tumbling out in a desperate whisper. “I’m so close. You feel so damn good.”
You tilt your hips, rolling against him, and the sharp inhale he takes sends another thrill through you. His movements grow erratic, his restraint slipping with each thrust as he chases his release. His head falls back, his jaw tight, his hands digging into your flesh like he’s trying to hold himself together, but you both know he’s about to let go.
“Want you to come inside me, Joel,” you say, making it clear it’s not a question.
“Goddamn,” he mutters, his voice breaking as his hips snap up one last time, his release hitting him like a tidal wave. His grip on you tightens as he groans, deep and guttural, his body shuddering beneath you. You feel him pulsing inside you, the heat of his release spreading as he collapses back into the chair, his breaths ragged and uneven.
A cough from the room across the hall breaks the silence, snapping you both back to reality. The thin walls feel even thinner now, and the weight of what just happened settles in the air between you. For a moment, you hesitate, but then you tug your jeans back on, not even caring about the mess on your thighs.
Joel silently adjusts himself, his belt clinking faintly as he fastens it. Neither of you speaks, the charged quiet holding the moment in place, too fragile to break with words. His eyes follow you as you move.
You step toward him, your heart still racing, and lean down to press a kiss to his cheek. His stubble is rough against your lips, and the faint way his breath hitches sends a small thrill through you.
“See you in the morning, Cowboy,” you whisper, your voice soft and sweet, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to say.
His hand brushes lightly against your arm as you pull back, a touch so brief it’s barely there, but enough to make your pulse jump again. He nods, his gaze lingering as you slip toward your bed, your legs still unsteady beneath you.
As you settle under the blanket, your heart refusing to slow and your body still humming with the aftermath of him, you hear the faint creak of his chair as he shifts. You don’t need to look to know he’s still there, watching, caught in the same storm you are.
JOEL
Fuck.
END
A/N Continued: To my darling moots that I have left on read lately, I'm sorry. I love you guys, I just haven't had a lot of emotional or mental bandwidth to be a good conversationalist. I miss you all and will try to be better.x
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// @legendary-pink-dot @syd-djarin @mermaidgirl30 @yxtkiwiyxt @survivingandenduring
// @pastawench @punkshort @alltheirdamn @hellishjoel @hotgirlbedtimescenarios
pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader
rating: Explicit (18+ only!)
warnings: smut (PiV), competency kink, grumpy/sunshine, he falls first, yearning, angst, almost enemies to lovers, Tommy being a little shit, no use of y/n, Jackson!Joel
word count: 4k
summary: Three little words. Joel heard those same three words damn near every day for the last seven months. Most days, they were the only words you said to him. Sometimes, if he was lucky, you'd say them more than once. Other days, you didn't say anything to him at all. He liked those days least of all.
A/N: happy holidays @trulybetty! thank you for being so lovely about this being a little late. I was only going to go for one or two of your prompts for the @pedrostories secret santa, but then my brain went why not all of them, and now here we are.
divider by @saradika-graphics
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Three little words.
"I got it."
Joel heard those same three words damn near every day for the last seven months. Most days, they were the only words you said to him. Sometimes, if he was lucky, you'd say them more than once. Other days, you didn't say anything to him at all. He liked those days the least.
You said other things too, of course. He heard you speak to other people. Not always nicely, but he heard you. You said more to him on occasion too. Out my way or put it down were some particular favorites, but none said more so than those three, tiny, little words.
I got it.
Because you did. He had never met a woman who had got it more than you. Strong, capable, and everything he ever tried to be. He watched every day how you'd got it. Climbing up ladders with tiles stacked on your shoulder, hauling wheelbarrows full of gravel, chopping wood in bitter wind and cold. You had it, and he watched, wanting it too.
The only problem was, he wasn't too sure what it was.
To begin with, it was the respect you commanded that he yearned for. He had that, once. Not here. Fuck, never here. The people here would barely look at him for the first few weeks. But you? They listened to you. If you said move they listened, even if it was with a roll of their eyes. If you told someone to fuck off to medical, they went without a grumble. They trusted you. Even if you weren't particularly generous with your smiles.
You were the exact opposite of what Joel was finding he had to be.
In Boston, people feared him, and that kept him, and Tess, safe. It was for the best. The people here feared him too, at first. Maybe even still now, if he was to be honest with himself, but he'd worked hard to change that. He met the mumbled good mornings with as much of a smile as he could muster. He went for drinks with his brother, made small talk with the locals even when he didn't want to. He tried to get into Maria's good graces, but never quite succeeded.
And he worked. With you mostly. Jackson didn't have much use for hired muscle or someone who could smuggle shit discreetly - not outside of the daily patrol shifts they wouldn't let him on yet, anyway - but they did have use for contractors. Plumbers, electricians, carpenters, anyone who was good at doing shit with their hands. Those were things that had value behind these walls and, luckily for him, that meant he had value too. For the first time in a long time, he meant something to people.
Just not to you.
As much as he smiled, and made small talk, and helped out fixing shit in this place that was now his home, he could never get through to you. He'd try to help you out, only to be knocked aside - sometimes literally. You barely looked at him. Spoke only when necessary. Once, you'd even told him to fuck off.
He did.
At first he took it all personally. He moped, and kept his sour mood hidden from his brother and Ellie. Then, he saw how you were with, well, just about everyone else, and that lessened the sting.
But, as time wore on, Joel saw other things too. Where at first you'd seemed rude and abrasive, he now saw the kindness and compassion you treated everyone with. If you told someone to go the fuck home, it wasn't because you wanted them gone it was because you wanted them rested. If you let people struggle, strike their thumbs with a badly aimed hit of a hammer, it was to help them learn. You never did let anyone make the same mistake twice. And, because of you, no one did.
It was with the waning of spring that his desire to be you changed into something different and entirely more confusing.
As the gardens and trees exploded in the frenzy of summer, you shed your layers. Literally, not figuratively. You still stayed firmly closed up as your jacket disappeared and made way for a shirt hung loosely about your shoulders. Then, even that found its way around your waist and Joel had to come face to face with the bare, strong expanse of your back while you worked in nothing but a tank top, the patch of sweat at the small of your back blooming while he watched.
It was for the best that he didn't think about what you looked like walking towards him during those relentlessly hot months, with nothing but a thin tank top pulled across your chest. It wasn't something he should think about in public, anyway. It was something he kept for late at night, when those three little words echoed around his head and you showed him just how much you really, truly got it.
By October, Tommy had caught on. Your jacket was fastened back around you, and you were as hostile as ever. You breezed past him one morning, hooking a ladder over one shoulder, toolbag gripped in your other hand.
"I got it."
By now, Joel knew you did.
By now, he wanted to come with you anyway.
So he did, grabbing his own set of salvaged tools and heading up to the latest reno with you, only to have you square up to him the second you saw him.
"I said, I got it."
Five words. It was a good day.
So good, that he couldn't keep his eyes off you in the Tipsy Bison that night. You weren't in here often - from what he could tell, you didn't do much outside of work - but the people who shared your company seemed to enjoy it. You sat soft and quiet in the corner, listening in to their conversation more often than you contributed. But, when you did, they laughed, and Joel caught himself smiling, and Tommy caught him too.
"Never thought you'd be more of a ray of fuckin' sunshine than anyone else, but there's a first for everythin', I guess," he'd said, tilting his glass to the table in the corner where you sat.
Joel took a swig of the last fresh cider of the season and shrugged.
"You got an eye for her."
He sputtered, choking on the tart, sweet liquid. "No I ain't."
"Well you got somethin'," said Tommy, clinking his glass against Joel's own. "If it ain't an eye it's your-"
A harsh kick, and a grunt loud enough to turn every head in the bar later, and Tommy dropped it entirely.
For about a week.
Tommy ribbed him at dinner, drinks, lunch and just about every time in between. Called Joel 'Sunshine' even as he scowled. Asked about his girl as if you were anything other than a person who hated him. Slung his arm around Joel's shoulder and told him all about the birds and the bees, as if he'd ever forgotten.
He couldn't forget. Not with you running around barking at him and keeping him in a seemingly permanent state of arousal. If it wasn't your voice and that angry way you talked at him, it was just about anything else. He couldn't escape it.
It was how you did everything he could do, and more. What he had in strength, you had in technique. Your hands - fuck, did he watch your hands - were rarely unblemished with dirt or scrapes, but they were adept at everything you put them to. He couldn't look away, even if he knew each minute he looked was a minute quicker he'd be when he touched himself to the thought of you later that night.
The taunts stopped with the first snowfall.
"If you're really that interested, should talk to her," Tommy said instead. "Bark's worse than her bite."
"You're still sayin' she bites, though."
"Sure she would if you asked nice enough, brother."
Joel didn't ask.
He didn't ask the morning he woke up early to see the town blanketed in thick snow either. He simply went out, picked up a snow shovel and began working until the sun came up. He didn't expect to find you at his door that evening, or for you to grab him and throw him outside, pushing him up against the side of his own house.
"What do you think you're playing at, Miller?" you growled up at him, pushing him firmly against the siding.
Joel stared, dumb-founded, your hands curled in the front of his shirt - touching him - and blinked down at you.
"I don't give a shit who you are or what you've done out there. I am not scared of you and I am not having you take my job."
You ignored him more after that. Days went by with barely a word to him - not even a scowl thrown his way if he made too much noise or offered to help someone out on a job.
As for him, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Every day for weeks that night played through his head, memory of the feel of your hands on his chest and your face so close he could feel your breath, until Christmas was on the horizon and a pit of fear began stirring in his stomach. You were a balm to it, somehow. Something to focus on when the fear got too much and kept him inside, away from the crowds of happy people.
Every single I got it was more of a comfort than the last. It could have been the familiarity of it, or the way those words came softer and softer as the season wore on. Sometimes he'd head by the workshop to ask if you needed a hand, just to hear that soft rejection one more time.
Until late one cold afternoon, it didn't come. You were alone, blowing warm air onto gloved hands, and when he asked you simply nodded, and he followed.
You worked together in silence until the sun set, when you turned to him as you parted ways.
"S'hard this time of year, but joy and grief can exist at the same time, y'know."
He didn't go to the Bison that night. Or the next. He let the grief crack open his chest instead, and let it pour out over his bedroom floor for two whole days.
On the third, he let the joy back in. Ellie reeled off new jokes from a book she found in the Jackson library. He held his nephew and rocked the teething babe to sleep. He went back to the Bison - you weren't there - and celebrated the impending holiday.
Seven months, three days, and about as many hourssince he stepped foot back in Jackson. Damn near every day he's heard those three little words, and he'll be damned if he goes another without them.
With the day as short as it could ever be, the sun tracking low in the sky, he finds you.
"I got it," you say softly, when he asks you that very same question he always does.
"I know."
He doesn't know how your lips end up on his - because it is you who kisses him. He doesn't know how his fingers find themselves under your shirt either, the coldness of them making you gasp into his mouth until you're pulling apart, both wide eyed.
He does know you taste like fruit, even in the dead of winter. He always suspected it - knew your sweet tooth by the berries you couldn't resist and the sweet treats gifted to you. He knows your fingers are as cold as his when you hand him a shovel.
He does know, even though you got it, you let him help anyway.
You clear streets and roofs of snow together until the sun goes down. He follows at your heel in the dark, cold biting through your layers as you both stomp the snow off your boots, shovels thrown down, workshop locked up. You barely even look at each other until you're staring through the fog of your own heavy breaths on Joel's front porch. He doesn't know how to welcome you in - he never was too good with words - so he simply unlocks the door and pushes it open.
You step inside.
Layers are shed before the door even closes. Heavy coats dumped on the couch, boots toed off and left this way and that. The hat on your head stuffed in a pocket - he can't remember which.
You move upstairs - worked on this house, you say - and pull him into his own bedroom before his lips even touch yours again. But when they do, they do. Joel's frantic with it, feeling the softness of you so close to the hardness of him. His hands hold your waist, rooting you to him, but then you're moving them up and under your shirt to the flair of your ribcage. The curve of your breasts fit perfectly against the cradle of his thumb and forefinger, and he thinks of everything his hands have done, this is what they were made for.
It must be. When you whine at the feel of this thumb stroking across your pebbled nipple, he thinks for the first time in a long time that maybe his hands aren't so monstrous if they can pull such pretty noises from you.
In fact, the things they've done don't seem to matter at all when he gets to touch you, to pull sounds from you so sweet he'll be tasting you on his tongue all over again just from the memory of them. For all the harm these hands have done, they could never hurt you. You would never let them. You'd tear him apart first.
And he'd let you.
You swallow his groan when you palm his length over his jeans. He stiffens beneath your touch, warm and firm, and grinds into your hand. It's been so long since he's felt the touch of anyone other than himself. He could come just grinding himself against the firm press of your hand against him, if he thought about it too hard.
So he doesn't. He focuses instead on the soft plink plink plink as you run a nail up his ice cold zipper, the way you bite his lip, tangle your fingers in his hair.
He tries to take off his own belt, cold fingers fumbling against even colder metal, but you mumble I got it into his mouth, and his knees quiver.
You do. You always do.
His belt is pulled off and you're tugging him by the loops of his pants and pushing him against his own bed, the sheets still rumpled from the morning. You slip off your own and toss it to the side too, tangling it with his on his bedroom floor. Then, you're so very close to him again, his thigh between your legs as you nip and suckle on his bottom lip. He holds you close - one hand finding its way under your shirt again, cupping your breast fully this time, and the other pulling you firmly against his strong thigh.
You warm his thigh with the burning heat between your legs, grinding yourself against him, the seam of your jeans pulling tight against you. Moans you were pulling from him a moment ago are silenced by your own, your nails digging crescents into his arm as you burrow your face into his neck in an attempt to stifle them.
You're better than he ever dreamed. Softer. Warmer. Stronger. The sounds you make so much prettier than he ever thought. Those three little words so much sweeter within these walls than any other.
Even when you strip off layer after layer, it's better than he dreamed. Summer was barely a taste of you, he realises, when your shirt, your tank, your soft bra, all tumble to the floor and you climb onto the bed behind him.
You kick your jeans off, and he pulls his down too. He can't get his shirt off quick enough, the scars on his body forgotten as he strips bare for you as you watch, lust barely turning to curiousity as you take in the sight of his body.
"Come here," you tell him, and he obeys. You're softer with him when he lies beside you then. Grasping hands turn to gentle strokes, his own hands on your bare flesh mimicking your gentle movements across his skin.
When your hand trails down to his cock, squeezing once again when you feel him throb in your palm, he has to pinch his eyes closed and pretend he's anywhere but here.
"Been a long time," he says through gritted teeth. "Long, long time."
Me too, he thinks he hears you whisper before your lips latch to his again and his soft, worn boxers are slipped down his legs, kicked to the side, forgotten.
You don't look at him, and for that he's grateful. He's less grateful when you start to play with your own nipples and toy with the edge of your panties. He presses a kiss to your shoulder instead, hiding his face against you and breathing you in.
When he opens his eyes again, your panties are off, thighs spread, one hooked lazily over his own, the other stretched out on his sheets.
"Don't have to," you mumble, when he looks down at you, stunned look obvious on his face.
"I want to."
He touches you and you let him. His hands run all over your body, rough, calloused palms dragging across your soft belly, your hips, your thighs. He's dreamed of this, and still it's better than his wildest fantasies.
When your hand wraps around his bare cock, pumping his length once, twice, he thinks that's better than any fantasy too. You practically drag him by the cock, tugging gently to pull him towards you until he's kneeling between your thighs. You lazily stroke him, swiping precum across his tip and making him jerk in your grip. His own hands play with your thighs, massaging and squeezing them, drawing his fingers closer and closer to your apex.
Seven months, three days, and twenty-something hours since he stepped back into Jackson, he slips into you for the first time.
And, fuck, is it divine.
You're slick, and wet, his cock gliding across your skin before he pushes into you, and you both gasp.
He's slow. He trembles. His fingers make dents in your thighs as he grips them. You shuffle your hips, make yourself comfortable, and he holds steady while you adjust to the intrusion. Then, you pull him in, grabbing him by the neck to steal a kiss while he makes space for himself deep inside you, rocking each tentative inch into you until he's rooted inside.
You adjust - let the tenseness in your core release - and he barely holds on. And, just when he thinks he's got a hold of himself and begins fucking you in slow, languid movements, your hand moves and you say those three little words.
"I got it."
For the first ever time, he stops you. His hand pins yours to your hip, his movements stilling as you frown up at him, a threat on the tip of your tongue. So, he begs.
"Let me. Please."
And you do. He slowly swipes a spit slicked thumb against your clit, and watches as you melt into his sheets. By the look of you, the pure relief on your face, he thinks this could be the first time you've ever truly let go, and his ego soars.
It soars again when your legs tremble, rocking his thick cock in you as his thumb works slowly over your clit. You moan his name, and he groans too. He can't keep it back. It's the first time he's ever heard you say it, and he doesn't think it could sound better. Your eyes find his when you say his name again, testing him, only to pull another groan deep from his chest.
A small nod is all you give him as a sign you want more. His thumb moves quicker, popped into his mouth to taste you just for a moment before it swipes around your cunt where you grip him, and back up to your clit.
You come on him, face turned into his sheets, brow furrowed, mouth open as you moan and shake, trembling and pulsating on his cock as you come.
For you, he keeps going. Let's you ride out the waves, fluttering against him, as he barely holds back from the brink himself.
If this is all he gets - if you push him off and walk away now - it would be a good day, he thinks. But you don't. He doesn't even get chance to ask if you want him gone when you're pulling him down, kissing him, rocking your hips against him and murmuring against his throat for him to fuck you.
So, he does.
It feels sloppy, and awkward, his hips not quite knowing how to move any more as he snaps them against yours.
"Don't stop," you whisper to him with a scrape of your teeth against his shoulder. "Don't stop."
He's never been able to disobey you, he realizes. He's never had reason let alone want to. Even now, he does as he's told, keeps fucking forward into you, mattress squeaking and bed rocking as he finally, finally, finds his rhythm.
It's easy then. You spur him on, grip him tight, wrap your legs around his waist. He grunts, growls, can barely stop himself from panting, looking down at you and how you stare back at him and he thinks fuck, this is what it's like to be trusted by you.
With a sudden gasp, he pulls out, slipping from your wet heat to rut against your sopping cunt until he's spurting ropes of come against your mound and belly.
He apologizes, tries to admonish himself for being so quick. You tell him to shut up, hitting his shoulder. He does.
You both sigh in the afterglow. Even in the before, he never had times like this, he doesn't think. It was always frantic, too quick, too drunk, too fumbling. In the after, he could never quite relax enough to enjoy it fully. In the now, it's just about the best he's ever had.
You're still covered in him. Your fingers play idly in it on your belly, and he glows. He'd trace patterns with it over your skin, if only you'd let him. But then, you're up and gone, and he fears you're gone for good until you waltz back in and throw yourself next to him, mess cleaned from your skin as you stretch and yawn beside him.
"I aint tryin' to take your job, y'know," Joel tells you some time later, when the afterglow wanes and sleep pulls at him.
"Right."
He looks to you, the roll of your eyes and tug of a disbelieving smile on your lips visible in the glow of the bedside lamp.
"I promise. I'm just tryin' to... be some place."
You're still. And silent. He thinks he's fucked up for all of one second, until you're smiling sadly up at the ceiling.
"I get that," you say softly. "This is a nice place to be, all things considered."
And, though he thinks he knows what you mean, Yes, he thinks, this is a nice place to be.
This is a good day.
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