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Absolutely not crying haha...

Waffle House penance

Summary: After the world ends, you’re forced to give Joel some news.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~3k

Warnings: three years post-outbreak, angst, anxiety, pregnancy, mentions of Joel being suicidal and dissociating, mentions of violence, mentions of past death, food insecurity, negative self thought, mentions of an irregular period

A/N: Happy Thursday! Remember when I wrote that cute Waffle House confessions fic? Yeah, I decided to write the angsty, evil outbreak version of that! If you want to read the fluffy version of this, you can find it here! Both versions will also have an additional part (which won't be necessary, this is complete on its own) but you can find the masterlist here, if you're interested!

As always thank you for reading! I would love to know your thoughts! Please please please, be sure to leave feedback!

You’re forced to tell Joel you’re pregnant in the parking lot of a Waffle House. 

The parking lot is a mess of decay three years after the outbreak. Nature has reclaimed much of the cracked pavement, moss and veins crawling over burnt out vehicles. The storefront is nothing but shattered glass and concrete. 

The truck Joel had managed to hotwire clicks as it cools behind you in the early morning sun. Clouds loom on a purpled horizon, the sky a delicate pink and lavender. The day is already warm though not uncomfortable. Based on the license plates on the cars still in the lot, you’re somewhere in Virginia.  

Tommy’s hand is on your back, rubbing soothing circles into the top of your spine. “You gotta tell him,” he says quietly. “It ain’t like he’s not gonna find out anyhow.” 

You swallow thickly and straighten from where you’d been emptying your stomach of any remaining bile into an overgrown bush. “I’m fine.” Your voice warbles when you respond. “It’s food—” 

“Don’t say you have food poisoning,” he says. “We ain't had enough food lately to be poisoned with.” 

You have to concede that fact. You haven’t eaten in a couple days, not really. “Do we have any water?” You ask, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

Tommy just hands you the canteen you’d stolen from another group a few weeks ago and pats you on the back again. You swish the tiniest amount of water around your mouth before spitting it out and taking a proper drink. “Listen, it’s better to do it now.” He shoulders the rifle that had been leaning against the truck. “Just get it over with. It’ll be fine.” He glances over his shoulder. "Here he comes now, I’m gonna take a turn around this lot. Okay?” 

You nod and cap the canteen as Joel approaches from the derelict restaurant. He holds up a couple of cans he’d found. 

“Ain’t much,” Joel says when he gets close enough. He leans next to you against the side of the truck, balancing the cans along the truck bed in a neat row. “Peaches. Some other stuff in there too, but figured you’d like these best so I bought ‘em first. What’s Tommy doin’?” He turns and squints into the rising sun at his brother. 

“Taking a turn around the lot is what he said,” you reply, setting the canteen beside the cans. A faded yellow sun of a brand you can no longer remember the name of is embossed on the peeling labels, but the metal shows no sign of bubbling or rust. 

It’s a good find.

Joel nods, his fingers going to the revolver on his hip for a moment, like he’s checking it's still there. 

You watch him for a moment, appreciating the little lines by his eyes that mean he’s still with you. The length of his hair is longer than he would have ever allowed it before, but you lost the scissors awhile back and you’re scared to go at it with a knife for him. 

There are grayish purple rings beneath his eyes. You aren’t sure any of you have had a sound night of sleep in years, but you know Joel sees Sarah’s final moments each time he closes his eyes. Which only makes what you have to tell him harder. 

Joel’s eyes turn back to you, his gaze assessing. “You alright?” He cups your jaw and tilts your head back to look you over. His palm is rough against your cheek. “Ya look a little—” 

“I threw up again,” you blurt.

He frowns. “Well, we ain’t even been eatin’—” 

You decide to just get it over with as Tommy had so eloquently put it. “I think I’m pregnant, Joel.” 

He stares at you for a long moment, his mouth parting gently. “What?” 

You swallow down your anxiety as Joel’s thumb pauses in tracking over your cheek. “I said I’m pregnant.”

“Are you serious?” His voice is a sudden, harsh bite. 

Your chest squeezes tight, and  you attempt to explain. “I haven’t had my period in awhile but you know how it's come and gone the last couple of years. But — but this sickness,” you shake your head. “I’m sorry. I think it’s—” 

He releases you and takes several steps back, eyes flicking over you. His jaw is clenched tight, the vein in his throat straining against his skin. “And what the fuck am I supposed to do with that?” He mutters, hands anchoring on his hips.

Joel looks away from you, shaking his head as he glares at the ground. 

You close your eyes and rub the space between your eyes. He’s taking it about as well as you expected him to. 

You take a long breath, trying to keep calm, but your stomach rolls again, and this time you aren’t sure if it's morning sickness or the fear that rises up in you. 

Since the outbreak, since Joel lost Sarah, he hasn’t been the same man. 

How could he be? When he’s lost the love of his life, his baby girl? 

The strength that he always carried quietly in himself has translated to violence in the struggle to stay alive. He’s harsh. He’s shorter with you and Tommy. You’ve seen him do terrible things, kill. You’ve all stolen and lied and — you don’t like to think of the setups, robbing people who still had it in them to help others. 

There had been a period of time, after Sarah died, weeks, that Joel hadn’t said a single word. You had started to worry that he’d never speak again. Joel had become his grief. You and Tommy had taken rotating shifts with him, never leaving him alone. It had been a silent pact, both of you afraid for him and dealing with your own loss.

He had been empty, and when the emptiness passed, someone brutal was left in his place.

He’s still not the same man, and yet the one you still love. 

You can’t blame him for any of that, you don’t.

“He’d be worse,” Tommy often said to you. “If it weren’t for you. There’d be nothin’ left for him. He’d be hollow.” 

You aren’t sure that’s true, not sure you could count yourself as that important. Joel will never stop grieving, and you aren’t sure you will either. Though Sarah hadn’t been your child, you’d felt like she was. You’d practically been there from the time she was born, when her mother left and Joel was alone. 

You think about when you met in the grocery store all the time. How young Joel had looked and how lost and alone, baby formula at the checkout and no wallet with which to pay for it. He almost hadn’t let you help him.

But she was only nine months old and screaming her head off, unable to understand why she was hungry, and that her father was trying his very best. And that sometimes your very best still falls short. 

You’d met Joel when he thought things were as bad as they could ever be, with a baby he was trying so hard to take care of, a runaway — then ex — wife, and a little brother on the verge of becoming a joiner. 

Now, you watch those same tense shoulders, those same eyes that are ringed with a different kind of exhaustion.

The worst part of it is, Joel takes it all on his shoulders. Sarah’s death, but your survival too. 

“I don’t know, Joel,” you say quietly, almost apologetic. “It’s not like I wanted this to happen. If I knew how to get rid of it, I would.” Your voice cracks on the last word.  

Joel lifts his head to look at you. His jaw ticks in irritation, and you can tell he’s thinking of all the problems this is going to cause, of all the extra ways it’s going to make surviving harder than it already is, of how it's going to slow him and Tommy down and put a big vulnerable target on their backs. 

If you weren’t a burden before, you certainly are now. 

You take another steadying breath. What you hadn’t mentioned to Tommy is the reason that you hadn’t wanted to tell Joel. 

Telling Joel means facing up to facts, and he’s practical enough, reasonable enough, that he’ll agree with you about your condition. Joel is a survivor, hardened to the world in a way you can’t seem to manage. Top your weakness off with something as damning as pregnancy — and, well, there’s really no other solution but for you to go your separate ways. 

You can’t add this weight to his shoulders. Not when it would make him more vulnerable than he already is constantly watching out for you, because you can’t seem to do it yourself. 

“Look,” you say, meeting his dark gaze. “I know I’m dead weight to you and Tommy. I have been since the beginning. It’s…let’s not kid ourselves anymore. It’s kill or be killed and my time is already past up. I’m useless at everything it takes to survive. If it weren’t for you, I’d have been dead a long time ago.” 

His forehead creases, brows furrowing in confusion as he stares at you. “What are you sayin’?” 

Your bottom lip wobbles, but you manage to keep your voice even when you speak. “Just let me go, Joel. We can just — we can—”

You can’t quite bring yourself to say it and so instead you drift into silence. The parking lot echoes with wind through overgrown trees, the chirp of cicadas, and the occasional distant scuff of Tommy’s boot on the pavement as he keeps watch.

It takes a second for realization to storm over Joel’s face. “No.” His brows pinch together, as if offended by the thought of it alone. 

“Joel—” you start to plead. 

“No. I ain’t losing you too. Get in the truck,” he says gruffly. He strides forward and yanks open the passenger side door, crowding you back into the opening with the solid wall of his body like you might try to run away right then.

“Joel, baby,” you try again, reaching out to press your hands over his ribs, to stop him from shuffling you further backwards. “C’mon, it's hard enough as it is. I’m only making things harder on you…and this—” 

He’s already shaking his head. “You think I’m just gonna let you walk off? Get yourself killed?” 

You swallow, your voice trembles. “It’s coming anyhow,” you say with finality. “I won’t survive this.” 

By this, you mean the world at large, but you don’t think Joel knows that. It’s something you’ve thought for a while, but never had the courage to voice. You’re weighing them down, you’re not built for this world. You don’t know how to navigate it. 

And a baby terrifies you. 

“You will. I’ll make sure you do.” He steps impossibly closer, guides you to sit down. “You can’t ask me to let you go.” He leans one forearm against the frame of the truck, his opposite hand gripping the top of the open door. His body boxes yours in. You release his t-shirt where your hands had transformed into tight fists, sitting back instead, relenting a little. “You can’t.” 

“What else am I supposed to do?” You ask weakly. 

He shakes his head, “We’ll figure somethin’ out. We’re headin’ to Boston. It’s supposed to be okay there. We’ll stay there even if it's just for a while.” 

“Joel—” 

“No.” This time it’s a snarl. “Don’t say it again. Don’t. This ain’t up for fuckin’ debate.”

But you have to try, because something like this could very well lead to Joel’s death, to Tommy’s. It’s going to slow all of you down. “Joel, please,” you lay a hand against his face. “Think about how hard things already are. Think about how much harder it’s going to get. How slow I’m gonna get. We already can’t get enough to eat—” 

His pupils are blown wide, a wild look lodged in his eyes.

He turns and walks a few feet away. He goes silent and still, staring out at the yellowed overgrown grass next to the parking lot. Without his body pressing you into the cab of the truck, the air feels cool. 

A few minutes pass in silence. 

Joel remains frozen, the only movement the slight lift of his shoulders with each breath. You notice how quick his breathing is, the sweat that’s beading on the back of his neck in a slow building panic you hadn’t meant to cause.   

But you wonder if he’s considering it anyway, running through every difficulty and dilemma this would cause, adding how weak you already are into the equation. 

You don’t have the stomach to kill, you’re horrible with guns, blood makes you feel faint. You are bad for this world. Joel takes it all on instead, makes up for your weakness. 

You already feel set adrift. He’s going to see sense, you know he will. It’s how he’s survived so far, by making the hard choices. “You don’t have to agree,” you say to his back. His neck is tense, his shoulders knotted. “Don’t have to say anything. I won’t put that on you. It’s not your choice. I’ll just go.” 

Your voice seems to dislodge him from his reverie. He turns and walks back to scoop up the cans of peaches and the canteen from along the bed of the truck and deposit them in your lap. “Sunshine,” he growls out. “You can’t honestly think, after everythin’, that I’d even consider that,” he snaps, meeting your eyes, daring you to challenge him. 

When you don’t say anything, your throat tight, he points to the cans in your hands. “You hold onto them,” he says, and then seems to think better of it. He takes one and pulls back the metal tab. “Eat some of that and don’t fuckin’ go anywhere. I’m goin’ back for the rest.” 

When you only nod, looking down at the peaches swimming in golden syrup, Joel grips your chin and forces your head up carefully. “Don’t go anywhere. There ain’t no heroes in this world. And you’re my last thing to take care of. Without you…without you, I wouldn’t be long for this world.” Joel’s throat works, and the sound of him swallowing back his grief is loud. “If it weren’t for you, I’d have been dead a long time ago,” he repeats your earlier words with a scoff. “That’s the damn point. Got it?” 

A tear slips down your cheek. “Got it,” you manage to croak. 

Joel swipes the tear away gently and releases you. He stalks back across the parking lot, through the busted double front doors of the dilapidated Waffle House. You expect Tommy to return but he remains occupied, perhaps sensing you and Joel hadn’t quite finished your conversation.

When Joel comes back, it’s with an armload of unlabeled canned goods. “You okay?” He asks, his voice a bit softer now, not looking at you as he stacks the cans by your feet on the floor of the truck. 

You just nod this time, watching Tommy dutifully pretend to inspect something on the other side of the parking lot. It’s quiet for a long second. 

Joel’s body is hovering over yours again, leaning into your space. He takes your free hand in his, thumbs working into your palm, before he tugs you up. 

Joel guides you to the back of the truck, lowers the tailgate for you both to sit on. You lean into his side and he produces a fork. “Eat some of them,” he gestures to the open can you’re still cradling. “Before the ants find out you got sugar.” 

It’s something Joel from before would have said, and it makes you laugh a little. 

You take the offered fork and dig it into the soft flesh of the fruit, because the sick feeling has subsided a little, and because Joel specifically picked them out for you. 

He could have grabbed anything, especially when you haven’t had much the last couple days and it would have done, but he thought to bring you peaches.

Joel’s eyes stayed glued to you while you chew slowly. 

It’s quiet for a while, and Tommy returns to you, settling in the driver’s seat and sorting through the cans Joel had collected. 

“Remember when we used to go to that Waffle House in Austin? When you’d pick me up from work?” You ask, staring up at the Waffle House sign that looms over the parking lot. Its blocky letters are familiar and somehow comforting. You’re heading out of the south, and soon you’ll leave the Waffle Houses behind altogether. 

Joel curls his arm around your shoulders, rests his chin against your temple. “Yep,” he looks up at the sign too. You can almost pretend it's before, that things are normal, that any second a jetstream would appear in the clear blue sky as it hasn’t in years, that any moment you’d hear the distant roar of a plane taking off. But you aren’t in Austin anymore, you aren’t even in Texas anymore. 

“I miss it,” he admits.

“You hated it.” 

“Well, time gives you perspective,” he says. “And those were good times.” 

You nod and stare at the sign again, leaning your head against his shoulder. 

The W is missing, a gaping black hole. 

“Affle House,” you say suddenly. “Joel, it’s awful house.” 

You jump when he laughs, the sound that used to be so familiar to your ears now startles you. You can’t remember the last time he laughed. “So it is, sunshine,” he agrees. A smile tugs at your mouth and you rub your forehead against his shoulder.

Because you managed to startle a laugh out of him. 

You set the can of peaches aside and curl your hand around Joel’s. “Are you sure you wanna throw your lot in with mine?” 

Joel's dark gaze meet yours. “I already told you, shine, there’s nothin’ to throw in with.” He squeezes your fingers.

A spark you haven't seen in a long time has flared to life in his eyes, distant and calculating as he looks back out at the empty lot.

💞 Thank you for reading! Comments and feedback are so appreciated. 💞

You can find the fluffy, no outbreak!au of this fic here if you're interested!

Absolutely beautiful reunion

[ 𝐇𝐔𝐆 ] with our husband, our lovely husband, din djarin

✶  ———  REUNION  ;   d.d.

summary: din comes back to tatooine, and you both have tender confessions to share after nearly a year apart

pairing: din djarin x gn!reader, friends-to-lovers

warnings: bro i made myself emotional with this, fluff and comfort, a little angst, and a rlly fun make-out with din

a/n: it's like 2019, i am back writing for din again like a starved woman — enjoy some mechanic!reader content that i've alluded to in the past, but with a dash of OH HI YOU'RE BACK. the beautiful gif is by @hayden-christensen from this stunning set that made me sit at my desk and like the lisa simpson meme. you know the one.

"There's someone you'll probably want to see."

Fennec looks cunning when she says it, and she goes so far as to toss him a smirk over her shoulder as she saunters down towards the lower level of the Palace.

Din's footfalls falter momentarily.

Before he can even twist his frown away and grit out a follow-up question, he hears your voice.

Your voice.

Fennec can't see Din Djarin's eyes, but she can interpret the look. The well-kept expression behind the mask of beskar? That's surprise. The tension in his shoulders tells her enough. It's apprehensiveness that slows his steps. It's yearning that twitches in his fingers.

"I thought you said you were the best mechanic in the Rebellion—" comes a voice, far off in the deep cistern of a hangar.

"One," comes your voice, anointed with a grunt of disproval, "I never said that. Two, that's a hell of a lot of mouth coming from the kid who asked for my help—"

At your jest, there's a quiet clamor of laughter.

Fennec watches Din as the two hunters circle around the Slave I; her warm eyes are crinkled at the corners. It's a sense of satisfaction that's settled across her face. The soft, tender promise of this reunion... A non-promise in a swirling void of chaos. Fennec's gloved hand skims the bow in the ship's hull as she follows — and she waits in the wings when Din finally lays his eyes on you.

It's been months.

Nearly a year.

And you're here.

In truth, you'd never left.

You're under a... scooter? A colorful little speeder sits neatly on jacks, and you're on your back — rag and wrench in hand. He can see the bare skin of your arms, smeared with grease, and thick gloves that crawl up your wrist. Your boots scuffle a bit as you roll father back and let you a little curse.

"Seriously, what did you think would happen?" you huff haughtily, "The propulsion vents on this model aren't built for finer grit dune sand—"

You're lecturing a gaggle of teens. Scrappy, amused teens that are hanging on your every word — even when you raise a hand and waggle your wrench in frustration. They laugh a little, and Din feels gutted with a deep pang of longing. The same sort he's been wrestling with for the last year. But, this time, you're right here.

He's hardly put together that he's been standing there, a few meters from you, for a few seconds. Not until one of the teens, one with warm skin and a cyberized orbital implant, coughs.

"We have a guest," Fennec projects, spurring you to pause.

Easily, you wheel yourself out.

Sitting up is the easy part. Wrangling your goggles off your face, and smearing the sweat from your cheek isn't as easy, but it's habit by now. Days and days spent doing just this — not that you can complain. Fixing helps. Keeps you busy. Has you feeling useful. Hell, even that is an easy realization to come to.

All that is certainly easier than the jarring actualization that Din Djarin is standing right in front of you.

Din.

It's been months.

Nearly a year.

And he's here.

Like he never left.

In the same glittering, beautiful beskar — and you can see your breath robbed from your lungs in the reflection. Your wrench meets the pavement of the hangar, and you forget about any attempt at grace.

Scrambling up, his name is like a petal on your tongue. Its springtime in his heart and Din is moving before he can remind himself to slow down. Din is half-ready for the planetary impact brought about by your orbit colliding with his — in a dizzying spell of limbs and gravity. The collision is as gentle as a year of longing can be — not nearly as brutal as the nights spent alone, not nearly as hollow as the ache of forgetting the sound of someone's voice.

"Din."

He knows — deep in his heart — he's never heard his name said sweeter. Maybe it's the horrible, lonely circumstance. Or, maybe it's the fact you've wound your arms around his neck and you're proving him wrong, that he hadn't lost you when he left this planet on the promise of duty-owed. When he left you.

You can feel his gloves wind themselves tightly into the back of your mechanic's jumpsuit. You nearly trip as you push yourself up onto the tips of your boots and cling — hardly the reaction you'd rehearse in your head a thousand times. No, no you promised yourself you'd be tangibly cool, perfectly calm.

Truth be told, you're far from it.

You pull back, gloved finding the curved sides of his helm as you settle back down and look him over. An inspection, a breathless one, that's halted with the deliberate press of his helmet to your forehead. It's cool. Smooth. And his hands, you realize, have moved to hold your shoulders steady. To follow the curve of your arms, and to settle along your jaw.

It's a quiet reunion.

One that's watched by an audience, you remember, when Skad pointedly clears his throat and delivers a good-natured jab.

"I take it you two 'ave met, then?"

Din wishes you wouldn't pull away — not until he's finished the thankful prayer on his tongue. His hands fall to yours, and you squeeze them tightly when you turn your cheek. The entire time, he's watching you. Assessing the change. You've started wearing your hair in a new way. There's a wrinkle, between your brow, he doesn't remember being there before. He notes a new scar along the curve of your clavicle.

The entire time he's welcomed by the great Daimyo and his enclave of collected followers, his attention remains on the one person he's been unable to push from his thoughts. Fennec supposes there's something rather romantic about that — and even though she can't be sure that T-visor is trained on you the entire time, she knows well enough.

Din notes a litter of new scars along your knuckles.

During dinner, you try to keep your tender-mouthed yearning quiet. You have a hundred questions for him — but bide your time picking out the best parts of the prepared meal to bring to his quarters after. You plate fruit and meat and little bits of love carved right from your rib. You sit there, flicking up your gaze to find his attending look each time. It makes your heart feel heavy, and so you pile on more sweetsalt berries to his plate.

Laughter comes and goes as do the questions about his armor, conversations about the current politics, and full-bellied lull of a Tatooine evening. Somewhere, a balcony curtain billows — and the three moons hang warm and pink in the sky.

"I trust you can show our guest his living arrangements."

Boba's eyes are kind.

When you stand, gathered plate in hand, there are few questions — just heavy, tender looks from the Daimyo and his Master Assassin. Just a strong hand planted warmly on Din's shoulder in passing. A smile, even, from Fennec to you.

Din is quiet as he follows. The quiet tinker of beskar and the cool breeze of the evening air is all there is — even when you nudge open the door to his quarters. It's one of larger rooms, with a balcony and a rotunda and a bed big enough for a Hutt. It's not entirely dissimilar from your own arrangements.

As you set Din's dinner down on the table near the balcony, he speaks. The door slides shut with a hiss, and you steal a berry to tide over your yearning.

"I thought you'd be angry with me."

You flick your eyes to him. He's stopped in the center of the room. The sunset has settled into the glimmering curves of his armor, and you can't help but feel your heart tighten at the words.

"I was."

Din inhales.

Your expression is solid — but not cruel.

"For a while," you continue, "But, I'm not anymore."

"Why?" he asks in a quiet breath. It sounds far away through the helmet's vocalizer. Like a glacial rift tearing itself apart.

You frown — and almost immediately Din wishes he could take the question back. He watches you reach for another berry, and then you drift away from the balcony. Back to the center of the room, back towards him. You step around him for a second, like a star in orbit. Somehow, you find his eyes beneath the visor. He's always been struck dumb by your uncanny ability to do it. He's not sure if you know, but you've done it. The eye contact he so dreads, until it's you.

And then he feels home.

Like he never left.

You push the berry past your lips and shrug. You drop his gaze, and you turn your cheek towards the rising moons.

"Did you find them?"

"Yes," you're deflecting — and Din can play the game just as well, "I thought you said you were going to go home."

Suddenly, you look panicked.

How do you tell him he was home all along?

Your mouth goes dry, and you shrug away the burn of anxiousness.

You promised yourself you'd be honest with him if you ever saw him again — you promised yourself you'd ask him to never leave again, to let you stay by his side no matter the risk. No matter the circumstance. You promised yourself night after night that someday you'd see Din Djarin again and tell him exactly how you felt.

Your eyes are wide. The wrinkle he noticed before is back. He realizes it's one born out of worry.

"I..." your words slip away. You blink, then shake your head, "I was going to. Then, I realized some things."

Din wishes someone would take the dark saber and carve his heart out. It's the tension, the fear of admitting what you both know — and the edge of fear that perhaps it's not shared.

His voice is raspy. He takes a leap.

Quietly, he steps forward with his confession. "I should have never left."

You shake your head. "We both know you had to."

"They exiled me," he says, then, as he stands over you in the moonlight; Din's words are heavy and they sink into your heart, "And I had no one. All I did was think of you, every night I was gone."

"Exile," you breathe; you don't like the sound. You try to distract yourself with it, and not the crushing cosmos of feelings swirling in your chest at his pretty admittances.

"And then, I thought I'd come back here," Din says with an edge of fear, "And you'd be gone. And I'd never see you again."

You can feel the lump in your throat. You wish you had more of the spotcha at dinner. It would have given you enough of an edge to compose yourself, and not bow into Din the moment he touched you. Your cheek meets the smooth plate of his chest piece when he touches your hand, and you bend into an embrace that surmises a year's worth of unspoken feelings.

"I missed you," he says as his arms wrap themselves tightly around your shoulders, "I'm sorry I ever left you."

"I'm sorry I agreed to it, to part ways," you laugh shakily as you settle your chin on the lip of the beskar, "It was the worst mistake I ever made—"

His gloves hands are cool against your cheeks.

Again, with fluttering lashes, you find his eyes beneath the visor.

There are a lot of things being said between the words, and Din feels himself settling into them. You've relaxed — gone nearly pliable in his hands as you touch his knuckles with your own calloused fingers.

"Exile?" you ask mournfully after a moment of content quiet as you rub the curve of his thumb.

Din's gaze falters. "For showing my face."

Hurt flicks across your face. You know he could have lied. He could have told the Clan that no, he hadn't. But, Din Djarin is a good man — and in his truth, he'd bore the brunt of his punishment.

"But," he says after a moment, "I find myself... bargaining."

"Bargaining?" you ask with a wry look, one half-etched with confusion and half with amusement.

"I'd bear the weight of a thousand exiles if it meant I could kiss you."

Oh.

Oh.

There he goes again, robbing you of breath — this time with words so soft and honest that you can hardly find the right reaction; and it worsens, when a gloved hand moves to tip the lip of his helmet back and the beskar bends the light. Blues and pinks and orange flicker along the rotunda, and you watch greedily as the warm skin of throat, of chin, of lips appear.

He's slow — tentative. The gap is closed with steady hesitancy that meets in an exceedingly gentle press of the lips. Your nose slots next to his, chin tilting, and you can't help the way you slip into bliss at the dreamed touch.

You hardly notice that the beskar falls to the floor when he really kisses you — you hardly hear the bell-like sound that rings in a year worth of want. Can anyone blame you? When a Mandalorian bends his creed to kiss you, soften his war-hardened hands to cradle you? You swear you'll never be able to love again, at this moment, and the Mand'alor holds not only the dark saber in his hand but your heart.

When he draws himself, slowly, away from your kiss, you keep your eyes shut firmly. The sort of thing you'd always negotiated when you'd first started feeling these things for him, back when you'd only been an impromptu live-in mechanic for the Razor Crest.

You can feel his smile tickle your cheek after a moment of quiet. Your own smile is big. Din, sans his helmet, huffs a little laugh from his nose. It's a nasally sound, a warm one. You know he's smiling now.

"I can save you exile," your lashes kiss your cheeks as you keep your eyes firmly shut, "I promise, I'm good at not looking."

You had, after all, spent nearly a year and a half aboard that small freighter playing this exact game — in tight living quarters with a Mandalorian meant snapping eyes shut at a moment's notice.

Then, a gloved hand cradles your face as he presses a series of kisses to your cheek. Over and over. Each is punctuated with a little bit more force than the next. And on the last, he keeps his nose to your cheek as he muffles a laugh. His voice is warm against your ear.

"Just open your eyes," he says lowly, "Before I offer marriage as an alternative."

You laugh and swat at his chest. But, it has you cracking one eye open.

And there's Din Djarin.

It's been months.

Nearly a year.

And he's here.

Like he never left.

This is so adorably wholesome, my feet are kicking the air!!?

Crush

Summary: Joel Miller has a crush for the first time in thirty years, and he isn't sure what the hell to do about it.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~3.5k

Warnings: flirting, fluff, Ellie and Tommy bonding by playing matchmaker and annoying Joel, assumed unrequited affection, mentions of violence, menace status Ellie and Tommy, Joel might be ooc but I can't tell, Joel has a lil bit of a voice kink lmao if you squint

A/N: This fic came to me like a premonition. Joel is so weird because he doesn't know how to deal with having a crush and I think its very cute. Anyway, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy!

Joel ain’t quite sure how it happens. 

One day, you’re just one out of the many in Jackson. The next, Tommy’s teasing him over having a crush. 

Crush. 

Like what? He’d asked. Like a damn kid? 

Exactly like a damn kid, Tommy had answered. Just like a damn kid. Ain’t ever seen you like this, big brother. 

It’s horrifying, because it's true. He's enamored, smitten. He has a fuckin' crush.

It becomes worse when Ellie notices. 

“She got something stuck to her backside or something? Why are you looking at her so much?” Ellie openly squints across the room at you. 

The question is loud, posed in the middle of the lunch rush in the canteen. Joel’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest. “Would you — Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Ellie. Keep it down.”

Luckily the chatter drowned out her voice, and only Joel seems to have heard her. You laugh and put a hand on the forearm of your friend, clutching at her, your other hand clenched on the brim of your stetson. 

“So,” Ellie prompts. “Does she?” 

“No,” he grumbles, drawing his eyes away from you. He glances at Ellie briefly who is smiling at him, before he refocuses on the bowl in front of him. “I ain’t lookin’ either. Don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Ellie just laughs and shovels another bite of food into her mouth. “You so are, man. Tommy’s right, you’ve got it bad.” She drags out the word bad, stretching it until Joel tells her to shut up. 

He manages to keep his gaze off you for all of six seconds before furtively searching for you again as Ellie chatters on about something else. 

You aren’t in line anymore but sitting at a table. You’re listening to someone talk, a pencil tucked behind your ear. There’s a smile playing around your lips, your eyes crinkle at the corners. 

Joel’s never seen anyone look so effortlessly beautiful, just sitting still—

“Dude!” 

“What?” He snaps, head whipping back to Ellie. 

She rolls her eyes, “You’re just proving my point. Have you even fuckin’ talked to her?” 

“Of course I have.” 

And he had.

Exactly once. 

Tommy had fallen ill and you’d volunteered for the patrol shift he would be missing. 

Something about you left him a little tongue tied, though he isn’t sure you’d noticed. He has a reputation for being quiet anyhow, and you’d filled the silence with so many words he hadn’t needed to say anything. 

The tight shape of your ass in your jeans as you rode ahead of him only distracted him a little. Sure, you had a voice he could listen to forever, and yeah, maybe you looked like some kind of goddess riding through the autumn light, red and yellow leaves swirling down around you—but that didn’t mean a damn thing about what he was feeling. That choking, stuttering, warm feeling fluttering around inside him. 

“When?” Ellie demands. “I’ve only ever seen you look at her.” 

Joel rolls his eyes, and scrapes the remaining bit of chili from his bowl. “Patrol.” 

“That was weeks ago!” 

And ever since then, he can’t seem to stop seeing you, he can’t seem to stop looking at you and for you, listening for you, the sweet lilt of your voice. But he hasn’t approached you. 

But that's a fuckin’ pipe dream.

He’s sure you have a bad impression of him after your one and only patrol together. 

Joel stands, “I ain’t had much cause to cross paths with her again. Now finish eatin’ and leave it alone. I don’t got a crush.” 

Ellie grumbles under her breath as Joel returns his dishes and leaves the canteen. Outside the autumn sunshine is warm. The sky is clear and perfectly blue. He breathes out and shakes himself. 

His brother and his kid might be right. 

He might have a damn crush. 

If only you weren’t so goddamned pretty. When Tommy told him he was changing shifts with someone, he’d expected someone like himself, like Tommy. Someone who would just get the job done, quiet and gruff. 

Most are. 

But you’re sunny as sunny can be. Cheerful. 

He’d assumed you’d lived most of your life in Jackson, coddled and protected from the harsher realities of the world. But you were new to Jackson, had only been there a couple of years. 

When he asked Tommy about it, he’d just shrugged. Always been like that, ever since she got here. She’s been through shit, but she’s just like that. 

“Hey,” a voice calls from behind him now as he crosses through the center of Jackson. It’s your pretty voice. Christ, he could listen to you read a phonebook. Footsteps pound along the pavement. “Joel.” 

The sound of his name in your mouth sends something rolling up from his gut to nest down in his lungs, a burning kind of pain that’s half pleasurable. 

Jesus, your voice. He wants to hear you sing, he bets you sound so good. He wants to hear your voice in other ways too, panting, with his name on your lips.

He turns to find you, in all your shimmering, pretty glory, catching up to him. Something seizes him by the throat. His tongue is too big for his mouth, his breath caught in his throat. When was the last time he felt like this? 

Years. Decades. Maybe when he first met Sarah’s mother, before things got complicated and everything fell apart between them. 

You come to a stop in front of him and smile. 

It’s a beaming, radiant smile. 

It makes him feel like he’s having a heart attack. 

Jesus. He needs to get a grip. 

“Hey, darlin’,” he manages, clearing his throat. “You need somethin’?” 

You blow out a breath, your cheeks puffing out. You rock back on your heels and stuff your hands in your pockets. “Well, maybe it's a bit forward of me,” you start, making Joel’s heart lurch in a way that he swears physically hurts him. He’s too old for this. Too old for crushes, too damn old for heart palpitations. 

“My usual patrol partner isn’t gonna be able to make my next rotation,” you continue. “And I thought we got on pretty well that time I filled in for Tommy. You think you’d wanna come along with me this time?”

The corner of your mouth lifts in a little smile. 

He swallows, tracing the bottom curve of your lip with his eyes. You have your stetson on now, and even though the brim of the hat shields your eyes from the sun, you still squint at him, those little crinkles appearing by your eyes. 

“You can say no,” you say when he just looks and doesn’t say a damn thing, laughter in your voice. “I won’t hold it against you.” 

Joel shakes himself. “No—I, of course. ‘Course I will.” 

“Really?” You sound surprised.

He lifts a brow, “Is that surprising?” 

You smile again. “Despite what I said before it did seem like I was a little much for your taste last time.” The twist of your lips turns self deprecating. 

Joel doesn’t mean to ask why you’d think that, but the words fall out anyhow. “How do you mean?” 

“Ah, c’mon, now,” you roll your eyes. “I know how I come across, and I know what it makes people think of me.” Before he can get a chance to respond to that, you’re continuing on. “So you’ll really be my partner?” 

“Sure,” he agrees again, like it doesn’t make him sick with nerves. Being alone with you for hours on end. “Just lemme know when.” 

You beam and flick your hat back with your forefinger to get a better look at him. “Great, thanks!” You give him the day and time of your rotation, but all he can focus on is how you still have that pencil tucked behind your ear, the curve of your cheek, the column of your throat. 

Seemingly without warning, or maybe he just hadn’t heard you, you spin away and make your way back to the canteen. 

“So you’ll actually have a conversation with her this time?” 

“Ellie—” 

“I’m just sayin’, man. You gotta snap that one up. You see how everyone looks at her.” 

Embarrassment like he’s never known it blooms in his chest. “Ellie,” he sighs again. “Go back to the damn house.” 

She relaxes further into the pile of hay she’s lying on, a comic book Joel had found for her held up in front of her nose. “No way, I gotta see this.” 

“Good morning!” Your sunny, sugared voice echoes from the entrance to the stables.

Ellie peeks at him over the edge of the comic book, clearly waiting for him to make a fool of himself. He tightens his grip on the reins of the horse he’d been saddling and glances around the edge of the stall. “Hey, sweetheart, good mornin’.” 

“Ready to go—Oh, Ellie, good morning, honey, what are you doing out here?” 

Ellie gets slowly to her feet, making a show of dusting her jeans off, hay feathering down as she does. “Just seeing the old man off,” she quips. “Didn’t want him to get lost on the way over.” 

You smile and laugh. “Hey if you meet us when we come back, I’ll get you those colored pencils like I promised.” 

Joel nearly strains his neck when his head snaps to look at Ellie. She’s just smiling, the little shit. “Oh, yeah, I’ll definitely meet you when you come back.”

You tilt your head at her tone, still grinning. 

Ellie wacks Joel on the arm with the comic as she walks by. “Don’t be weird,” she hisses under her breath.

You don’t seem to have heard, busy saddling your horse. “How are we on time?” You ask. 

“We got plenty. You and Ellie—”

He’s cut off by the laugh that slips past your lips. 

Joel watches the lift of your shirt, the thin line of exposed flesh between the edge of your t-shirt and your jeans. “Ellie is really good at attaching herself like a burr to certain people,” you confide. “She saw me drawing once in the market. Hasn’t left me alone since.” 

Ellie’s room flashes through his mind. The pad of paper she’d started carrying around, drawn pictures of people around Jackson, wildlife, the town, improving with each crack she took at it. She’s been drawing for months. 

She’s known you for months. 

That little shit. 

“She get that sketchbook from you?” He asks, just to confirm as he swings up into the saddle. 

“Yep,” you smile over your shoulder and then hook your foot into the stirrup. “Ready to go?” 

He nods, the knot in his chest a little looser at the ease between you. He can do this. He can converse with you, get to know you. 

Joel feels like he’s never had to talk to anyone in his life when he’s around you. He can’t remember what it's like to have a conversation. 

But you more than make up for it.

The way you chatter, he knows you’ve never met a stranger. He does his best to respond in kind, but his mouth and brain don’t seem to be on the same frequency. You don’t seem to mind his short answers, not bothered by his reluctance to say much of anything. 

Patrol is quiet aside from a few infected that you both quickly dispatch. You have a wicked aim, more than competent with the rifle you carry. 

He had tried not to doubt that you could handle yourself. He doesn’t think you would have been put on patrol had you not been able to. But seeing the determination settle into your features, the stern cut of your jaw as the smile disappeared from your lips, had reminded him that you weren’t the sheltered thing you seemed to be. 

You’d known something hard, before. You’d clearly known loss, with the hollowness that pulled at your eyes after the encounter. 

By the time you get back to Jackson, you’re smiling again, and Ellie is waiting as promised. You barely have your back turned before Ellie is nudging at Joel’s ribs with her elbow and lifting her brows. 

He shakes her off with a grunt, only for Ellie to offer you a place with them for dinner. “Tommy and Maria usually sit with us too,” she informs and you smile.

“I’d like that.” Your eyes briefly flick to Joel and then away. He can’t read the twitch of your lips, the way you duck your head. “Wanna come along for the colored pencils?” 

“Yep, c’mon Joel.”

He doesn’t protest, knows it's no use.

The warm, rocky feeling in his gut swims into his lungs when your fingers brush his as you walk along together. Ellie on one side, you on the other. Electric shoots through his veins. 

It’s only a matter of damn time before you really do give him a heart attack.

At your place, he sees your drawings. There are portraits of Ellie, Tommy, Maria, other folks around town. A couple of girls on horseback. All of your art is of Jackson, capturing life there. There’s no way you know every single one of those people personally.  

And yet, not a single one is of him.

“She’s lookin’ at you.” 

Joel huffs and lifts his beer to his mouth. The community hall smells like popcorn, like butter and salt. “She ain’t,” Joel says, keeps his eyes focused on film being projected onto the wall. 

“She is,” Tommy insists. “Just look over there.” 

Ever since you had dinner with him and his, Tommy and Ellie had decided to appoint themselves matchmakers. Maria rolled her eyes, but let it happen because it so clearly annoyed Joel. 

It reminds him of how Tommy and Sarah used to rib him, so he can’t be too irritated with them. 

He’s spent most of any of his free time with you over the last few months. He’s better at talking to you now, finds ease in your presence even when he feels warmth settling between his bones like something cancerous. You’re growing inside him, slow moving, choking off all other thoughts. 

Joel spends a lot of his time watching you draw anyone but him as you talk his ear off. It’s pleasant. He’ll never get tired of it.

Despite Joel’s words, he can’t keep his eyes from wandering, from seeking you out.

You’re sitting alone at the back of the room and you definitely aren’t looking at him, as he’d suspected. He rolls his eyes at Tommy’s dramatics but doesn’t look away from you. You set aside the glass in your hand and then begin to fidget with your fingers when your eyes suddenly flick up. 

You smile as soon as your gaze meets his, your whole face brightening. He swallows, and returns your wave when you raise a hand to him. 

“You always were bad with girls.” 

He groans. “Tommy would you jus’ let it go?”

“No,” he answers. “Just go on over and sit next to her. What’s the harm in that?” 

Joel grits his teeth. “Ain’t no harm unless she don’t want anythin’ to do with me.” 

Tommy whistles lowly. “Ain’t never seen confidence so low before—” 

“Jesus, alright, fine,” he slams the bottle down on the bar and works his towards you, going the long way around so he doesn’t block anyone’s view of the movie as Tommy’s laugh follows him. 

You glance up when he stops by your side. “Evenin’,” he greets, his voice waspish to his own ears. 

Great.

“Why hello, Joel Miller,” you respond with mirth in your voice, the melody of it melting into his skin. 

“Seat taken, sweetheart?” He asks gruffly. 

When you shake your head, he settles himself in the seat next to you stiffly. You stare at him and then glance around. The motion of it is so dramatic and put on that he has to ask—“What?” 

“Oh, nothing, I’m just looking for the snipers that must be trained on you,” you joke. “To make you so clearly sit next to me against your will.” 

He’s not sure what makes him do it, but he reaches over and cups your chin in his hand to direct your gaze to Tommy. “Right there he is,” he says, releasing your face. “My idiot brother.” 

“Ah, so you don’t wanna be sitting next to me.” 

“Never said that.” 

You grin. “Well I was hoping you’d come over, so color me flattered you aren’t being held at gunpoint.” 

He chuckles, his irritation easing. “It’s an honor, darlin’. My brother was just testin’ my patience.” 

“Siblings will do that,” you say with a nod. “I think he means well though. Him and Ellie both actually.” 

He frowns. “What do you mean?” 

“Oh, c’mon, Joel, neither of them are very subtle are they?” You nudge your knee into his. “Ellie asked me if I thought you were handsome just a few days ago. She looked kind of disgusted about it.” 

Joel swipes a hand down his face, sweat beading on his forehead. His stomach tightens with nerves. Leave it to those two to ruin something without even trying. He knew they were playing matchmaker, but he didn’t think you knew it too.  

“Jesus. I—I’m sorry if either of ‘em has made you uncomfortable.” 

You blink at him. “Well, Joel, don’t you wanna know my answer?” 

He winces. This is it, you’re putting him, all three of them, in their place. “Not so sure I do.”

You tilt your head and lie one hand against his forearm. “Well, okay. I won’t tell you how I said I think you’re the prettiest person I’ve ever laid eyes on. And I won’t tell you how that made Ellie gag and say she doesn’t need those kinds of details.”  

A laugh startles out of him, heat blooming in his neck and cheeks. He’s blushing like a damn teenager. 

He doesn’t dare to hope. 

Not yet. 

“Look,” you continue. “I knew what they were trying to do these last few months. And I think, maybe, neither of us are very good at this. I’m—I’m certainly not good at this kinda thing. I’ve never needed to be but,” you pull away from him and shuffle through your pockets. “This is what I was drawing that first time I met Ellie. She’s got a keen eye, noticed right away.” 

He takes the paper you pull from your pocket, folded into a creased, neat square. When he unfolds it, he finds he’s staring at himself rendered in pencil and charcoal. “Here’s where I embarrass myself and admit that I’ve had a—well, I guess it's a crush. For a while.” 

In the drawing, he’s standing with Tommy outside the stables. It’s clearly spring time, flowers budding on the nearby trees. “Was this last spring?” 

“Yep. So I jumped when Tommy needed someone to fill in.” You squirm, your hand hovering over the paper like you’re stopping yourself from snatching the drawing away from his fingers. “And then I didn’t shut up that whole time on patrol and you were so annoyed. I thought I messed it up.” 

Joel finally glances away from the paper and into your eyes. “Messed it up? Darlin’ I was—Jesus, I still am—struck by you. My tongue was twisted.” 

You blink. “Really? So I’m not making a fool of myself?” 

It's only then that he realizes how embarrassed you look, that you’re waiting for him to shoot you down, and that he hasn’t said anything to you, not really. “No, no, I’m—” 

Joel catches Tommy smirking from across the room in the corner of his vision, and when he looks around Ellie is laughing too, from where she sits with a group of her friends. No one else is paying you any mind, turned toward the flicker of the movie. “So damn obvious about it too,” he rolls his eyes. “Ain’t very good, are they?”

You laugh. “They seemed to be having fun. Bonding over it, really. And there was no harm in it, anyway, so I left them to it. Besides, y’know, maybe getting my feelings hurt a little.” You duck your head, a smile playing around your lips. 

“Well, I guess there wasn’t any harm,” he acknowledges. “Sorry, sweetheart but they, uh, they were right. I’m just about as stubborn as a bull.” 

You nod. “Got that impression of you.” 

Joel swallows, all the words tied up inside his mouth finally coming together, “I might be stubborn. But I ain’t above seeing when I’m wrong.” 

“And what are you wrong in?” 

“Waitin’ so damn long,” he says. 

The room is dark and no one is paying you any mind. When Joel cups your face in his hands, you lean into his touch and the tight fist around his lungs loosens. 

You taste like the sparkle of the drink you had been sipping on before he came over. Your mouth is as soft as your laugh, as smooth as the flutter of your voice. 

All the I told you so’s he’s about to be in for, are worth it. 

Scrumptious angst really, absolutely looking forward to grovelling joel ehe

chasing — part III (joel x afab!reader)

part 1 part 2

synopsis: although some women threw themselves at joel and failed, one has certainly made her mark. joel briefly loses sights of you and him but fixes it.

warnings: angst angst ANGST but there’s a happy ending <3, established relationship, allusions to smut (minors beware), accusations of cheating, cursing, age gap (reader in late 20’s, joel in late 40’s), jealous!reader, insecure!reader, mean!joel, regretting saying things, fluff!

a/n: i'm sorry this took so long, my mental health has been out of wack (it was also my birthday yesterday). shit is hitting the fan y’all… y’all asked, i delivered >:3 feel free to leave feedback!! the taglist and masterlist has been made!! please check out the form in my bio to be tagged in upcoming fics!

based on chasing_demo by nf

bonus songs for this chapter: everything i wanted by billie eilish, let you down by nf

If I knew it all then, would I do it again?

Would I do it again?

If they knew what they said would go straight to my head

What would they say instead?

when you reached the house, you immediately plopped down on the couch and allowed your tears to flow freely. you never in a million years would have thought joel would be that mean to you. when y’all first met, he was quiet and reserved, but he only gave harsh treatment to raiders or untrustworthy strangers. soon, your sadness and turmoil transformed into anger.

you know what? you were still scheduled for a patrol, joel or not. you had done it by yourself for years, what’s a few more hours? despite how joel was making you feel in the moment, you were still an independent woman. although there was an outbreak currently happening, the world was more peaceful and quiet than it had ever been. a ride to clear your mind and gather your thoughts outside of the walls wouldn’t hurt.

joel.

he was fuming with the way you had been treating jenny so far. ‘Women…’ he thought with a scoff. “Something on your mind?” jenny broke joel of his thoughts, her hazel eyes scanning her face as the horse she rode lazily walked. “Thinkin’ about earlier. I swear she’s nice, I just don’t know what’s gotten into her lately.” the two of them were on their way back from a swift and laid back patrol, steadily approaching the gates. jenny hummed in response as she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and between her teeth.

once they got to the gates, they both dismantled their horses and briefly greeted the guards. “I’ll put your horse up. You go get cleaned up and rest.” Joel offered before grabbing both of the horses leads. before jenny left, she spoke. “You know, Joel. It sounds like you deserve someone better.” she gave him a sweet smile and a nod before turning and walking away from the gates.

joel’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion at her comment, but he brushed it off due to his scattered thoughts. he didn’t really think on it and what it meant at the moment. joel was just too pissed off with the previous situation to analyze jenny’s words.

joel shook his head with a huff before tugging the horses towards the stables. he’d have to talk to you eventually and try to dig around your mind to understand what your deal was. when joel finished unsaddling the horses and tying them to their respective places, he noticed something was out of place. his eyes narrowed as he put his hands on his hips and scanned the stables. after he mentally counted the amount of horses in front of him, he finally figured out that one was missing. more specifically, yours. the familiar caramel coat was no where in sight, which meant you weren’t going to be either.

no matter how pissed off joel was with you, it still sent him in a small panic. before he jumped to conclusions, he decided to just look around and hope that you lended june to tommy or ellie.

the greenhouse was not far from the stables, so that’s where he looked first. typically, if you didn’t have patrol, you’d be tending to the fruits and vegetables and possibly harvesting them. a memory of you getting giddy about finding seeds from strawberries outside of the walls popped into his head. you knew how much ellie loved them, so you had decided to grow as much as you could so she could have as much as possible during the season. joel always knew you had a green thumb. no, stop it. he was reminiscing as if you were dead or he had lost you. deep down, in a way, he had these past few weeks. he set a determined pace to the greenhouse, finally approaching the sliding door to it. joel's hand gripped it before applying pressure and sliding the door, no presence of you to be found. to confirm your lack of attendance, he called out your name. to no avail, there was not a single reply.

maybe you had went to the diner. you would sometimes go there when you had a bad day and needed some comfort food to cheer you up. in fact, you would order a banana split and share it with joel if he turned up (he would 'pretend' to run into you, but he knew you were there). this time, his pace was more determined than the last. joel could picture it now: your hair loosely tied into a bun, upper body clad with his flannel with a banana split sat in front of you. once he was in front of the diner doors, he swung the door open harder than intended as his earthy brown eyes scanned the room. you would sit in the booth in the corner and move the ice cream around with the spoon in your hand, a pout adorning your oh-so kissable lips. that's if you were there, except you're not. "god dammit!" he roared, startling some guests that were once enjoying their meal before his sudden outburst.

the house. that's the last place you could possibly be. he was hoping, praying, to whatever god was out there or left that you were curled up on the couch with a book or sprawled out on your bed--y'all's bed. at this point, he was jogging to the house rather than the brisk pace he had set before. he looked like a damn lunatic running across town, but he didn't care. joel's priority at this moment was you. once he opened and slammed the front door shut, he took two steps at a time when hurling himself up the stairs. he mentally crossed his fingers to find your being in it's rightful place, in the comfort of y'all's house home. when joel didn't immediately see you, he quickly checked the closet as if you'd magically appear. the bathroom light had been off, but he still checked to see if you would be sitting in the tub, bubbles surrounding your bare skin and hair damp. to no avail, you were not there either.

you.

the sun had been setting, so you decided to head back to jackson. after you had put june up and showed her some much earned appreciation through grooming and an apple, you grabbed your weaved basket full of goodies and dreadfully walked to the house. your basket held some flowers as well as some scraps of fabric that you could use to patch up some of ellie's clothes. although you could've gotten these things inside of the walls, you felt more...purposeful. you walked inside the tense house before treading up the stairs. when you entered you and joel's shared room, there he stood looking disheveled. you rose an eyebrow in thought.

you brushed past him to your dresser, making your presence known. "Jesus fuck-- where have you been?!" joel exclaimed, his voice laced with worry. "Not on patrol with you, that's for sure." you snorted before he scoffed at your sarcastic response. "You can't just go and do things without telling someone!" you rolled your eyes at that. you continued to move around, finally finding a small duffel bag under y'all's bed to pack a few clothes and belongings in. "You'd know something about that, wouldn't you?" you didn't have time for his line of interrogative questions, you just wanted to head over to tommy and maria's as soon as possible. "(Y/N), I'm serious--wait, where are you going?" joel questioned, only met with silence. you packed a few outfits and pajamas into the bag before brushing past his figure to grab some things from the bathroom. "(Y/N)--" he called out again, his hand reaching out to softly grab at your upper bicep in an act of grabbing your attention.

this pissed you off.

suddenly, you harshly yanked your arm away before whipping around and landing a hard smack upon the flesh of his cheek. "Don't you fucking touch me!" you snarled, your blood running hot. joel's eyes widened in shock, his lips slightly ajar at your assault to his face. "What? You gonna talk down on me again? Say I'm a fucking let down? About how I was childish to slap you? That I should apologize like a mature person would?" he stayed silent, just watching and listening to you intently. "You want to be listened to, to be heard, but the second I try and speak my piece, you don't want to reciprocate." you continued to speak, your skin flustered a pinkish-red hue from stress and anger. "When I try and tell you about whatever feeling of premonition I have about Jenny, you defend her with your entire being. You might as well just take your knife and jab it into my fucking back at this point." your hands waved in the air as you spoke, illustrating how hurt you were about the whole situation. "Baby--" joel began to speak and reached out to you, but you cut him off before he could mutter another word or take another step. "No. You're not gonna try and talk down to me. Let's not pretend you care now, that's not going to work, Joel. You made it very clear who you care about at this point." you turned to zip up your duffel bag, "you want dinner? Cool, have her make it for you. Clothes washed? I bet she can do it a lot better than I ever could. I'm sure she's closer to your age, too. 'Wouldn't want you with someone who's immature and childish like me, y'know." you grabbed the sleeves of joel's flannel and discarded your body of it with a small sniffle. "Here, she can have this shit too." you seethed, yet you had the decency to neatly fold it and place it on the bed. you grabbed the handles of the duffle bag before picking it up and holding it to the side of your body.

as you began to walk out, he took a step to follow. "Don't come after me, God knows she'll distract you, she seems pretty good at doing that." you spoke softly, no more energy left to be angry. you were just sad. joel watched you with slightly clenched fists and teary eyes, a sad scowl on his face. he hadn't realized how hurt he had made you feel, how small. that was the last thing he ever wanted you to experience, especially at the hands of himself.

with that, you left and headed to tommy and maria's house.

taglist (if there's a strike, you couldn't be tagged!)

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This is so beautiful, and the characterization of oberyn is so on point! I loved the concept and just think this is absolutely fabulous. Thank you for all the effort that went into this beautiful writing!

Lemon Cakes & Lust | Oberyn Martell (One Shot)

Just a lowly kitchen girl, that's all you were. A life of struggle behind you, masked by the facade of the palace. A tray of lemon cakes holds your fate with Prince Oberyn and you are only too happy to oblige his wanting of you.

Pairing | Oberyn Martell x Female Reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings | Smut, this is porn with some plot (for once), fingering and unprotected PiV sex but nothing else, apart from mentions of loss of parents and alcoholism.

Word Count | 4.6k

Authors Note | HUGE shoutout to @jamesbuckyburns for sending in the prompt request of 'You're heart is beating so fast right now.' and allowing me to create this. I've been HUGELY intimidated by Oberyn, I didn't even know where to start with writing him, but I love this and I hope you all do too. Please consider dropping me a follow if you enjoy this - likes, reblogs and asks also help with keeping me afloat and writing - I love hearing from you all.

Main Masterlist

Dorne had always been your home. You’d never travelled but you were sure no other place in the seven kingdoms could compete. Hot days that warmed your skin, cool evenings giving much needed reprieve when you sat in your quarters to watch the stars in the sky. 

You’d spent most of your life alone. Your mother had died giving birth to you, something which your father had never truly been able to forgive you for. He’d sought solace in the bottom of every cup of wine he could get his hands on and had drowned one evening in the ocean, leaving you an orphan at the tender age of seven. You’d survived a year on the streets, dodging men and women alike who wished you harm, surviving off scraps dumped from taverns at the end of the night.

One day, as you were wandering through the streets, the smell of warm bread had filled your senses. The bakery on the corner of the street was always tempting, but you were usually able to resist until the stale scraps were thrown to you in the dark. This day, the temptation was too much. You’d reached out to touch one of the loaves in the display baskets. You were desperately hungry, and the warm loaf would be enough to sustain you for days if you were careful. As you went to lift the loaf, a hand gripped your wrist, fear spread through your body as you tried to get away, but the grip on your wrist was far too tight. 

“It’s okay, little one,” You’d looked up at the voice into the face of an older woman, her expression was kind and the look in her eyes bore no ill-will towards your thievery, “You’re hungry?” 

You’d nodded immediately. Hunger pains, though they never really left, has dissipated in your fear, but now your stomach grumbled. 

“Come inside child, no-one should go hungry in this city.” 

And that’s how you met Bernyce. That night she had admitted to looking out for you each evening, throwing scraps of bread to you when her husband hadn’t been watching. He’d passed a few weeks prior, and Bernyce had settled in her mind that the next time she saw you, it would be the last time you went hungry and slept on the street. 

For years after that she’d become something of a mother to you. She’d taught you how to make the bread and simple recipes that she sold to her regular customers, paid you a fair wage and gave you the home you’d missed for so long. When you were old enough, she started teaching you recipes she’d heard were favourites in the palace – lemon cakes, flavoured loaves of bread they enjoyed with their wine and cheese, and when there was enough money between you, she taught you how to cook meat with spices and fruits. 

One day, perhaps two years ago now, you’d been slaving over the counter, kneading bread, when a man you didn’t recognize came into the bakery. It was obvious Bernyce knew who it was, she had embraced him, and he’d placed a chaste kiss on her cheek in return. 

“Nalia has left us,” He spoke to Bernyce, you knew it was rude to listen in on conversations, but whoever this man was, you knew he came with an opportunity, “We need a replacement, so as I always do, I’ve come to ask if you would consider the opportunity.” 

Bernyce had laughed, it was deep and joyous and every time you heard it, it made you feel warm, “Zarin, I tell you this every time you visit, I have no desire to spend the rest of my days in a palace kitchen.” 

The palace. You were still kneading the dough in front of you, but your eyes were trained on this man and Bernyce. Of course, he was from the palace. Outfit made of light silks, shoes that weren’t covered in filth from walking the streets each day. Bernyce had always been candid with you about his visits – she’d spoken often of opportunities to work in the palace kitchen, but her husband had been vehemently against it. She was needed here so she’d always said no. So why now, with her husband out of the picture, would she not take the opportunity. 

“I am perfectly content here, however…” She trailed off, turning to meet your eyes, you felt them widen as you caught you watching, “I might have a solution for you.” 

That’s how you found yourself in the palace of Dorne, carrying a tray of lemon cakes from the kitchen to the great hall, where Prince Doran and his brother Oberyn would be entertaining one of many groups of courtiers that evening. 

There was chatter behind the closed door as you and a handful of other kitchen hands stood at the threshold. Two guards opened the door, swinging them inwards to reveal the opulent room inside. You’d been here hundreds of times, but it never failed to impress you. Open walls that looked out onto the ocean, allowing a fair breeze to waft through the room. Hangings of silk draped from the walls and candles flickering to give light as the sun faded. 

You rounded the tables, walking behind the men and women who paid you no mind. Head down as you’d been taught on your very first day, never look at the princes, was the warning, no doubt meant to intimidate you, but it had never stopped you before. 

You placed the tray of lemon cakes on the serving table behind where Prince Doran and his brother were sat. Trays of cooked meats and fresh fruit were placed on the table by your friends. You took a moment to catch glances around you. Everyone sat at the table was deep in conversation, drinking wine and picking at food they’d already been served. Both serving boys were busy filling up empty wine cups and gathering empty plates. 

You turn back to the tray of cakes. Your fingers reach for the golden lemon slice on top, twinkling in your eye like a jewel. You easily slide the slice off and pop it whole into your mouth, stopping briefly to suck the tip of your thumb where the residue of sticky syrup remained. The sour slice bursts onto your tongue before the sugar syrup sweeps across after it, it’s a simple pleasure, normally one enjoyed back in the safety of the kitchen, but temptation is a vice that seemed to be welcomed in Dorne and you were more than happy to indulge yourself wherever you could. 

You ducked your head as low as you could manage to hide the motion of chewing in your jaw and sped to leave the room and catch up with your friends, not realizing a pair of deep, brown eyes had been watching you the entire time. 

Later that evening, after the sun had set and the choking heat had subsided, you were in the lemon grove, basket hooked over your elbow, picking lemons for tomorrows batch of cakes. This was the kind of peace you loved at the end of the day, silence except for the licking of the ocean waves on the beach beyond and the sound of the lemons popping from their branches and landing in your basket. You had one in your hand, about to deposit it into the wicker on your arm when a voice spoke out from between the trees. 

“I watched you earlier,” The lemon dropped from your fingers as you jumped in shock, you watched it roll away, coming to a stop at the side of a foot, a hand picking it up and then emerging from the shadows, “You like stealing the lemon cakes?” 

Prince Oberyn. He hands you the lemon, which you gratefully take, placing it carefully in the basket. You’d never spoken to the prince, but you’d heard stories. The kitchen was always alight with gossip that he’d been seen in one brothel or another or had called so many people to his rooms of an evening that people had been confused as to what was going on. He was frivolous but frightfully intelligent, loyal, almost to a fault, and was an incredible lover. Dressed in his yellow robes, with his tanned skin and dark eyes, he was formidable, but you hadn’t survived your ordeals without a sharp tongue, and he wouldn’t get the best of you. 

“If I make them, am I really stealing them?” You offered, “And besides, it wasn’t the cake, just the lemon on the top.” 

He snorts but shrugs in acceptance, “Do you always make them?” He asked, to which you nod in affirmation, “They are one of my favourite indulgences.” 

“I wonder how I’m ever to compete with wine and women.” You shrug, moving back to picking more fruit. 

“That last girl made them too sweet,” He speaks beside you, watching your hands intently as they pick at the fruit tree, “The girl before her, too sour,” He stands right beside you now, lips so close to your ear you could hear his breath, “Yours are just right, enough sugar to mask the sour, but not enough to fully take it away.” 

Your own breath hitches in your throat as his hand comes to rest at your hip, he stands behind you, still and statue-like as you try to focus on the tree in front of you, you wonder for the longest time if he might press a kiss to your neck with his lips being so close to you, but he just stands there, reveling in your heaving chest and sweating palms. You were no better than anyone he’d ever come across before and you cursed yourself for it. 

 “Your secret is safe with me.” He whispers, so quiet you almost miss it, and then he is gone and quickly as he appeared, leaving you confused but ultimately aroused. 

*

“Prince Oberyn has requested a tray of lemon cakes to his rooms this evening.” His servant boy speaks to you in the kitchen a few mornings later. 

You nod, “I’ll have them ready to be delivered once dinner has finished.” 

“He also requested that you hand deliver them.” 

You were about to protest before remembering your place. Sure, you might feed the palace, but this man in front of you is infinitely more important than you. Despite both being servants of a kind, he spends his day walking three steps behind Prince Oberyn in the sun whilst you slave over hot coals. He might not be your boss, but he is to be respected. 

“Of course, I will deliver them as soon as they are ready.” 

The day was busy, so it wasn’t until you held the tray of freshly made cakes that the familiar bubble of nervousness set into your body. The servant from this morning was stood outside of Prince Oberyn’s door when you arrived, the warmth of the cakes through the tray almost verging on pain, but at least if you were focusing on the way your palms burned, you weren’t focusing on the anxiety in your stomach. 

The boy knocked twice on the door before he opened it, ushering you in quickly before shutting the door behind you. Oberyn was lazing on his bed when you entered, wine goblet in hand. 

“Set them on the table,” He instructed, you did as you were told, “And pass me the wine.”

You stood at the edge of the bed, filling up his goblet when it was extended to you before placing the jug down next to the tray of cakes, “Would you like to try some?” He was standing now, and you could get a good look at him. 

His usual mustard robe had been discarded; you could see it thrown over a chair in the corner of the room. He had a small shawl wrapped over his shoulders, doing nothing to hide his perfectly toned and tanned chest. 

You took the goblet in your hands from his own and took a small sip. Jesus, that’s good, you thought to yourself, the stuff left for you and the other cooks was swill compared to this. 

“Good, isn’t it?” He asked, leaning down to meet your eyes, “Have some more, there’s plenty to go around.” 

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” You asked, taking another sip, this time bigger than the last. 

“I would assume you don’t get the chance very often.” 

Your mind flashes to your father in this moment, the fuzzy images you have of him falling through the door at the end of the night, always sleeping where he fell, waking up in a pile of vomit and then standing to reach for the booze again. It wasn’t that you didn’t get the opportunity, it was that you didn’t want to turn into the man you’d grown to detest in the end. 

“I have plenty of opportunity, we’re not recluses in the kitchen, I just don’t like the way it feels.” 

“Your father, right?” 

Your eyes shoot to his in seconds, an accusing look covering your face, “How do you know that?” 

He shrugs, “I have my ways.” 

“Well, it’s rude,” You speak without thinking, “You shouldn’t bring things up like that.” 

He chuckles now, “You’re different,” He states simple, “The way you speak to me, no-one else would, I like that.” 

You watch him like a hawk as he takes his cup back and sets it on the table. He picks up one of the cakes from the tray and does similar to what you did in the dining hall. He slides the sticky lemon slice off the top first, putting it into his mouth before breaking the cake itself in half, eating it in small bites, all whilst his eyes never leave yours. 

He picks up another lemon cake, peeling the slice as he had done before, but this time he steps impossibly close to you. There isn’t too much of a height difference between you, enough that you must tilt your head to look at him. He brings the lemon slice to your lips, and you open gratefully, letting him place the sweet slice on your tongue for you to consume. You suppose you hadn’t needed to suck the end of his thumb to get the last of the syrup from his skin, but you did it anyway, watching as lust clouded his dark eyes. 

“Sinful little girl.” 

You had no idea where you’d found your bravado, but you replied with, “Are you tempted?” Looking up at him through your lashes as your hands pressed to his chest. 

“I’m always tempted.” He speaks, before leaning down and capturing your lips with your own.

It’s sticky and sweet on account of the cake, tinged with sour of lemon and wine. It’s delicious and all-consuming and you realize now why his reputation is so widely known. If this is how Prince Oberyn kisses, you can’t imagine how he fucks. His hands cup your face as his tongue traces along your bottom lip like he was begging for you to let him in. You oblige, opening your mouth, letting your tongue mix with his own as your hands press further into his chest. 

You pull away, his heartbeat racing under your palms, “Your heart is beating so fast right now.” You observe, how could a lowly kitchen girl have this effect on a prince? Especially a prince who could have his pick of his whole kingdom at the wave of a hand. 

One of his hands drops from your face and makes it way under the neckline of your dress, resting just above your own heart, “So is yours,” He speak, trailing his lips across your cheek, “Are you excited?” 

You nod your head as his teeth nip at your earlobe, hands falling to grip at your hips through your dress. You tilt your head back a little and excitement thrums through your bones as his lips trail from your ear, downwards. It’s a dance of sorts, a series of repeated moves, he uses his teeth to nip at the skin of your neck, then showers attention over it with his tongue before sucking on the spot as a final way to stake his claim. You’re going to have some explaining to do in the morning, but you couldn’t care less right now. 

Without warning, his hands drop to the crease where your ass meets your thighs, and he’s picking you up. Your legs wrap around his waist without thought and your arms wind their way around his neck for stability. You take a moment to breathe in his scent – it’s citrusy and sweet, but there’s an added note of musk and sweat that has you feeling high. 

He places your back softly on the bed, stepping back to admire you, hair fanned out underneath you, cheeks pink with blush. You take a moment to fist your hands in the sheets. The mattress under you in unbelievably comfortable, a far cry from the palette you sleep on each night. The sheets, you deduce, are pure silk, soft and buttery against your skin. Oh, how the other half live, you think as you move to look at him. 

The shawl from his shoulders is gone, revealing the broad frame of his shoulders, you want to reach out and run your hands over their expanse. His chest is tanned and toned as you’d expected, again, your hands itching to reach out and touch his skin. 

He crawls on top of you, dipping to trail his lips from your collarbone up to your mouth where you meet. Your lips open this time without the trail of his tongue along your lip, and as you kiss you can feel his deft hands undoing the belt to your dress. It’s simple, brown linen, the same that all the kitchen hands wear, and you’re thankful when you feel it fall open, your skin finally free from its itchy prison. 

Oberyn pulls away from your lips, sitting back on his knees as he admires your body. You don’t wear anything underneath the dress, the fire in the kitchen too hot for extra layers and you’re grateful for it now as his hands push the garment off your shoulders and he looks at you. Looks at you like you were the sweetest fruit he’d tasted, or the most beautiful piece of art he’d ever seen. You had to remind yourself that this was surely how he looked at everyone, you couldn’t have been that special. 

“You are perfection.” He breathes into your ear as his hand moves to your breasts. 

You let out a moan as he takes your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling the bud to a stiff peak. Another moan as his mouth brings its attention to your other breast at the same time. He stays there for what feels like hours, switching his hand and his mouth a few times, until your chest is heaving, and you’re covered in a thin film of sweat. You wish at this moment that he hadn’t chosen to situate his hips between your thighs. Although the weight at your core of his hardening length was exciting, you wanted to rub your thighs together for friction, you’d do anything to add to the pleasure currently coursing through you. 

Once Oberyn is satisfied you are worked up enough, he trails his lips back to your neck, adding to the marks he’d already given you, whilst his hand dips between your legs. His fingers trace lightly over the seam of your aching pussy, dipping far enough into you to feel how wet you are, but not enough to give you what you really want. He brings his fingers to his lips and keeps his eyes on your as he licks your wetness from them. 

“Just as sweet as your cakes, little dove.” He all but growls, moving his hand back to your pussy. 

He gathers your wetness on his fingers, still towering over you with one hand placed beside your head to keep him upright and runs his fingers up to your clit. You swear at this point you see stars, all the buildup has led to this moment, your clit crying out for the attention he’d showered the rest of your body with, and it was just as delicious as you had dreamed. 

His lips are back on yours in this moment, tongues fighting against each other as his fingers set a pace between your legs. He’s rubbing tight, small circles across your clit that have your hips bucking up into his hand, but you want more pressure, need more pressure. Your legs drop open wider, and you’re pushing your hips up into his hand, small moans coming from your throat becoming lost in his own mouth as he continues kissing you. 

“You like this?” He asked, whispering into your ear, you nod in response, “Where’s your voice now, little dove?” He chuckles, you were only too happy to let your smart mouth talk before. 

“Yes..” You breath out, “I need more, please.” You beg. 

“What do you need?” 

“Harder,” You keen out, “Press your fingers harder.” 

He is only too happy to oblige, giving you just the right amount of pleasure to have you tumbling over the edge in moments. It rips through you unexpectedly, heat flooding your lower tummy as your pussy pulses around nothing as his name falling from your mouth. He works his fingers softly over your clit for a moment, almost entranced at the way it makes your legs shake through the aftershocks. 

“You look beautiful when you come undone for me.” He rasps into your ear as he lets you catch your breath. 

You cannot reply. Words fail you, so you use your hands, running them over the broad expanse of his shoulders, down his chest to fall at the waistband of his trousers. He swats your hands away with a smirk on his lips, sitting back on his knees and then standing from the bed. You lift yourself onto your elbows and watch as his thumbs hook into the waistband pushing them down just enough that they fall to the floor. 

You don’t think you’d ever seen a mere mortal look quite this good. He couldn’t be real. The toned nature of his chest continued down the rest of his body, his hips carved out in all the right places, leading your eyes to his cock. Well. The fumbling you’d done these past months with Jace from the kitchens was poor preparation for this. 

“You like the view?” He asks, a grin set upon his lips.

“I do.” You nod, his smile making your own form on your lips. 

He crawls back onto your bed and settles himself between your thighs again, his fingers fall to your entrance and work to somewhat stretch you open but you knew the way he was about to fill you would be overwhelming regardless of much he tried to prepare you. 

He fists his cock in his fist a few times, dragging your wetness over him, before the tip is nudging at your aching core and he’s pushing in slowly. He presses sweet kisses to your lips and your cheeks as he slowly inches further and further inside you, the moans falling from your lips are indecent and you were right, the stretch within you in obscene. You’d never felt so full in your life. Oberyn was whispering encouragement into your ear as he stilled himself within you, fully sheathed in your soaking heat. Good girl and you feel divine, sweet girl and you’re taking me so well. 

He begins moving when he’s sure you can take it, he pulls out almost all the way before he thrusts back inside of you. You watch as pleasure contorts his face, you know this is just as good for him as it is for you. Your legs wrap around his waist and your arms around his neck, leaning up to press your own kisses to his neck, stopping short of marking him, you weren’t sure what the punishment would be for a kitchen girl who staked the prince as her own. 

His pace is languid, like he has all the time in the world. He doesn’t pound into you like Jace did, always sure someone will find you, trying to get in over as soon as possible so you can get back to work. The friction of each thrust has you keening into his skin, he shifts slightly, hands gripping your ass, lifting your hips just an inch and then he’s hitting something wonderful inside you, something that has spots filling your vision and moans louder than ever dropping from your lips. 

“Give me your hand,” He demands, you do as your told, and he places it between you, “Touch yourself, little dove, I want to feel you come undone on my cock.” 

It doesn’t take long for your second orgasm to fling you into oblivion. This time, when your pussy clenched through your aftershocks, you could hear how much Oberyn liked it. His moans were falling freely from his mouth as his hips stuttered, the languid pace lost for a moment as he chased your orgasm. 

He pulls back onto his knees and uses his hands to wrap around your wrists. Still seated inside you, he pulls you up, chest flush to his own, your legs wrapped around his waist once more. Your arms around his neck hold you up, but it’s his hands splayed across your back that keep you steady. He’s thrusting up into you now, lips biting at your shoulder, fingers gripping so hard to your skin you think you might bruise there too. Then, he’s calling your name and you can feel him coming for you. You can feel his cock pulsing inside of you, painting your walls with his seed. 

He's breathing just as deeply as you are as he sets you back to the sheets. When he pulls from you it’s like you are lost, empty without him, in more ways than one. He gets up from the bed and walks to the table, filling his goblet with wine and taking a long drink. You take this as your cue to leave. 

You stand, unsure how you’re meant to make it from here to the kitchen with legs that feel like they might collapse at any moment. You reach for your dress when you feel a hand at the small of your back. 

“Where are you going?” He murmurs to you. 

“Back where I belong.” You speak simply. 

“For tonight, you belong here.” He takes your dress from your hands and drops it to the floor, joining the pile of his own garments. 

He moves you so you are facing him and kisses you deeply. You search his tongue with your own for the sweet taste of wine. 

“Just tonight?” You asked breathlessly when he pulls away. 

“If the fates bring us together again, I surely wouldn’t complain.” 

It’s as close as you’ll get to a commitment that he’ll see you again and for now it’s all you need. You crawl back onto the bed with him, setting yourself against the impossibly soft pillows. He hands you the wine and you take it, taking a sip before handing it back to him once he’s taken his place next to you. His warm hand rests on your thigh as your head tilts to rest on his shoulder. You think you’d like to close your eyes and fall asleep like this, but if one night is all that is promised right now then you won’t waste it. Instead, you move your body, trailing kisses down his neck and across his chest, when his hand falls to your cheek. 

“Patience, little dove,” He coos at you, “You’ll get what you want soon enough.” 

Now that I'm on a reblog streak (which also conveniently makes it easier for me to track these amazing fics, this concept is amazing, and so beautifully written!

Apothecary - A Joel Miller Story

joel miller x witchy!reader

joel miller masterlist

joel becomes curious about the woman running the medicine shop in Jackson, and the strange rumors swirling around her.

series warnings | 18+ angst, eventual smut, spooky ooky goings-on, canon-typical violence

.............................

Series playlist

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6 - coming soon

I've never really dared to reblog fanfic for some idiotic reason, but damn I couldn't not reblog this. This is gold. Perfection.

texas sun - series masterlist (joel miller x f!reader)

series summary: Twenty years later, Joel still doesn’t know how to describe what you were to him. You’d never made any promises to each other, but you loved his daughter like she was your own. Had he known what was going to happen, he wouldn't have let you go.

description: plot inspired partially by this request. pre-outbreak! joel miller x f!reader, slow burn(ish), eventual smut. will end up covering game/tv show events. reader does not have a name, and there's no use of y/n, but she does have a fully fleshed-out backstory, friends/family with names.

warnings (will update as needed): fluff, angst, romance. multiple pov's. time jumps. smut (18+ only, minors DNI), alcohol use, marijuana use, descriptions of absent & abusive parents, eventual canon-typical violence & content. More specific warnings on each chapter.

a/n: super excited about this one, i've had so many ideas for it and it has been a pleasure to write! will try to update roughly every week or so, but i have a full-time job, so it just depends on what i can reasonably accomplish. i don't rush things out before they are ready, so please be patient. :)

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @ftcwriting and turn on notifications if you would like to be notified when I update :)

fic playlist | writing masterlist | read on a03

chapters: "*" = contains smut

volume i volume ii volume iii volume iv volume v* volume vi* volume vii* volume viii* volume ix volume x volume xi volume xii volume xiii

"are you the person who says goodnight to everyone at 9PM then stays up all night reading fanfictions at tumblr?"

Okay fuck it if this post reaches 666k notes by the end of 2023 I'll practise basic self care

Why 666k? Because it's funny and impossible so good fucking luck

*puts my interests in a blender* haha two for one

sending people wikipedia articles is my favorite form of humor. one time a long time friend of mine asked why i was using a different name and acting different i sent him the wikipedia page for DID. ryder just asked me why its 108 degrees in nevada right now and i sent him the wikipedia page for global warming and the season of summer.

reblog if your name isn't Amanda.

2,121,566 people are not Amanda and counting!

We’ll find you Amanda.

how dull for you to live your life without any hills to die on, you, on your vast flat barren plains of compromise, acceptance, and accommodation, while I reign supreme over the lush, rolling highlands of stupid shit I have irrationally chosen to stake my entire identity on

This is about Sci-Hub. yeah we get it.. gatekeep knowledge and protect the interests of capital…

canon: they died

fanfic: fUCK YOU

“If you promise to stay alive just a little bit longer I promise that we are going to make this world a place worth living in by any means necessary. I ain’t giving up. I swear.” 

Spotted in Clackamas, Oregon

Guys do centaurs have to eat both horse food and human food?

Teach children that this is not ok