Summary: Joel's been using you all day. Slow, deep, possessive. Until your body's trembling and your voice raw from begging. But when tommy walks in fresh off patrol and finds you wrecked and open, Joel decides to let him have a taste. Just once. Just to show him what he's been keeping to himself.
Content warnings: Explicit sexual content (18+). Threesome, power dynamics, voyeurism/exhibitionism, oral sex (fem!receiving), overstimulation, praise kink, possessiveness, slight degration, use of pet names ('good girl', 'sweet girl'), pussy pronouns, multiple orgasms, creampiesss, pervy!Joel, soft!tommy
Word count: 800
Your legs are still trembling.
Joel's been on you all day, dragging you to bed after breakfast, bending you over the counter after lunch, fucking you slow and deep until you were babbling his name like a prayer.
Now the sun's low, your thighs are sticky, your lips swollen and your whole body's boneless against the mattress.
"Can't take anymore," you whimper, breathing hard, legs slightly parted as Joel runs a heavy hand over your thigh. He hums, leaning back in the chair beside the bed, fully dressed expect for his belt undone and cock out, already thick in His hand.
"That ain't not true, baby. I know that pussy. She'll take more."
You whine softly, flushed and soaked, your whole body twitching when his thumb brhshes your inner thigh.
Then the front door opens and slams shut.
Boots. Footsteps. And then-
"Joel? You home?"
Tommy.
You try to close your legs but Joel grips your knee and spreads them wider. "Let him see," he drawls. "He's earned it." Your heart pounds as tommy appears in the bedroom doorway, face streaked with dirt and sweat from patrol.
He freezes when he sees you. Spread, open, flushed, slick and aching, while Joel strokes his cock slow beside you.
"Jesus Christ..." Tommy mutters, eyes wide.
Joel just chuckles, looking between you and his younger brother. "Shes been a mess all day," he says casually. "Cried on my cock twice already. Thought maybe you'd like a taste." Your breath catches, the hungry in Tommy's eyes is obvious.
You shiver as he steps closer, the heat of his body making your thighs twitch. "You sure?" Tommy asks, voice rough. "You want me to-"
"Shes alrwsy soaked," Joel cuts in, not even looking at you as he fists himself slowly. "Can't stop drippin'. Go on. Take your time with her." You meet Tommy's gaze, chest rising and falling.
Tommy kneels at the edge of the bed, his big hands curling under your thighs as he pulls you gently toward him. "Sweet girl," he murmurs, kissing your inner thigh. "Look at you.." he noses along your folds, inhaling deeply before dropping his tongue up your slit.
You cry out, legs jerking, already too sensitive but tommy groans like he's starved, like you're the only thing he's ever wanted.
He takes his time. Tongue slow and wide. Lips gentle. Hands stroking your hips like you're something precious. Bjs mouth is soft, worshipful. Nothing like Joel's rough, greedy rhythm. And get, it makes you shake.
"Shes already twitchin'," Joel says low, his voice heavy with arousal as he watches from the chair. "You ain't even gotten started yet."
Tommy groans against you, lapping deeper. "She tastes so fuckin' sweet," he says, mouth shining. "Can't believe you been keepin' this to yourself." Joel chuckles, lazily stroking his cock as he leans back. "You think I'm gonna share often?" He mutters. "You better enjoy it while it lasts." Tommy does. He feasts on you, slow at first, gentle flicks of his tongue then deeper, firmer strokes as you writhe beneath him. Your hands curl in the sheets. Your body arches. You moan until your throat's raw.
Joel jerks himself slowly, eyes never leaving your soaked pussy and Tommy's mouth working between your legs.
"Fuckin' hell,' he rasps. "Look at you. One little tongue and you're already losin' it. Can barely speak."
"Joel," you cry, breathless. "I- I can't-"
"Yes, you can," he growls. "You'll come fo him, and then you'll come again for me."
Tommy hooks his arms under your thighs, pulling you deeper against his mouth and moans low as your back arches and your hips buck.
His tongue dosent stop, not even when you start sobbing, not even when your thighs clamp around his head.
He holds you don't gently and keeps eating you. Joel watches with a darkz hungry gaze, his cock twitching in his hand. "That's it," he groans. "That's my good girl."
You shatter, again and again, the pleasure rolling through it. He dosent come up until your hips are shaking and you're whimpering from the intensity. "Could stay here all night," tommy pants, resting his cheek against your thigh.
Joel grins. "Go ahead."
And Tommy does,
Over and over.
You lose track of how many times you come, three? Four? More? Your voice is gone. Your thighs ache. Your pussy's sore and soaked and glistening under the low light. Joel stands finally, fjsting his cock as he comes closer. "Move over," he growls to tommy. "I wanna come on that pretty little pussy."
Tommy pulls back, lips swollen, face wet, watching with hooded eyes as Joel strokes himself fast, staring straight at your wrecked body. He grips your thigh, moaning loud as he spills himself across your slit, thick white streaks painting your skin.
"Fuck, fuck- look at her," he growls, his body shaking. "So fuckin' good. Made for this."
You're trembling, lips parted, eyes dazed.
Tommy leans over toy and brushes your hair back gently. "You okay, baby?" You nod faintly, still whimpering as Joel lets go of her leg.
"Think she had enough for now, get some sleep," he said as he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on her forehead before covering her under the covers.
ft: best friend! tommy miller x reader | no outbreak au wc: 3,8k
incl: 18+ mdni, masturbation, voyeurism, fingering, oral f receiving, p in v, safe sex, banter, teasing, praise, tommy being an absolute hunk of a man, not spec but all my readers + tommy have a slight age gap, dialogue heavy
summary: tommy has always had the worst timing. and you’ve always been bad at taking care of yourself. tommy teases you until you admit the truth: you haven’t had the big o. he’s outraged— you’re gonna get one today.
note: based off of this request. best friend tommy is my favorite tommy, you guys. literally have sooo many unpublished works around that whole concept. this one has a special place in my heart, thank you honey bun. i hope i did your request justice ♡
Your phone is still facedown on the nightstand, the little “do not disturb” moon winking like it’s in on the joke. The bedroom smells like your lotion and the warm, sweet bite of leftover soy sauce from the carton you never put away. You were right there—the kind of edge where your calves tremble and your breathing goes thin and mean—when the knock came.
“Hold on,” you snap, breathless, a little wild. You yank the first T-shirt you can find over your head and tug on cotton shorts that don’t bother hiding the damp patch you’ve been working into them.
You fling open the door with a bite. “What.”
Tommy stands there with a hand braced overhead like he’s been leaning on your doorframe for a hundred years. Dark henley, sun-brown skin, hair curled a little from the heat. That crooked smile that never learned manners.
“Well, hey to you too, sunshine.” His gaze sweeps your flushed face, your bare legs. “I offend ya in your dreams again or is this a daytime thing?”
You roll your eyes so hard it hurts. “Come in before a neighbor sees you staring.”
“Me? I’m not the one answerin’ the door lookin’ like a fire alarm,” he says, stepping past you. He smells like motor oil and cedar. He beelines for the fridge like it’s his place, finds the leftover Chinese, and pops the lid with a plastic fork he digs out of your junk drawer. “Missed lunch,” he mumbles, already eating cold sesame chicken like it’s the cure to everything.
You kick the door shut, arms folded, jaw clenched so tight your teeth ache. You stomp after him just to have something to do with your legs that isn’t clenching them together.
“What’s up with you?” he asks, around a mouthful. He eyes your pink cheeks, the sheen at your temple. His mouth quirks. “You got a… guest, sweetheart?”
“No, Tommy. I don’t.”
“Mm.” He chews, thoughtful. His gaze lingers on your mouth, then drops—one beat too low. “You… busy when I knocked?”
You stare at him like your face can kill. It can’t. He only grins wider.
“Gotta ask, ‘cause you’re standin’ there like I cut the wire on somethin’ important.”
You throw a hand up. “Can you not.”
He leans hip to counter, tapping the fork on the carton lid. “Oh, I can. Question is—were you?”
You glare. Silence stretches. His eyes light, slow and wicked.
“Oh, you were.” He laughs, low. “Well hell. Me and my bad timing.”
“Tommy,” you warn.
“I’ll be real quick,” he promises, tipping the carton to shovel in another bite like he’s trying to get out of your hair fast. Except then his eyes catch the way your thighs press together. The way you sway where you stand. His brow lifts. “Unless you want me to keep you from it. Keepin’ you from sin might be good for my karma.”
“Your karma’s a lost cause.”
“True.” He sets the carton down. “Where’s the emergency? Bedroom? Couch? Shower?” He looks at you, head tipping. “You doin’ the shower thing? People make a lotta promises about that one—it’s overrated.”
You sputter. “I’m not discussing my—my process with you.”
“Well, you ain’t gotta,” he says easily, pushing off the counter and wandering a few steps closer. “But since you look about ready to climb the wall, I could at least heat your leftovers for ya and get gone.”
“I was fine,” you insist, and even you hear the lie. “I was—God, forget it.”
He watches you for one long breath, then hums. “Call one of your little boyfriends, then.”
You blink. “What?”
“Those boys you go dancin’ with and then pretend aren’t starin’ at your ass the whole night.” He gestures vaguely. “They can come over, pick up where you left off.”
You scoff, sharp and humorless. “Yeah. No.”
“Mm?” He studies you like you’re a math problem. “Shy all of a sudden?”
“They never—” You bite it off, but the dam’s already cracked. Frustration leaks through, hot and humiliating. “They don’t… it doesn’t happen with them, okay?”
He frowns. “Doesn’t what happen?”
You give him a look like he’s being willfully dense. “It.”
The slow shock that breaks over his face would be funny if you weren’t vibrating with need. He sets the fork down, completely forgetting the food. “Hold up. You’re tellin’ me… not a one of those little bastards has ever made you cum?”
Heat crashes into your cheeks. “Tommy,” you hiss.
“No, I’m tryna understand.” His hands go out. “Not one?”
You throw your hands. “No! Okay? Happy? Can you go now?”
He stares at you like it’s a personal affront. “That’s—now, that’s a sin I can’t stand for.” He shakes his head, jaw tight with something that looks suspiciously like anger. “What are they doin’ down there, a guided tour of nothin’?”
“Jesus.”
“Nah, I’d be sayin’ Jesus too if I—” He cuts himself off, eyes narrowing. “Alright. I’ll let you take care of yourself. Clearly you were doin’ a better job than the roster.”
He turns toward the door, wiping his hands on a paper towel. You don’t think. Your hand closes around his wrist.
“I can’t either,” you blurt, soft, furious with it. “Half the time I can’t. I get—close—and then… I don’t know, I lose it.”
He goes still. Slowly, he looks down at your fingers around his pulse, then up to your eyes. Something changes in his face, the playful shine sinking to something intent and hot.
“Ain’t no way,” he says quietly.
You swallow.
He takes a slow breath, then nods to the couch. “Show me what you were doin’.”
“I was a hell of a lotta things,” he drawls. “Teacher’s one of ‘em. C’mon. Lemme help.”
You should tell him to leave. You should die of embarrassment. Instead, you back toward the couch like you’re being coaxed by a wolf. You climb up, sit, then slide down until your shoulders catch the cushions and your hips perch at the edge. Your heart’s beating in your throat.
Tommy drags a dining chair over and flips it, straddling it backward like every bad decision you’ve ever made. He props his chin on his folded arms over the chair back, eyes dark and steady on you. “Attagirl.”
You stare at him.
“Shorts,” he says. “We both know they’re useless right now.”
And because it’s Tommy. Because you’ve known him forever. Because he makes everything so easy and familiar and simple. You listen. Your fingers hook in the waistband before your brain protests. You peel them down and kick them off. The T-shirt sinks to your waist when you spread your knees. Cool air kisses you and your breath hitches.
Tommy’s eyes drop, slow. His swallow is audible. The tips of his ears go pink. “Christ alive.” His voice roughens. “Pretty as I figured.”
“Don’t—” Your voice shakes. “Don’t say things.”
“Oh, I got a lot to say, but you’re the one runnin’ the show.” He nods at your hand. “How were you doin’ it?”
You wet your lips, then slide a palm down your belly. Your fingers find yourself like they always do—press, rub, a little too fast because you’re greedy, because he’s looking and it’s turned your bones to gauze.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “Slow it down. You’re chasin’. You ain’t gotta chase it.”
You glare; your hips twitch anyway. “If I slow down it goes away.”
“Not if you keep the rhythm.” He taps his knuckles—one, two, three—an unhurried beat. “Match me. Little circles. Don’t hunt—invite.”
You try. Your breath catches and catches again. He watches the way your stomach flutters.
“Good girl,” he says, almost absent. “Now left a touch. Yeah.” He leans in like he’s squinting at a map. “There it is. That twitch right there. Stay there.”
You whimper.
“Feels like pressure buildin’ behind your navel?” he asks softly. “Little ache?”
You nod too fast. “Yes—fuck—Tommy—”
“Language,” he says, smiling, and you want to murder him until your thighs shake and the smile slides right off his face. His jaw hardens. “Keep your wrist loose, baby. You’re white-knucklin’ it. Relax.”
“I’m trying—”
“Breathe.” He breathes slow, exaggerated, and you match him because you’ll do anything anyone asks if it means you get there. “Better. Now, you can add a finger inside if you want. Just one. Shallow. Curl toward your belly button, not down. Like you’re beckonin’. Two knuckles, not three.”
You do it. The angle is… different. A bright little hook that makes your hips jerk off the cushion. Your voice breaks. “Oh—oh my God—”
“There she is.” His eyes burn. “You feel that? That’s yours. Don’t run from it.”
You want to, because your body always does—clenches, darts away, skitters to the edges. You force yourself to push into it this time, heels braced on the edge of the couch, breath shattering. You’re aware of him in the periphery—big hands wrapped around the chair back so tight his knuckles blanch, chest barely rising because he’s holding his breath like he’s the one about to fall apart.
“Tommy—” It comes out a whine. “I’m—”
“Keep the pace,” he says, voice gone sandpaper. “Don’t get greedy. Let it—yeah, just like that, baby—”
You break with a ragged gasp, spilling over your own fingers, thighs trembling. It feels like heat and weight and a relief so sharp you could cry with it. You ride it through because he doesn’t let you lose it, murmuring, “uh-uh, stay with it, that’s it, that’s my girl,” until your hand finally slows.
You blink up at the ceiling. There are little bursts of light at the edges of your vision. You swallow and lick your lips and realize your fingers are still between your legs, and Tommy Miller is still sitting three feet away watching you like a war is over.
He scrubs a hand over his face. When he drops it, his mouth is a line. “I’m about to be extremely stupid.”
Your laugh is a small, wrecked thing. “Join the club.”
“C’mere,” he says gently, and when you don’t move quick enough he stands, sets the chair aside, and kneels between your knees. He doesn’t touch. He braces his hands on either side of your hips and looks at you the way people look at altars. “Can I?”
All the air leaves you. “Yes.”
He leans in slow, giving you a chance to change your mind, and presses his mouth to your inner thigh first. A kiss. Another. Then his thumb slides to the place you’ve just made tender and he looks up to see the way your lashes flutter.
“Pretty,” he says, so soft you barely hear it. “You’re so pretty.”
“Tommy—”
“I know.” He breathes out. “I’m gonna show you. How this is supposed to feel.”
He doesn’t dive in. He tastes you with small, reverent swipes, learning the shape of what you like. His tongue is unhurried; his hands sure. When you start to pant, he hums like he’s pleased with himself and says, “There you go,” into you, the vibration making you jerk.
“More,” you whisper, and he gives you more like he’s been waiting his whole life to be told what to do. He drags two fingers through your slick and eases one inside while his mouth works you in patient, devastating circles. When he adds the second his knuckles nudge that bright spot again and your back arches.
“Right there,” you gasp.
“Right there,” he echoes, voice breaking against you. “Hold me if you want.”
You fist your hand in his hair and he groans like the sound is pulled out of him, moving his mouth just so. He doesn’t speed up when you start to chase—he keeps you on that same relentless edge until your thighs tremble around his ears.
“Let it happen,” he says into you. “Don’t think. Just take it.”
You fall apart so hard your heels drum against the couch frame. He doesn’t stop until you push at his shoulder, half-laughing, half-pleading. “Okay. Okay, okay—God, Tommy—”
He kisses the inside of your knee, then your hipbone, then the soft skin just under your T-shirt. He looks up, pupils blown, mouth wet and wrecked.
“Still with me?”
“Barely.”
“Good.” He stands, and you feel very small and very safe all at once with him towering over you. He thumbs a smear of you off his chin and licks it absently, eyes never leaving your face. “Lesson ain’t over.”
“You—” Your voice is a croak. “You think I’m gonna survive an advanced course?”
He laughs, chest-deep. “You’ll manage.”
He reaches for his belt, then stops. “Condom?”
You blink, hazy, then fumble end table drawer on the side of the sofa open and toss him a foil. He catches it one-handed without looking away and the little flare of competence should not be hot but it is; you feel your stomach drop like an elevator.
He steps out of his boots, pushes his jeans and briefs down, and for a second your brain pulls a hard blue screen. He’s thick, heavy in his palm, the blunt head flushed. He rolls the condom down with practiced ease, then leans over you, one hand braced on the cushion beside your head, the other cupping your jaw. Your eyes say keep going.
He drags the head of his cock through the slick he made of you, slow enough to make you whine, then presses. Your mouth falls open. The stretch is sharp, sweet. He pauses halfway, forearm shaking, eyes squeezed shut.
“You’re so warm,” he says, like a confession. “Jesus, baby.”
“More,” you say, and he huffs a laugh that sounds strangled.
“I’m goin’, sweetheart. I’m goin’.”
He pushes the rest of the way in and it knocks a noise out of you you’ve never heard yourself make. He’s deep, deeper than anyone’s ever felt, and you grab his shoulders without meaning to. He groans, low, into the hinge of your jaw.
“Look at me,” he says, and when you do his face goes soft and hungry all at once. “How’s that?”
“Like—” You struggle. “Like finally.”
He curses under his breath, like that hit him somewhere tender, and draws back. The first thrust is careful, gauging you, but the second rolls hard enough to make the couch creak. You gasp; he watches your mouth like he’s starving.
“Good?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He finds a pace you can’t name—not fast, but deep and steady, like he’s trying to carve his name somewhere no one will ever erase. One big hand brackets your thigh and folds your knee up, opening you wider. The angle tilts and your breath breaks.
“There,” you say, already wrecked. “Tommy—there.”
“Yeah?” His grin is quick and sinful. He snaps his hips just right and your nails bite his shoulder. “There, baby?”
“Don’t stop.”
“Not plannin’ to.” His voice goes rough, the edges fraying. “You feel me? Huh? Doin’ alright?”
You can only nod. He fucks you like he’s been dying to—like you’re both getting away with something and also like there’s nowhere safer than this. The rhythm pulls you higher; that curl of heat builds again and your eyes sting with it.
“Relax into it,” he says, almost coaxing. “Don’t run. Let me—yeah, just like that.” He grits his teeth, control fraying when you squeeze around him. “Goddamn, sweetheart, you’re squeezin’ the life outta me.”
“Don’t—” Your voice shivers. “Please, baby, please don’t stop.”
He laughs, breathless. “Bossy.” He cups the back of your head and kisses you, finally, nothing polite about it—his mouth hot and sure, claiming. You taste yourself on his tongue and moan into him, and he swears, deep, like you just took his knees out. “You sound so sweet when you call me baby,” he mutters against your lips. “That what i am now? Baby? Ruined me for bein’ your friend. You know that?”
“Been ruined,” you pant. “Keep—oh God, keep going—”
He reaches down between you, finds your clit with two slick fingers, and rubs the same exact rhythm he taught you earlier, like he’s memorized it. Your whole body lights up. You clutch the back of his neck and his thrusts turn messy, desperate.
“There she is,” he grits out. “C’mon. Show me. I want it.”
“Tommy—”
“Look at me,” he says, voice gone ragged. “I want your eyes on me when you cum.”
You do it because you always do what he tells you when he uses that voice, and the second your gaze locks with his the wave hits. You shatter around him with a broken cry, clamping down so hard he gasps your name like a prayer. He keeps moving, keeps rubbing you through it like he can’t stand the thought of you not getting every drop.
“Fuck,” he chokes. “God, baby—fuck.”
He folds over you as he drives deep and goes still, groaning into your neck as he comes, the heat of it pulsing even through the thin latex. The weight of him is everything—sweat-damp and solid and Tommy.
For a long minute, there’s only breath. His, yours. The tick of your wall clock. The way his thumb rubs your jaw like he forgot how to stop touching you.
“Tell me that was good,” he says finally, words muffled in your throat like he’s afraid to hear otherwise.
“Tommy.” You smile against his hair. “Good is rude. That was—” You breathe out, dizzy. “—that was missionary-position fireworks. That was baptism. That was illegal in some counties.”
He laughs, a burst that shakes his chest against yours. He tilts up and kisses your mouth again, softer. “Had to know. Had to show you.”
“You made your point,” you say, drowsy and warm. “Multiple times.”
“Damn right I did.”
He eases out of you with care, ties off the condom, and disappears to your bathroom for all of thirty seconds. He comes back with a warm washcloth like he’s done this in your space a hundred times, even though he hasn’t, and cleans you slow, almost reverent. You watch him with something like awe tugging at the edges of you.
“You okay?” he asks, finally meeting your eyes.
“Yeah.” You nudge him with your foot. “Hungry.”
He grins. “I can fix that too.” He helps you sit up and tugs your T-shirt back into place like you’re something precious he’s keeping warm. Then he pads to the kitchen in his socks and you admire the view as shamefully as you deserve to.
He reheats the sesame chicken and brings the carton and a fork back like it’s a prize. You take a bite and groan indecently.
“Careful,” he says, eyes dancing. “I’m tryin’ to be a gentleman for once.”
“First time for everything,” you tease, and he puts a hand over his heart like you shot him.
“Uncalled for,” he says, then sobers, mouth curving as he studies your face. He drags his knuckles under your chin, gentle. “Gotta say… I don’t like thinkin’ about those boys not… takin’ care of you.”
You tilt your head. “Jealous?”
“Pissed,” he admits, unabashed. “And yeah, maybe a bit possessive, which ain’t my right.” He shrugs one shoulder, eyes going a little shy in a way that doesn’t happen to Tommy very often. “You deserve to feel good. Every damn time.”
You stare at him. The room feels suddenly tender, the air thinner.
“You made me feel—” You break off, fighting a lump in your throat you didn’t invite to this party. “Like I could just let it happen.”
“Because you can.” He taps the tip of your nose with his fingertip like he’s the only person allowed to do something that sweet to you. “Because it’s yours. I just… helped you find it.”
You set the food aside and slide your hands up his chest. “Teacher,” you murmur, and he groans like the word does something to him. “You said lesson wasn’t over.”
His grin returns, slow and sure. “It ain’t.”
You crawl into his lap like it’s the easiest thing in the world and settle on his thighs, knees bracketing his hips. His hands come to your waist automatically, thumbs tracing the dip there.
“Second module,” you whisper, leaning in so your mouth skims his ear. “You show me how many times you can make me forget my name before I bite you.”
He laughs, husky. “Baby, I’m gonna have you forgettin’ your address.”
“Big talk,” you say, but the shiver that runs through you gives you away.
He stands with you clinging koala-style, mouth on yours. “Bedroom,” he says, already walking. “And for the record?”
“What.”
“You call any of those little boys again,” he murmurs, all grin and teeth, “they’re gonna have to submit a request in writin’ and I’ll get back to ‘em in seven to ten business days.”
You snort against his mouth. “Possessive.”
“Teacher’s prerogative,” he says, and then he’s laying you down, the afternoon light painting his shoulders gold, and you’re opening for him like it’s always been this easy.
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
Later—after he’s wrung you out twice more by sticking to his own rules (“keep the rhythm,” “don’t run,” “breathe, baby, I got you”) and you’ve repaid the favor with your mouth until he cussed and laughed and said he was gonna have to build you a trophy shelf—he sprawls on his back with one arm flung over his face, the other hand idly combing through your hair where you’re draped across his chest.
“You know this changes stuff,” you say into his sternum, voice small in the big quiet.
“Yeah,” he says. “Kinda figured that when I had your knee by my ear.”
You bite his skin to punish his grin. He flinches, delighted, and drags that hand from your hair to your jaw, tipping your face up so he can see you.
“We can take it slow,” he says. “We can call it a very hands-on study group and see where it goes. Or we can—” He exhales, smile softening. “—we can just keep makin’ sure you feel good for a while and not call it anything yet.”
You think about his mouth on you, his hands steady, the way he said my girl when you came like he didn’t mean to.
“Study group,” you say, trying for lightness and failing because your voice wobbles. “You bring the notes. I’ll bring… snacks.”
“Already did,” he says, nodding at the abandoned carton on the coffee table.
You kiss his chest, grinning. “I meant me.”
He groans like you actually did kill him. “I swear to God, you’re gonna be the death of me.”
“Worth it?”
He looks down, all play gone from his face for a heartbeat. “Yeah, baby,” he says softly. “Worth it.”
He pulls you up and kisses you slow, the kind that rewrites history. And just like that, he’s shown you, patiently and then not, exactly how good it can be—how good he is at figuring out your body—until you’re breathless and bright and ruined for anyone who doesn’t know your rhythm like a favorite song. And just like that, that’s how friendships are ruined.
note ext: ah, this was just a joy to write. you guys can tell.. i love playful tommy so so so bad. ugh— this one gives me nothings gonna hurt you baby vibes. you guys are on fire with these requests omg.
Joel and Tommy stumble upon a girl in an abandoned hospital and decide to take her with them. They save a life—but her presence soon begins to strain their bond.
Contains: smut, oral (m receiving), power imbalance, non specified age gap, dubcon (she does not object, but there is uncertainty and emotional pressure), controlling language, objectification, nicknames like sweetheart, canon typical themes like violence, injury and blood, toxic dynamics, manipulation
Wordcount: 9,827
Masterlist
Joel's breath hitched in his throat.
The air was musty and stuffy. It smelled earthy, and every time he inhaled, it felt like he was drawing on a cigarette instead of breathing in fresh air.
Sweat gathered on his forehead, but he hesitated to release his holster to wipe away the drops. What if something or someone would attack him and Tommy while he did it? It was beyond uncomfortable, the salty liquid tickling on his skin and running down until it eventually burned and stung in his eyes. He blinked a few times, squeezing his eyes shut before remembering the risk of being so inattentive.
"Joel. You see anythin'?" he heard Tommy whisper and shook his head, gesturing with his hand behind him to shut his brother up. His heart stopped every time the heavy soles of his boots touched the wooden planks, the creaking and thrumming so loud, it seemed to echo against the walls. And although there was no way around it, Joel became slower with every step until Tommy pratically stumbled into his brother.
"Joel, goddamnit. Do you just wanna fuckin' stop?"
"Jesus, shut up," he fizzled, shaking the hand off that Tommy had placed on his shoulder and unwillingly took a step forward.
"M'just tryna be careful."
It was in that moment that the two brothers froze in their motion.
Joel spun around, eyes blown and heart racing from the sudden noise. He could see sheer panic in Tommy's gaze, but they were yet too shocked to flee the old hospital in an instant.
"We should go. Right now," Tommy urged him, hand tightening around the grip of his gun and his feet dragging backwards like it wasn't him moving his body, but an external force.
"It doesn't sound like a lot of infected," Joel noted, sharpening his ears and carefully stretching toward the door as if to give Tommy a taste of his risky plan.
"No, Joel, no. I mean it. Let's go, there's no need to face 'em. Maybe it's not infected, maybe it's raiders and they are a bigger group."
"Does this sound like a bigger group?" Joel hissed, his eyes narrowed and his tone sounding like he was losing patience.
"C'mon. They might have gear down there. I don't wanna go back to the cabin knowing that we wasted a day of creepin' around 'ere for nothin'."
He turned around without waiting for Tommy's reply, but when he heard a disappointed sigh and a pair of feet quietly flitting across the floor, he briefly grinned. These were the good old times, the two brothers against the rest of the world. What were a couple of infected against them? They were experienced and skillful fighters and together they would surely be able to fight them off.
Joel felt almost light-hearted along the way down the stairs of the building. The adrenaline was pumping in his veins, blood hot and vibrant and his heartbeat thundering in his ears. His fingertips were prickling, practically searching for his gun and knife and he felt ready ready to show off his talents to a few infected or raiders.
When they reached the second floor, the noises grew louder. A look of understanding passed between Tommy and him, confirming that they were on the same page about the kind of enemy they were dealing with. Infected.
The stairs here were slippery, wet patches glistening under the beam of his flashlight and Joel had to calm his rushing feet while climbing down the staircase. Once they were on the first floor, noises so loud and distinct now that Joel just knew they were on the right level, he turned around to his little brother.
"I go left, you go right. Lemme know if you need help," he wryly smirked and effortlessly spun the knife in his hand.
"Oh shut up. Some day, Joel, your fuckin' boldness is gonna lead you to an early death. Although it wouldn't be early at this point, you tired old man."
"It wasn't me that didn't wanna go down here."
Tommy rolled his eyes, reaching for his knife as well and gently pushing against Joel's shoulder.
"Alright. Enough of this now. Let's finish this."
His brother nodded in approval, taking a deep breath before turning toward the darkness that awaited him as he looked down the corridor. Which was exactly where he was heading. He couldn't deny the slight shake of his flashlight when he walked past the hospital doors, but maybe he could blame it on the adrenaline. The air was still stuffy, but it was much more humid than it was a few levels up. It smelled of… rain, cold, decay and death. The floor beneath him still felt a little wet, but he wasn't sure whether it was what he had brought in from the staircase or if whatever had happened here had also affected the hospital corridor. Just to be sure, Joel made a mental note to himself to be careful when it came to the fighting and not slip on the floor and perhaps slam his head against a wall.
He was still following the noises, but he was slow while doing so. He didn't want to risk being surprised by someone, but rather surprise someone. Maybe he had a different tactic than Tommy, but he was still around and he had fought countless infected, so it definitely couldn't be too bad.
And then everything happened within seconds.
The noises grew louder, it was so close now that Joel could almost smell the infected. A low grunting sound, like someone was in pain and could barely drag their feet over the floor. A wet smacking sound, a whimpering whenever their feet lifted off the ground. Joel surprised him with his knife and aside from the damp sound of the blade cutting through organs and tendons, the muscles and veins yielding to the sharp edge of the knife, the infected remained completely silent. As if he had already been ready to die before Joel had attacked him.
Something about it made a cold shiver run down his spine, but that feeling only lasted until the infected lay to his feet. Joel sighed and wiped the blood off his blade with his jeans. Then he put the blade back between his belt and jeans, so it was still within reach, but it allowed him more freedom of movement. He drew his face in disgust at the rotten smell of the corpse and was quick to pass it, searching for more infected when he suddenly heard a loud noise. A groan and a unnatural squeak that made him freeze in his motion.
Tommy.
Joel knew that his brother was the last person who needed his help and nonetheless it was his protective nature kicking in at this moment. Perhaps Tommy didn't need his help, but he would still give it. If not for his brother, then to satisfy his own worried temperament.
Joel rushed all the way back to the corner where he and his brother had parted ways. At this point, he didn't care about the sound of his footsteps echoing through the air or the slippery floor.
Maybe he was exaggerating. Maybe he would find his brother and two infected lying in front of him with Tommy's knives still sticking in their bellies, but Joel just had to make sure that the noises of pain had come from the infected and not from his brother. It didn't take him long to find Tommy, and although he felt relieved to see him kneeling on the ground instead of collapsed with his stomach ripped open, Joel furrowed his brow at the scene unfolding before his eyes.
"Tommy?" he hissed in the dark, his eyes barely able to make out what his brother was looking at.
"Jesus, Joel! Don't creep up on me like that."
"What are you doin'?"
He rushed to Tommy, sinking to his knees next to him and narrowing his eyes at a small body crouched against the wall. The body of a young unconscious woman, clothes torn and bloody and eyes closed.
"What happened?"
Joel exhaled in annoyance as Tommy was yet to open his mouth, but then slapped his hand when he reached for the woman.
"What the fuck you think you're doin'? She could be infected."
Tommy shook his head, freeing his hand from his brother's grip and felt for her pulse at her neck.
"She ain't. I found 'er fighting with two infected. I killed 'em, but she hit 'er head against the wall."
"And what makes you think she can't be infected? Maybe she was bitten before you arrived."
Joel sat back on his heels, slightly moving away as if he was scared the woman might attack him any moment.
"Goddamnit, do you see any bite marks? Also she was too strong to be infected. Gimme a hand, will ya?"
His brain was still working behind Joel's forehead when his brother reached for her shoulder, his eyebrows drawn together and his teeth grazing over his bottom lip.
"What the fuck are you doin', Tommy?"
"What does it look like? I'm gettin' 'er out of 'ere. She's not gonna make it a day in this fuckin' hospital."
Joel laughed, but his laughter wasn't friendly. He was simply in disbelief about his brother's plan.
"No you're not. We gotta leave. Right now."
"Oh now we gotta leave? After you dragged me in here. Hell no, Joel. We get this girl out of 'ere now. We can save a life."
Tommy had slipped an arm around her shoulders, gently pulling her toward him while he reached for her knees with his other.
"And then? You wanna drop 'er in front of the hospital outside? You think she's gonna make it there longer than in 'ere?"
"No. And that's why we're gonna take 'er to the cabin."
Joel's face dropped, his jaw unhinged and his eyes briefly flashing as he abrutply rose to his feet.
"No. Absolutely not, have you lost your fuckin' mind?"
A finger dangled in front of his brother's face, but he didn't seem to care. He was too busy heaving the woman in the air, briefly groaning under the weight before steadying himself on his feet.
"Tommy. You wanna maybe talk to me instead of – of playing the hero?"
"Why? You never discuss anythin' with me. Now I'm tellin' you what's gonna happen."
Joel scoffed, shaking in his head and gritting his teeth as he followed his brother who was heading to the staircase like he had a strict schedule.
"Oh so this is you makin' up for every time I told you what to do? This some sort of power game?"
"No, this is me savin' a fuckin' life. I'm just not in the mood to listen to your grumpy ass."
They had reached the stairs now and Tommy didn't seem to hesitate for a moment when he pushed the door open. Joel wasn't ready to give up though.
"Think this through, okay? We barely have enough food for the two of us and now you wanna share our supplies with a third person? And what if she's infected and you just didn't see the bite mark in the dark? Or what if she's gonna rob us or – or kill us in our sleep? We can take 'er outside, okay, but we should leave 'er here somewhere."
Joel felt like a weasel, scurrying around his brother trying to get his attention, but Tommy barely did more than take a glimpse at him.
"Oh my god, Joel. Are you listenin' to yourself? You think this girl could kill us? We're bigger than 'er and we're two. And she's hurt, do you seriously think she would have the strength to attack us? And be serious, we have enough supplies for one more person. We just killed a big fuckin' deer. That's enough to feed three adults for a couple o'days."
Joel's head raced with panic. He had already dismissed Tommy's plan as foolish, but his little brother seemed determined. Was he supposed to continue until he had talked some sense into him or let it slide, hoping that he would soon come to the realisation himself? Joel swallowed and put his hands in his front pocket, ignoring Tommy's satisfied pout. He seemed to believe that he had convinced Joel, but he couldn't be further from the truth.
He hated those moments when all of the sudden this obnoxious empathy and humanity was awakened in Tommy. It didn't happen often, usually when something special had occured. Once they had seen a little boy ripped apart by a couple of infected and it had not only left Tommy touched. Afterwards, Tommy had expressed his sudden urge to go back to Kansas (where they had just come from) to get more people safely out of the city and save them from their inevitable fate: Attacked and cold-bloodedly murdered by raiders or infected. That time, Joel had been able to talk some reason into him, which was why he hoped he would succeed today as well. Tommy and he were not good people. They were survivalists, fighters. His only purpose was keeping him and his brother alive and the rest did not matter. Most of the time Tommy was on the same page, but he had the tendeny to forget it in stressful situations.
"Can you maybe gimme a hand here?" Joel heard his brother say and turned his head. Tommy stared between the door handle and his busy hands, graciously nodding as Joel grabbed it.
"Thanks."
The two brothers didn't exchange another word all the way home to their cabin, but Joel didn't feel much anger or hostility between the two of them. He simply didn't really feel like talking and Tommy seemed too focused not to stumble over a tree root in the ground and keep the woman securely in his arms. Toward the end of their walk his groaning and panting grew louder and at some point Joel was so annoyed by it that he rolled his eyes and stepped in front of his brother.
"Oh jesus. C'mon, I'll carry 'er the rest of the way."
"Really," said Tommy, suspiciously tightening his grip around her knee like he expected Joel to drop her to the ground the moment he held her in his arms.
"I'm not gonna do anythin', god. I just wanna get home fast and you're clearly slowin' us down."
In the end, Tommy gave in, but kept a close eye on his brother when he lifted the unconscious woman in the air. Only now was Joel able to take a good look at her. She must be in her late twenties, had dark blonde hair and either freckles or dirt on her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were closed, but they looked swollen, which made him think that she might have gotten hit in her face. Fortunately, she didn't weigh a lot and was easy to carry back to their house and so 10 minutes later Joel carefully lay her down on the couch in their living room.
"And now?" Joel asked, his expression cold as he glared down at her.
"Now we eat somethin'. And then get some sleep. And we wait until she's woken up and then give 'er some food as well."
"Is that so?"
Tommy passed over the comment and instead covered the woman with a blanket, tucking it in under her chin and adjusting it so her feet weren't exposed to the chill air. Joel couldn't supress the following comment.
"Aww, how adorable. I see. You just like this feeling of bein' someone's savior, right? Is that it? You love the feelin' of someone bein' dependent on you and not bein' able to survive without you. Especially when the person turns out to be a young and pretty girl."
"Fuck you," Tommy snarled, darting at him with angrily sparkling eyes and then sitting down in the armchair.
"Tell me that I'm wrong, then."
"You're wrong. You're wrong, Joel and I know you can't understand why someone would care for someone else without any hidden agenda because you're a fuckin' asshole, but I'm doin' this 'cause I think it's right."
Joel sat down as well and crossed his legs.
"You wanna fuck this girl, you hypocrite. I saw the way you look at 'er. Maybe you think she's gonna reward you once she wakes up. That she's gonna look up to her savior all fuckin' doe-eyed and open 'er legs for you because she's just soooo grateful."
Joel sniggered quietly and averted his gaze before Tommy could shoot arrows at him with his dark eyes. He didn't know why he was saying what he was saying. Why he purposefully wanted to anger his brother, but he just felt so… mad and annoyed about anything. Like he was about to drown if he didn't let it all out.
"Are you done now? Had a good laugh?" Tommy shook his head, but didn't add anything, which left Joel feeling disappointed. He had expected a sharp answer, the proof that he had hit him good, but now all he could do was listen to the silence in the room.
And he did.
He did for almost an hour before he got up to grab some food from the kitchen and was stopped in the last moment by a noise. His head shot around with the expectation of seeing Tommy standing next to the couch, but the noicse had come from the girl.
She had moved and now murmured something that neither of the brothers could understand. Tommy was immediately by her side, grabbing her shoulder and hushing her.
"Hey, it's okay. Can you hear me?"
A twitch of her mouth, another groan and then her lashes finally fluttered open.
"It's alright, I don't mean you any harm," Tommy said, voice warm and quiet, but loud enough so it wouldn't sound dangerous.
"Wh – What – " the girl stuttered, driving backwards at Tommy's face hovering so close to hers, which made him flinch away.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare ya. I'm Tommy, I – I saved you. You remember? We were in the hospital and you were fighting off some infected an' I came to help ya and then you bumped your head against the wall."
Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated and jaw tight like she was ready to fight the two men. She had wrapped her arms around her upper body, hugging herself as if to ground and comfort herself and only now was Joel able to see the wound on her temple.
"I – I… I can't remember anythin'. I… I only remember going into that building… But then… it's all just a blur."
Tears were swimming in her eyes now and Joel almost felt pitiful. She looked so small, so vulnerable and pathetic that even he felt the need to put his thick, warm jacket over her shoulders and her slouched posture. Maybe she would stop shivering then.
"That's normal. You can just be glad that you still have the rest of your memories. What's your name?"
"Liv."
"And why are you alone here, Liv? Why did you enter that hospital alone?"
He didn't receive an answer. Liv just raised her head, looked at Tommy with impossibly sad eyes and then started to cry.
"Hey, no reason to cry. You're safe now, I promise. Hey, look at me."
Of course she didn't look at Tommy. She instead buried her face in her hands as her body winced and trembled under her sobs. That was the moment that his brother turned toward him, shrugging and somehow helplessly drawing his eyebrows together. Joel almost had to laugh at the picture, but came to the conclusion that this kind of reaction wouldn't be appropriate. Although he started to believe that Liv wouldn't even hear or see his grin anyway. As if he, Joel Miller, was the kind of person to ask for council in a moment like that. As if he would be able to comfort and calm a terrified crying girl.
Tommy seemed to think the same thing because he averted his gaze again to sigh as he looked down at Liv. He hesitated, lips thoughtfully twisting before opening his mouth again.
"I promise you, everything's gonna be fine. I promise. You're exhausted and you're hurt, but – but just get some rest and tomorrow everything's gonna look different. Just wait 'n' see."
He sighed again and looked like he had accepted the defeat. Perhaps Tommy was just unable to get through to her at this time, but before he was able to leave his position kneeling on the floor next to the floor, Liv suddenly raised her head, cheeks tearstained and her bottom lip trembling hard.
"I – I live in Seattle. I – I lived there – We – We were a small community with – with… we had e-everything we needed, but then we were attacked three days ago. B-By raiders. I don't know if anyone other than me made it out."
Silence laid upon the room. Tommy had stopped in his motion, but now swallowed loudly, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat.
"I'm sorry."
It looked like his brother was about to say something else, but Liv seemed to have had enough of the conversation about her past because she looked at Joel for the first time.
"Who is this?" she whispered, seemingly terrified of not one, but two strange men around her.
"My brother. His name's Joel. I swear, he looks dangerous and grumpy and horrifying and evil, but he isn't. I mean he is grumpy, yes, but he's only dangerous, horrifying and evil to people he hates."
Liv's eyes frantically darted back and forth between Tommy and Joel, lips slightly parted as she tried to figure out how much of his words had been a joke and what might actually be true.
"Jesus christ," Joel hissed just to say something. "How did you get 'ere from Seattle? Did you walk all the way?"
Her gaze settled on him, eyes so blown and watery that it looked like they were about to pop out.
"No… I hitchhiked part of it," Liv whispered, intertwining her fingers and crouching against the backrest of the couch as if it offered her comfort that she didn't find anywhere else at the moment.
"You should get some rest now. I promise you, you're safe in 'ere. We will be over there in this room if you need anythin'. You can find food and some water in the kitchen, just take whatever you need. And I'm gonna put some fresh clothes in the bathroom for ya."
Tommy's words didn't seem to calm her in any way, if anything she looked even more terrified. But who could blame her, really? She was in a remote cabin alone with two men she didn't know and trust with absolutely no soul in a circle of at least 5 miles.
"I promise you," Tommy repeated, defensively raising his hands. "We'll leave you alone and we mean you no harm. You see, we're on our way to Renton right now to trade for a car and look for a cousin of ours. We haven't been in contact with 'er since the outbreak but we recently heard from a mutual friend that she's been prowling around the city. We mean to find ourselves a car and maybe pick 'er up."
Tommy sighed. "So. Now you know a bit more about us too."
He received no answer, but a glance at Liv told Joel that she seemed slightly more relaxed. At least she didn't protest when Tommy headed to his bedroom and neither did she just look up when Joel followed.
A minute later he found himself sitting on the bed, Tommy searching for something in his drawer while Joel furrowed his brow deep in thoughts.
"What's your plan here?" he eventually wanted to know, lifting his eyebrows as his brother showed no sign that he had heard him.
"Tommy."
"What?"
Joel exhaled in annoyance. "What's your plan here? What's your plan with her?"
"I don't know, for now I just want her to get better and wait until she's fine," he spoke, but didn't meet his brother's gaze.
"Okay. But you know that we're out here in the middle of nothing and I don't know if you thought this through. We can't leave her here, she's got no food, nothing. We could take 'er with us for a few miles, but it's gonna take us long until we reach the next city and then once again, she got nothin' and she's alone. And she might be a burden if we travel for longer. Gonna slow us down."
"Joel. Goddamnit, can you just stop for tonight? I'm tired and I don't wanna discuss this right now."
Joel clenched his jaw hard, hot, white anger coiling in his stomach.
"You're the one that brought 'er into our house and now you have a certain fuckin' responsibility, Tommy. I know you're not used to havin' responsibilities, but this is on you. I was the one who said no. And now you gotta learn what's it like to take care of stuff like this."
"Why don't we just ask 'er? Mhm? As soon as she's better we're gonna approach 'er, ask 'er where she wants to go and what she wants to do and then we'll make a plan. Not that fuckin' complicated," he hissed and then roughly pulled the blanket back so he could crawl underneath.
His brother was steaming with fury, but Joel couldn't bring himself to making up with him tonight. Not only was he too proud to swallow his own pride and take the first step, but he was also too exhausted from the day. Therefore the two brothers fell asleep shortly after, the air silent aside from their steady panting, but heavy and thick with tension.
The next morning, Joel was rudely awakened by a loud noise. His heart pounding and head spinning, he shot upward and blinked away the sleep in his eyes.
"What the fuck," he shouted as he saw Tommy rubbing his elbow.
"Sorry. I bumped into the drawer. I tried to be quiet but… yeah, didn't quite work."
"Oh man," Joel sighed, falling back into the cushion and scratching his temple.
"What's the time?"
"It's seven," Tommy said over his shoulder as he left the room and closed the door behind him.
Although Joel could feel the sleepiness in every last bone, he wasn't able to drift off to sleep again. His limbs were heavy, eyes burning and pulsating, but whenever he closed his eyes, so many thoughts were twirling in his head that he wasn't able to find peace. Eventually he declared the fight lost and pushed back the blanket to follow his brother into the living room.
He found Liv awake, but she looked exactly how Joel was feeling. Her hair was a total mess, there were deep dark circles under her eyes and she could barely keep her lashes open. And yet… she looked appealing. Even more than last night.
"Mornin'," Joel grunted, heavy feet dragging over the floor as he headed to the kitchen counter where Tommy was just filling three cups with hot coffee.
"Did you wake 'er too?" Joel asked, grabbing a cup without any thanks and then sinking down on a chair by the table.
"No. She was already awake."
Joel gave a nod and then brought the edge of the mug to his lips. It was still boiling hot, steam creating beautiful shapes and images as it ascended from the inky liquid, but it was just the way he liked it. So hot that it was almost burning on his tongue, but he found the prickling and tingling sensation pleasant. Tommy on the other hand put the remaining two cups on the table to wait for the coffee to cool down.
"Did you sleep well?" his brother asked. When he looked up, however, he saw that Tommy had directed the question toward Liv. She nodded slowly in that moment, pulling the edge of the blanket under her chin and sinking deeper into the cushions.
"Yes. It was okay."
"And how's your head? You still feel dizzy? Or is there anythin' else that's hurtin' you?"
She shook her head, eyes big as she kept eye contact with Tommy.
"I think I'm okay."
"Good. Listen, my brother and I are probably gonna head out today to do some huntin'. And we're gonna fetch some water by the river. Are you fine with stayin' here while we're out? I think you could use the time to rest."
Joel would have almost choked on his coffee, but could swallow it in the last moment. Since when did Tommy single-handedly decided the plan for the day? Since when had he stopped discussing things like this with Joel? Was it him trying to look unwavering and strong in front of Liv? At the end of the day, and Joel couldn't be convinced otherwise, Tommy had surely just found a liking in the girl and wanted to impress her. And Joel couldn't blame him, neither of them had touched a female person in years and of course he had seized the opportunity when they had stumbled upon her. Joel just wished Tommy would be transparent about it.
"Yes. Okay," Liv replied, eyes darting at the cup of coffee on the table and his brother understood.
"Oh yeah. The coffee. Here."
He handed her the mug, briefly smiling down at her before turning toward Joel.
"Okay. Should we head out?"
His tone made it clear that Tommy wasn't expecting any protest. He had stated what they were going to do today and although Joel was weighing whether to humiliate his brother or not, in the end he just complied and nodded. He could still feel the anger from last night in form of a bitter taste in his throat, but that was between Tommy and him. So he swallowed his pride for once, slammed his cup back on the table and stood up.
"Don't you wanna drink up?" he asked, referring to his coffee, but his brother shrugged. "No, I'll drink it later."
Half an hour later Joel pulled up his shoulders, shivering at the cutting cold and burying his hands deep inside his front pockets. It was colder than he had expected and right now he regretted that he hadn't put on another layer of clothing. Suddenly he turned around to check on his brother and narrowed his eyes, noticing that Tommy had fallen back quite a bit.
"Tommy?" he shouted and rolled his eyes as his brother started to jog.
"What're you doin'?" he said once he was next to him and began moving again.
"Sorry, I thought I saw somethin'."
"Tell me next time. What if I had just kept walkin' and didn't notice that you were behind me. We needa stick together, especially on a day so goddamn cold."
Tommy glanced at his profile, chewing on his bottom lip and then stretched his hand toward him.
"Do you want my gloves? I'm not that cold."
"It's fine, just… keep walkin' and then it's gonna be better."
The only noise roaring in Joel's ears was the soft breeze, the chirping of birds that were brave enough to face the cold instead of fleeing south and the distant howling of wolves. It was a beautiful morning – cold, yes, but the sky was clear with the exception of a few spotty clouds.
They even spotted a rabbit hopping along the path that gave them a short dart as if to convince itself that it wasn't dreaming and there were actually two human beings out here in the middle of nowhere.
"It's nice here," Joel said after a while, pursing his lips and watching Tommy's eyebrows raise.
"Yeah it is. Would've been a nice vacation location. Only that no one's here."
"That's the nice part about it," Joel grinned and stared ahead again.
He wasn't even cold anymore and the caffein was starting to kick in, so perhaps there was still a chance that this might turn out to be a good day. All of a sudden, Joel felt so much on a high that he even chose to mention Liv again – this time without any negative ulterior motives.
"Liv seemed fine, right? You're better at that medical stuff, so do you think the wound is a problem?"
"No, she's fine. It ain't a deep wound. She probably just had a concussion."
Joel nodded, but his thoughts were pacing around his head. In the end, he grinned again, his lips curling and his breath catching in his throat.
"You think she's cute, don't ya?"
Now he definitely had Tommy's attention. His head shot around, eyes narrowing threateningly as he set his sights on his brother.
"Jesus fuckin' christ, it ain't all about wantin' to fuck someone."
"I didn't say anythin' about fuckin'. Tommy, I know ya. I know how you act when you find someone cute. I know how you talk, what your voice sounds like, how you smile… You think she's hot."
Tommy took a deep breath, jutting his chin forward and flashing his eyes at Joel.
"No. I don't. She's too young anyway. And I don't – I don't see her that way. We saved 'er, Joel and right now I see her as a person we gotta protect."
Joel scrunched his nose, but withheld another unnecessary comment.
"Do you want my promise or somethin'? I'm not gonna fuck 'er. We both ain't gonna. We're gonna get 'er to the next big city and then can be proud ourselves 'cause we saved a life and did something good for once in our lives."
With these words, things seemed to be clear. Joel dropped the topic – althogh he still didn't fully believe his brother – and so did Tommy.
When they returned to the cabin two hours later with as many canisters of fresh water as they could carry, they could hear Liv before they could see her. Joel kicked the door open with his foot and frowned as he watched her push against the window in the living room.
"What are you doin'?" Joel wanted to know, putting the canisters down and stepping to her side.
"I wanted to open a window to get some fresh air, but it's stuck."
He released the canting with little effort and inhaled the fresh breeze.
"There we go," Joel said, taking a step back and putting his hands on his hips.
"Thank you. You… How was it?"
"We brought fresh water. But unfortunately, no luck for the hunting part."
He instantly saw the fear in her eyes, throat bobbing as she audibly gulped.
"But that's alright, we got enough food for the next couple of days. Don't ya worry."
That seemed to calm her a bit and Joel left her by the couch to store the fresh water in the kitchen.
"What did you do while we were gone?" he next asked over his shoulder.
"Not much. I went outside to get some fresh air, but it was too cold."
"Yeah, and you're not dressed for the cold. I'm gonna give you some of my clothes later, so you can go for a walk if you want to."
It was fortunate for Joel that she wasn't dressed properly right now. She wore jeans and a tight long-sleeved shirt that didn't show much skin but didn't hide her frame either. He couldn't help himself and his eyes definitely lingered on her too long. It just was such an inviting view.
"Thank you. That… That would be nice."
Suddenly the door was pushed open and Tommy entered the living room. Something about his face made Joel think that he had just been caught doing something inappropriate, but he quickly reminded himself that he had only had a conversation with her, nothing else. Joel had to be right, no matter how badly Tommy tried to deny it. He knew this kind of dynamic and he only had to glimpse at his brother's stiff lips to see that it was bothering him to catch Joel and Liv talking without him. And still, Tommy refused to admit it, which bothered Joel on the other hand.
"Hi," said Tommy, giving her a reassuring smile and sitting down in the armchair. "You alright? Anythin' happened while we were gone?"
"No, everything was quiet," Liv whispered, brushing a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear and shyly dropping her gaze.
"Good. We got some fresh water, so take some if you need. And same goes with food of course."
"Thank you. For… for everything. And I'm sorry, I – I know that I'm – I'm a burden and… I don't know, I just don't wanna… interfere with your plans."
She sniffled, wiping over her eyes with the back of her hand where new tears were gathering on her waterline again.
"Hey, none of that…," Tommy whispered, leaning forward to briefly caress her knee. "You're not interferin' with anythin'. We're helpin' you 'cause we want to. Ain't your fault you had to run from Seattle and were attacked by infected in that hospital."
Liv unwillingly nodded, but made no effort to hide the tears streaming down her face.
"I know. But still… I feel a little bad. And I'm scared that I'm using up your supplies."
"I know. But you're not. I promise, we got enough for three. We just killed a deer and we also got so much stuff we brought from Kansas. Just don't worry about it, okay?"
Liv nodded, but there was still this doubtful sparkle in her swollen eyes.
"Are you scared of us?" Tommy asked, eyebrows drawn together and lips twisted in a concerned pout.
"N-No. I don't think so," she replied.
"Good. 'Cause there's no reason to be. Look, we do a lot of bad stuff to survive, but we gain no advantage from harmin' you. We kill, but we only kill those who pose a danger to us. And you don't. You understand?"
She nodded and let Tommy squeeze her hand comfortingly.
"I think you needa drink something now. You look a 'lil pale around the nose. C'mon."
It was dark outside, the moon majestically gleaming on top of the sky as if it owned the world. All the stars around it sparkled and shone more subtle, but not any less beautiful. Joel's attention was drawn back to reality when Tommy jostled him on the way to the kitchen.
"Sorry," he apologised, but then turned around to catch Joel's gaze.
"Oh, can you grab a new flashlight please? Mine won't turn on anymore."
"Yeah sure," he replied, already pushing himself away from the window when his gaze caught Liv.
"I think you should have one too," he noted, wrinkling his brow when she looked up to him.
"Yes. Maybe," Tommy added.
"Okay. I'm gonna get you one too."
"Wait, where are you even going?" Liv wanted to know and put the book aside that Tommy had given her and that she had previously read.
"To the shed next to the house. We got all of our supplies there. Weapons, some food, tools and all of this stuff."
Her lips formed a pout. "Can I see it?"
Joel and Tommy exchanged a glance, both clueless about why they should deny her, so the older brother nodded.
"Sure. Okay. Come with me."
Joel heard her quiet steps behind him as he made his way to the front door of the house, grabbing his own flashlight and then turning around to her with a finger brought to his lips.
"We're gonna be quiet, alright? Just in case. I don't think there's anything out there, but we don't wanna attract infected."
Liv mouthed a 'yes' and then followed close behind as Joel opened the door to the darkness. The clear sky allowed the moon and the stars to cast some light, but it wouldn't have been enough to guide them on their short way to the shed, so Joel was glad his flashlight was still working. Within a minute, they had reached the wooden building next to the house and Joel handed her the light source, so that he could slide the heavy bolt to the side. Then he gestured her to follow him, grabbed the flashlight again and closed the gate behind her.
"There we go…," Joel murmured, turning off his flashlight the moment he switched on the weak ceiling lamp and then made an inviting hand movement.
"It's not that impressive. Hope it's not underwhelming," he chuckled and then headed to a box in the corner on the shed.
"So here are your treasures," Liv said with a smirk as she slowly rotated around to take everything in. She moved carefully, as if afraid to destroy or bump into anything. Her hands were pressed against her body, and she stood with her back slightly hunched.
"Yeah. If you say it like that."
Joel had quickly found what he had been looking for, triumphantly dangling two flashlights in front of her face and then putting them on a shelf.
"You better watch out for this. You just saw it, it's gettin' really dark out here in the night, so this thing can be your lifesaver."
Liv nodded, eyes fixed on the item and was just about to reach for it when Joel chuckled and grabbed her wrist before her slender fingers could wrap around it.
"Not yet. First, I wanna show you somethin' else."
He dropped her hand, lips still forming a curve as he crossed the room to find the corner that was hidden by the old broken mini tractor in the middle of the shed when you entered the barn. The moment Joel saw what he wanted to show her, he turned around to watch for her reaction. And it came in form of a gasp.
"Oh my – wow. That's… they're so cute."
It was a nest of hatchling birds, positioned on the ground in the deepest and darkest corner of the barn. It was a good moment to visit them, to be fair – they were awake and chirping, beaks open and stretched toward them as if asking for food.
"I found 'em a couple of days ago. I bring 'em some food every now and then. I think their mother is dead 'cause yesterday I found a bird outside next to the shed so I assume they are on their own now."
Liv offered her finger to them, giggling when one of them picked after it.
"Can I – Can I feed them some time?" she asked, briefly glancing at Joel, but then dropping her head like she had gotten all shy all of the sudden.
"Of course, yeah. If you want to."
He wryly grinned as he ran his gaze over the young woman. She looked so pretty right now with her face glowing and the broad smile on her face. She was so focused on the little birds that her hair was hanging into her face and Joel had to fight the urge to brush it behind her ear.
"I would like to name them…," she then mumbled more to herself, but Joel replied anyway.
"Yes, do that… It would be sad to let them starve out 'ere, so I'm glad you wanna take care of 'em."
"But you're gonna show me what to feed them, right?" Liv said, turning her head toward him and straightening up again.
"Yes. I will."
Joel hesitated, his gaze stopping on her face and he just couldn't avert his eyes from her perfect, kissable lips, the glint in her eyes or the way she bit down on her lip.
"Thank you, Joel. Seriously."
Something tightened in his stomach – as if there was something inside of him that wanted to get out so badly, but Joel didn't know what to do to release it. All he could do was stare at her, take in her beauty and imagine what she would look like when her face was drawn with pleasure. He wanted her and god he wasn't in the mood to play stupid games and yearn for her in secret.
"You're very pretty, you know that?" Joel scoffed, taking a subtle little step toward her and watching her precisely for any reaction. A muscle around her eyes twitched, her lashes briefly fluttering, which was enough for him to know that she had noticed the gesture. Would she be smart enough to interpret it correctly?
"Thank you," Liv answered, voice more quiet and a little shaky.
"Look at me," he hissed, short of breath, as a familiar pressure built up in his lower belly. Liv obeyed his command, although her eyes seemed even bigger and rounder as she met his gaze.
"God… I'm gonna lose my fuckin' mind if you keep lookin' at me like that."
Another light sparkle in her eyes, but she didn't step back when Joel closed the distance between them. He cupped her chin, almost anxiously waiting for her to tell him to stop and let go of her, but she didn't… She just glared up to him under her lashes as if she was waiting for further instructions.
"Get on your knees."
Joel didn't know where this had just come from, but the moment the words had left his throat, part of him regretted it. This was definitely going too quickly, he hadn't even kissed her yet and already asked her to kneel for him. He just hadn't been able to hold back, the pictures in his head, her beautiful lips tight around his shaft haunted him and he had let desire take over his mind.
Liv didn't immediately answer. Uncertainty painted her face as she parted her lips like she was about to say something, but then seemed to change her mind.
There was no going back now anyway, so fuck it.
"What do you think, mhm? You look so pretty like that and I bet you'd look even prettier kneeling for me. You don't have to do anythin'… Just get down and I'll take care of everything."
Joel caressed the side of her head, hair silky and soft beneath his touch and then inaudibly exhaled when he felt her give in. She effortlessly sank down, giving him one last doubtful glance when her knees were about to touch the dirty ground, but Joel's hand in her hair pushed her further until she was right where he wanted her.
"Jesus," he fizzled, flaring his nose in excitement about what was about to happen. This sweet little thing would open her mouth for him and Joel couldn't think of anything more pleasing. In fact, he couldn't remember ever having felt so excited about something.
"You know how this works, sweetheart?" he asked, fingers already busy with the opening of his belt.
"I-I think so," Liv stuttered, eyes frantically jumping between his hands and his face.
"Have you ever sucked someone's dick?"
"Yes. But just once," she replied grounding herself with her fists next to her on the floor.
"Okay. That's fine, I'm gonna show you everythin'."
Joel yanked down his jeans and boxers in one swift motion and a gasp left her throat at the sight of his thick, hard length, the tip dark red and throbbing. It looked as painful as it felt and Joel couldn't have been more eager to finally feed her his dick and slide it down her throat.
"Open your mouth. Wide, like that… yeah…"
Liv parted her lips, unlocked her jaw and then allowed him to enter her mouth with a slow thrust. For now he wanted to explore her throat, test her and see what she had to offer him. And god he was already losing it. Her mouth was hot and wet, a welcoming distraction to the cold weather outside. The feeling of her mouth around it did not only have something arousing about it, but also something comforting and blissful. So comforting that Joel imagined what it would be like to spend the rest of his life with her mouth full of him.
"Jesus. Yeah, slide across the length, just like that… And now suck it. Suck it good… yeah."
Her motions were hesistant and she still seemed a little stiff as she moved her lips up and down his manhood, but the feeling was too good to question it. Her tongue played with his shaft, tracing the veins and drawing circles across it while her lips created the perfect amount of pressure. It was divine and considering that he hadn't had his cock sucked in years, Joel could only think that he had never received such an amazing blowjob.
His hand in her hair tightened with every glide down her throat and soon she reached up to where her scalp stung under Joel's grip. This caused him to loosen his grip slightly, but he simultaneously slowly began to roll his hips while restricting the space he allowed her to move in.
"Look at me," he then ordered, remembering how sweet and obedient she looked when he was towering over her and groaned as he was able to make out her pupils in the dim light. Joel soon found a steady pace with which he entered her mouth, his grip in her hair keeping her in place while he allowed her to lick and suck on his dick in her own way. Because he had realised he liked her ways very much.
"Good girl… You're doin' so well, just – fuck, yeah… Keep those eyes on me… It's alright, it's okay if you tear up. Wanna see it all anyways."
Liv swallowed hard, deeply inhaling the limited air she received while blinking a few times. Joel saw how she was trying to make the tears on her waterline disappear, but despite all the efforts, the first drop soon made its way down her face. Although it was an appealing view, Joel definitely didn't want to traumatise her or put her through something she didn't actually want, which was why he pulled her back by her hair to allow her to catch her breath. That way he could also check up on her, so Joel gently cupped her face and brushed over her cheek with his thumb.
"Breathe, sweetheart… You needa be ready for round two."
She greedily sucked in the fresh air, lungs expanding and chest heaving while Joel held her by her hair.
"There ya go… Nice 'n' steady breaths…"
He chuckled when she wiped over her forehead, skin flush and wet with sweat that glistened under the lighting.
"Look at you, all messy 'n' fucked out. C'mon, get back 'ere now and give 'im some more love."
Joel gently, yet deliberately pushed her back on his dick, fingertips buried into her scalp and his eyes fluttering shut as he was all the way inside of her throat again. He buttomed out, hips pressed against her face and her hands coming up to grab his thighs to steady herself. Deep, long gasps left her throat and while Joel made sure that he didn't push her too far, he knew that she could take more, which was why he stayed inside of her mouth for a few more seconds before driving back and fucking her throat steadily. The sounds he produced were obscene and filthy and if Joel wasn't mistaken, he could see her cheeks blush at the wet, smacking noises, accompanied by her gags and moans.
He was more merciful now, his movements inside of her mouth slower and more careful and he didn't push her to her limits as he previously had. Not because he hadn't enjoyed it, but Joel had found such a liking in using her mouth that he didn't want to risk scaring her off and never getting the opportunity to do it again. And then there were all the other things he wanted to do to her… If he wanted a chance to see her naked—or even to fuck her pussy—he had to treat her nicely.
Joel grunted, stomach wrenching and a warm liquid pouring from his center. He felt light headed and fuzzy, which was a strong sign he would soon cum inside of her mouth. That thought alone was enough to make him groan, the idea of painting her pretty face with his cum, watching it drip down her chin and stroke himself in front of her until he had fully emptied himself so exciting and intoxicating that his heartrate shot up and his ears rang. His eyes were on her, nose scrunched and lips parted and Joel could, with all of his heart, say that he couldn't imagine a prettier picture than this lovely girl kneeling in front of him and devouring his dick like she was made for it.
But then, all of a sudden, he was ripped from his pleasant thoughts when a loud noise caused him to turn his head quickly.
"What the fuck?!"
His chest was still moving rapidly as he lay his eyes upon his brother and the hand on Liv's head that had guided her came to a stop.
"Oh Jesus," Joel breathed and wiped over his sweat brow while simultaneously pulling out of Liv's mouth. The girl was terrified, big, brown deer eyes glancing up to Tommy and in that moment she seriously reminded Joel of a daunted, frightened little puppy.
Tommy, on the other hand, looked more like a dangerous lion who had just caught his next victims. His hands were on his hips, his frame broad and tall and his breath catching in his throat as well, only that it was from anger and not from sexual excitement.
"What the fuck. Are you fuckin' kiddin' me?" Tommy hissed, lifting a single finger and pointing at his brother. Joel had tucked himself in again and now defensively raised his hands to calm him.
"Relax, okay? Don't freak out."
"You're tellin' me not to freak out? What the fuck – what the fuck do you think you're doin'?"
Liv involuntarily whimpered when Tommy took a step forward and then clumsily tried to get up from the ground. But at that moment, the younger brother flashed his eyes and bared his teeth at her, causing her to jolt backward and land on her butt.
"No, you better stay on the ground where you belong, you 'lil slut," Tommy fizzled, threateningly clenching his hands into fists.
"Tommy, leave 'er alone. Be mad at me if you want to, but don't scare her."
"Oh don't you worry, I'm mad at you too. You fuckin' bastard. You're annoyin' and teasin' me all day, actin' like you're convinced that I just wanna fuck 'er and then I find you doin' it."
Joel lifted his eyebrows. "Well, I didn't fuck 'er."
"Oh shut up. Shut up, you fuckin' asshole. Why did you do it? We said that we wouldn't touch 'er. God, Joel, I fuckin' promised you."
Tommy grabbed his brother's shoulder, shaking him like he could bring back his reason that way.
"I didn't promise anythin'. You did. You said we both wouldn't touch her but I didn't say anythin'."
"Fuck you. I mean it, fuck you. I know you think I'm gonna forgive you in the mornin' or by tomorrow night at the latest, but not this fuckin' time."
Liv, sitting on the ground was forgotten now as Joel grinded his teeth.
"Why are you so mad? We just had a 'lil bit of fun, I don't get why you're so angry."
"Because we were meant to protect 'er."
"And I can't protect 'er while I have a little bit of fun with 'er?"
Tommy chewed on his bottom lip, jaw tight and hands clenching like he was about to hit his brother.
"Don't act dumb, Joel. You know what I mean. She's traumatised and – and scared and much too young, by the way, and you just used all of that to get what you want. This is so fucked up and we both know it."
Joel hesitated before he answered. Of course he knew that he wasn't a good human being and perhaps Tommy was even right with what he was saying, but Joel knew that in this case it wasn't that simple. Tommy wasn't a saint either, despite all the effort he made. No, this wasn't about his morally grey actions. Joel knew this man better than anyone else in the world and Tommy wasn't the kind of person to judge what Joel had just done. This was about something else, this was about the girl.
He hadn't been wrong after all, Tommy liked her. The poor man was simply frustrated that Joel had touched her and had been quicker than him. What a mess. If he would simply tell him so and be honest, Joel might have been able to help him. Even now, he didn't mind sharing Liv. He would leave the shed without the blink of an eye – at least after he had finally cum on her face – to give Tommy and her some privacy. If Tommy would simply communicate with him and stop being too proud and morally superior to tell him his real intentions.
"Let's go inside," Joel eventually said with a dart in Liv's direction. "She's cold and needs to clean 'erself and we should discuss this after we've both had a moment to calm down."
In truth, Joel hoped to catch his brother alone for a moment and get the truth out of him then. He seriously couldn't blame Tommy for not wanting to tell his brother how bad he wanted to fuck Liv with her sitting right in front of him. Tommy pursed his lips, eyes still small as beetles and coated with the most hostile kind of glint. He looked like he was about to attack his brother and was thinking about the most cruel and horrible methods.
"Okay. But I swear to god, you're not gettin' away with this so easily. You can't just fuckin' do whatever you like and expect me to go along with it."
"Yes, Tommy, I know," Joel muttered, wanting nothing more than to get out of here as quickly as possible so he didn't have to listen to Tommy's insincere ethical concerns any longer. He nodded and sighed and then approached Liv, who was crouching on the floor and flinched when she saw him pay attention to her.
"You alright?" Joel wanted to know and curled his lips into a gentle, protective smile. She nodded reluctantly, eyes blown and rigid as if she was scared to miss something important if she blinked.
"Lemme help you up," Joel cooed, offering her his arm and pulling her up on shaky knees.
"Come. We're gonna get you back inside the house."
Liv clasped her hands around his arm and glanced up at him briefly, gulping to moisten her dry throat at Joel's reassuring nod. Then, she followed him and Tommy outside the shed.
⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ synopsis : you head to the bar to blow off some steam after a petty argument with your boyfriend, joel, but you end up flirting with the last person you should've been flirting with.
⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ warnings/tags : MINORS DNI, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, begging, crying, spanking, jealous sex, angry sex, rough fucking, pet names, praise, degradation, use of sir, use of daddy (once), age gap (reader is 22, joel is 48), fingering, dom!joel, jealous!joel, no outbreak, no use of y/n, alcohol consumption, pussy slapping, public sex
⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ contains : older!joel miller x younger!reader, borderline infidelity, public sex, alcohol consumption, large consensual age gap
⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ wc : 3.7k
the bar hums with a steady pulse of low conversation and the clinking of glass while neon lights buzz faintly above the bar counter, casting a colourful glow over people nestled into the worn leather booths and high padded stools. a jukebox in the corner crackles with the opening beat of song 2 by blur, blending with the cacophony of voices and laughter while a group of people begin to cheer after the home team scores, TV’s playing the football game. the air smells faintly of spilt beer, fried food, stale smoke, and sweat, causing your nose to wrinkle slightly as you sink down into the plush barstool.
normally, you’d be pulled tight on your boyfriends lap, his large, muscular arms pinning you against him as he ordered drinks for the both of you, fingers digging into your plush thighs as you bat your eyelashes at him in gratitude, intoxicated by his scent.
this time, however, you are alone.
joel didn’t typically feed into your petty attitudes, usually preferring to fuck them out of you and calm you down by pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you. but after an especially long week at work where there seemed to be a never-ending barrage of issues with the place him and his brothers team were building and far too many 14 hour days, he snapped. you had been begging him to take you out, promising him it would ease some of his tension and stress but he repeatedly declined, telling you he had a headache and would rather stay home and watch football.
you tried to understand, really you did. but it was safe to say that after a week of barely seeing him, not being able to wrap your legs around his waist and tug on the salt and pepper curls at the base of his neck, that you didn’t really care how he was feeling, just wanting to spend time with him outside of the house and do anything other than watch sports. of course, it was petty, selfish, and immature, but being 22 will do that to you, you supposed.
you had left the house with a huff and a slam of the front door after joel had told you to “quit bein’ a fuckin’ brat and pissin’ me off. go out if you want to that badly.” with a mean lilt to his voice that made your stomach simmer with an angry burn. that was the meanest he’d ever been to you outside of your sex life. the two of you had been together for no more than two and a half months, still keeping it private and between you and him. your parents hadn’t a clue, and neither did joel’s brother. you hadn’t met him yet, the only thing about him you knew was that his name is tommy and him and joel still fight like teenage boys, a smile tugging at your lips at the thought.
you white-knuckled the steering wheel the entire drive to the bar, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth as his words kept repeating in your head.
so, that’s how you found yourself nursing a lone star, your black mini skirt hugging your hips and ass while your corset top squishes your tits into your torso, accentuating your cleavage deliciously. you make conversation with the bartender as she cleans glasses, mixes drinks, and wipes down the counter, looking around at the patrons trying to find someone worth flirting with.
under any other circumstances, you would never even consider batting your eyelashes and giggling for any other man but joel, but you simply knew him too well. you knew the way you huffed and slammed the door, leaving in an anger, had left his cock angry and straining against his jeans as his mind reeled, fighting against the urge to follow you to the bar and fuck you right in his truck, setting you straight. regardless, you knew you were getting fucked tonight, but it would be much more fun if you could bring out the possessive side of joel that made him press your thighs to your shoulders while his cock abused your pussy until you couldn’t even think. the thought sent a pang of warmth straight down to your core and you squeeze your thighs together in an attempt for some semblance of relief.
as if on cue, an older man, maybe in his late 30’s to early 40’s, enters the bar and a mischievous smile makes its way onto your face. you watch with your bottom lip between your teeth as he approaches the bar, settling down in the only available stool; the one right beside you. he glances over at you and you shoot him a smile, pushing your hair off of your shoulder as you take a sip from your glass, leaning forward to lean on your palm.
“now what’s a pretty young thing like you doin’ at a bar like this?” he drawls, green eyes twinkling as he studies your face before dragging his eyes up and down your body.
bingo.
you hum, trying to decide what to say while tapping your nail against your lip as you support your head on the palm of your hand. “boyfriends bein’ an asshole so i came to blow off some steam,” you settled on telling him a half truth.
joel was being an asshole, but because you deserved it, and the only steam you were looking to blow off was with joel.
the man beside you chuckled, pushing a few stray pieces of dirty blonde hair out of his face, the rest tied back. “naughty girl,” he chided, eyes dragging up your body again and settling on your tits before making eye contact again.
something tugged at you, making your stomach churn anxiously. he looks oddly familiar, you realize, but you shake the feeling, comforting yourself with the fact that you and joel had come here many times, and you’d probably just seen this guy around before.
“somethin’ like that,” you reply with a giggle, pushing yourself to sit back up after finishing the rest of your beer, turning and ordering another one. you reach for your wallet to pay before you see a card being slid across the counter.
“let me take care of it, darlin’.” he winks, a smile spreading across his bearded face as you thank him with a light touch to his bicep.
the two of you talk for several minutes, his flirting making you giggle as your hair falls in front of your face before you take a drink of the beer he had paid for, wiping away the foam that had appeared on your top lip with your pointer finger before popping it in your mouth, making eye contact with the man beside you.
he smirks and tucks your hair behind your ear, out of your face and your stomach twists with guilt. his eyes flit down to your lips, and his thumb meets your bottom lip, swiping across it lightly.
“what i’d give to see you suck somethin’ else off them pretty fingers of yours,”
okay, now you feel really guilty.
you had expected joel to come after you sooner, have him walk in and see you simply talking to someone, but this was bordering on actual cheating. you wriggle nervously in your seat eliciting a chuckle from the man beside you, but before you could truly process your guilt, an angry voice came from behind you.
“get the fuck away from her, tommy.”
your heart drops to your stomach as the realization hits you. no wonder he was so god damn familiar, he was joels fucking brother. the guilt was eating you alive now as you whip around to face joel, his eyes dark and jaw tensed.
“joel i-“ you start, but he glares at you with a look you’ve never seen before, pointing a finger in your direction.
“dont.” he warns, and you feel a flood of warmth in your core at his words, thighs rubbing together in your seat. joel looks down at your movement and scoffs, jaw tightening so hard you thought he might break his teeth. jesus fucking christ.
“joel, what the fuck? this is the girl you’ve been seein’?” tommys mouth hangs open, looking between the two of you before standing and putting his hands up in defense as joel’s eyes meet his, glaring.
“we can talk about it later,” he grunts, looking at his brother before gripping your wrist tightly, yanking you off of the stool. “you, however,” he drawls, voice lowering as he pulls you closer to him, “are comin’ with me right the fuck now.”
you nod silently, mumbling out a quiet “it was nice meeting you,” to tommy, which only serves to make joel grip your wrist harder as he drags you out of the bar. you can feel yourself getting wetter at the thought of what’s in store for you, following joel in a horny trance as he pulls you past his truck.
“wha- where are we-“ you start before joel tugs you around a corner and into a dark alleyway before pressing your back up against the brick wall, thigh quickly finding purchase between your legs as his torso presses against yours. you whine at the pressure on your clothed cunt, trying to grind down onto his thigh only to be stopped by a bruising grip on your hips.
“you want me that fuckin’ bad? huh?” joel mocks you, his breath hot and heavy as his mouth hovers over yours, sending chills down your spine and causing more slick to collect in your panties. one hand releases your hip as it snakes up and grips your jaw as he moves your head to the left, inspecting your face before repeating the motion, turning your head to the right. a dark look washes over his face, clearly displeased at your lack of a reply.
“answer me when i speak to you.” he spits out angrily, watching as your eyes widen and a low whine escapes your throat causing his cock to twitch in his jeans.
“y-yes.” you manage to pant out, head buzzing at the sensation of his breath on your face, his burning grip on your face and hips, and the pressure burning a hole into your cunt.
“yes what?” joel grunts, eyes dragging down your body as a string of obscenities leave his mouth, studying the way the slit of your skirt just barely covers the string of your thong wrapping around your hips and the way your tits press together in your tight top. his bruising grip leaves your face and two fingers press onto your clothed clit, making you writhe against his touch.
“yes sir,” you moan out, brain and body overwhelmed as a groan leaves his lips as he realizes just how wet you are for him, panties thoroughly soaked through, leaving a wet spot on his thigh where he had pressed against you. you whine at his reaction and his eyes flit back up to yours as he quickly flips you around, hands now bracing yourself against the wall as he presses his thick bulge against your ass.
“think i ‘oughta remind you who you belong to,” joel hurriedly pulls your mini skirt up, letting it sit on your waist as he lets out a low whistle, eyes settling on the black g-string that sat between your asscheeks, a pretty gold heart holding the strings together at the top.
“what? you jealous that your brother wants to fuck me just as much as you do-” a hand comes down on your right ass cheek with burning strength as you yelp out, tears threatening to fall from your eyes at the mixture of pain and pleasure. “you put these on for me? or are they for whichever guy your greedy self set your eyes on first?” his hand comes down on your ass again, ignoring your snide comment and you push your hips back into him, grinding against his bulge.
“a-ah- i swear joel! i swear i didn’t know he was your broth-“ you stammer before receiving another three smacks on your ass with no soothing rubs to follow, leaving you to stew there with an unbearable burn, sure to turn into welts come the morning.
“dont.” he reaffirms with another smack to your ass before ripping your thong from your body as you cry out.
“joel,” you whine, fingers digging into the brick wall in front of you as your forehead rests against the wet rock. “i really liked that pair…” you mumble as he scoffs at you, fingers tracing delicate lines through your wet, swollen folds.
“p-please baby i-“ you’re interrupted by another smack to your ass and you moan as you feel more slick pour from your needing cunt, dripping down your thighs.
“you lost any control you thought you mighta had when you decided to suck on your finger and eye fuck my brother right in fronta’ me, sweetheart.” joel growls into your ear, pressing his body right up against yours as his hair raked itself through your hair, yanking your head back by his makeshift ponytail.
“joel please, i swear i didn’t know!” you beg, your voice coming out as a breathy whine as your hips grind desperately against him, hoping to find any sort of friction to release the tension coiling in your stomach.
“ohh it ain’t about knowin’ baby girl,” his fingers make their way back to your soaking cunt, sliding through your folds with ease before rubbing tight circles against your clit, finally giving you what you were craving.
“you fucked up real good.” joel continues, fingers dragging back up before plunging deep inside of your tight pussy, pumping in and out of you at a relentless pace as your back arches, slapping one of your hands over your mouth in an attempt to silence the broken moan being ripped from your throat.
“don’t go all quiet on me now darlin’,” he teases, his free arm reaching around to pull your wrist behind your back. “want everyone to know just who you belong to.” joel finishes, his fingers curling up inside you and finding that spot that has you dripping all over his hand, another loud moan being ripped from your throat.
he continues his ministrations, his thumb beginning to rub small circles onto your clit as he adds a third finger into your cunt, your head spinning as your pussy stretches to accommodate his large digits. joels mouth meets your neck, trailing wet kisses down to the crook of your neck where he sucks down hard on your skin.
“o-oh! joel-“ you can feel the coil in your stomach getting tighter, burning hotter, his fingers repeatedly stroke your g-spot, pulling a groan from his mouth as he feels your pussy clenching and fluttering around his fingers. he knows that you’re close, the way your legs are shaking and his name is leaving your lips like a prayer, pulling you closer to the edge.
“b-baby please, please ‘m so close… wanna come for you baby please,” you can feel it about to crash over you, threatening to make your knees buckle underneath you, stealing your vision. instead of your vision, joel steals your release, ripping his hand away from your dripping cunt as he plants another hard smack on your ass cheek.
“bad girls don’t get to come, baby.” he teases, watching as you cry out and writhe against his body. fat tears start to fall down your cheeks at your desperation and loss of release and joel tuts, his hands finally soothing the red of your ass.
“think ya needa be fucked till you remember whose you are, ain’t that right?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly with a hint of the same desperation you’re feeling. you nod fervently before receiving a hard slap to your cunt and you cry out, a sob coming from your mouth.
“y-yes! that’s right sir!” you correct yourself, sighing in relief as you hear the familiar jingle of his belt buckle and the zipper of his jeans, wiggling your ass for him while you try to sneakily touch yourself.
“mm-mm.” he stops you, gripping both of your wrists behind your back as you whine in disappointment.
“dunno why ya think you’re gonna be gettin’ anything ya want after the stunt ya just pulled.” joel grunted, releasing his thick cock from its confines as he tugs his pants down with one hand. a moan escapes your throat as you feel it smack against your ass, warm and heavy. you press your hips backwards, trying to will him into fucking you.
“ya want my cock baby?” he drawls, lazily dragging his tip through your drooling folds, making you shudder and inhale sharply.
“yes sir,” he hums contentedly and presses forward the smallest bit before stopping, making you whine.
“apologize.” he states flatly, cock unmoving as his hands release your wrists and grip your hips instead, forcing you to stay in place.
“‘m real sorry baby, please fuck me, i promise i learned my lesson,” you begged, attempting to push your hips backwards despite your clear inability to do so.
“you’re gonna have to try harder than that if you want my cock inside ya, darlin’.” he drawls, going back to rubbing his tip through your folds, making you cry out in desperation as your head starts to spin.
“p-please ‘m so sorry daddy, it’ll never happen again i promise, please jus’ fuck me- i need- i need you joel,” you pant out, crying again as he laughs meanly behind you. “im sor-”
you’re quickly interrupted by him stuffing your cunt with his cock, filling you to the brim in one quick stroke. “atta girl,” he praises, “knew i could get ya to listen to reason.”
you cry out in pleasure as you lose your vision, an orgasm ripping through your body at his words and the feeling of him deep inside of your sopping pussy, body shaking feverishly as he groans behind you.
“thas’ right baby, come all over my cock. show me who you belong to, angel.” he blabbers as he starts to fuck into you, hips slapping against yours as a squelching noise fills the air. joels hands reach down to grab at your ass, kneading the flesh between harsh smacks on your already sore cheeks.
“f-fuck!” you scream out as he fucks you through your orgasm, sliding his cock in and out of you at a devastating pace. you feel so fucking full, his cock reaching places deep inside you that you hadn’t even known existed until he waltzed into your life. he pulls you close to him, body pressing tightly against his as he buries his head into the crook of your neck.
“this perfect pussy ‘s all mine… so fucking tight baby, so perfect,” he groans into your ear, biting down on your shoulder as you shudder and gasp, barely able to make a noise with the way his cock pushes deep inside of you with every thrust of his hips. “say it. say ‘s all mine, sweet girl.”
“mmmm…” you moan as he rocks your body with his thrusts. “its all yours joel, ‘m pussy ‘s yours,” you scream out as he angles his hips higher, pushing the dip in your back further with one of his hands, cock violently punching into your g-spot.
“o-ohh,” you cry out, your wet walls clenching around his fat cock, relishing in the tingling sensation that grows inside of you.
“p-please don’t stop- ah! ‘m so close,” joel loses any control he previously had as he grabs your hips and slams your cunt onto his cock, the only sounds in the alleyway being the slapping of skin, the squelching of your wet pussy, and your loud moans that you’re sure passerby’s can hear.
“yeah?” he grunts, “such a fuckin’ slut for this cock, baby. such a good girl. come on my cock again, sweet thing,” he commands, and you know your body will obey. a burst of tension rolls through your body as he pulls your hips into him desperately like his life depends on it. you scream out again, voice sore and breaking as your second earth-shattering orgasm is ripped through you.
“fuck,” he groans, “you like makin’ me jealous baby? you like the way i slap that perfect ass of yours and fuck this tight little pussy?”
“y-yes! y-yes baby oh my god!” you whine out, coming down from your climax only to be greeted with another one quickly approaching.
“ya think you can come for me one more time baby?” he moans out, slapping your ass as he keeps fucking into you, your body shuddering as you feel the incredible size of him pumping into your cunt.
you nod your head feverishly and joel seems to be too lost in the feeling of your tight, wet walls to care that you didnt use your words.
“who else can make you cream on their cock like this, baby?” joel demands, groaning as he feels his own release quickly approaching as your walls flutter around him, your third climax rising up through your body.
“f-fuck, no one joel, no one but you,” you whine, your pussy spent and leaking your fluid as he continues fucking into you, his balls slapping against your clit bringing you even closer to finishing.
“m gonna come baby, right in this pretty little pussy of yours,” he grunts, slapping your ass as tears spill over, again. “c’mon baby give me one more, i know you can. prove to me you wanna be mine,”
joels hand reaches between your legs and he rubs delicious circles into your clit, your huge fucking mistake (being tommy) is now erased from your mind as your insides burst into flames and your hips snap backwards, meeting his thrusts as your cunt spasms around him. he lets out a long, low groan as he spills his release inside of you, fucking you through your third and final orgasm until his hips still, leaving you panting against the wall.
“such a good girl for me,” he purrs, pulling out and landing a final smack on your pussy, making your entire body convulse in overstimulation. you cry out softly and he pulls your body against him, finally holding you against his torso. you whine as you feel his spend leaking out of your pussy, and his fingers are quick to collect it and plug your dripping hole.
his fingers leave your cunt moments later and you let out a disappointed sigh as he taps your ass lightly, pressing a kiss to your marked up neck.
“now pull that slutty skirt down and get in the fuckin’ truck.”
hoep you guys enjoyed!!! this is my first time writing smut in like 5 years so i hope its good </3 older men have been consuming my head so i wrote this up in a frenzy :P will be crossposted to ao3!
Summary: A month of careful distance starts to crack the second Sarah pulls you back into Joel’s world. One sleepover, one wedding, and a few too many quiet moments later, the line you both tried to draw doesn’t hold.
Word count for this chapter: 12k (so sorry for it being so long)
Content & Warnings
Rating: Explicit (18+)
Tropes: Age Gap (twenty years), Dad's Best Friend, Forced Proximity, Mutual Yearning, Unspoken Attraction, Slow Burn, Family Drama, Grief & Loss.
Warnings / Kinks: Mentions of parent death/grief, swearing, subtle flirtation, sexual tension, eye contact, Heavy drinking, mutual yearning. Secret relationship, Explicit sexual content, Semi-public sex, Finger fucking, Vaginal sex, Creampie, Hand over mouth, Mirror sex, Dirty talk, Praise kink, Jealousy, Possessive behavior, Emotional angst, Dirty talk, Size difference, Possessiveness, Aftercare
Main tags: Joel Miller, Joel Miller × Reader, Dad's Best Friend Joel Miller, Protective Joel Miller, Jealous Joel Miller, Texas Heat, Slow Burn, Family Dynamics, Teen Sarah Miller, Joel Millers son- Jake Miller-omc, Readers dad-omc.
Chapter seven: If you’ll still have me.
It’s been a month.
A full month of carefully timed exits and quiet detours, of hearing his truck pull into the driveway across the street and staying away from the windows until the engine cut off. You haven’t locked yourself in your room the entire time. You still come downstairs most evenings, sit at the table with your dad, pass the salt, listen to him talk about work or the weather or whatever game is on. You go to the store when the fridge gets empty. You even met an old friend for lunch one afternoon and managed to laugh at a couple of her stories without it feeling completely forced.
You downloaded a dating app on a particularly bad night, scrolled for twenty minutes, matched with someone who seemed nice enough, and almost went through with meeting him for coffee. You canceled an hour before, deleted the app, and felt nothing but relief.
The day after everything happened with Joel, you told your dad you were thinking about moving into Mom’s old place. Get a job out there, start fresh.
You thanked him for everything he’d done, for letting and making you come home after everything fell apart. The look on his face wrecked you. He asked if he’d done something wrong. His eyes went shiny and you couldn’t stand it. You hugged him hard and told him no, of course not, it was just an idea, you weren’t going anywhere. You meant it.
He’s been a good dad your whole life. Steady. Kind. The kind of man who never made you feel like a burden even when you were at your lowest. You couldn’t break his heart just because his best friend had broken yours.
If you could even call it that.
One night. That was all it had been. One long, perfect, terrible night where everything lined up and then fell apart just as fast. You didn’t love Joel. He didn’t love you. You’d barely known each other in that way. Still, the absence of him sat in your chest.
You caught yourself listening for his voice when you were outside. You still slept in his t-shirt, even though the smell of him had mostly faded. Some mornings you woke up reaching for a warmth that wasn’t there.
You told yourself you were fine. Mostly, you almost believed it.
You kept wondering if he thought about you at all. Surely not. Not in the way that you thought about him.
You tried to move on. You really did. You finished books you’d been meaning to read, put on music loud enough to drown out your own head, forced yourself to stay busy. None of it worked. Every song somehow bent back around to him. Every quiet moment filled with the memory of his voice, the weight of his hands, the way he’d looked at you like you were something worth keeping.
It made no sense. You’d had real relationships. Your last boyfriend lasted three years. When you found out he’d been cheating, you cried, you got angry, you got over it. This was different. In the last month you’d cried harder over Joel Miller than you ever had over that entire relationship. Even the grief for your mom had been pushed to the edges of your mind. Everything else had narrowed down to him.
Joel. Joel. Joel.
How had he gotten under your skin like this? Why did it still hurt like something unfinished?
Jake had texted a few times. He even showed up at the house once, standing on the porch with flowers. Your dad had stepped outside and told him, firm but not unkind, that it wasn’t a good time. Jake left without much of a fight. Sarah kept texting too. You answered, but the messages got shorter. Every time she asked if you wanted to come over, hang out, watch a movie, go swimming, you found a reason to say no. You were tired. You had plans. You weren’t feeling great. She seemed to buy it.
You almost believed you’d managed to keep everything at a safe distance.
Then one afternoon you were climbing out of your truck, keys still in your hand, when you heard Sarah’s voice cut across the street.
“Hey!”
You looked up.
She was already running toward you, sneakers slapping the pavement, grinning like nothing in the world had changed. Behind her, Joel stood by the open driver’s door of his truck, one hand still resting on the frame. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t looking away either. For a second the whole street felt too quiet, too bright. Your heart slammed once against your ribs, hard enough that you had to tighten your grip on the keys just to stay steady.
Sarah threw herself at you the second she reached the driveway, arms locking tight around your waist. You hugged her back, burying your face in her hair for a second longer than necessary. You had missed her, so much.
“Why haven’t you been around?” she whispered against your shoulder. “Did I do somethin’?”
You pulled back enough to look at her, hands still on her arms. “No. No, absolutely not, babe. I promise that’s not it. I’ve just… I’ve been really busy.”
The lie sat heavy on your tongue. Sarah smiled up at you like she believed it completely, and somehow that made it worse.
“Okay. Can you come and have a sleepover tomorrow night? Please?”
You sighed, eyes flicking up before you could stop yourself. Joel was still watching the two of you. The late afternoon light caught in his eyes, turning them that familiar warm, honey brown you hadn’t let yourself think about in weeks. Your stomach twisted.
You looked back down at Sarah’s hopeful face. “I don’t—”
She didn’t wait for the rest. She grabbed your wrist and started dragging you across the street, sneakers scuffing the pavement.
“Sarah… please, stop,” you whisper yelled, trying to dig your heels in without making a scene. “Sarah, stop, stop—”
It was useless. In three more steps you were standing right in front of him.
You forced yourself to look up. He was already looking at you. For a second neither of you said anything. You could feel the heat climbing the back of your neck, the way your pulse jumped just from being this close again. You looked away fast, but not before you caught the corner of his mouth almost, almost, tipping up.
Sarah squeezed your arm, bouncing on her toes.
“Dad, can she stay the night tomorrow? Please please please please!”
You glanced at her, then back at Joel. He still hadn’t looked away. The intensity of it made your skin prickle, every nerve suddenly too awake. Being this close to him after a month of distance felt dangerous. Your heart was beating so hard you were half convinced he could hear it.
“That alright with you?” he asked, voice low.
You blinked. “Uh… yeah. Sure. If it’s okay with you, Joel.”
The way his name left your mouth landed differently than you expected. Something shifted in his expression, barely there, but you saw it. His eyes stayed on yours a beat too long, like the sound of it had caught him off guard, like it hurt in a way he didn’t know what to do with. He cleared his throat and looked down at Sarah instead.
“Yeah. ’Course. ’Course she can stay the night, babygirl.”
Sarah squealed and threw her arms around him in a quick, tight hug before spinning back to you.
“Okay, so come over tomorrow!! We can go swimming, watch movies, oh my god, bring your stuff so we can get ready for the wedding together in the morning! Please!”
Right. The wedding.
You’d completely forgotten. One of the guys from the crew, your dad and Joel’s employee, was getting married, and the whole crew had been invited. Your dad had already made it clear that if you tried to skip, he and Joel would drag you there themselves. You groaned under your breath.
Sarah was still watching you with those big hopeful eyes. You managed a small smile. “Yeah. Okay. That sounds fun, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
You hugged her again, quick and warm, then forced yourself to look at Joel one last time. He gave you a short nod. Nothing more.
You turned your back on him before you could do something stupid, like search his face for an apology, or worse, for the man who’d kissed you in the middle of the street a month ago, and walked back toward your house with your keys digging into your palm.
The next day came around slower than you wanted it to.
You spent the morning packing, folding the same pair of shorts three times before deciding they were fine. Extra clothes went in first, just in case. It was starting to feel like a pattern. Every time you ended up at Joel’s house you somehow left in something that wasn’t yours. You shoved the thought down and kept packing. Your dress for the wedding, the heels that pinched a little but looked good, a toothbrush, the soft T-shirt you actually planned to sleep in this time. You were almost done when your phone started ringing.
Sarah’s name lit up the screen. It was barely noon.
You answered. “Hello?”
“Okay, I know it’s still kinda early,” she said, already talking a mile a minute, “but please come over now! Dad just left and he said to call and have you come over earlier since he had to leave for work earlier than usual.”
You scoffed under your breath. Of course he did. He really did think of you as a free babysitter, didn’t he? Convenient when he needed someone to watch Sarah, invisible the rest of the time.
You stepped over to the window and peeked through the blinds. The driveway across the street was empty. No truck. The sight of it still managed to piss you off. What a fucking dick.
“Yeah, kid,” you said, forcing your voice to stay light. “I’ll be over in like… thirty minutes?”
You could practically hear the grin in her voice.
“Yes! Perfect! See you soon!”
You laughed once, soft, and hung up. The quiet that followed felt heavier than it should have. You finished packing, zipped the bag, and stood there for a second longer than necessary, staring at nothing. Being in that house again, his house, without him there should have been easier.
It didn’t feel easier.
Downstairs, your dad was in the living room with the TV on low.
“Hey,” you said, stopping in the doorway. “I’m going over to Sarah’s to spend the night.”
He looked up, remote still in his hand. “Alright, sweet pea. You ain’t gonna try and skip out on the wedding now, are ya?”
You sighed, lifting the bag so he could see the dress sleeve sticking out and the heels hooked over the side. “No, Dad. I swear. I’ve got all my stuff for it right here. Sarah wants us to get ready together, so I’m just stayin’ the night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He studied you for a second, then nodded. You leaned down and hugged him, quick but tight, and he patted your back the way he always did.
“Be good,” he said.
“I will.”
You straightened up, adjusted the strap of the bag on your shoulder, and headed for the door. The walk across the street felt longer than it ever had before.
Sarah opened the door before you even made it to the bottom of the steps. She came flying out, grabbed your hand, and started dragging you inside like she’d been waiting by the window the whole time.
You laughed, nearly tripping over the threshold.
“You’re crazy today. What’s goin’ on?”
She grinned up at you, still pulling. “Nothing! Just excited is all.”
The house smelled the same, wood, laundry detergent, that faint trace of coffee that never really left the kitchen, and him. You tried not to notice how familiar it felt. How wrong it felt to be back here after everything.
“Alright, kiddo,” you said once she finally let go of your hand. “What’s the plan for today?”
Sarah launched straight into it, counting on her fingers. “First we have to go swimming, that way afterwards we can shower and get comfortable and watch movies and snack and do our nails and just hang out. I already picked the movies. And I got the good snacks.”
You laughed. “Damn. You sure got everythin’ planned.”
She smiled, proud. “Yep.”
You set your bag down by the couch and tried to keep your voice casual. “So… you know when your dad’s gonna be home? Where’s Jake?”
Sarah tilted her head, looking a little confused.
“Don’t know when Dad’s gonna be home. He’s been extra grumpy lately. Don’t know what’s gotten into him.”
The words landed harder than they should have. You felt your stomach tighten. Part of you, some stubborn, hopeful, stupid part, wanted to believe it was because of how things had ended between the two of you. That maybe he regretted it. That maybe he missed you the same way you still missed him. You shut that thought down fast. It wasn’t true. He didn’t like you like that. He’d made that pretty damn clear. One night didn’t mean anything. He’d basically said it himself.
Sarah kept talking, oblivious. “And I dunno about Jake. He’s been workin’ a lot lately and stayin’ at friends’ houses. They are both actin’ so weird.”
You forced a small shrug and reached out to ruffle her hair. “Sorry, kid. I’m sure they’ll be back to normal soon.”
She nodded like she believed you, then grabbed your wrist again. “Come on. Go change. I already put my swimsuit on under my clothes.”
You let her pull you toward the stairs, heart still beating a little too fast being in his house.
You changed in Sarah’s room, pulling on the same bikini you’d worn at your welcome home party. Three months ago already. It didn’t feel real. Your mom’s one year death anniversary was only three months away now too. The thought rose up sharp and sudden, and you swallowed hard against it. Not today. You weren’t doing that today.
You stepped out into the hallway and paused in front of Joel’s closed door. Your hand lifted halfway before you caught yourself. You wanted, God, you wanted, to push it open and find him there.
Stretched out on the bed, maybe reading or just staring at the ceiling. You wanted to crawl into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world, press your face into his neck, feel his arms come around you. You just wanted to be near him. Touch him. Exist in the same space without all the careful distance.
You blinked hard, turned away, and went downstairs.
Outside, Sarah was already in the pool, floating on her back.
“Hey!” you called. “You didn’t wait for me, little shit!”
She laughed and started to answer, but you were already running. You jumped in and landed close enough to send a wave over her head.
“You dick!” she yelled, laughing as she came up sputtering.
You spent a couple of hours like that, racing from one end to the other, trying to dunk each other, floating when you got tired. The sun was warm, the water cool, and for a little while you almost managed not to think about whose house you were in.
When you finally climbed out, dripping and tired, Sarah grabbed her towel and said, “I’m gonna shower in my bathroom. You can use my dad’s.”
You stopped walking. “Sarah… I don’t think he would like that.”
She turned around, frowning. “Why would he literally care at all? I promise you it’s fine.”
You shook your head. “No. Sarah, no. He would be pissed.”
She rolled her eyes, walked inside, and picked up her phone from the counter.
“Sarah. What are you doing?”
You moved fast, reaching for it, but she already had it to her ear. It was ringing.
“Sarah. Hang up. Now,” you hissed.
She just grinned and put it on speaker.
Joel’s voice came through a second later, a little rough, a little worried. “What’s up, babygirl? You alright?”
“Yes, Dad, everythin’s fine. But we just got outta the pool and I’m showerin’ in my bathroom and she’s freaking out sayin’ you’d be soooo mad if she used yours. Would you be upset?”
Your face went hot. You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you.
There was a short pause. When Joel spoke again his voice sounded different, lower, rougher around the edges. “Uh… yeah. That’s fine. She can shower in my bathroom.”
“Great! Thanks, Dad. Love ya!” Sarah hung up before he could say anything else.
You groaned and gave her shoulder a gentle shove.
“Sarah. What the hell?”
She just laughed and shrugged. “Dude, why are you bein’ so weird? Go take a damn shower so we can watch our movies.”
You rolled your eyes, grabbed your bag, and headed upstairs. Your heart was already beating entirely too fast by the time you reached the top. You stopped outside his door, took one slow breath, and pushed it open.
The smell of him hit you immediately, soap, clean laundry, that warm trace of cologne that still clung to the air even when he wasn’t home. You shut the door behind you like you were sealing yourself in.
You set your bag on the edge of the bed and pulled out the little pajama set you’d brought: baby blue silk top covered in tiny pink bows, matching shorts.
Soft. Ridiculous. Comfortable.
In the bathroom you turned the shower on and let it run hot. You stripped, stepped under the water, and immediately realized you’d forgotten every single one of your own products. You groaned, then reached for Joel’s. At least you’d smell like him again. You washed your hair with his shampoo, ran his body wash over your skin, and breathed it in until your chest ached. You wondered where he was right now. Still at work? Driving home? Standing in some grocery aisle? Out with someone else? The last thought made your stomach twist. You pushed it away and slid down to the floor of the shower, letting the water beat against your shoulders while you stared at nothing.
You lost track of time.
Sarah’s fist banging on the door nearly made you jump out of your skin.
“Hurry up!”
“Jesus. knock it off before you give me a damn heart attack,” you called back.
You stood, shut the water off, and stepped out. Dried off. Pulled on the pajamas. Gathered your wet swimsuit and towel. When you walked back into his bedroom you meant to just grab your bag and leave. You really did.
Instead your eyes caught on the photos lined up on the dresser. Sarah as a little kid. Jake with a crooked grin. An older one of Joel and your dad years ago, both of them younger, beer bottles in hand. You looked around without thinking. The guitar in the corner had a small chip in the wood near the bottom. You wondered how many nights he’d sat in here playing it when the house was quiet. Your gaze drifted up to the horse painting above the bed. You smiled a little, wondering if he’d picked it out himself or if someone had given it to him.
You ended up in front of the record shelf, fingers trailing slowly over the spines. You could almost picture him in here with the lights low, one of these spinning, that low voice of his humming along.
Your heart ached again, deeper this time.
You sighed, forced yourself to turn away, picked up your things, and headed back downstairs before you did something even more stupid.
You found Sarah downstairs on the couch, already wrapped in a blanket with the remote in her hand.
She groaned the second she saw you. “Took you long enough!”
You laughed and dropped down beside her. “Sorry, kid. What do you wanna do now?”
She sat up straighter. “We could watch a movie? Dad ordered dinner for us. Said it should be here any minute.”
That caught you off guard. There was perfectly good food in the fridge. You didn’t know why he’d bothered. Still, you smiled. “That was sweet.”
Sarah scrolled through options until she landed on some over the top romance that looked like it had been made specifically to destroy people. The kind with longing looks across crowded rooms and almost confessions that never quite happened and a final scene that left your chest feeling hollow. You agreed anyway. She was already settling in like it was the greatest film ever made.
You were halfway through painting her nails a sparkly light blue when the doorbell rang. You hopped up a little too fast, grateful for the excuse to look away from the screen. The movie was starting to twist something uncomfortable in your stomach.
Outside, a paper bag sat on the porch. You carried it into the kitchen and opened it. The smell hit you immediately. Burgers and fries from that little place the two of you had gone to the first week you moved back home. Your exact order.
Why?
Why was he doing this? Being thoughtful. Remembering. Acting like nothing had happened. You told yourself you were reading way too much into it. He was just being the same Joel he’d always been. It didn’t mean anything. You needed to chill the fuck out.
You plated the food and carried it back to the living room. Sarah thanked you around a mouthful of fries and kept her eyes glued to the screen. You ate mostly in silence, the movie’s soft music filling the gaps.
Afterward you talked for a while, about school, about some boy in her class who kept leaving notes in her locker, about nothing important, until she demanded another movie. This time you picked.
Something loud and bloody and full of jump scares.
Anything to keep your brain from circling back to the man whose shampoo was still in your hair.
When the credits finally rolled, Sarah looked at you with pure betrayal. “You’re disgusting. Why the hell would you show a child this movie?”
You laughed. “Oh, you’re a child now? Thought you were sooo grown up.”
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Okay, well, I’m officially grossed out and tired. We have to be up early for the wedding. Do you wanna sleep down here or in my bed?”
You glanced at the clock on the cable box. Nearly eleven. Joel still wasn’t home. The idea of being stretched out on the couch when his key turned in the lock made your skin feel too tight.
“I’ll sleep with you,” you said. “If that’s alright.”
Sarah’s whole face lit up. “Yes! Let’s go!”
“Alright. Let me clean up and I’ll be there.”
She nodded and disappeared up the stairs. You stayed behind, gathering plates and empty wrappers, wiping down the coffee table, loading the dishwasher. You tried to keep your mind blank.
Every time it drifted toward Joel you forced it somewhere else, and every time it landed on your mom instead you felt even worse. So you just focused on the small tasks until the living room looked the way you’d found it.
Upstairs, you walked past Joel’s door without letting yourself look at it. You knocked once on Sarah’s.
“Come in!”
She was already under the covers, yawning so hard her eyes watered. You laughed quietly and crawled in beside her. The twin bed was a tight fit, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“Night,” she mumbled.
“Night, kid.”
Less than ten minutes later she was out cold, soft little snores filling the dark room. You stared at the ceiling. Then the wall. Then the ceiling again. Your brain refused to shut up, replaying the sound of his voice on the phone earlier, the way the burgers had been exactly right, the smell of his soap still clinging to your skin. You tossed and turned until the sheets were twisted around your legs.
Finally you sat up as carefully as you could. You just needed some air. A few minutes downstairs in the quiet. Sarah wouldn’t even notice. And if Joel came home… well, you’d deal with that if it happened. You just couldn’t lie there anymore with your thoughts eating you alive.
You eased Sarah’s door shut behind you and started down the stairs as quietly as you could. You made it to the bottom step when you heard the front door handle turn.
You froze.
The sound of the key, the soft push of the door opening, every option flashed through your head at once. Run back upstairs and pretend you never left the bed. Slip out the back and hope he didn’t notice. Or just stand there and act like this was normal, like your heart wasn’t already trying to climb out of your throat.
You didn’t get to choose.
The door swung open and Joel stepped inside. He stopped the second he saw you. For a long second the only sound was the quiet click of the door shutting behind him.
You swallowed. “Sorry… was just gonna go get some air.”
You started to turn back toward the stairs.
“No,” he said. His voice was low. “You’re alright.”
You turned around again. He had moved closer without you noticing. halfway across the room now. The kitchen light over the stove was the only one on, casting everything in a dim yellow glow. You stepped down off the last stair onto the floor. Your heart was pounding so hard you could feel it in your fingertips.
“How was Sarah?” he asked.
You looked at the floor, then forced yourself to meet his eyes. “She was great. I had a lot of fun. Thank you for letting me stay the night, Joel.”
His jaw flexed. He nodded once.
You cleared your throat, suddenly desperate for an exit. “I’ll get outta your hair. Sorry.”
You took two steps past him, aiming for the back porch, when his hand closed around your wrist.
He turned you so fast the room tilted. Then his mouth was on yours, hard, desperate, like he’d been holding it back for weeks. His other hand came up to your waist, then both arms wrapped around you, pulling you in until there was no space left.
For half a second your mind screamed at you to pull away. Slap him. Yell. Do anything except what you actually did.
Your hands slid up into his hair instead. Your lips parted, and he made a low sound against your mouth as his tongue met yours. You both moaned at the same time, quiet, almost identical, and the last of your resistance crumbled.
Joel started walking you backward without breaking the kiss. His hands gripped your hips, squeezed once, then lifted you like you weighed nothing. The cool surface of the kitchen counter met the backs of your thighs. He stepped between your legs immediately, arms locking tight around you, pulling you to the edge so you were pressed against him completely.
You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him deeper, mind spinning, every thought turning fuzzy except the feel of him, solid and warm and here. His stubble scraped your skin. His breath was uneven. One of his hands slid up your back under the silk of your top, palm flat against bare skin, and you made another soft sound into his mouth that only seemed to urge him on. You could already feel the heat pooling low between your thighs. God, you needed him. The way he was pressed against you, the way his hands held you like he was afraid you’d disappear, it would’ve been oh so easy to let it keep going.
But no.
You couldn’t do this to yourself again.
You pulled back, both of you breathing hard. For a second you just stared at each other. You looked down, voice barely steady.
“I can’t… Joel, I can’t do this with you again.”
He was quiet for a beat. Then he gently caught your chin and tilted your face back up to his.
“Ain’t gonna do that to you again, angel. I swear.”
Your eyes stung. You blinked hard and tried to look away, but his hands came up to cup your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks.
“Oh baby, I know you have no reason to trust me anymore,” he said, low and rough. “But I swear to you… not runnin’ after you that night was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. I want you, darlin’. More than anythin’.”
A tear slipped free before you could stop it. You hated yourself for crying right now. It made you feel small, exposed, like a child who couldn’t keep it together. Joel wiped the tear away with his thumb.
“No reason for the tears, darlin’. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
You whispered, “What about my dad? Sarah?”
He sighed, forehead almost touching yours. “We’ll figure that out another day. I promise you. I ain’t never gonna let you go again… if you’ll still have me.”
You stared at him. The words sat right there on your tongue, I’m scared, I’m so fucking scared this is gonna blow up again, but they felt too soon, too raw, too much like begging. You couldn’t say them.
So you nodded instead.
You pulled him back to you. This kiss was slower, sweeter, almost careful at first. His arms wrapped tight around your waist until you could barely breathe, and still it wasn’t close enough. You couldn’t believe this was happening. That he was saying these things. That he was still here.
The kiss deepened fast. Heat sparked again under your skin. You wanted him to take you right here on the counter, wanted to forget every careful line you’d drawn for the last month. Your fingers slid into his hair and tugged as your mouth left his, trailing down the side of his neck. He let out a quiet groan. His hands dropped to your thighs and squeezed hard.
You nipped at the pulse point just below his jaw and that was it, he grabbed your face and pulled your mouth back to his like he couldn’t stand the distance. The kiss turned messy and hungry, all tongue and soft sounds and the scrape of his stubble. You pushed up against him and whimpered into his mouth. He swallowed the sound and kissed you harder, one hand sliding up your back, the other gripping your hip.
“Fuck, baby,” he breathed against your lips when you briefly broke apart. “I’m so sorry. I never shoulda let you go. I’m so sorry.”
You barely got the words out. “Just kiss me, Joel.”
He did.
He kissed you like he’d been starving for it, deep and slow one second, desperate the next. His tongue stroked against yours, his hands roaming like he needed to map every inch of you again. You clung to him, legs tightening around his hips, soft broken sounds slipping out every time he changed the angle or bit lightly on your bottom lip. The kitchen felt too small, too warm. Every nerve in your body was lit up. You could’ve stayed like that forever, lost in the taste of him and the solid weight of his body between your thighs.
Then Sarah’s voice floated down the stairs.
“Hey… you down there?”
You both froze.
You pulled back fast, but Joel’s hands stayed on you, steady at your waist. For a split second you waited for him to step away, to put that distance back between you the way he had before. Your heart clenched, already bracing for the hurt.
She called your name again.
You forced your voice to sound normal. “Sorry! I’ll be right up, just gettin’ some water, kiddo!”
“Okay!” she shouted back.
You exhaled shakily and started to hop down from the counter. Joel stopped you with a hand on your thigh. When you wouldn’t look at him, he caught your chin and gently turned your face back to his.
“Hey.” His voice was quiet but firm. “When I said I’m not goin’ anywhere, I meant it. I was an idiot, and I’ll prove to you I’m not leavin’ again.”
You nodded, managing a small smile. He dropped his hands to your waist. You lifted one hand to his cheek, just holding it there for a second. He covered your hand with his own and turned his head to press a soft kiss to your palm.
Then he wrapped his arms around you again, pulled you off the counter, and set you carefully on the floor. You hugged him tight, face pressed to his chest for one more second. He kissed the top of your head.
“Better go on up there before she comes down lookin’. Night, angel.”
You looked up at him. “Night, Joel.”
You walked upstairs on unsteady legs, slipped back into Sarah’s room, and whispered a quiet sorry as you crawled into bed. She was already half asleep again and only mumbled something unintelligible.
You lay on your back staring at the ceiling, heart still racing, lips still tingling. Completely in shock.
And so fucking scared of how much you already wanted to believe him and how little you didn’t.
You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you woke up to Sarah standing over you, shoving your arm.
You groaned and rolled away from her. She shoved harder.
“Dude. If you don’t wake up right now so we can eat and get ready, we’re gonna be late for the wedding. Wake. Up.”
You cracked one eye open and glared. She just laughed. You grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at her. It bounced off her shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, sitting up and rubbing your face. “Lemme brush my teeth. I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Hurry up,” she said, already heading out the door.
You dragged yourself to the bathroom, brushed your teeth, and tried not to spiral. Would Joel be downstairs? How was he going to act after last night? Was it going to be awkward? Had he changed his mind again once he was alone with his thoughts? The questions kept circling while you spit and rinsed.
You went down the stairs slower than usual.
Sarah was already at the kitchen table, legs swinging. Joel stood at the stove with his back to you, flipping pancakes. The smell of bacon and coffee filled the room. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard your footsteps, and the smile he gave you was soft and real.
“Mornin’, sweet pea.”
You smiled back, probably too wide, but Sarah wasn’t paying attention. “Mornin’. Whatcha makin’?”
You walked closer. There was a pan of bacon on the back burner and scrambled eggs in another. You looked up at him and the urge to lean in and kiss him hit so hard it hurt. His eyes dropped to your mouth for a second. He was thinking the same thing. You could see it.
He smiled a little wider and nodded toward the table. “Go on and sit. I’ll bring breakfast over.”
You leaned in just slightly, voice low. “Can I help?”
His gaze flicked to your lips again. He gave you a look that was half warning, half something warmer.
“Nope. I got it, darlin’. Now go on.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled and went to sit beside Sarah. She immediately launched in.
“I’m so excited for today. I haven’t been to a wedding in forever. Do you think there’ll be dancing? Like actual dancing, not just people standing around?”
“Probably,” you said. “I’m excited too.”
She leaned closer, dropping her voice. “Maybe you can let me take some sips off your drinks?”
You laughed and shook your head. “Absolutely not.”
“You’re no fun.”
“You’ll live.”
Joel came over carrying three plates, setting one in front of each of you. You smiled up at him. “Thank you.”
He put his own plate down in the empty spot next to yours, on your left, at the head of the table, instead of the open chair by Sarah. He could’ve sat anywhere. He chose that one.
“Hold on,” he said. “Lemme grab the coffee.”
As he walked past you, his fingertips brushed lightly across your arm. Goosebumps followed the path of his touch. You kept your face carefully neutral while Sarah started shoveling eggs into her mouth.
Joel came back with two mugs and set one in front of you. “Here.”
“Thank you, again.”
You waited until he sat before you picked up your fork. He glanced at Sarah and shook his head.
“Slow down, babygirl. You’re gonna choke one of these days.”
She looked up at him, grinned wide enough to show eggs between her teeth, and both of you groaned at the same time.
“You’re disgusting,” you told her.
She just laughed harder.
Under the table, Joel’s hand settled on your thigh, warm, steady. You stilled for half a second, then slid your own hand down and laced your fingers with his. His thumb brushed once over your knuckle and stayed there.
The rest of breakfast settled into something easy.
Sarah talked about the bride’s dress (she’d seen a picture and was convinced it was the prettiest thing ever) and whether there would be cake pops or just regular cake. Joel asked if she’d remembered to polish her shoes last night. She hadn’t. You offered to help her with her hair later and she immediately started listing every possible style she wanted to try. Joel mostly listened, throwing in the occasional dry comment that made Sarah roll her eyes and you bit back a smile. At one point he mentioned that the groom had been a nervous wreck at work all week, and Sarah launched into a story about the time she’d been a flower girl years ago and tripped on her own dress.
It felt almost normal. Almost like a regular Saturday morning. Except for the quiet pressure of Joel’s fingers between yours under the table, and the way your heart kept skipping every time his eyes met yours over the rim of his coffee mug.
You finished the last of your coffee and set the mug down. Sarah pushed back from the table almost immediately.
“Let’s go get ready,” she said, already halfway to the stairs.
“I’m gonna help your dad clean up and then I’ll be up, okay?”
She rolled her eyes but smiled. “Yeah, yeah. Hurry up, please!”
You laughed. “I’ll be up in a few minutes. Get everything set up.”
“Okay!” She took the stairs two at a time and disappeared.
The kitchen went quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator. You stood, gathered the plates, and carried them to the sink. You’d barely set them down when you felt him behind you. Joel’s arms slid around your waist, solid and warm, pulling you back against his chest. You turned in the circle of his arms and linked your hands behind his neck.
“Hi,” you whispered.
He looked down at you, that small private smile already forming. “Hi, angel.”
You barely had time to smile back before he leaned in and kissed you. Soft at first, then deeper the second your lips parted. You melted into it, fingers sliding up into his hair. His arms tightened around you and the kiss turned hungry fast. When his tongue met yours you pressed closer, a quiet sound catching in your throat. His hands slipped under the hem of your shirt, warm palms skimming your bare back, then higher. His thumb brushed over your nipple and squeezed lightly. You whimpered into his mouth, every rational thought scattering.
Your own hands moved without permission, under his shirt, across the warm skin of his stomach, then down to the waistband of his sweatpants. It would be so easy. You slid your hand lower and stroked him through the soft fabric. He was already hard. His hips jerked into your touch and a low moan vibrated against your lips.
You kept going, slow and deliberate, until he finally broke the kiss, both of you breathing hard.
“Fuck, darlin’…” His voice was rough. “Can’t be doin’ this with Sarah here.”
You sighed and dropped your forehead against his chest. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I got carried away.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands still resting on your waist. “No, baby. Don’t say sorry.”
He kissed you again, shorter this time but just as deep, then rested his forehead against yours.
“Go on up and get ready. We gotta leave soon.”
You nodded, smiling. You started to step past him, but his hand caught your wrist and tugged you back. One more kiss, slower, lingering.
“Wanna ride with us to the wedding?” he asked against your mouth.
You kissed him once more, then pressed another to his cheek. “Absolutely.”
He nodded, eyes warm, and let you go.
You headed for the stairs on slightly unsteady legs, the taste of him still on your tongue, the ghost of his hands still on your skin.
Joel stood at the sink after she left, hands braced on the counter, head bowed. His pulse was still hammering. He could still feel the shape of her hand on him, the soft sound she’d made when he touched her. Christ. One more minute and he would’ve had her up on that counter again, Sarah upstairs or not.
He dragged a hand down his face and let out a slow breath. This was dangerous. He knew it. Her dad was his best friend. Sarah was right upstairs. Jake could’ve walked in at any moment. The whole thing could blow up in their faces the second someone looked too closely. And still, he didn’t care the way he should. Not after last night. Not after the way she’d looked at him this morning like she was still scared he might disappear on her again.
He wasn’t going to. He’d meant every word he said last night. He just had to prove it.
Joel turned the water on and started rinsing plates, the mundane task doing nothing to calm the restless energy under his skin. In an hour he’d be in a truck with her and his daughter, driving to a wedding, pretending everything was normal while the memory of her hand stroking him through his sweatpants sat fresh in his mind.
He shook his head once, a reluctant half smile tugging at his mouth, and kept cleaning.
You walked into Sarah’s room and nearly stepped on an open eyeshadow palette. Makeup was scattered across her desk and the edge of the bed, brushes, tubes of mascara, a half used bottle of setting spray. Your dress was already hanging on the closet door, shoes placed neatly underneath.
You laughed. “Damn. You’re ready.”
She grinned up from the mirror. “Will you do my makeup?”
“Course, kiddo.”
The next hour disappeared in a blur of soft brushes and quiet conversation. You did her eyes first, something simple and pretty that made her look a little older without trying too hard. She talked the whole time, about the bride, about whether there would be a photo booth, about how her shoes already hurt and she hadn’t even put them on yet.
You did your own makeup while she worked on her hair, both of you moving around each other in the small room like you’d done this a hundred times.
You slipped into the dress last. It was long and flowy, the kind that moved when you walked, with soft off the shoulder sleeves that left your collarbones bare. Simple black strap heels finished it. You barely had time to check yourself in the mirror before Joel’s voice carried up the stairs.
“Come on, girls! We’re gonna be late.”
Sarah grabbed her little purse and linked her arm through yours. The two of you stepped out into the hallway and started down the stairs.
You looked down and completely forgot how to breathe.
Joel stood at the bottom in a black tux, bow tie already in place, shoes polished. You had never once seen him dressed up like this. Not even close.
He looked… God. He looked beautiful. Broad shoulders sharper under the jacket, the white shirt crisp against his skin, that familiar mouth set in a line that softened the second he saw you. His eyes stayed on you the entire way down, jaw tight, like he was holding something back.
Sarah hit the last step and spun in a circle. “So? How do we look?”
Joel finally dragged his gaze away from you and smiled at her. “You two look beautiful.”
He pulled her into a quick hug. She squeezed him back and pulled away with a teasing grin. “You don’t look too bad yourself, old man. Who knew you could clean up like this? I didn’t even know you owned a suit.”
“’Course I own a suit, ya little shit.”
Sarah rolled her eyes and headed for the door. The second she was outside, Joel stepped in close and wrapped his arms around you in a brief, tight hug.
His mouth brushed your ear.
“You look so beautiful.”
The sudden closeness in the open made your pulse jump. You glanced past his shoulder, but Sarah was already out of sight. You looked back at him, voice soft.
“So do you.”
He let out a quiet laugh. “I look beautiful?”
You pressed a quick kiss to his lips, then another to his cheek. “Yes. You do.”
Color rose faintly under his stubble. He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth stayed turned up. He squeezed your hand once.
“C’mon, let’s go, darlin’.”
Outside, he opened the passenger door for you. Sarah, already climbing into the back, let out an exaggerated gasp.
“Wow. Who knew Dad was a gentleman?”
You laughed as you slid in. Joel shut the door and walked around.
“Shut up, kid,” he said as he got behind the wheel.
The drive started easy enough. Sarah talked nonstop about the wedding, how excited she was, whether the cake would be chocolate, if people would actually dance or just stand around looking awkward. Then she leaned forward between the seats.
“Ohhhh, what if you meet a cute guy there?”
You laughed and twisted to look at her. “Maybe I will.”
You glanced sideways just in time to catch Joel’s jaw flex. A small, private smile tugged at your mouth. Sarah kept going, delighted.
“Oh my god, you have to pick the cutest guy there and slow dance. It would be so romantic!”
You laughed harder. Joel’s voice cut in, low and firm.
“Ain’t none of the guys from the crew are good enough for her.”
Your head snapped toward him. Sarah stared at him like he’d grown a second head.
“What? What makes you say that?”
Joel looked at you for half a second, then back at the road. “Just ’cause. All of ’em are losers.”
Sarah gasped. “Dad, don’t be rude.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”
You bit back another laugh. “Awe. Your dad just wants me to find a good man. That’s alright.”
Sarah made loud fake gagging noises, but her eyes flicked between the two of you with a little extra curiosity. Your heart skipped. You turned back around and faced the windshield, suddenly very aware of every inch of space in the truck.
The rest of the ride stayed light, but the air felt different.
By the time you reached the venue and found your seats, the ceremony was about to start. You ended up in a row with your dad on one side and Joel on the other. Jake sat directly behind you. Sarah had already been claimed by a group of kids her age a few rows back. The wooden chairs were narrow.
Your shoulder brushed Joel’s every time either of you shifted. You could feel Jake’s eyes on the back of your head, and it made the skin along your neck prickle.
You were careful. So careful. You kept your hands in your lap at first, spine straight, eyes forward like a perfect guest. But the space between you and Joel felt charged, like the air before a storm. You wanted, so badly, to lean your head against his shoulder, to slide your hand into his and not let go.
Instead you lowered one hand to the small strip of chair between you and crossed your legs, trying to look relaxed.
For a long moment nothing happened.
Then, slowly, Joel shifted. You felt the warmth of his hand first, the quiet brush of his knuckles against yours. Your breath caught. You didn’t move. Neither did he. The ceremony music was soft, the low murmur of people settling, and all you could focus on was the tiny point of contact where his hand rested beside yours.
His pinky shifted. Yours did too, almost without permission. Another second passed, heart hammering so hard you were sure he could hear it, before he hooked his pinky around yours.
Just that.
One small, deliberate link of skin against skin.
Heat flooded your face and chest. You stared straight ahead at the altar like your life depended on it, but every nerve in your body had narrowed down to that single point of connection. His pinky was warm and slightly rough, the pressure gentle but certain. You didn’t dare look at him. You didn’t dare look at your dad. You just sat there, pulse racing, the corners of your mouth threatening to lift, while the rest of the world kept moving around the two of you like nothing important was happening at all.
The ceremony was beautiful. You nearly teared up even though you’d never met the couple before today. Something about the way they looked at each other when they said their vows hit harder than you expected. When it ended, everyone filtered inside toward the reception hall.
Your table was easy to find. Name cards sat in little holders, yours, Joel’s, your dad’s, Sarah’s, Jake’s, and one for a guy you didn’t recognize. You and Joel were the first ones there. Your dad had gone off to congratulate the newlyweds, and Sarah and Jake were nowhere in sight.
Joel walked up beside you, glanced at the place cards, and without a word swapped yours with his so you’d be sitting next to him instead of the stranger. You laughed under your breath and rolled your eyes, but you sat down where he’d put you.
He leaned down, one hand resting on the back of your chair. “Want a drink?”
You looked up at him and smiled. “Sure. Surprise me.”
He nodded. His eyes dropped to your mouth for a second. Then he scanned the room quickly, leaned in, and gave you the briefest peck on the lips. You gasped softly, heat flooding your cheeks as you immediately looked around to make sure no one had seen. Joel just chuckled, low and quiet, and walked off toward the bar.
You were still trying to will the color out of your face when Jake came through the doors. Your whole body tensed. He spotted you and headed straight for the table, dropping into the chair across from yours.
“Hey…” he muttered.
You forced yourself to meet his eyes. “Hi, Jake.”
He opened his mouth like he wanted to say more. You lifted a hand before he could get started.
“Not the time or place.”
He closed his mouth, nodded once, and mumbled an apology. The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable. You were grateful when Joel returned, setting a glass of clear liquid in front of you, tequila soda, from the smell of it, and dropping into the seat beside you with his own glass of whiskey.
“Thank you,” you whispered.
He gave a small nod. He and Jake fell into a short, stiff conversation about work. Jake mentioned he was thinking about getting his own apartment soon. Joel’s eyebrows rose; he said they’d talk about it later. Jake took the hint, stood up, and went to sit with some of the younger guys from the shop instead. You rolled your eyes at his retreating back.
He really could be such a child sometimes.
You turned toward Joel, about to ask if he was alright, when a man dropped into the empty chair on your other side.
“Hey,” he said, offering a friendly smile. “Tyler. Didn’t think I’d be sittin’ with my bosses tonight.”
Joel gave a short grunt of acknowledgment. A moment later your dad appeared, clapping Tyler on the shoulder and exchanging a few easy words before settling into his own seat. Tyler was polite enough at first, but it didn’t take long for his attention to settle on you. He asked where you were from, what you did, how you knew the couple. Every question came with a smile that lingered a little too long. He was clearly flirting, and not being subtle about it.
You could feel Joel going rigid beside you. The muscle in his jaw ticked. Under the table you shifted and carefully laid your hand on his thigh. His fingers found yours immediately, gripping tight, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased. You kept your expression neutral for the rest of the table, but inside you were buzzing. Part of you wanted to say fuck it, lean over and kiss Joel right there in front of everyone. Let your dad flip out. Let the whole room see. The other part of you knew exactly how messy that would get.
The bride and groom made their entrance to loud cheers. Dinner was served. Toasts were given. People ate and laughed and clinked glasses.
Through it all Tyler kept finding excuses to talk to you, and Joel’s thumb kept stroking slowly over your knuckles under the tablecloth.
Then the music shifted and the first slow songs started.
Before you could even glance at Joel, Tyler was on his feet, hand extended toward you.
“Can I have this dance?”
You looked at your dad, then at Joel. Your dad just smiled and waved a hand.
“Go on, sweet pea.”
You wanted to say no. The word was right there. But Tyler was already taking your hand and leading you toward the floor. Your heart pounded for all the wrong reasons as you let him pull you into the crowd. You glanced back once. Joel was watching you, face carefully blank, glass of whiskey tight in his hand. If the roles had been reversed, you would’ve been losing your mind.
Joel was losing his goddamn mind.
He sat there and watched Tyler, one of the newer kids on the crew, the one who showed up late half the time and spent more energy trying to look busy than actually working, pull her onto the dance floor and put his hands on her waist. Something hot and ugly twisted in Joel’s stomach. He felt like he might be sick. He tipped back the rest of his whiskey in one swallow and stood up to get another.
When he sat back down, her dad was already talking. Joel couldn’t hear a word of it. The music, the chatter, all of it sounded underwater. Fingers snapped in front of his face. He jerked back and looked over.
“What?”
Her dad chuckled. “What’s wrong with you?”
Joel grunted and nodded toward the dance floor.
“That kid’s a punk. Why’d you tell her to go on and dance with him? Y’know what he’s like at work.”
Her dad rolled his eyes, still half smiling. “If you got such a problem with Tyler dancin’ with my daughter, go on and stop it.”
Joel stared at him. “Yeah, okay.”
“I’m serious,” her dad said, lifting his beer. “Go get ’er away from that kid. We were probably gonna fire him soon anyhow.”
Joel didn’t need to be again.
He stood, set his glass down, and cut through the crowd. Every step made the anger sit heavier in his chest. He wanted to grab Tyler’s wrist and break the damn thing for touching her like he had any right. He reached them and kept his voice even.
“Mind if I steal her?”
Tyler looked up, already starting to protest. “I—”
“Yes,” she said, stepping out of Tyler’s hold before he could finish.
The kid’s face went tight and pissed. He muttered something under his breath and stalked off toward the bar. The fucking nerve. Joel filed that away for later. He’d put the boy in his place at work next week.
But the second she stepped in and wrapped her arms around his neck, the anger drained out of him like someone had pulled a plug. He settled his hands on her waist and started to sway with the music. She looked up at him. He looked down at her.
Goddamnit, she was beautiful. Standing there in that soft dress, looking at him like that, she really was an angel.
“I can’t believe you’re dancin’ with me right now,” she whispered.
Joel glanced past her. Her dad was across the room talking to a couple of the guys from work, beer in hand, not paying them any mind.
“Was actually your dad’s idea,” Joel said. “Tyler’s a punk.”
She laughed and shook her head, stepping a little closer. He raised an eyebrow.
“What? Ya like him?”
She laughed again, softer this time, and tipped her face up. “Oh no… are you jealous?”
He gave her a flat look. She kept going, eyes bright.
“’Cause Sarah said I should dance with a cute guy tonight.”
Joel’s jaw tightened. She rose up on her toes, close enough that her lips brushed his ear.
“Don’t worry, Joel. You’re the only one here who I want.”
His heart kicked hard against his ribs. He wrapped his arms all the way around her and pulled her in until there was no space left between them. He didn’t give a fuck anymore. If her dad walked over right now and asked what the hell was going on, God help him, Joel wasn’t sure he’d even try to lie.
Part of him almost wished the man would ask. He knew how reckless this was. He just couldn’t bring himself to care. Whatever this girl was doing to him had him feeling half insane. It was way too soon to put a name on it, but he already knew what it was. Knew what it meant.
He held her tighter. She shifted her hips in a way that would’ve looked innocent to anyone else, just slow dancing, but the subtle drag of her body against his made his cock ache. He’d been half hard since last night; this made it worse. A low groan slipped out of him.
“The hell you doin’, angel?” he murmured.
She looked up at him all soft and sweet. “Nothin’, Joel. What do ya mean?”
She did it again, another slow, deliberate grind. He exhaled hard through his nose and leaned down until his mouth was against her ear.
“You go on in that bathroom. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
He watched the flush climb up her neck and into her cheeks. He gave her hips one last squeeze, then let go and stepped back. She turned and walked toward the hallway like nothing was happening, calm as you please. Joel watched her until she disappeared, then made his way over to her dad.
He forced a couple of easy comments about the food and the band, checked his watch once, and waited until enough time had passed.
“I’m gonna head for a bit, i’ll be back,” he said, and walked off before anyone could answer.
The bathroom door was unlocked. He knocked once. The second it cracked open he pushed inside, shut it behind him, and had her backed against the door in the same breath. His mouth found hers hard and hungry. He was starving for her, had been all night, all month. He needed every inch of her and he didn’t want to wait until they were back at his place where he could take his time. He needed her, now.
She whimpered into his mouth and Joel kissed her harder, gripping her hips like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between them. He couldn’t stop touching her, hands sliding up her sides, down the curve of her waist, over the soft fabric of that dress.
She was the most beautiful, sexiest thing he’d ever fucking seen. He could spend the rest of his life on his knees worshipping her like a dog and it still wouldn’t be enough.
He dragged his mouth down the side of her neck, open and wet, tasting her skin. When she tugged his hair he groaned against her throat, the sound rough and low.
“Fuck, darlin’… you’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”
She turned her face away, voice barely a whisper.
“Shut up.”
“Nu-uh.” He caught her chin and made her look at him. “Don’t do that. Or I’ll make you see how beautiful you are.”
She blinked up at him, confused and flushed, and he didn’t give her time to argue. He kissed her again, hard, deep, and walked her backward until her hips hit the edge of the sink. His hands found the hem of her dress and started sliding it up her thighs. She was already panting, breath catching every time his fingers brushed bare skin. He knew the second he touched her properly she’d be soaked for him.
He was right.
The dress bunched around her hips and he looked down. No panties. Just soft, bare skin and the glistening proof of how badly she wanted this. A low, filthy sound left his throat. He slid one finger through her folds and she threw her head back, a quiet noise escaping her.
“Jesus, baby…” he muttered, watching her face. “All this for me?”
She whimpered and rocked her hips against his hand. He added a second finger, slow and deep, then dragged them back up to circle her clit.
“So fuckin’ beautiful like this,” he rasped. “Look at you. Already shakin’ for me.”
He worked her steadily, fingers sliding in and out, thumb pressing tight circles over her clit, until her legs started to tremble. Christ, he loved the way she reacted to him. How wet she got. The pretty little sounds she tried to keep quiet. He could’ve stayed right here for hours just listening to her fall apart.
He felt her start to flutter around his fingers and leaned in closer, mouth against her ear.
“Come on, baby. Lemme feel you. So fuckin’ good for me…”
She moaned a little louder and rolled her hips harder against his hand.
“Yeah, that’s it, darlin’. Take what you want. Just like that.”
Another moan slipped out of her, sharper this time. He lifted his free hand and covered her mouth gently.
“Shhh. Don’t want anyone hearin’ us.”
The sight of her like that, eyes glassy, lips parted against his palm, dress rucked up around her waist while she fucked herself on his fingers, nearly made him come in his pants like a damn teenager. His cock strained painfully against his zipper. He circled her clit faster, curling his fingers inside her, and she moaned into his hand as she started to come. Her legs shook. Her hips jerked. She clenched around him in tight, rhythmic pulses while her hand fisted in his hair and held on.
Joel worked her through it until the last tremor faded, then slowly pulled his fingers free. He brought them up to her mouth, eyes locked on hers.
“Open.”
She did. He slid the two slick fingers between her lips and she closed around them immediately, tongue swirling as she tasted herself. The wet heat of her mouth made him groan, low and wrecked. He imagined that same tongue on his cock, those pretty lips stretched around him, and had to force the thought away before he lost it completely. Not yet. Not here. Not when someone could knock any second.
He pulled his fingers free and crushed his mouth back to hers, kissing her deep and messy so he could taste herself on his tongue too. Her hands were already at his belt, fumbling with the buckle like she was just as desperate as he was. The whole thing felt feverish, like they might actually die if they didn’t get closer. She got the belt open, dragged his zipper down, and freed his aching cock. The second her fingers wrapped around him he groaned into her mouth, hips jerking forward as she started to stroke him, firm and perfect. Fucking perfect. Everything about her was perfect.
He let her stroke him a few more times, the tight slide of her hand almost enough to finish him right there. His hips jerked helplessly into her fist. A broken sound left his throat, and he folded forward, forehead dropping against her temple.
“Need ya, darlin’,” he rasped. “Not gonna last like this.”
She smiled, soft and a little wicked, and blinked up at him. “Go on then, Joel.”
The permission snapped whatever control he had left. He groaned, grabbed her hips, and spun her around so she faced the mirror. She gasped at the sudden movement. He shoved her dress up over her hips, baring her completely from the waist down, and palmed the soft curves of her ass with both hands.
“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he muttered, squeezing. She whimpered and pushed back against him, seeking more. He lined himself up, dragging the thick head of his cock through her soaked folds until he was coated and she was trembling, then pushed in with one slow, deep thrust.
She moaned, loud, and he immediately wrapped a hand around her mouth, muffling the sound as he bottomed out inside her.
“Look at ya,” he growled against her ear, eyes locked on their reflection. “Fuckin’ beautiful takin’ me like this. See how pretty you are, darlin’?”
She moaned into his palm, eyes fluttering. He pulled almost all the way out and shoved back in, watching the way her body took every inch. The mirror showed everything, her flushed face, the way her breasts pressed against the sink edge, nearly falling out of her dress, with every thrust, the stretch of her around his cock. He set a steady, hard rhythm, hips snapping forward, the wet sound of it filthy in the small bathroom.
“That’s it… take it. Fuck, you feel so good. So tight and wet f’me.” He kept his hand firm over her mouth, the other gripping her hip hard enough to leave marks. “Look at those pretty eyes.. Look how well you’re takin’ my cock.”
She pushed back to meet every thrust, soft desperate noises vibrating against his palm. He could feel her starting to flutter already, that telltale clench that meant she was close. He fucked her harder, angling deeper, grinding against her clit on every stroke.
“Come on, baby. Wanna feel you come on me. Wanna watch you fall apart while I’m buried in your perfect little pussy.” His voice was wrecked, almost shaking. “You’re doin’ so good. Such a good girl for me. So fuckin’ beautiful like this.”
Her legs started to tremble. She moaned louder into his hand, eyes locked on his in the mirror. He could see the exact second it hit her, her whole body went tight, walls clamping down hard around his cock in rhythmic pulses. She came with a muffled cry, hips jerking, soaking him even more as she shook through it.
The feel of her coming undone around him dragged him right to the edge. He dropped his hand from her mouth to grab both her hips, holding her still as he buried himself as deep as he could go and came with a long, guttural groan.
“Fuuuck.. angel.”
He spilled inside her in thick pulses, painting her walls, hips stuttering as he emptied everything he had. She kept fluttering and clenching around him through it, milking every drop, the tight wet heat of her making his knees threaten to give out. He stayed buried deep, chest pressed to her back, both of them panting hard, the mirror fogging slightly from their breath as the last aftershocks rolled through her and around his still twitching cock.
Joel stayed pressed against her for another few seconds, forehead resting on the back of her shoulder, just breathing her in. His heart was still slamming against his ribs.
Slowly, he pulled out. The loss of her heat made him exhale hard through his nose. A little of him spilled down her thigh; he caught it with his fingers and reached for the stack of paper towels by the sink.
“Hold still, baby,” he murmured.
He cleaned her gently, taking his time, wiping away the mess he’d made with a care that felt almost reverent after how rough he’d just been. When he was done he smoothed her dress back down over her hips, adjusting the fabric until it fell the way it was supposed to. His hands moved to her hair next, carefully fixing what he’d messed up, tucking a few strands behind her ear. She watched him in the mirror the whole time, cheeks still flushed, eyes soft.
He turned her around and kissed her, slow and sweet this time, nothing like the desperate way he’d taken her minutes ago.
“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he said against her mouth.
She didn’t answer with words. Instead she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in tight, holding on like she wasn’t ready to let the moment end. Joel folded his arms around her and held her just as hard, one hand cradling the back of her head. They stayed like that for a long minute, maybe longer, the muffled thump of the reception music the only sound filtering through the door. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest. Could still smell himself on her skin.
Eventually he eased back just enough to look at her face. He brushed his thumb over her cheek.
“You alright, sweet girl?”
She looked up at him. For a second it seemed like there was something sitting right on the tip of her tongue, something heavier than the smile she gave him. He saw it in her eyes. But she only nodded, soft and sweet, and the words stayed where they were.
Joel wanted to press. Wanted to ask what she was thinking, wanted to hear her say it. But this wasn’t the place. Not with half the crew on the other side of the door and her dad somewhere in the crowd.
He lifted her hand, gave it a single firm squeeze, then let go.
“Go on,” he said quietly. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
She nodded again, reached up to straighten his bow tie with quick, gentle fingers, and slipped out of the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind her.
Joel stood there alone for a moment longer, both hands braced on the sink, staring at his own reflection. His mouth was a little swollen. His hair was almost back in place. No one would know what had just happened in here unless they looked too closely.
He ran the water, washed his hands, fixed his shirt, and gave himself one more second to breathe.
Then he opened the door and stepped back out into the reception like nothing in the world had changed, even though everything had.
Authors note: I am giggling so much while writing this story guys. I’m the one writing this but here I am giggling and kicking my feet like an insane person. Someone pls help. (Especially Joel Miller. Joel Miller come save me.)
I would LOVE to hear from anyone reading this and what they think so far! it would mean a lot!
I've had this story bouncing around in my head for months now, and I'm so excited to finally get it out into the world. If you don't follow my other work, I have a completed Javier Peña story, I'm currently working on a Din Djarin fic, all posted on my AO3 @ForgetAshley.
I will be posting this fic and taking requests for one shots here on Tumblr!
A quick note on tags: To keep things spoiler free, the current tag list is just a starting point. I'll be updating tags as the plot unfolds and the story develops.
I really hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'd love to hear what you think, so please drop a comment or share your thoughts, it truly keeps the writing fire alive! Happy reading!
Also- If you’d want to be tagged for upcoming chapters please comment below! I’ve had a few people ask to be added to a tag list but haven’t made one yet, but if enough people are interested i’ll do it!
Content: Jackson!Joel x reader; Jackson!Tommy x reader (not a threesome sorryyyyy)
Synop: Joel Miller only comes around at night. After the sun sets. After the stars have already flooded the sky. After all of Jackson is already asleep — including his wife.
But you're tired of being his dirty secret. Of being the other woman. You didn't think you'd hurt this much. That is until Tommy. Tommy who wants you openly. Tommy who wants you and only you.
You thought you were healing... until Joel comes along.
Warnings: age gap (unspecified reader of age), cheating (joel has a wife), reader gets heartbroken, mean joel, pinv, oral (f! receive), no ellie, praise kink (tommy), pet names, face riding (kinda), torn between both millers (me too)
Word Count: 9k?
(dividers by: @cafekitsune)
a/n: this did not turn out the way i originally planned but that's okay because i just let my fingers write whatever they desire. truly i am torn between both miller brothers and don't know who to have y'all end up with so let me knowwwwwww. SPOILER tho you will have sex with Joel next chapter. sorry not sorry.
The coffee's gone cold. It always does when you pour it too early, thinking he might stay longer than he does.
But he never does.
The sun bleeds gold across the warped floorboards, crawling in through the broken slats of the blinds you never fix. It’s quiet in that cruel kind of way — not peace, but pause. Like the world’s holding its breath before it moves without you.
Your place still smells like him. Leather and old sweat. Tobacco and pine soap. Faded traces of campfire smoke clinging to the flannel he left draped over the back of the chair. Like he’ll be back any minute.
But you know better.
He comes on the wind, always at dusk or after — carrying the weight of something he won’t name, eyes heavy with history and hands that shake until they’re on you. And when he touches you, he’s not gentle, not rough either. Just hungry. Like he’s trying to remember what it feels like to want something he’s allowed to take.
You let him. Every time.
Because the thing about being the other woman is that you learn how to live in the in-betweens. In the dark hours and unfinished sentences. In the jacket he forgot to take and the warmth in your bed that isn’t yours to keep.
And on Sundays, you never expect him.
Sundays are for her.
The one who gets his name whispered soft across pillowcases and gets to ask where he’s been without flinching. The one who gets to admire his features in the daylight. You don’t want her to exist anymore. But you know she always will.
Because Joel Miller never comes around on Sundays. Sundays are for her.
And if he ever did, you think maybe you’d ask him to stay.
But he doesn’t. He won’t.
And so you sit in the quiet with your cold coffee and that old flannel, pretending this room is a church and you’re the only sinner left praying for a man already spoken for.
It was Thursday. Or maybe Wednesday.
The days blur when you don’t ask for promises.
He came in like he always does — shoulders slouched, boots heavy, voice low. Said your name like it hurt. Like it was the first word he’d spoken all day and it tasted unfamiliar in his mouth.
You didn’t ask him where he’d been.
You never do.
You just moved aside, let him in, closed the door behind him like you were sealing something in. Or keeping something out. You’re still not sure which.
The lights stayed off. That’s how he likes it.
He sat on the edge of your bed like he didn’t mean to stay long, like this was a mistake halfway made. But then his hands found your hips, and his head found the crook of your neck, and suddenly you were both breathing like you’d been underwater.
It’s never urgent, with Joel.
It’s not tender either.
It’s quiet. Tense. Like a storm held behind his ribs.
You feel it in the way he touches you — slow, searching, like maybe if he just holds you long enough, he’ll forget what he’s running from.
You let him leave fingerprints. Bruises, sometimes. He always kisses them after, though. Mouth soft where his hands weren’t. As if to say I’m sorry, without giving it a voice.
You didn’t say anything when he traced his fingers along your spine.
Didn’t move when he stared too long at the ceiling after.
You just watched him — that profile you’ve memorized a hundred different ways — and counted the beats of silence between breaths.
Then he spoke. Just one word.
“Laura.”
You turned your head away. He didn’t notice.
Or maybe he did. And didn’t care.
He left before the sun rose. No kiss. No goodbye. Just the groan of boots on old floorboards, the soft thud of the door closing, and the echo of her name still floating in the stale air you shared.
You buried your face in the pillow he used, pretending it didn’t smell like regret.
You don’t cry anymore.
That part of you dried up months ago, somewhere between the first time he left without looking back, and the fifteenth time you let him in anyway. Grief got old. Tears started to feel theatrical. And anyway, there’s no one left to see them but the walls, and even they’ve stopped listening.
Now it’s just the quiet. The long hours. The weight of being something he uses to feel human, but never stays human for.
You clean the sheets. Wash the pillowcase he used. Light a candle to burn the smell of him off your skin.
And still, it lingers.
That feeling. That film.
Like you’ve been dipped in something thick and invisible. Not blood, not dirt — worse. Something that clings behind the ears, between the thighs, under your tongue. Shame, maybe. Or the slow realization that you’re not a secret because you’re special, you’re a secret because you’re nothing.
Because love is something he gives to her.
And you’re just flesh.
You sit at the edge of the bed, half-dressed, your back to the mirror. You don't like to look anymore. You used to — used to try, anyway. Lip gloss. Liner. A hand in your hair, brushing it just so in case he noticed. In case he saw you.
But now, you don’t even try. What would be the point?
She gets him clean. You get him hollow.
You wonder what she’s doing right now. Maybe she’s making eggs. Maybe she’s wrapping her robe around herself while he kisses the top of her head and asks her what she dreamed. Maybe he makes her coffee without being asked.
Maybe he says good morning to her without needing to borrow a body first.
You’ve never heard him say it to you. You’ve never seen him like that in the light. You wonder if he looks different. Softer, maybe. Or maybe just real. You only ever get him in shadow, in pieces, in fragments, in the kind of silence that bruises.
He gives her Sundays. And you?
You get Thursdays, Mondays, Wednesdays — Fridays and Saturdays if you’re lucky.
Maybe. If he’s not too tired.
Never Sundays. Never.
You want to tell yourself you don’t care. That it’s just something you do — like a habit, or a drug, or a sin you haven’t gotten tired of yet. But that’d be a lie, wouldn’t it? Because it’s not just your body that aches when he leaves. It’s all the parts of you that no one’s ever wanted.
The parts you buried hoping he might dig them up.
But he never does.
He doesn’t ask.
It didn’t start with a look. It started with a sound, the scrape of boots on concrete behind you, the rustle of old canvas, the low murmur of someone asking for rifle rounds two stalls down.
Joel Miller.
Everyone in town knew his name. Not because he wanted them to — he kept to himself, like a man who learned long ago that silence is safer than kindness — but because in a place like this, everything echoes. Rumors. History. Grief.
You’d seen him before. Always moving, always grim. Eyes that didn’t linger. Hands that looked like they’d broken more than they held.
You didn’t speak. Not at first.
Just noticed.
He lived near the edge of town, in that crumbling house with the boarded windows and the overgrown porch. You passed it sometimes on supply runs and wondered what the inside looked like. If it smelled like cedar. Or smoke. If he ever lit candles, or just sat in the dark like you imagined he would.
The first time you actually spoke, it was raining. Hard. You were struggling with a crate of dry goods outside the community hall, your hands going numb, your patience gone.
He didn’t offer to help. He just picked up the other side of the crate and said, “Where you want it?”
And that was it.
No small talk. No smile. Just effort. Quiet and necessary.
After that, he started nodding when he saw you. A tilt of the head, sometimes a gruff “Hey.”
Then he started staying longer at the trade stalls when you were there. Asking about things he already knew.
One day, he brought you jerky from his last hunt. Said it was extra. You knew it wasn’t.
You didn’t know what to make of it, but you started brushing your hair before heading into town. Started wearing that jacket he once glanced at.
You told yourself it was nothing.
Then one night, he showed up at your door. Said nothing.
Just looked at you like the day had been long, and the world had been unkind, and you were the only soft thing left in it.
You didn’t ask questions. You just stepped aside.
That first night was clumsy. Not in a bad way, just in that way that two broken people collide. Careful and unsure, like neither of you had done this in a while. He didn’t kiss you. Not really. Just pressed his mouth to your collarbone like he was afraid it would vanish.
He left before dawn. No goodbye. Just the faint scent of sweat and regret on your sheets.
It kept happening.
Not often, not predictably. Just… when he needed.
He never made promises. Never brought flowers or touched your face like you were precious. But he came back. And for a while, that felt like something.
You started marking time by him. How long since he last came. How long until he might again.
You'd hear about him from others — how he helped reinforce the south gate, how he traded for ammo, how he didn’t speak much but always delivered.
He existed in your world like a shadow moving through the same air. A man near enough to haunt you, but never close enough to claim.
And slowly, what began as a flicker — something small and thrilling — dulled into routine.
Now, when you hear the knock at your door, you don’t smile.
You just open it.
Let him in. And let him leave.
He’s not a mystery anymore. He’s just a fact.
Like the cold. Like the curfew bell. Like the ache in your chest that never goes away.
You knew about her from the beginning. Before the first touch. Before the first knock.
Before the first night he let his body speak in place of his mouth.
People talk in towns like this. They whisper in market lines and at water pumps, over stitched-up coats and shared cigarettes.
"Joel Miller’s wife’s a good woman," they’d say. "She’s patient, still sets a place for him at dinner even when he’s late."
"She keeps the old world alive — bakes bread, tends a garden, teaches the little ones to read."
And you nodded, pretending you didn’t care.
Pretending your stomach didn’t twist when you heard the word wife.
You should have closed the door when he first came to you. But you didn’t.
Because no one ever taught you how to say no to something that feels like almost-love.
And he never mentioned her. Not once.
Not in words, at least.
But you saw it anyway, in the way he never stayed too long, in how he always kept one boot near the door. In the look in his eyes when he pulled away from you, like the sin had already been committed and there was nothing left but clean-up.
You don’t feel guilty.
Not really.
You’ve tried. God, have you tried.
But guilt implies you didn’t want it. And you did.
You still do.
You wanted the way he looked at you like maybe you were something warm in a world that had gone cold. You wanted his hands on your hips, heavy and sure. You wanted to feel wanted, even if it was only in the dark, even if it was only when he couldn’t carry whatever lived in his chest back home.
And maybe that makes you cruel.
Maybe that makes you hollow.
But it also makes you his, if only for the hour it takes to forget the life he chose before you.
She walks through town in the mornings — strong-legged and soft-eyed, with silver just starting to streak her dark hair. She looks like she’s earned her peace. Like she’s carried something heavy and learned how to set it down without screaming.
She’s his age. Maybe even older.
And you — you’re old enough to remember the world before it ended, but young enough to have gone through the hardships of puberty with infected hidden in every corner.
You hate that you envy her. But you do.
You envy the way people smile at her. The way her name is said with respect. The way Joel lets her hold his arm in public.
You envy that she gets all of him.
His mornings. His coffee breath. The sound of his voice when he isn’t worn thin.
You only get what’s left.
The part that’s too tired to speak. The part that hurts.
And still, you open the door.
Every time.
Even knowing he’ll leave smelling like you and crawl into her bed like nothing’s out of place.
Even knowing you’ll wake up in your empty sheets and try to remember what your name sounds like in someone else’s mouth.
He gave her the world. He gave you his ruin.
And somehow — somehow — you keep calling it love.
He comes late.
Later than usual. Boots caked with dirt, knuckles raw, a cut on his cheek that’s already scabbing. He doesn’t say a word when you open the door. Just walks past you like this is his house, like your body is furniture he knows by memory.
He sits on the edge of your bed. Elbows on his knees. Head bowed.
You don’t move to touch him. Not tonight.
You close the door slowly, lean against it like maybe it’ll hold you up. For a moment, neither of you speak — just the sound of the wind outside, and your heart thudding like it knows what’s coming before you do.
You ask quietly, almost gently, “Why do you treat me like this?”
He looks up, eyes narrowing like you’ve broken some unspoken rule. “Like what?”
You step toward him. Not angry. Not pleading. Just tired. “Like I’m no one. Like I don’t deserve to know anything about you. You come here, and you take what you need, and you leave. You don’t talk to me. You don’t even look at me, half the time.”
His jaw tightens. “I never made you any promises.”
And that hurts. Because it’s true.
You sit down across from him, knees almost touching, voice barely a whisper. “Is she different?”
His face hardens, but you press on.
“Are you nice to her? Do you talk to her? Does she get the real you?”
He looks away.
You keep going, each word slicing your own throat as much as his.
“Does she know what you’ve lost? What you’ve done? Does she get to hold you when the guilt comes? Because I don’t even know what you’re guilty of. I just know you crawl into my bed like a ghost trying to forget who he used to be.”
He stands abruptly. Paces. Hands clenched at his sides. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about.”
“Because you won’t let me.”It explodes out of you. “You won’t let me see you. You come here and hide. And I take it. I’ve taken it for years. But I can’t do this anymore if you won’t even give me the truth.”
He turns back to you, angry now. “I never asked you to love me.”
You blink. Swallow the sting. “You didn’t have to. I did it anyway.”
Silence. Thick and final.
He stares at you, breathing hard — a man made of walls, panicking at the thought of tearing one down.
You think maybe he’ll say something. That maybe the dam will break. That maybe he’ll finally tell you who Sarah was, or what it’s like to lose the world twice, or why he looks so tired all the time.
But he doesn’t.
He just grabs his coat and walks toward the door.
Your voice trembles, but it’s steady where it counts.
“If you leave now, don’t come back.”
He hesitates. For half a second. Then he leaves.
Just like that.
No slamming door. No final word. Just the sound of boots fading into the night.
You stand there in the stillness, your whole body humming with what’s just been torn out of it.
You should feel strong. Empowered. But all you feel is empty.
Still, this is the first time in a long time you’ve chosen yourself. Even if it hurts like hell.
Even if the bed feels colder than ever. Even if tomorrow, you’ll still look at the door and wonder if he might come back anyway.
But tonight, you finally said what needed to be said. And that has to count for something.
You cry yourself to sleep most nights now. Not loudly. Not in that wild, breaking kind of way.
No, it’s quiet. The kind of crying that lives in your throat all day and only spills when your head touches the pillow, when the dark closes in and there’s no one left to pretend for.
You face the wall. Bite your knuckles to keep the sound in. Tears soaking the same side of the bed he used to lie on.
You don’t even know why it hurts this much.
You ended it. You told him to go.
But you never expected him to vanish like you meant nothing. Like you never mattered at all.
And now he walks past you like you don’t exist.
You see him sometimes. Out in town. At the gates, helping unload supplies. At the trade stalls, his voice low and rough, asking for nails or ammo or salt.
But he never looks at you. Never nods. Never glances. Never gives you even that old, familiar ache of almost-contact.
And that? That hurts worse than the nights he left your bed cold.
He let you go too easily. As if you were just another wound he’d gotten used to ignoring.
You tell yourself this is for the best. That every night you spend crying into the silence is one step closer to being free of him.
But healing doesn’t feel like healing. It feels like rotting in place.
Then one day, while you're working behind the mess hall, someone calls your name.
You turn, expecting a trader.
But it’s him. Not Joel — his brother.
Tommy.
You freeze. Something cold crawls up your spine. Not fear. Just... shock.
Because for a second, you think Joel sent him. Think maybe this is the moment everything comes crashing back.
But no. Tommy doesn’t look angry. Or suspicious. He looks... relaxed.
“Hey,” he says, hands in his pockets, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
You nod, throat dry. “You didn’t.”
He steps closer, gestures toward the crates you’re moving.
“Lookin' mighty strong haulin' all those boxes.”
You almost laugh. Almost. Your voice comes out hoarse. “You offering to help or just standing there with compliments?”
And he smiles, not like Joel. Not guarded. Not hiding something behind his teeth.
It’s easy, unpracticed, genuine.
“I could be talked into both,” he says. And something in you lifts.
It’s small. Fleeting. But real.
For the first time in weeks, your chest doesn’t feel like it’s caving in. For one strange, stupid, golden second, you forget.
You forget how Joel looked when he left. Forget the way he never fought for you. Forget the sound of your own muffled crying into an empty pillow.
Tommy asks how you’re doing. He talks about the weather. The crops. A dumb story about some guy falling in the river trying to catch a chicken.
And you laugh. You actually laugh.
And when he looks at you, really looks, it feels like he’s seeing a whole person, not just a warm body in the dark.
He flirts a little, too.
Not hard. Not heavy. Just enough to remind you that you are still wanted. Still worth looking at.
And when he leaves, when he tips his hat and says he’ll see you around, you stand a little straighter. Breathe a little deeper.
You remember Joel again, of course. That night. That argument. The way he left without even asking if you’d meant it.
But for a single, flickering moment... You weren’t thinking of him.
And it’s the first moment in a long time that didn’t hurt.
Tommy keeps showing up. Not in the way Joel did — heavy-footed and silent, like a storm pushing through your door — but light. Curious.
Warm.
He comes by the stalls, where he was never one to linger before.
Sometimes with a bundle of old books to trade, sometimes with nothing but a lopsided grin.
Most days, he doesn’t even bother pretending he’s there for supplies.
“You again,” you tease, brushing your hands on your thighs, trying not to look like you were waiting.
And he’ll just shrug. “What can I say? I like the company.”
At first, you keep your guard up. Not out of suspicion, just… self-preservation. You’re still stitched together with thin thread, and Joel tore through you like a blade.
But Tommy never asks for anything. He talks. He listens.
Sometimes he flirts — softly, the way sunlight warms your neck through a windowpane. It’s never the kind of heat that burns.
He compliments your laugh. Says you’re funny. Smart. That your eyes catch the light in a way that makes it hard to think.
And you blush. Actually blush. You forgot you could.
It’s been weeks since the last time you cried into your pillow. Now, you fall asleep thinking of Tommy — the things he said, the way he smiled like he wanted you to see it.
The way his hand brushed yours when you passed him a tin of tea.
You think about him more than you think about Joel. Not entirely.
There are still scars. Still moments when you catch sight of that same worn flannel in the crowd and your lungs seize.
But the ache has dulled. Like a wound that finally started healing the right way — not clean, not pretty, but real.
And then, one late afternoon as you’re closing up shop, Tommy leans against the frame of the stall, looking uncharacteristically nervous.
He scratches the back of his neck, eyes flicking up to meet yours.
“I was thinkin’,” he starts, voice low, “I know a spot. Just outside the north ridge. We cleared it a few months back — safe, quiet. Stars are real clear out there.”
You blink. Heart thudding somewhere deep in your ribs.
He keeps going. “Thought maybe we could make a fire. Got a stash of chocolate, too. Even found marshmallows that ain’t gone stale yet.” A small grin. “Could roast a few, talk some more. Maybe... count constellations, if you’re into that kinda thing.”
You stare at him, wide-eyed. Not because you’re shocked he likes you. But because no one’s ever asked you for something gentle before.
A date.
Not a favor. Not a secret. Not a body to bury pain in.
A real, sweet, silly date. With s’mores and stars and firelight on skin.
Your voice is soft when you answer, but it doesn’t tremble. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
And in that moment — with his eyes crinkling in that way Joel’s never did, with your heart fluttering like it used to before it knew better — you almost forget what it felt like to be someone’s ghost.
Because for the first time in too long… you feel wanted in the light.
You take your time getting ready.
Not because you're trying to be perfect — but because, for once, you actually want to be seen.
Your tiny denim shorts hug your hips just right, cinched with an old brown belt you found in a forgotten drawer last spring. They're worn, soft, fraying a little at the edges, but they feel like you.
You button up a maroon and white plaid shirt, short sleeves, tight at the waist. It fits snug across your ribs, flattering but not loud. Something about the colors makes your skin glow in the low light.
And then the necklace.
A tarnished gold chain with a little amber stone at the center — simple, but lovely.
Your mother gave it to you before she died. Before Jackson. Before Joel.
You don’t wear it often. It’s too easy to forget who you were before she died. But tonight, it feels right.
You glance in the mirror once before stepping away. Your cheeks are flushed from anticipation, your lips soft and parted like they’re waiting for something sweet.
You feel... pretty. Not just presentable. Pretty.
You hadn’t expected that to feel so strange.
And then — a knock at the door.
Not heavy. Not impatient. Just soft. Measured. Hopeful.
For the first time in forever, a knock at night doesn’t make your stomach drop.
You smile before you even open the door.
Tommy stands there, a little breathless, a little awkward, and handsome as hell.
He’s dressed up. For you.
Clean button-down, sleeves rolled up just enough to show his forearms. Jeans without a single stain or rip. Boots polished like it actually mattered what you thought when you looked at him.
And in his hand, a bundle of wildflowers. Pink and yellow, petals already wilting a little from the heat of his palm. Still, they’re beautiful. Vibrant and crooked and real.
Your breath catches.
“For me?” you ask, voice light, teasing.
He scratches the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “Yeah. Spent way too long lookin’ for ’em, honestly. Think I held up patrol more than once. Heard a lotta sighing behind me.”
Your smile falters , just a flicker, at the word patrol. Because you know who he rides with.
You picture Joel somewhere behind him, arms crossed, eyes dark, unknowingly watching Tommy pick wildflowers for you.
And your heart stutters. But you shove it down.
Not tonight.
You reach for the flowers, let your fingers graze his as you take them. They smell faintly of grass and sunshine and effort.
They smell like someone tried.
“They’re beautiful,” you say softly.
He’s looking at you like you’re something out of a dream. Like he can’t quite believe this is real.
“You look...” He swallows. Laughs under his breath. “Hell, I don’t even got the right word. You look dangerous, maybe.”
You arch a brow. “Dangerous?”
“Yeah. Like someone I might fall for if I’m not careful.”
Your stomach flips — not in fear. In fluttering. And you haven’t felt that in a long, long time.
He offers his arm, old-fashioned. “Ready?”
And you nod, tucking the flowers close to your chest. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
And just like that, you leave the door behind. Leave the bed where you cried yourself to sleep. Leave the ghost who never knocked again.
Tonight is for you. And for the man who actually came when he said he would.
The forest hums low with night.
You walk side by side, not touching yet, but close enough that your arm brushes his every now and then. The air smells like pine and dry leaves, the dusk settling slow and golden around the tree trunks. The path winds quietly, moonlight creeping between branches like silver veins.
When you reach the clearing, your breath catches.
It's simple — a little fire pit circled with stones, a folded blanket resting nearby, and a tin box of supplies tucked neatly beside it — but it feels like something meant. Not thrown together, not rushed.
Chosen. Prepared.
Tommy sets the blanket down first, spreading it carefully over the soft grass. Then, without a word, he gestures for you to sit.
You do. And he moves around you with practiced ease, stacking logs, striking a match, coaxing a slow, crackling flame to life.
The fire’s warmth kisses your skin in waves. You pull your knees to your chest, resting your cheek against your arm, and just watch him.
He notices. Smirks a little. “You keep starin’. I got somethin’ on my face?”
You grin. “Just wondering if you’ve always been this good at this.”
“At makin’ fires?”
“At... this.” You gesture vaguely. “Being nice. Making people feel safe.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just opens the tin and pulls out a bag of marshmallows, a broken bar of chocolate, and some skewers made of smooth, whittled sticks.
“I had a lot of years to practice,” he says finally, voice soft.
You nod. Don’t press. Not yet.
Over sticky, melting s’mores, you talk about small things. Silly things. Like his worst jobs back in the old world.
He tells you he once got kicked by a horse trying to impress a girl. You nearly choke on your marshmallow.
“Did it work?” you ask between laughs.
He grins. “She married my best friend a year later.”
You lean back, satisfied and full, the sugar warm in your blood.
The stars have come out, pinpricks in the ink of the sky, sharp and endless.
Tommy glances at you, eyes lit with something boyish. “Got one more thing for you.”
You turn, brows raised, as he reaches into the bag beside him and pulls out—
A bottle.
Dark. Dusty. Long-necked, with a cracked label that’s mostly peeled away.
He sets it in front of you like it’s treasure. “I know, I know — real fancy, right?”
Your eyes widen. “Is that... wine?”
He nods proudly. “Found it on a run, buried behind a collapsed liquor store. Figured it was fate.”
You run your fingers over the dusty glass. “You were saving it?”
He shrugs, suddenly a little shy. “Didn’t know what for. Just felt like... I shouldn’t open it ‘til the moment was right.”
He pulls out two mismatched but real wine glasses, one chipped, one cloudy, and you laugh, breathless.
“You came prepared.”
He pours carefully. Red-gold liquid, thick and rich, filling the glasses with a quiet glug.
You stare at yours, then admit, “I’ve never had wine before.”
Tommy raises a brow, smiling gently. “Well, that just makes this better.”
You hold the glass, heart thudding. His eyes are on you — not greedy, not expectant. Just... warm.
You take a sip. It’s bitter. Complex. Sour, sweet, strange.
But it’s good.
You close your eyes, swallow slowly. “That’s... that’s really nice.”
He tips his glass toward you. “Told ya. Wine’s better when it’s old. Kinda like me.”
You giggle. You giggle, and you don’t even feel stupid about it.
And then — without even noticing when it started — you’re both lying back on the blanket, shoulders pressed, gazes tangled in the stars.
He points upward, totally confident. “That one there’s Orion. Or, uh… maybe it’s a frying pan.”
You snort. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Course I do,” he says, deadpan. “Look at it. Big ol’ dipper-lookin’ guy with a sword.”
You elbow him lightly, and he grabs your hand playfully, holding it between both of his. And suddenly your fingers are laced together, and the stars don’t seem half as interesting anymore.
The wine makes your skin buzz. Not dizzy. Not dull.
Just soft. Open.
You shift closer, your head finding his shoulder. His arm curves around you without hesitation, pulling you in. You tuck your legs beneath you, curl into him like you’ve always known the shape of him.
Neither of you say anything for a long while.
The fire pops quietly nearby. The stars blink, distant and watching.
And you? You don’t care about constellations anymore.
Because here — in this sliver of night, on a blanket in the woods with wine in your blood and kindness wrapped around you — you feel like maybe you’re allowed to be happy.
Like maybe you’re not ruined after all. Like maybe you’ve found something worth holding on to.
The stars have faded from your focus.
All you can feel now is him — warm against your side, arm curved around your shoulder, his chest rising slow and steady beneath your cheek. The wine has made everything glow softly at the edges. You feel buzzed in your fingertips, in your knees, in the flush climbing your neck.
You haven't spoken in a while.
Just quiet breaths. Little shared glances. His thumb brushing over your shoulder in slow, absent arcs, like he’s tracing the thought of you into memory.
And then you feel it shift.
The stillness between you grows thicker — charged and certain — and when you turn your head to look at him, he's already watching you.
His expression is soft. Not hungry. Not fast. Just… hopeful.
His hand lifts to your cheek — callused, rough, gentle — and he leans in slowly, giving you every second to pull away.
You don’t.
Your eyes close just as his lips meet yours.
The kiss is light at first. Testing. Tender. Like a secret being told mouth to mouth.
Your breath catches. Your heart stammers wildly.
His lips part slightly — warm and careful — and he kisses you again, deeper now.
Not demanding. Just there. Real. Present in a way you didn’t think anyone could be anymore.
You feel your cheeks bloom with heat. It’s ridiculous, really. You’ve been touched before.
You’ve been kissed in the dark like a secret, like a sin.
But this — this — makes you blush. Makes you feel like something delicate in good hands.
Your fingers find his shirt, holding lightly at the edge. His hand slips to your waist, grounding you
He kisses you again, and again — unhurried, sweet — until the rhythm feels like something you were meant to know.
And then—
He deepens it.
Just a little. Just enough for his tongue to brush yours.
And your stomach flips. Not in the good way.
Because suddenly, uninvited and cruel, he is there.
Not Tommy. But Joel.
Joel — with his rough, bitter mouth. Joel, who never kissed you soft. Joel, who made you feel wanted and worthless in the same breath. Joel, who touched you like a man burying a memory, not holding a person.
And now here you are — tongue tangled with his brother, and something sour rises in your throat.
You pull back gently, your hand moving to Tommy’s chest.
He looks at you immediately, worry flickering behind his eyes.
You force a smile. Light. Airy. You hope it doesn’t shake.
“Hey,” you whisper, trying to soften the moment, “slow down, cowboy. I’m still new to wine and stars and, you know... you.”
He laughs under his breath — not hurt, not defensive. Just sweet.
“Yeah. Of course,” he says, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Sorry. Got a little carried away. You're just...” He looks at you like you hung the moon. “You’re kind of impossible not to kiss.”
You look down, smiling for real now, even if there's still a tremble in it.
He pulls you back into his arms without hesitation, without pressure, like he doesn’t need anything else from you tonight except your closeness.
And so you lay there again, your head on his shoulder, his arm around your back.
And maybe the magic of the moment is cracked now. But it’s not broken.
Later, when the fire’s embers are nothing but soft orange breath, he stands and offers you a hand. Packs everything up without asking you to lift a finger. Tucks the wine glasses back into his bag like something delicate.
He walks you home in the moonlight.
You don’t speak much, and you’re afraid — quietly, deeply — that maybe you ruined something. That the kiss that faltered might leave behind too much silence.
But when you reach your door, he turns to face you.
And just before he leaves, he kisses your forehead.
“Sleep good,” he says. “I’ll see you soon.”
And he walks away. Not lingering. Not asking to stay.
Just… leaving you with the feeling that someone actually cared enough to be gentle.
You stand in the doorway, watching him disappear down the path.
And for the first time in a long time, the ache in your chest doesn’t feel like loss. It feels like hope.
It’s your day off.
The sun’s warm on your skin, not hot, just gentle — like it’s blessing you for once.
A quiet breeze hums through the trees around the Jackson square. Someone’s hammering in the distance. Chickens cluck lazily across the yard near the fence. Children’s laughter spills from the schoolhouse down the road.
You sit on a bench just outside the mess hall, a book in your lap — one Tommy lent you, something about a girl lost in the woods. Your legs are crossed loosely, your thumb tucked between the pages.
You’re not really reading, though.
Every so often, your gaze lifts toward the path, expecting him. Tommy. He’s supposed to stop by later.
You don’t know if you’ll kiss again, or just talk, or just sit close and laugh about nothing. But whatever it is, you want it. You want him.
And for the first time in what feels like years, you’re not waiting to be needed. You’re waiting to be chosen.
So when a shadow falls over your page, your heart skips.
You smile before you even look up. “Hey—”
But it’s not Tommy. Your smile falls.
It’s Joel.
He’s towering over you, arms crossed, eyes storm-dark and narrowed. His jaw’s clenched so tight you see the muscle twitch.
“Joel,” you murmur, instinctively closing your book. “I—”
“What the hell’s goin’ on?” His voice is low, sharp, not yelling — but it slices all the same.
You blink. “What?”
He stares down at you like he’s holding back a thousand things and losing grip on all of them. “You care to explain why my brother spent half our patrol this morning blushin’ like a goddamn schoolboy? Talkin’ about your little date. Your outfit. How pretty you looked under the stars.”
Your cheeks go hot instantly — part pride, part confusion, part fear.
Tommy talked about you like that? Like you were precious?
But Joel’s not looking at you like you're precious. He looks furious.
He looks hurt.
“I didn’t know he was talking about it,” you say, your voice quiet. “I didn’t tell him to.”
He steps closer. Not enough to touch, but enough to pull the air from your lungs.
“I know what this is,” he says, voice thick. “You’re usin’ him to get back at me.”
You freeze.
“What?”
His gaze burns through you. “You think I don’t see it? You’re tryna make me jealous. Parade around town lettin’ him hold your hand, kiss your face, pretend like I didn’t mean anything to you.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” he cuts in. “And I’m not gonna let you drag him into your mess.”
Your breath stumbles. “My mess?”
His face twists. “You think he knows what you let me do to you? You think he knows you let me in your bed, night after night, cryin’ and clingin’ to me like I was the only thing keepin’ you from breakin’?”
Your whole body goes still.
He’s too close. Too loud. Too angry to care about who might hear.
Your voice shakes now, but not from fear. From something deeper — betrayal, maybe. Heartbreak.
“I’m not using Tommy,” you whisper. “I care about him. He makes me feel safe. And wanted. And happy. Things you never let me feel.”
Joel’s chest rises and falls like he’s been running. His arms are still crossed tight, but his eyes betray him — flickering, pained, like he can’t believe you’re not just laying down and belonging to him anymore.
“Do you know how fuckin’ jealous that makes me?” he growls suddenly, voice raw. “Is that what you’re tryin’ to do? Watch me fall apart over this?”
You blink hard, throat tightening.
And in the silence that follows, a single thought hits you like a stone dropped in still water:
He feels it. Joel Miller is jealous.
He feels something.
But it’s too late. Too twisted.
Your voice steadies. “You don’t get to feel jealous, Joel. Not after what you did. Not after how you treated me.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just watches you.
“I think…” you say slowly, your voice trembling with something that tastes like both terror and freedom, “I think I could actually love Tommy. And I think he could love me too. We could have a life. A real one. Not a secret. Not some... dirty, bleeding shadow in the dark.”
You see it hit him.
Right in the gut.
Joel stares at you for a long, long time. His face is red, jaw clenched, arms like steel across his chest.
And then — without a word — he turns.
And walks away.
No apology. No threat. No parting shot.
Just leaves you sitting there with your book unopened in your lap, and your breath caught between heartbreak and release.
You don’t know what that silence means. But for the first time, you don’t chase it.
You try not to think about Joel. You try.
But his voice keeps echoing in your head, even hours later — low, bitter, possessive. That damn question clinging to the walls of your mind like smoke you can’t scrub out.
Do you know how fuckin' jealous that makes me?
You don’t know what it means. You don’t know how it made you feel. All you know is it shouldn’t matter — not anymore.
Not when Tommy’s the one coming to meet you.
You’re back on the same bench, pretending to read again. The sun’s slid down the sky, casting long gold shadows across the street. Your fingers twist nervously in the hem of your shirt, heart beating a little too loud for comfort.
You hear his boots before you see him.
Then, warm as always, his voice: “You alright?”
You look up. Tommy’s there — handsome in a plain tee and clean jeans, a flannel tied around his waist, eyes squinting slightly against the sun. His expression is soft, but worried.
You freeze.
It hits you all at once — how different this feels.
How he doesn’t demand answers, just asks because he cares.
And for a moment, you want to tell him. Want to say: Joel showed up. Joel said things. Joel looked like he might break in two and I don’t know why it still hurts.
But you can’t.
You can’t.
Joel doesn’t get to take this from you.
So you force it all down, deep into that box where you’ve stuffed the ache, the guilt, the heat of his eyes.
You smile. Not the biggest smile. But real enough.
“I’m fine,” you say gently. And before he can ask more, you lean up and press a kiss to his lips.
That does it.
He relaxes instantly, grinning as he kisses you back. “Okay then,” he says softly. “Let’s go.”
He takes your hand and leads you down the lane, fingers laced through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And for a little while, you let yourself forget the shadow that passed over your day.
Tommy’s house surprises you.
It’s nicer than you imagined. Country style, tucked just off the main path, with big windows and a porch strung with old Christmas lights that still work somehow. Inside, it smells like cedar and soap, warm and lived-in. There’s a leather couch with a throw blanket, a bookshelf brimming with paperbacks and dusty mugs, and a framed photo of him and Joel by the door — a reminder of another life.
The kitchen is small but tidy, and a bowl of fresh tomatoes sits proudly on the counter.
“Spaghetti night,” he announces like it’s a sacred ritual. “Told you I was cookin’.”
You grin, shrugging off your shoes. “And I told you I’m helping.”
Tommy mock-groans but doesn’t argue. “Alright, alright. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. I take my sauce real serious.”
He shows you how to cut and peel the tomatoes, how to sauté garlic in olive oil, how to add salt “with love, not fear.” You’re clumsy with the measurements, splash sauce across the counter, drop a spoon in the sink with a loud clang.
He doesn’t get annoyed.
He just watches you with amusement, shaking his head fondly. “You’re a menace in the kitchen,” he says, chuckling.
“And yet,” you shoot back, “you invited me.”
When the sauce is finally simmering in the pot, you wipe your hands on a towel, only to feel something wet smear across your cheek.
“What the—?”
You turn. Tommy stands beside you, licking sauce off his thumb with a devilish grin.
“Punishment,” he says. “For makin’ a mess of my counter.”
You gasp, scandalized. “Oh, it’s on.”
Before he can move, you grab a glob of sauce with your fingers and slap it onto his cheek.
He freezes. Then breaks into a grin.
The next few moments are chaos. Sauce flung. Laughter echoing. You chase each other in lazy circles around the tiny kitchen until you collapse against the counter, breathless and sticky.
And then—
His hands find your waist. Yours find his collar.
And you kiss.
It’s playful at first — wine-sweet and garlic-touched — but it deepens quickly, hunger turning slow and sweet. He pulls back only to gently wipe the mess from your face with a soft cloth, fingers lingering along your jawline.
“I could get used to this,” he murmurs. “We could have nights like this every damn week.”
You look at him. At the sauce on his shirt, the light in his eyes, the way his voice dips when he says we.
Dinner is simple — pasta, bread, and the rest of that dusty old wine he saved. But he lights two stubby candles between you, their soft flames dancing as the sky darkens through the window.
And when you go to sit across from him, you change your mind. You slide into the seat beside him, hip to hip, thigh to thigh.
“Hi,” you say with a little smile.
He kisses your cheek in reply.
You play footsie under the table like kids. You compliment the meal.
“Tommy, this is actually amazing.”
He beams. “Told you. Serious about my sauce.”
You talk about small things — who you saw around town, someone’s busted gate, a child’s chalk drawing of a horse that looked more like a rabbit.
Then he asks: “How was your day?”
And you freeze.
Your smile falters for just a second too long.
He notices — you feel him notice — the way his hand slows as it traces your leg under the table, the way his eyes search your face like he’s trying to read between the words you haven’t said yet.
You lift your glass of wine, buy time with a sip. Force your voice to stay light.
“It was good,” you lie. “Quiet. Peaceful. Spent most of it with my book.”
He watches you for a beat. Then smiles, brushing your hair behind your ear.
You don’t know if he believes you. You’re not sure if it matters.
You lean into him, rest your head on his shoulder.
And somewhere in your chest, the ghost of another man gnaws quietly at your ribs.
But tonight, you are warm. You are safe. And you are not alone.
Before you know it, the night has gone quiet.
Just the soft murmur of the radio playing in the background — some old love song, dreamy and distant — and the faint hum of wind against the window glass. You’re curled up on Tommy’s couch now, head resting in his lap, your body curled sideways like a cat soaking up warmth. His fingers glide gently through your hair, slow and steady, like he’s memorizing each strand.
You’ve never been touched like this. Not like you’re fragile, or precious — but like you’re known.
Your eyes flutter closed. His palm rests on your temple now, warm and grounding.
You think, I could get used to this.
And just as the thought settles sweetly in your chest, Tommy breaks the silence:
“So… are you gonna tell me what really happened today?”
Your eyes open slowly. Your breath stills.
“I already did,” you murmur, keeping your voice soft, lazy.
But his fingers pause. You feel his gaze on you.
“No, you didn’t,” he says gently. “You said it was a quiet day. Peaceful. But you weren’t peaceful when I showed up. You looked… shaken. Scared, even. And you’ve been smiling all night, but not really. Not the way you did before.”
You shift, sit up a little. Your pulse picks up.
“Tommy—”
“Look,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind. “I know we haven’t known each other long. Not like that. But I’m not just doin’ this for fun. I’m into you. Really into you. And I’m not the kinda guy who can build something real if it starts off with secrets.”
He leans down, brushing your hair behind your ear, eyes locked with yours now — earnest and unflinching.
“I want someone honest. I want you. And maybe that’s stupid, but…”
He huffs a soft laugh. “…you make me nervous as hell. I go to sleep thinkin’ about you, and I wake up with your face in my head. I don’t even know what to do with it sometimes. But I know one thing — if I’m gonna fall for you, I gotta know you’re not hidin’ somethin’ that’s gonna break me.”
Your heart drops.
Because God, you want to tell him.
You want to cry right here in his arms and tell him everything — how you let his brother crawl into your bed for over a year, how you loved him, how he broke you, and how today, he showed up and lit a fuse in your heart you thought had burned out.
But you can’t.
If you tell him, you lose this. Lose him.
And you’re not sure who you’d be with both Millers carved out of your chest.
So instead, you look down. Swallow the ache.
“…Some guy said something to me this morning,” you say softly. “Not someone you know. Just some asshole. Said I was easy. That I didn’t belong here. It just… threw me off, I guess.”
It’s not even a good lie. But it’s enough.
Tommy’s face hardens instantly. His arms go around you, pulling you up into his lap like you’re weightless. One hand cups the back of your head, the other gently strokes your cheek.
“Hey. Look at me.”
You do.
“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he says, firm and slow, like he needs you to believe it. “And I don’t give a shit what anyone else says. You’re strong. You’re kind. You belong exactly where you are. With me.”
Your throat tightens.
He studies your face for a moment, then adds, quieter now, “I’ll find him if you want me to. I swear.”
You laugh softly — more guilt than amusement. “No, it’s fine. Really. I just needed to shake it off. I didn’t want it to ruin tonight.”
Tommy’s brows relax. His expression softens like candlewax.
“You didn’t ruin anything,” he whispers. “You being here? You… lettin’ me hold you like this?”
His hand touches your chin, tips it up gently.
“I think I’m fallin’ for you.”
And then he kisses you.
Not careful this time. Not shy.
It’s deep, and romantic, and hungry in a way that makes your chest ache. His hands grip your waist, your back, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.
And for a moment, you let yourself believe this could work.
That maybe you can love him clean. That maybe one day, the lie will fade, and all that will remain is this. The way his mouth tastes like wine. The way he makes you feel safe. The way he chose you.
And maybe, just maybe — that can be enough.
Tommy’s kiss deepens, his mouth parts and his tongue slips between your lips. This time you’re not scared. This time you take it, entangling your tongue with his.
His hands wander, tentative at first — down the curve of your back, brushing along your waist, slowly tracing the line of your thigh. Like he’s unsure if he’s allowed, or maybe like he knows exactly what he wants but doesn’t quite have the nerve to ask for it. Every touch feels like a question, and every answer is in the way you lean closer.
So you decide to make the first real move. Your fingers drift down the planes of his chest, slow and deliberate, until they find the hem of his worn black shirt. For a second, you hesitate — then slip your hands beneath the fabric.
His skin is warm and impossibly soft beneath your palms, the kind of heat that seeps into your bones and makes you forget the cold ever existed. Your fingers explore the shape of him — the lean muscle, the faint scars, the way a trail of coarse hair starts just below his navel and disappears beneath the waistband of his jeans.
You feel him shiver. Not pull away — just breathe, sharp and shallow, like he’s been waiting for you to touch him like this, but didn’t think you ever would. His hands still for a moment, caught somewhere between restraint and want, before resting on your hips — not guiding, just grounding. Letting you lead.
It’s quiet, except for the soft rustle of clothing and the heartbeat echoing in your ears. And in that silence, you realize: he’s letting you in. Not just into his space — but into something deeper, something softer. Something real.
You pull away from the kiss, breath mingling in the small space between you. In one slow motion, you tug his shirt up and over his head, revealing skin kissed by sun and time — warm, golden, and solid beneath the soft glow of the low light.
He’s strong, that much is obvious — a man shaped by years of labor and living — but there’s a gentleness in the way he carries it. No fresh bruises. No jagged edges. His chest rises and falls with steady breath, his body unguarded in your presence.
Joel was always different. Built like a wall, all grit and sharpness — the kind of body that told a story just in scars. There was never a moment with him that didn’t feel like it might end in ache. But Tommy…
Tommy feels like safety. Like home.
There’s something soft about him, even in his strength — in the slope of his shoulder, the dip of his collarbone, the way his eyes search your face for permission, for want. Not taking, just waiting.
And for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like something to be used. You feel wanted. Cared for.
Tommy’s hands slip beneath your shirt, the warmth of his touch blooming across your skin like a slow-burning fire. His fingers move with purpose, but not haste — exploring the soft terrain of your waist, the gentle curve of your ribs, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his hands if he isn’t careful.
He touches you like he’s trying to understand you — not just your body, but the quiet ache beneath your skin, the places where longing lives.
His hands roam higher, slow and steady, until they hover just beneath where you want him most. There’s a hesitation there — delicate, almost reverent — as if he’s waiting for a signal, a breath, a whisper of permission.
And that pause says everything: that he wants you, but won’t take more than you’re willing to give. That he sees you, not just your body, but your need — the kind that’s laced with history, with heartbreak, with the hope that maybe this time, it won’t end in ruin.
“For fucks sake, Tommy, just touch me.” A slow, heavy breath escapes you, desire coursing like wildfire beneath your skin.
“Sorry, sorry. I’m just nervous.” He admits. Embarrassment fading across his face.
“That’s cute.” You say as you grab his wrists, pushing his hands beneath your bra.
His fingers finally graze across your hard nipple. His mouth parts slightly as he feels every tender inch of your breast. Feels how badly you're aching for him. He quickly pulls your shirt to your shoulders, dragging your bra with it. Your breasts bounce freely in front of him. His gaze lingers before his touch follows, admiring every curve.
He eases your shirt off now, slow and careful, like he’s unwrapping something fragile. There’s no urgency in the way his fingers move, only patience. Intention. When the fabric slips from your shoulders and over your head, he sees you — all of you. Or at least, the part of you you usually try to hide.
Scars trail across your skin like ghosted memories, remnants of a life you survived — one lived shoulder to shoulder with danger, where the infected were never more than a heartbeat away and safety was something you only dreamed about.
They’ve always made you feel exposed. Marked. Like the past would never quite let go. But Tommy doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away.
His eyes move over you slowly, tracing each line like they tell a story worth knowing — not something ugly, but something earned. You brace for judgment, for pity, but what you see in his expression is softer. Something closer to awe.
And in that silence, that gentle stillness, you begin to believe that maybe you're not something to be hidden after all.
You move freely in front of him — unguarded, unhidden, unashamed. There’s no need to tuck your insecurities away, no fear of being too much or not enough. In his gaze, you are seen, fully and without judgment. Every soft curve, every silent scar, every secret wish — they all exist in the open, and he looks at them like they’re sacred.
You’ve never been like this with anyone. Not even Joel. With him, there were always shadows — things you kept quiet, parts of yourself folded away, unsure if they were welcome. But with Tommy, there’s space. Space to breathe. To want. To be.
And so you let yourself unfold — slowly, delicately, like something once bruised that’s finally learning how to bloom again.
“So pretty.” Tommy whispers amongst his admiration. He makes you blush in a way you never thought you could, for reasons you never thought you’d experience.
He wraps his arms around your back, pulling you in closer, bare chest to bare chest. Your tender nipples scrape against the dark coiled hairs lining along his chest. His lips find yours in a kiss that’s slow and tender, his mouth moving with quiet worship. He kisses you like he’s savoring it — like he’s learning it — his lips molding gently to yours, warm and sure. When his tongue slips forward, it’s soft, exploratory, tracing the edge of your teeth with the lightest touch, like a question he’s too careful to speak aloud.
Then he plants soft kisses along your cheek, jaw, neck — meeting the soft skin below your ear, sucking enough to leave faded marks. Marks no one would notice but you. No one would notice unless they were looking for it.
“Tommy..” You breath, rocking your hips into his, feeling the growing curve beneath his jeans. His breath hitches — hands grasping your hips tighter.
“Fuck. Already makin’ me lose myself.” He groans, pulling his lips from the growing red marks he’s left.
“I need you.” You plead, his hands pulling you roughly into him — closing the space between his jeans and your shorts. The denim rubbing against your clit — that’s rubbing against his budlge — almost becomes too much to handle. You can feel the dampness between your legs. You can see the way his jeans darken with every movement.
His head dips to your chest, taking your hard nub between his lips — sucking harshly, flicking and circling his tongue around your nipple. Your grab your free breast with your hand, squeezing and palming yourself, causing electric shocks to travel down your spine.
Your back arches into his mouth, his touch. Chasing every movement. He shares his attention with your other breast now, removing your hand, letting him take care of you.
You’ve never been this way with Joel. Never sat in his lap, thrusting into his clothed cock, chasing his mouth with your arching back. Joels never shown you this kind of attention, made sure the pleasure was all about you. With Joel, it was always how he wanted it.
Tommy’s hands slid around the small of your back, holding you with a gentle strength as he eased you down onto the soft cushions of the couch. Without thinking, your legs curled around him instinctively, pulling him closer. He leans in, his lips brushing yours in a tender, slow kiss. The world seemed to hush around you as he captured your bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling softly, a sweet and intimate gesture that sent a shiver down your spine.
One hand pressed gently to the cushion beside your head, his weight resting on his elbow as he leaned in, anchoring himself in the intimate space where your breaths tangled and the world fell away. The other reached hesitantly between your legs, looking you in the eyes — asking for permission. Your begging pants were all he needed to hear before he rubbed slow circles on the ache hidden beneath your shorts.
“More…” You ask in a whispered hush. Wrapping your arms around his neck.
He whispered softly, his breath warm against your skin, “I want to take you to bed… to do this right, with you.” Carefully, he lifted you from the couch, his touch gentle, his eyes full of quiet devotion as he held you close.
Tommy’s arms wrapped securely around you as he carried you through the dimly lit hallway, your body fitting naturally against his. Every step was steady and sure. The world outside seemed to fade, replaced by the quiet rhythm of your breaths.
When he reached his bedroom door, it creaked softly as he pushed it open—an intimate sound that felt like the start of something sacred. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, casting warm shadows that danced across the walls.
Slowly, carefully, he lowered you onto the bed, his hands never losing their gentle hold. The mattress dipped beneath your weight, and for a moment, he just stayed there—watching you, his eyes full of something tender and protective. The quiet hum of the night wrapped around you both, and all that mattered was this soft, suspended moment between you.
He left a trail of gentle kisses down your body — stopping at the silver button clasping your shorts. He pulls them down — underwear including, his patience worn. Met with the sight of your glistening, begging pussy.
He drags his thumb between your folds, capturing your slick, and rubbing gently at your throbbing clit. Before you know it, his head dips between your legs — lips planting kisses on the inner soft skin of your thighs.
“You're dripping.” He groans. The eye contact with him becomes too much, to fierce. It sends a pulsing fire right to your lower stomach.
His tongue licks a long stripe, swirling and sucking right where you need him. Your moans fill the air and you can feel yourself become wetter and wetter. You’d be embarrassed with how loud you were being if it weren’t with Tommy. But Tommy eats up every bit of it.
Your legs curl tightly around his shoulders, drawing him deeper, while Tommy’s hands explore the soft, heated flesh of your thighs with slow, deliberate pressure — anchoring himself in the intoxicating pull of your body pressed close.
He digs his tongue inside of you, the sight of his face fully buried, nose pressed tightly on your clit, has your legs shaking. Once he enters two fingers, thrusting deeply and curling into the spongey part of you, you’re sent over the edge.
Your hands tangle fiercely in his hair, gripping tightly as you struggle to steady the rush of your trembling body. He thrusts his fingers into you faster, harder, as you try to chase his touch — griding against his face.
“Oh- oh god, Tommy.” You moan, the heat curled deep in you threatening to spill over.
His muffled moan vibrates against you in response. Enough to send shivers down your spines. Enough to finish you. Before you know it, you’re spilling your hot liquids on his fingers. On his tongue that’s still licking circles around your ache.
Tommy lifts himself from between your thighs, showing his fingers covered in your slick. He slowly brings the two to his mouth, licking them clean. The sight nasty, perverted, but turning you on once again.
“Tastes so good.” He claims, dragging his fingers out of his mouth with a pop. “Ready for me, babygirl?”
You nod your head desperately. “Yes..”
His hands move deliberately down, undoing the button of his jeans with practiced ease, unveiling more of the dark, tangled hair that lay beneath. He pulls them down, past his thighs, his boxers following quickly behind.
You weren’t expecting how big he is. His length slapping against his belly button, tip already dripping with wet precum. Your legs spread instinctively wider, inviting him in. He gives you a knowing smirk as he leans down, hovering over you and balancing himself on one hand as he guides himself to your entrance with the other.
He moves into you gently, as if savoring every second of closeness. You’re already so open to him, your bodies drawn together by something deeper than desire. His hands come to rest tenderly around you head, thumbs brushing your temples like a silent promise. A deep, almost trembling groan slips from his lips, and his eyes flutter closed — not just from pleasure, but from the overwhelming truth of how much he feels for you. It’s not rushed. It’s not just passion. It’s raw and quiet, spoken in the way he holds you.
His touch is slow, like he’s discovering something sacred. When he moves inside you, it’s not with haste but with intention — like very inch is a silent confession. You’re already so ready for him, your bodies fitting together with an ease that feels fated, walls accepting him deeper inside of you.
Tommy’s breath shutters as he presses his forehead to yours, hands gently cupping the sides of your face like you’re something fragile he’s afraid to break. His voice is low and warm, roughened by need. Thrusts a steady rhythms — the sound of skin slapping skin filling the air.
“You feel so fuckin’ good.” He whispers, bottoming out — a feeling that almost has you screaming. “Feel like I’ve been waitin’ my whole damn life for this.”
He moves slowly, savoring the way your body tightens around him every time he pulls out. Quiet sounds escape your lips — sounds he drinks in like they’re meant only for him. His hands slide back through your hair, then trail down your breasts, your sides, worshiping the lines of your body with a quiet awe, till his hands grasp your ass, spreading you wider.
“So damn beautiful,” he breathes against your skin. “You don’t even know, do you?”
And he’s right. You don’t. You haven’t in a long time. Not since whatever you had with Joel started. But your Tommy’s now.
His lips find yours again — slow, deep, and lingering — then trail to your jaw, your neck, pressing soft kisses between each whimpered word. His voice stays low, intimate, like a secret he’s trying to keep.
“Been dreamin’ of this… of you. The way you feel. The way you look at me. The way you make me feel like I ain’t carryin’ the weight of this while damn town on my shoulders.”
You feel Tommy in every part of you. The way his fingers lace with yours above your head, grounding you. The he pauses to look at you, chest rising and falling with every breath like he’s afraid he’ll miss something.
“You’re safe, darlin’,” he murmurs. “With me. Always.”
His rhythm deepens slowly, never rushed — every movement purposeful, guided by the overwhelming need to make this mean something. He leans in, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his pace builds.
"Fuck- takin' me like such a goodgirl." He whispers.
And when the tension finally builds too high to hold back, your legs wrap around his, pulling him closer — legs shaking. Tommy’s thrusts falter as he collapses into you, hot strands of him shooting deep inside of you. His pace slows as he releases every last drop, beads of sweat lining his forehead and chest.
Afterward, he stays wrapped around you, his hand resting in the strands of your hair. He presses a kiss to your temple, then your shoulder, and finally your lips — slow and lingering.
And when you wake the next morning, The light is soft when you stir — that gentle, early morning glow slipping through the curtains like a secret. Your body is warm, heavy with the kind of peace that only comes after something real… something that meant more than just a night.
At first, you're not fully awake — just aware of warmth beside you, the steady rise and fall of someone's chest, the brush of a hand loosely resting at your waist. And then your eyes flutter open.
He’s still here.
Tommy.
His face is so close, peaceful in sleep. One arm is slung around your waist, holding you gently but securely, like even in his dreams, he wants to keep you near. His breath is slow, even, ruffling your hair every so often as he exhales. You can feel the warmth of his naked skin where it touches yours, where your legs are tangled together beneath the sheets.
Your chest tightens.
You’re used to waking up alone. Used to the hollow stillness after Joel would slip out sometime before dawn — not cruel, not cold, just… distant. Detached. He never stayed. Never really let himself.
So now, lying here with Tommy still wrapped around you, the weight of his presence is almost too much. Too tender. Too safe. Like your heart doesn’t quite know what to do with it.
Your instinct is to freeze, not out of fear, but disbelief. You wait for him to move, to get up, to pull away.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he shifts closer in his sleep, nuzzles his face against your shoulder with a soft hum, and tightens his arm just slightly around your waist.
A tiny sound catches in your throat. It’s not quite a sob, but it’s something close — quiet and raw and full of all the things you’ve never let yourself hope for. You press your forehead into the pillow, breathing slow, trying to make sense of the ache in your chest.
Tommy stirs then, as if your silence reached him even in sleep. His eyes blink open, still heavy with rest, and they find yours almost immediately.
“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and rasped with sleep. “You okay?”
You nod before you even think about it, eyes wet, lips parting to speak — but no words come.
He sees it, though. He always does.
His hand moves up, fingers brushing gently through your hair as he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your temple.
“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “You don’t gotta look so surprised.”
It had been a quiet kind of day — the good kind.
Tommy was busy with town duties, something about a supply run meeting and wall repairs, so you'd kept to yourself. The house was calm, filled with the soft rustle of pages as you read by the window, curled under a blanket. The book had long since been forgotten, though — set aside on your lap while your thoughts drifted to Tommy.
It was late now — a little before midnight — and the fire had burned low in the hearth. Outside, Jackson had settled into that peaceful silence it only ever got on cold, still nights.
Then came the knock.
Three soft taps. Hesitant. Almost... unsure.
You weren’t expecting anyone.
Your heart gave a strange little lurch — hopeful, for just a second, that maybe Tommy had found his way to your doorstep anyway. That maybe he couldn't sleep either, missing you the way you missed him.
But when you opened the door, your breath caught.
It wasn’t Tommy.
It was Joel.
And not the hardened, guarded version you’d grown used to. He looked different. Raw. Torn. Eyes shadowed. Like he hadn’t meant to come here, but his feet brought him anyway.
And then it hit you — the weight of the moment.
It was Sunday.
You stood there frozen in the doorway, one hand on the frame, the other wrapped tightly around yourself, as if your body instinctively knew this moment would hurt.
“Can I come in?” he asked, voice low, rough. Like gravel underfoot.
You stared at him for a beat too long. “It’s late.”
“I know.”
His eyes searched yours. There was something behind them — not just guilt, not just longing. Something more desperate. Something that made your chest tighten.
You hesitated, then stepped back wordlessly, letting the door swing open just enough for him to step inside.
Joel walked in slowly, glancing around your little living room like it had changed since he last saw it — and maybe it had. Maybe it felt different now, because you were different.
You didn’t offer him tea. Didn’t make excuses for the silence. You just crossed your arms and waited.
He stood by the edge of the fireplace, not looking at you. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“No,” you said quietly. “You really shouldn’t.”
His jaw clenched. “Tommy told me. ‘bout you and him… how he fucked you.”
Your heart thudded.
“So what?” you asked. You tried to keep your voice steady, but it cracked — not from weakness, but from everything he’d never let you have.
Joel finally looked at you. And you hated that your heart still flipped at the way his eyes softened, even now.
“You happy?” he asked.
You blinked. “Why does it matter?”
“Because I—I never meant to hurt you.”
You let out a short, bitter breath. “You didn’t have to mean it. You just did.”
He flinched like the words hit harder than you’d intended.
“You never stayed,” you whispered. “You never looked at me the way he does. And now you show up? On a Sunday?”
Silence.
“I left her,” Joel said suddenly. The words dropped like a stone in still water.
You stared. Shocked. “What?”
“Couple nights ago. I couldn’t—” he ran a hand down his face. “I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you.”
Your breath caught in your throat.
“I kept tryin’ to tell myself it wasn’t real, what we had,” he continued. “That I didn’t feel nothin’. But it was a lie. And then the way Tommy said he…”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.
You stepped back slightly, unsure whether you wanted to laugh, cry, or scream. “You only came because you saw someone else loving me. Not because you were ready. Not because I mattered before.”
Joel looked down, silent again.
And then you spoke the truth you’d been holding in your chest for too long.
“I needed someone who didn’t just want me when they were lonely. I needed someone who chose me even when it wasn’t convenient.”
Joel looked up. Eyes full of something broken.
“You were never an inconvenience." He mutters. You swear you hear his voice crack. "I always wanted you."
"Stop, Joel. That's not fucking fair." Your eyes burn as you beg them to hold back your tears. "I'm with Tommy now."
"I bet you thought about me while he was deep inside you, huh?"
"Joel stop."
He's close now, leaning in centimeters from your face. "Did he do it right?"
"Joel, please." You beg. But yet you don't find yourself leaning away from him, from the way his hands slip under your sweater — grazing your bare hips.
He stutters for a moment. Eyes searching your face for any sort of excuse to stop himself. But he leans in, lips grazing softly against yours, mouth parting to say: "Stop me."
You don't. You collide your lips into his, tasting the familiarity. Hands wrapping instinctively around his neck, pulling him in closer. Like you've done this a million times before.
Well... you have.
But, it's only when his hand slips beneath you leggings, traveling down to the front of your underwear, that you push him away. That you push him off of you.
"We can't do this anymore. Seriously. I really am with Tommy." You inform, wiping away his drool from your lips. You feel filthy.
"You want me. Admit it." He fights back. The fear and anguish now returning to his face. The hurt as well.
"Get the fuck out, Joel." You yell, pushing him harshly towards you door, the tears finally escaping.
He didn’t fight. He didn’t beg. Maybe he finally understood.
And when you opened the door again, he walked out without another word — not angry, not cold.
Just hollow.
You closed the door behind him, leaned your back against the wood, and let yourself breathe. Slow. Deep.
And when your eyes drifted to the small clock on the mantel… it had just passed midnight.
|| smut MDNI 18+, tommy miller x reader, canon compliant (takes place on seattle day 3), WLF!reader, deserter!reader, little bit of mean!tommy, enemies to lovers toleration, excluding some tags that would spoil the plot, pinv, m!receiving oral, gun kink, dirty talk, condescending dirty talk, public (?) sex, sex on the beach 🍹 lots of action and prose of shooting / violence, morally gray reader, reader has hair long enough to put into a ponytail, size kink, you can picture either tommy I dont have much description of him ||
a/n: I love being a little melodramatic. please note if you have not played tlou2 and have only watched the show this will contain spoilers for you. reader does not reflect my feelings on the salt lake crew & abby
wc: 6k
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
-Robert Frost, Fire & Ice
"Quiet."
Some people will tell you fear feels like ice water. Like a cold rush from a dam breaking loose, shooting into your bloodstream, halting every thought, staggering you into stillness. A feeling so cold, its as if the makeshift shiv at your throat had already sliced into you, killing you then and there. The cold touch of Death, nothingness, The End.
But not this. This— the fear now, it felt like fire. Like your blood was alive, roaring with the need to think faster, move faster, to construct an escape before your mind could even catch up. Your nerves sparked like struck flint, alive alive alive. It was something your brain only unlocks in dire circumstances—its will to live, even if you couldn’t be sure for how long.
You struggled against his grip. It is a his, a he— it's in the timber of his voice that you can tell. In the thickness of the wiry hair that scrapes beneath your jaw as your chin strained to pull away from the crook of his elbow where he held you tight against him. He had one arm locked around your neck, the other hand gripping that shiv. You'd barely caught a glance at it before he was pressing it to your skin, the cold bite of it at your throat, his mouth close against your ear to silence you.
“Easy now,” he whispered, tightening his hold.
Unfortunately, your legs had been kicking so hard to find balance that you eventually lose your footing, canvas sneakers slipping against the concrete, and you were forced to push back into his lap for any kind of support. It put the balance squarely in his favor—the power into his court.
"Your friends won't be too happy to find ya dead, now, will they?"
You had half a mind to laugh at the absurdity of it.
Below, you could see two figures diving around cars, shouting imperceivable messages to one another as they start weaving their way into the infested parking garage you just managed to crawl out of unscathed.
“Not—” you dragged in a thin breath and bring your hand up to grip his forearm, trying to wrench it down. Your vision started to darken at the edges. “— my friends.”
“That so?” he chuckled.
There was a strain in his voice even through the amusement. A faint cracking through the center of it, like it hadn't been used in a while. Like he hasn’t spoken much at all.
Was he alone out here?
“I’ll—I’ll prove it,” you gasped.
“Likely story—” The shiv presses harder into your throat.
Your heel finally caught against the concrete and you drove yourself backward into him, hard enough to knock him off balance for half a second. The hand holding the shiv shot out behind him to keep him upright, his bicep loosening around your neck just enough for you to wrench free from his hold.
You ran, closing the short distance to where your gun had skidded when he grabbed you. You snatched it up and swung back toward him in one motion, arm locked straight, jaw set, feet planted wide and ready.
He raised his hands slowly, something almost resigned settling into his face, though he was not fully watching you. His eyes kept cutting toward the cement bridge below, where two WLF soldiers were sprinting.
"You know them, then?"
You kept the barrel trained on him.
"Yeah."
"So this was the plan, huh? You guys split up and send a scrawny little thing like you to come pin me down?"
You narrowed your eyes on him. Your mind was moving too fast to think, though your blood had cooled to a composed, grounded pulse in your ears as you looked a the trespasser.
"Give me your rifle."
"Fuck you."
You cocked your gun, pulling back the hammer. It made a sick, confident clicking noise in your hand.
His mouth twisted in frustration and a low, irritated sound pushed out of him as he slid the rifle off his shoulder and lowered it carefully to the ground.
"Slide it over." you ordered.
He shoved it across the concrete with his boot. The metal scraped harsh and loud until it reached your feet.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, trespasser,” you said evenly. “I’m going to prove I’m not with them—” he let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, but you didn't falter, “—and then you’re going to take me to the aquarium.”
"And why in the hell would I do somethin' like that?"
There was a southern charm to his voice, a rough twang that was almost easy, the kind that might have sounded friendly if he hadn't pressed a blade to your throat a minute earlier. He had a thick beard threaded with aging gray, clear eyes beneath a heavy brow, and a straight nose that had been bent a couple times from what you supposed was a right hook.
“Because I know Seattle—” you said, bending carefully without lowering the gun or breaking eye contact as you scooped up the rifle and slung it over your shoulder. It was well kept, not some scavenged scrap, the wood stock worn smooth from years of use and a matte black scope fitted cleanly along the top
"—and I know where Abby is."
The man's face fell colorless with shock.
You took that split second, that suspended breath of time, to turn, hook the rifle out the window of the walkway overlooking the highway and pressed your eye to the scope just as the two figures darted for the mouth of the parking garage.
You pulled the trigger.
In the same instant, hands grabbed you again, shoving you hard and wrenching at the strap across your back, but you were already tangled in the leather and he couldn't rip it free. You staggered into him, caught in a clumsy hand-to-hand struggle over the rifle, aware now of how tall he was, how broad through the shoulders, solid and heavy, carrying the smell of gunpowder and mint and the stale musk of someone who had been living outdoors for a long while.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doin!?” he growled, hauling you around by the strap as he tried to wrench the rifle back.
“Get off me!” you screeched.
Then another sound tore through the air.
More screaming, but not from you.
Both of you went still, heads snapping toward the ruined, waterlogged highway. Nothing moved there anymore. Your gaze lifted instead toward the parking garage where you had aimed your shot, and you saw.
Your plan was working.
Infected—the couple dozen you'd moved around silently to get away, were awake and furious now, their shrieks echoing through the concrete as gunfire cracked from inside the structure. The two WLF soldiers were trapped in there with them, firing wildly and only stirring them into a worse frenzy.
"We need to get out of here." your words shook with realization.
The man was frozen, looking between you and the parking garage.
"Give me my gun."
"Are you deaf, old man? We need to get out!"
He finally turned to you, meeting your eyes, and he was no longer fighting the strap. “You’ve got yerself a deal, little lady. Give me my gun, and I’ll get you to the aquarium.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, your chest rising and falling in tight pulls of air. The space between you had shrunk when you both stilled. The rifle was the only thing keeping your bodies from colliding— without it, you would’ve been pressed straight into him: into the solid line of his stomach, the heat of him damp with sweat and close enough to feel.
He must've seen your hesitation, because he leveled his gaze at you, and said, unflinchingly:
"I swear."
Stupidly, naively, childishly— you believed him.
You slipped the leather strap from your shoulders and handed the rifle back into his cracked, calloused grip. He leaned it over the edge and pressed his eye to the scope.
He fired, the sound of the gun's power echoing loudly over the concrete around you. He barely flinched into the kickback of the weapon.
Then he fired again.
Then reloaded and did again once more.
“Can’t see shit with all them fuckin’ cars,” he muttered, "shit's bouncin' off the walls—Gotcha!"
You heard a man's voice shouting from the garage then, but couldn't make out the words of pain. But you knew one thing—the voices were closer.
"We need to leave, man." you said warily, forcing the urgency in our voice to steady. “If they make it up those steps, they’ll be right at that door. And then we’re cornered. I know the way down to the boathouse. If you just—”
“Get down!” he barked.
You dropped without thinking, your training snapping into place before a thought even had the chance to form.
A bullet ricocheted off a deserted cart beside you, sparks flashing where you had been standing only a second before.
The man grabbed the back of your collar then and shoved you toward the end of the bridge walkway without a word. His grip was firm, decisive. You knew what he meant. You knew what he wanted.
So you ran.
“HEY!” a voice rang out from the walkway behind you, deep and furious. “¡Estás pinche muerto!”
But you were already moving, lungs burning, sneakers pounding against the concrete as your ally’s heavier footfalls followed close enough that you could feel the vibration of them in your spine.
Inside, the structure opened up—a terminal, wide and echoing and long abandoned, but instead of airport gates, there were faded cruise line banners peeling from the walls, rotting posters promising turquoise water and easy sunsets, a world of polished decks and clean sheets you had never once known. Rows of bolted down chairs became your bunkers, and you slid in behind them, waiting for the Wolves to round the bend from the walkway into the open space.
You saw one of them first. A face you recognized.
You fired.
The recoil jolted up your arm.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
"Deserter!" one of them shouted.
You bit your tongue and fired another shot. You just needed them injured enough to leave.
Beside you, the man had pulled his pistol and was firing steadily now, not wasting movement, not saying a word. His jaw was set, mouth pulled thin, eyes narrowed down the sight of the oncoming pack.
As the two Wolves broke into a sprint toward your position, you didn’t wait. You surged up and ran again, your ally close behind, and just as you reached the next threshold you heard the small, sickening clink of metal hitting carpet.
Your heart jumped high into your throat and your body moved before your mind caught up, legs driving you forward harder out of range as the explosion tore through the space behind you, the blast rattling the walls and punching the air from your lungs.
Dust and gunpowder filled the terminal in a choking wave, thick and acrid, turning the world into shifting gray. The smoke burned your eyes, but it gave you something they weren’t expecting.
Cover.
You used it, veering into the next departure gate and dropping behind another row of chairs deeper into the terminal. Your back hit the seat hard enough to bruise as you turned toward your approaching ally.
“Look,” you panted when he slid in beside you, your voice shaking despite your effort to steady it, “the team I was with—”
“Don’t care,” he cut in, not even looking at you as he checked his weapon. “You wanna get to the aquarium? Aim and shoot. Talk later.”
You looked over at him, watching him for a little longer than necessary. He met your gaze, steady, unblinking, and something passed between you in the damp cold of the empty terminal — understanding, urgency, no room for anything else.
So you nodded.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” he whispered as he reloaded his pistol, movements quick, practiced. “You’re gonna head for that garage door, make it look like we both went in, and I’m gonna—”
"—you want us to split up?" you hissed.
He glared at you.
Right. You barely knew him. It didn’t matter if you split up. He could turn around and put a bullet in your back the second you got him to the aquarium. If you didn't kill him first.
"Fine, fine."
"Go!"
You thought there had to be more to it than that, but when you looked up you saw why he wasn’t wasting time spelling it out. The two Wolves were closing the distance fast, vaulting over rows of chairs and dividers, gaining ground. For a second you caught a clearer glimpse of the second one — a woman, braid down her back. You were stunned into frigidity.
Then fingers hooked into the back of your collar again and yanked.
"You suddenly go deaf, girl? Move!"
You pushed up and both of you sprinted for the garage door, committing to the diversion. The metal door slammed down behind you with a heavy crash, and bullets ricocheted off the sheeted surface in sharp, violent pings before everything went still.
There were footsteps on the other side and then you heard the sound of the metal door lifting. You raised your gun in two hands, aiming dead center where they’d step through — but then it stopped, and the door dropped down. You heard whispering instead, the shuffle of boots shifting position.
It was quiet again. The only sound in the room was the quick inhale and exhale of you trying to steady your heart.
You looked around. It was some kind of diner, booths bolted to the floor, counters warped with age. The whole place tilted faintly side to side, like you were standing inside the belly of a ship. A cruise liner built for drinking and pretending the ocean was safe.
Fuck, did your guy seriously ditch you? Why did you trust his plan? The wolves would be in here any second, two against one—
The crack of his rifle split the air like thunder.
A scream followed. Metal slammed somewhere outside. A body stumbled into view ahead, crashing over a stack of bins that blocked the entrance to the double doors on the opposite end of the room, and you finally saw her face as she pitched forward.
Then your ally, the man, he was lifting the garage door beside you and kneeling under to get through, and he grabbed your arm and shoving you toward the far end of the restaurant. Both of you hid behind the bar.
"Hey—I think—I need to tell you—"
"Let's go—"
"—But—"
“The hell did I say?” he snapped under his breath, low and sharp enough that it barely carried, but the bite of it sank like fangs. “Talk later. Now you’re gonna go out that damn door and hide. I’m gonna draw them in and take them at the threshold. If I get stuck you help me. Do you hear me? Or do I need to spell it out for you, soldier?”
Your spine snapped straight.
For a split second you were back on that training floor, Isaac in your face on your second day, barking about the two braincells you had and how "maybe, just maybe, you ought to make them cooperate!". The memory hit hot and humiliating as you stared into the stranger's eyes.
Your heart jumped into your throat.
But all you did was nod.
"Now go."
Outside the open door, the ocean misted against your chapped skin, cold and saline and relentless as it battered the side of the ship ahead of the storm rolling in. You veered right when the dock opened up, and ducked behind a stack of overturned tables, the wood swollen from years of salt and rot.
It didn’t take long for him to slip out after you. He didn’t look your way. He stayed pressed to the doorframe, rifle ready, his shoulders rising slowly as his breath steadied as if in tandem with yours, even far away, just waiting.
Then you saw who he was waiting for.
He moved fast. The door slammed into her with a hollow crack and sent her stumbling, and he drove the butt of his rifle into her temple before she fully found her footing. She reeled but didn’t drop. When he had her pinned against the railing, rifle across her collarbone, you saw her face clearly. And so did he.
It was Abby.
She shoved back hard, palm up to his face to push him back. It was muscle against muscle, fury against fury. Brute strength versus brute strength.
But then there was movement to the other side of the boat. It was someone else running up, a girl who couldn't have been older than 15. And she was on him with a knife. He shouted then, and lost his balance.
You thought you should move, should do something. But you were frozen. What the hell was Abby doing here? And with a Seraphite? Your brain was trying to make things work, but how could Isaac's top scar killer be here? Was she with Manny the entire time and you just hadn't seen her? This man had taken out the entire team. You thought she'd be with Owen at the aquarium— it was why—it was why you were heading there, you… you thought…
The world tilted with the swell of the ship and suddenly your ally was no longer holding Abby against the dock railing. They had shoved and moved so much that now he was leaning back, trying to fight her off until Abby shoved once more and the swollen rotting dock railing broke and he went over.
You gasped, the sound ripped from you. Your palm met your face fast enough to stifle it.
You watched as Abby and the Seraphite spoke to one another, and Abby looked…she looked terrible. Covered in blood, her chest heaving in terrified lungfuls. You wished you could hear what they were saying over the roaring of the waves below and the wind beginning to howl.
Where was Manny? Was he not her back up? Had he gone down inside? Your world was moving violently with the bow of the ship, your brain umable to make things make sense. Nothing made any sense anymore.
Then they were moving again, pointing down toward the lower docks, disappearing without a single notice of you.
You stumbled to the railing and looked over, and saw him, just there.
His body rose and dipped in the violent water, coat dragging him down, head barely breaking the surface between waves.
Was he unconscious?
You hesitated.
You could walk away.
He’d threatened you, held a knife to your throat. He would still kill given the chance.
But you'd been a sort of team back there, covering one another. Making promises and plans. Even though he had the personality of a nasty stray dog, he still protected you.
The ocean crashed hard against the hull.
Fuckkkk….
You vaulted the railing and jumped.
Your shoulders were screaming by the time you reached the shore. Salt burned your lungs and your eyes, and your legs nearly buckled when sand finally caught beneath your shoes.
Your fingers were sore from twisting into his collar, his heels carving trenches behind him as you dragged him higher up the beach. He hadn’t moved once since you’d grabbed him in the water. There wasn't any fight in him or resistance except for the weight of his body against the raging current. His head only lolled to the side, water dripping steadily from his beard.
"Come on," you muttered, more to yourself than him.
You hauled him onto his back once you were far enough from the tide and dropped to your knees beside him. You drove your knuckles hard into his sternum, trying to jolt him awake with pain. No use.
His skin looked wrong, pruned and pale beneath the grime, his mouth slack, water pooling at the corner.
You sucked in a breath and planted your palms flat against his chest, and you pushed down hard.
Again.
Again.
You counted, pressing on rhythm, forcing his heart to respond, wondering in some distant corner of your mind whether you were pushing too hard, cracking the bones beneath. Better a couple broken ribs than death.
"Come on, you motherfucker." you gritted down at him, "at least let me be the one to take you out, not the damn ocean."
You pinched his nose and tipped his chin, descending down onto him. For some reason, at that moment, your stomach made a sort of fluttering squeeze.
But then water burst from his mouth before you could reach him, spluttering and coughing, choking as he rolled to his side. You scrambled back from him as he hacked spit and seawater into the sand, his entire body convulsing.
When he rolled onto his back again, his eyes found you.
You smiled a little sarcastically, "Welcome ba—"
But his hand was shooting out, gripping your sodden ponytail.
He wrenched you around and you hit the sand hard, grit filling your mouth. By the time your vision cleared he was already up, dragging himself to his feet, staggering only for half a second before he steadied. When you looked up, his gun was trained on you.
Water ran down his face and beard, his chest heaving, eyes furious.
“What the fuck is your problem?” you spat, pushing yourself up onto your elbows and spitting sand as he kept the barrel pointed at you.
His chest rose and fell heavily, water droplets dripping from his eyes hard and burning.
“You’ve got about ten seconds,” he said hoarsely, voice scraped raw from salt and rage, “to start explainin’ how you knew.”
"What are you talking about?"
"How the fuck did you know I was lookin' for Abby?" he barked, "I should've known— you knew exactly what I wanted, didn't ya? Meanwhile you were with her the whole time."
"No!" you shook your head, holding up your hand, "Let me explain."
"Ten."
"Wait!"
"Nine."
"Are you fucking serious!?"
"Eight—"
"I WAS A FIREFLY!"
Your voice would’ve echoed off the cliff faces if the surf hadn’t been crashing so loud against the shore.
“Like hell you were—” he growled, but the barrel dipped, if only a fraction.
You raised your hand higher, pushing yourself to sit up on your own. Your other hand, covered in sand, went to your neck and you tugged the chain free.
A dog tag.
It shook in your fingers as you opened your palm for him to see.
“Five years ago, our hospital was attacked,” you said, your hands still lifted in surrender.
"A man came through and killed everyone. Everyone." you whispered. "It was a slaughter."
“I was there,” you went on. “I was one of the nurses. He came in and he killed Jerry. The only one who knew how to make the cure from that little girl.”
He was silent.
"And do you know who Jerry was?" you asked.
The barrel lowered another inch. He still held it ready, but his shoulders had shifted, his eyes no longer fixed straight on you.
"Jerry was Abby's father."
His eyes quickly flashed back to your face.
“The only reason I knew you were looking for her is because I was there again..." you sucked in a brave, deep breath, and said, "At the cabin.”
His lip curled, anger rising hot again. “You—!?”
"I wasn't in the cabin—when you came back—I was out trying to find Abby because she'd run off on her own. I didn't know she had come back until I saw the fire from the molotovs. But after…I saw you. On the floor, passed out. I saw Joel and the girl too."
His mouth tightened, something sharp flickering through his eyes — anger, something heavier under it, something he didn’t want you naming.
“I was only there for my brother,” you said. “He was chasing his ex across states while his girlfriend was pregnant. He was acting like an idiot and I wasn’t letting him drag himself to Wyoming in the middle of winter for her. That’s it. That’s the only reason I was there. And today, I only was there because...because I had left the WLF. Manny and his team were after me. I didn't mean to run into you, but...then I did. And it all made sense.
"And so... that's how I know your name is Tommy Miller.”
He stepped forward and pressed the barrel of the gun to your forehead.
All you could do was glare up at him beneath it, your heart, strangely, a slow and steady pulse in your jugular. This wasn’t fear anymore. You weren’t fighting for your life now. You had laid it all bare for him, everything was out. The truth unhidden.
You could hear his breathing — still ragged, whether from lungs not fully cleared of water or something else, it dragged in and out of him heavy and rough.
Slowly, inch by inch, like you were moving through molasses, you began to lift your hands.
He watched you, glaring down, but he didn’t shift. The gun remained firm against your forehead. Your hands found his knees first, then slid higher, inching up to his thighs, delicate fingers pressing into soaked denim.
“Do you really want to kill the girl who’s your only hope of finding the one you want?”
And ever so careful, you pulled your head away from the pistol.
Tommy’s frown deepened. His upper lip twitched faintly, almost a snarl, as he studied you. You tipped your head back a little farther, so slow it felt unreal — like some drawn-out final scene in a movie where the hero delivers a speech before the last blow. But this wasn’t a movie. This was your life, laid open on the sand.
"You really think I believe you want to help me find her? When your own brother is next on my list?"
Your heart lurched as he said it, but you managed to steady it as your found your center. You would never let him get that far. As long as you were beside him, you could protect your brother.
You leaned in then, letting your tongue dip out, and tasted the tip of the pistol. It was metallic and cold from the ocean, salty and smooth.
“Abby’s strung my brother along for years,” you said quietly. “He’s still in love with her. But she's only ever cared about herself. She’s selfish. She’ll ruin his life more than she already has.”
Your mouth closed over the end of the pistol in a slow kiss, and you saw Tommy swallow thickly. Your hands tightened in his wet, sandy denim as you lifted your gaze to him, dragging your tongue along the side of the metal, never breaking eye contact.
"I take you to her," you said, "--where I know she's headed--" clenching your fingers into his jeans harder, you opened your mouth wide, taking the entire barrel between them and hollowing your cheeks, watching him. The pretty color of his eyes was gone, pupils blown black.
When you pulled back, it came with a soft pop. You licked your lips. "--And you let my brother live."
"Bullshit." Tommy growled, but it was only half confident. Your fingers were up in his lap now, and you could feel his stiffening member beneath the tips of your fingers now.
"He's leaving for Santa Barbara soon, and he wants her to come with him." you kissed and kitten licked up the barrel some more, meanwhile reaching for his button of the denim. He felt big, swollen, mouth watering beneath your touch. "I can't let that happen."
Your tongue left a faint sheen along the metal where you licked up the side.
"No one knew how gruesome she would be that day, Tommy," you whispered, closing your eyes as your lips touched his fingers, which were trembling a little now, "let me save my brother, and you can have Abby."
You unzipped his jeans.
“Yer sick in the head, ain’t ya?” he murmured, voice thick with arousal as he let you work him open, your tongue flicking over his salty fingers where they still hovered near the trigger.
You smiled a little at that as your hand slipped past the teeth of his zipper and into the warmth beneath, pulling him free. He was thick in your palm, velvet soft despite your cold fingers. He hissed as you freed him to the air.
Fuck, you heard him curse. His hand loosened on the gun, lowering it. Your eyes fell to where your hands, both of them now, wrapped around him, two of them still not able to cover the length of him, your pinky scraping against the hair at the base.
"You're so big, Tommy," you murmured, and leaned in to kiss the tip of him just like you had with the pistol.
He groaned loudly at the feeling of your wet mouth on the mushroom head of his cock. So warm and smooth it was like silk in your mouth, pearled with salty arousal that you licked clean.
You let go with a light pop, "Are you going to fuck me with this big cock, Tommy?" you simpered. "I don't know if it'll fit, I can barely take it in my mouth."
You opened your mouth wide, unhinging your jaw, and slid his member onto your tongue, lowering your head until the tip of his cock was kissing your throat.
He groaned loud and ragged at that, his hand no longer holding the gun but now resting at the back of your head.
"Yeah, that's it, take that cock, baby. Still got some left, can't take it all can ya? Too big?"
You met his gaze as tears pricked your vision.
"Actin' all high and mighty with my gun in your mouth, but can't even take a cock, can ya?"
Oh, he was mean.
You tried to take him deeper, brow furrowing with effort, moaning when he twitched against your tongue.
"Come on now, just a bit more, that's it," he said, both hands on your head now as he looked down at you, pushing his cock further into your mouth. Your nose just barely brushed his pubic hair before your throat began to convulse around his intrusion.
He pulled your head off, letting you heave in breaths, and held your hair in one fist, leaning down to take your face in his other.
"Yer all fuckin' talk, ain't ya?" he growled, baring his teeth, "will say anythin' to get me to do what you want. Willin' ta' suck my dick to get me to spare your goddamn brother. That it, baby? Think you can talk me into not killin' ya here and now?"
"Fuck you," you gasped, but his hand was squeezing your cheeks, forcing your lips to pucker.
“I oughta keep fuckin’ that mouth just to shut you up. But I’d rather hear you scream my name.” His grin turned wicked. “Ask for it nicely.”
You glared up at him.
"Can't finish what you started, baby?" he taunted. "Come on now, be a good girl and beg for it."
You couldn't deny that your legs were wobbly where they spread on the sandy beach, that between them was a pool of warm wetness begging to know what he felt like.
"Please."
He tsk'd, a sick click of his tongue against the back of his teeth, and he leaned in and licked the curve of your lips, making your stomach flutter, and you let out an involuntary noise of pleasure at the feeling of the wet muscle along your mouth.
"You can do better than that." he said against them.
"Please fuck me, Tommy."
"Right here on the beach?" he asked in a mock pity, "anyone could see us, darlin'."
"Don't care," you whispered, your brows threading in desperation. You began to rock your hips, searching for anything to help the burn between your legs.
"Look at you, desperate little girl. If only I'd known, I would've fucked you on that bridge instead'a tryna kill ya."
You licked your lips. He watched, and then leaned down, kissing you roughly, holding your face against his as his tongue pushed into your mouth. When he pulled back, he said: "Think you would've like that, huh? Fuckin' a stranger while I was tryna kill those two out there."
You moaned again.
"Yeah, you are a sick little freak." he smiled down at you, "Get on your back."
He let you go, letting your body lay back down on the sand. You immediately began to shimmy off your pants, and he was climbing down on top of you with a seconds notice.
He pulled down your top, freeing your breasts to the cool ocean breeze, and took one in his mouth.
"Oh!" you moaned as his teeth bit down on your pebbled nipple. He moaned into the skin there, his tongue laving over his rough bite.
"Pretty fuckin' tits, Jesus," he murmured as his lips traveled into the valley between them, and took the other one in his mouth, "Could fit the whole thing in my mouth baby, look," he said as he inhaled your breast, the entire globe in his mouth as he sucked and bit.
Your back was arching into him, hands now fisting in his long hair. You pulled it from its ponytail to let it fall around his face before your hands were threading through it again. He moaned as your nails scraped his scalp, like a cat purring in your hands.
"Let me see this desperate lil' pussy, honey, lemme see 'er,"
It was like the more turned on he got, the thicker his accent became, words slurring into one another, and he pulled your underwear down.
"Fuck, okay, hang on, here—"
He shrugged off his backpack, stripped off his soaked jacket, and spread it over the sand beside you.
"Here," he said.
It was oddly romantic. Minutes ago, this man had been holding a gun to your head and now he was lifting you up just enough to scooch you onto his jacket, keeping your naked bum from the sand as he ridded you of your last layers.
"Thank you." you murmured, your finger going to your mouth in a sudden sort of shyness as you pushed together your knees in front of him.
"Don't go thankin' me yet, I ain't gonna be nice."
You let him open your legs then.
"Fuckkk…" he groaned, staring in awe at the center of your legs, which glistened with thick arousal, waiting for him. He saddled up to you, tapping the head of his cock against your sensitive, slick center, making you gasp.
The sudden realization, the contrast of his size to your body beneath him had your skin erupting in goosebumps.
"I—I don't know, Tommy." you whispered, biting down on the finger you had in your mouth. "It's too big—"
Your one hand came down to push against his tummy, keeping him away.
"S'alright," he said with a nod, intertwining your fingers and bringing your hand up to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. He was a juxtaposition in so many ways. Tender and gentle and then rough and mean. He was making your head spin. "We'll make it fit, don't you worry."
He swiped the tip of himself through your slick folds, and then pushed in.
You thought you might've heard a cat yowling in heat on a beach, until you realized it was just you.
Sand shifted beneath you as your back arched. His hand slid up, cradling the bowl of your skull as he leaned over you, eclipsing you completely. Your skin burned where he’d bitten your breasts as they brushed the damp fabric of his shirt pressing over you.
"That's it, that's it—" he said softly, nipping your chin, and then your jaw. His beard scraped your salty skin with every kiss he left along it.
You whined and thrashed a bit at his intrusion, but your legs fell open wider, trying to accommodate his body in the cradle of your lap.
"Ohhh, fuck," he groaned as he finally seated himself entirely in you. You felt split in two, as if your body had been forced in half and you were never going to be the same.
"Oh my god." was all you could say.
And then he moved. He swung his hips back gently, slowly, and you were whining, mewling, scraping your fingers deeper into his hair.
"Oh, oh, I know I know—It's too much huh?" he cooed, "but you wanted it so bad, didn't ya, baby? She seems to like it, can't you hear 'er?"
You let your eyes flutter open as you listened to the sound—waves crashing, his heavy breathing, and then…yes, yes you could hear it. The desperate squelching of your cunt welcoming him, wanting him, drenching his cock in slick as he pushed it back in again, kissing your womb with every thrust.
"Dumb little girl with your big mouth—" he growled, punching his hips against yours, "where's your big girl words now, huh? Talk to me, sugar."
"Feels s-so-sooo—fuck!" you mewled again, your face twisted in pleasure as your body opened for him, and his cock kept hitting that spot that only your fingers knew—one you never had been able to find with a man. Your eyes widened, watching him, his mouth open and no longer cocky.
“Right there?” he demanded.
You nodded quickly.
"Tell me."
"Yes, yes, yes," you chanted, "it feels so good, Tommy, oh god, right there, pleasepleasepleaseplease don't stop—"
“That’s it,” he said, voice rougher now. “Keep goin’. Tell me more.”
“I’m gonna—Tommy—I’m gonna come—”
“Look at me,” he ordered.
You did. His teeth were bared, breath ragged.
“Let me see it when you soak my cock.”
"Please let me—I wanna—oh my god you feel so good."
"Yeah, baby? Your pussy is like heaven honey," he grunted in exertion, "Don't think I could kill you now, gonna have to keep you for myself. Gonna have to take you home with me and fuck this pussy for the rest of my god damn life. Think you might have me ruined."
"No—no—" you shook your head, tightening your fists in his hair, "you're—fuck, you're ruining me. I—please keep fucking me, Tommy, oh god—!"
"Yeah—" he bared his teeth, picking up the pace of his thrusts. He began punching into you, hips against hips hard enough to leave bruises inside your thighs. He took his one hand and gripped your ass, smoothing down your legs to hike your knee over his hip to drive into you deeper. "Take it."
Stars burst in your vision. You could no longer see him, the tightening rope of your belly struck tight and ripped open, your body bowing with it, and he groaned, a gutteral, feral sound ripping from his throat.
“Yeah,” he groaned, voice breaking. “That’s it. Let me feel it. Come all over me sweet girl—”
He froze above you, both of you locked together in that suspended moment, eyes wide as you watched each other unravel.
The waves crashed. The wind tore past. And then you both collapsed back into breath and salt air, still tangled together as he painted your walls with his spend.
Your breath steadied until your inhales were his inhales, your exhales sharing in rhythm. Your legs ached from the stretch of his body, but drew them in anyway, heels dragging up his back until they locked there, keeping him inside you a second longer.
The ocean filled the silence for a long moment, and then it started to rain.
You felt a shift in him, the way he was starting to come back to himself. The tension krept back into his spine, awareness returning.
You loosened your legs, and he pulled back from you.
The loss of his warmth and the cool ocean air around you made you gasp in a breath, your body protesting the emptiness. He avoided your eyes as he stood, pushing his shirt back down his belly where it had ridden up, pushing his spent, wet member back into his jeans.
You closed your legs, and sat up on his jacket, looking for your own clothing.
His silhouette against the darkening water was broad and solid, the last light before the storm came catching along his shoulders. He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling hard through his nose like he was trying to clear his head.
"I meant what I said," he murmured, though his voice was different now, gentler, even if it was still rough like gravel.
Your stomach flipped, waiting for him to go on.
"About…bringing you back with me." he finally admitted, his eyes finding yours. "I…we have a town that's safe in Jackson."
You swallowed dryly, pulling your underwear back on, slowly getting your own water logged denim back up your legs as you stood. Picking up his sandy jacket, you wiped it off as best you could, holding it in your tired hands.
"If you want." he added when you stayed silent.
"What about my brother?"
Tommy frowned, looking at you. The wind pushed your hair across your mouth. You didn’t look away.
“I gotta finish what I started,” he said finally, eyes drifting past you to the cliffs cut into shadow. “I didn’t come all this way for nothin’.”
You nodded once, and could understood that part of him.
"But… if you come back with me… I won't do anythin'. To him." he shut his eyes, shaking his head a little, as if warring with himself before taking a deep breath.
“It was only ever about her.”
The waves crashed between you, and you held his gaze when they finally opened up to look at you with renewed determination.
