Pedro Pascal X Reader - Tumblr Posts

smother - part xv: condemnation

dark!joel x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | kofi

summary: will your decision make or break everything you and joel have built together? 17.8k words (OOPS.) chapter warnings: 18+ MDNI! dubcon - stockholm syndrome, innocent reader, big juicy age gap (reader is 19, joel is 55), ddlg/daddy dom! joel, sub!reader, lil bit of fluff, heavy on the angst in the second half, smut - pussy worship, joel creams his jeans™, cum eating; slight degradation, reader wears a collar publicly, crybaby reader and i'm not sorry! if the darker tags aren't your thing please keep scrolling- i'm not responsible for the content you consume! a/n: wow, what a few months it has been. the endless support and love and patience i've gotten as i struggled hard to really write at all has meant the world to me. but i'm proud to finally present this to you all!

Home. The distinct feeling of it filling your body with warmth, letting you forget your worries for the moment. Not those four walls of the cabin you share with Joel, but right here, where you sink between his spread legs and kneel. 

It’s been days, far too long since you’ve been able to give yourself over to the heady, comforting feeling of it as traveling here to Jackson and the ensuing drama got in the way. You’d insisted when Joel had gently taken your hand in his rough one and led you to the next room. Please, daddy, I want to… you’d murmured, glancing at the old, faded rug spread beneath the couch and side tables in Tommy and Maria’s living room. And who was Joel to deny you such a simple pleasure as that?

Down you’d gone, looking up at him with reverence, tucking your legs underneath you before leaning your head on his thigh. Joel watches on in pleased wonder, his observing eyes never leaving your face, searching for every micro expression that tells him this is the right thing, that you’re happy.

You sigh into the leg of his pants, eyes fluttering shut as you get to inhale his familiar scent deeply now - earthy, musky, undeniably Joel. 

“That’s better, huh? In your special place f’me, aren’t you?” he asks you, the teasing condescension another familiar comfort you revel in.

“Yes,” you breathe out with a contented sigh. You’d be happy to stay right here for hours, never having to hear what Joel pulled you aside to talk about. You don’t want it, you don’t want anything else but this now. Nothing else could possibly matter.

His hand touching the side of your head exposed to him brings you back to reality - only slightly - as the soothing motions of his fingers across your scalp threaten to pull you away again. 

“Y’look so pretty like this,” Joel marvels softly, giving you another much needed moment. Warmth blooms in your chest at the rarity of soft praises like this coming from him. “You really are my girl, ain’t you?” The question is quiet, almost as if it’s only for him to hear, to try to believe. He was sure the two of you had been pulled apart, that everything that happened yesterday would lead to a steady demise of everything he’d worked to build.  Yet here you were, huddled between his thick thighs like it was the only shelter you could ever need.

“Mmm,” just the uttering of a single, blissed out sound, before Joel brushes your cheek with his knuckles, trying to get your attention.

“Can’t avoid what I’m gonna say forever, sugar. Look at daddy now and let me talk.”

You peer up to him with wide, curious eyes, filled with an anxiety he knows well by now. “What is it, daddy? Is it bad news?” you ask in a wavering voice. The pit in your stomach that’s been festering since he’s said you two had to talk grows as you wait for him to speak. 

Joel gives you a tiny, sympathetic tug of his lips upwards. “Don’t know how to say this… just gonna say it. But they - uh, Harry and Josephine - they want to see you.”

“T-They do? Even after…” you trail off, feeling self conscious. A handful of questions seem to pass through your mind at the same time, wondering how Joel even knows about this. Had he seen them? Had they fought again? How could so much have happened while you were asleep?

Joel nods solemnly, his lips in a thinned, straight line as he cocks his head, staring down at you. “Tommy spoke to ‘em. They were here.”

“Here?” you question frantically as your head picks up off his thigh, your hands reaching around to plant them on his waist and cling on to him. It seems like you can’t do anything but repeat his words back to him in question form. “They know I’m staying here?”

Joel’s brows aren’t able to contain his surprise at your demeanor. “Don’t know if Tommy told them. You don’t want ‘em to know that, hm?” 

You shake your head a little. “I… I don’t know -” you start, sighing. “It was hard seeing them… Made me feel too confused.”

“Mm,” Joel utters, still observing you with a critical eye. “You can say no, y’know.”

You continue to shake your head, wondering if that’s true. You’ve never felt you could say no to either party involved when it came to their wishes. You were still undeniably stuck in the middle of this web, even if patching things up with Joel last night made you feel slightly better. 

“What should I do, daddy?” you ask, your glassy eyes pleading with him.

He sighs. “Whatever you want to do.”

Your shoulders slump, lip pouting out slightly. It’s unlike Joel, isn’t it? To not give you any direction, any guidance, to give up control of the situation. 

“Please…” you whisper, lifting your eyes to his once more. “Why won’t you j-just tell me what to do? I don’t understand, you always do…” 

Joel’s brows knit together, studying the despondent look you’re giving him for a quiet moment. You’re so lost, so in need of his direction - he’d nearly forgotten that you’ve hardly made a decision for yourself in months, maybe even years before you met him. It seemed your entire life was planned, plotted, and dictated, and he’d done his fair share to contribute to that. He shouldn’t be surprised to see you looking adrift at sea, yet here he was, heart aching for the lost little girl he’d had such a hand in creating.

Joel thumbs at your cheek - it’s delicate and sweet, two things hardly used to describe the man you love. “You’d really listen if I told you that y’can’t see them?” he asks, and it’s genuine. As much as you’ve been so good for him, the perfect pet he’d always dreamed of - listening to his commands, keeping with his wishes day in and day out, he has a hard time believing it. Not with something this important. 

You swallow thickly, eyes glistening in his direction. “I think so…”

Joel clicks his tongue. “Oh, sweet girl…” he mutters, shaking his head slightly. “If it were up to me, you’d never see another person that threatens what we have. I’d say fuck it all, an’ take you away from all this shit upsetting you. But -” He cuts himself off to suck air in through gritted teeth, as if the words pain him. If he was honest with himself, he’d never let you see another person, period, if it meant you could be anything less than his. He’d do it gladly, shutting you away forever. Only his to see, hold, and fuck. 

“I get the feelin’ they’re persistent folk,” Joel says, finishing his thought. 

Your eyes grow wider, beginning to nod nearly involuntarily at his suggestion, just happy to have some direction. “Y-yes…” you breathe out in reply.

“You’re their girl, only thing they ever had close to a kid, ain’t you?”

You nod again. “They… they spent a lot of their time helping take care of me and my education. They were so dedicated, and they’re the only ones who even wanted me after… my parents…” you admit timidly, casting your gaze downward. 

Joel visibly holds back a scoff, his lips tight with frustration at the concept of them helping you, if that’s what they had wanted to call it. It was all ulterior motives cloaked underneath that one, vague word.

“Helped you, huh? Way I see it, you came to me green as the day you were born, nothin’ but nonsense from them in your head. You’ve seen how much you learned with daddy that they kept from you, yeah? That they don’t let you see the world the way I do?”

“I know,” you breathe out obediently, your hands tightening their hold around his middle as you snuggle closer. “It was different with them, like - like I could never be good enough. They always said I would be rewarded someday for everything but I never -“ You quickly cut off your spiral when Joel plants a hand on your forearm, stopping you. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t… I just keep having these memories coming up, and - and I want it to stop. I just want to remember my time with you.”

Joel rushes to comfort you with soothing strokes of his hands. “You can tell them that, baby. You can tell them anything you want to. Tell ‘em where you’d rather be.” You hear the hint of desperation he fails to hide from you. He’s worried.

“I still don’t want to hurt them, daddy,” you cry out, feeling tears stinging at your eyes before they start to brim at your lashes. You bury your face into his pant leg, sniffling. “They’re not bad people. I know you say they are, but… they were all I had… ”

His face falls further into a sympathetic frown on your behalf, but it’s strained behind all the other emotions tearing through him. The idea that you could even consider leaving with those two instead of your rightful place by his side is simply unfathomable to him. He only hums quietly, thinking for a beat, his hands working on autopilot to stroke your cheeks, brushing away the stray tears rolling down. He’s carefully watching your worked up body language curl even closer to him, seeking comfort, and it gives him the confidence he needs. 

“Well, Tommy seems to think they’re nice enough people,” Joel grits out, clearly not keen on the words coming out of his own mouth. “So if you want to see ‘em, we should see ‘em.”

You’re just as surprised as he is at how amenable he’s starting to seem to be to the whole situation, given how harsh he was with them last night.

“I think I do. I just… don’t want them to call me those things again though, if I say something they don’t like.” 

Whore. You can hear it reverberate through your mind all these hours later. Said with such venom, a word you’d never thought you would become in their eyes, due to the dutiful way they brought you up. Nothing like the way Joel has doled out those somehow praise laden insults when he’s taking his pleasure from you. That feels personal in the best way, the right way, and it’s confusing that you didn’t feel the same pride emanating when someone else had insinuated that you were in fact, exactly as they called you, if only for Joel alone.

“You don’t believe those words, though, do you?”

“Before I met you I would have thought the same thing if I saw me with you,” you admit with a sinking heart. “But I don’t want to think it’s wrong like they do, it’s just -” Your brow scrunches tightly as you chew on the inside of your lip. “It’s hard to upset them. They need me. They can’t have kids and th-they took me in and I owe them so much an-”

“Shh, shh…” Joel cuts you off with soothing sounds and a light touch to your cheeks. “You don’t owe them anything. You did your best f’them, but it’s time for you to get what you want.”

You let out a small whine, laying your cheek back down to Joel’s lap, wishing you could transport yourself to another time, another place much simpler than this. What did you want? You couldn’t think of anything past exactly what you had here - the warm comfort of Joel’s care when it’s just the two of you, alone without the world getting in your way. You realize quickly that your answer is right there, practically dangled in front of you in the way your mind gravitated here, to his familiarity and security.

You clamber up onto the couch, perching yourself next to him with your legs dangling across his lap, tucking yourself underneath his arm as it moves to make room for you. He smiles softly when your arm wraps around his waist, clinging to him.

The words sit on your lips, ready to be spoken. Your decision, the one you know Joel wants to hear, because despite his outward appearance you’ve sensed his fear since you two laid eyes on Harry and Josie. He’s typically so confident, but the fact that he can’t read your mind, doesn’t know if he could control you wanting to go back to your old life in the end, gnaws at him like nothing he’s ever experienced.

You struggle to make yourself say it, like the finality of that confession is too intimate, even for the relationship you share with Joel. You can’t help the nagging voice inside your head reminding you of the imbalance here, the lack of reciprocation each time you think or dare to utter the three special words you’ll never hear echoed back by him. 

I love you. I want you. 

How easily they perch themselves on the tip of your tongue when you’re around him, knowing the inevitable outcome being that Joel can’t say it back with words. He shows you in every way though, and as twisted and strange as they may be, you relish in each new way he doles out his care onto you.

“I just… want this,” you say quietly into his shoulder, feeling a lick of heat flash across your cheeks at the admission, but a weight lifts off your shoulders immediately after. “I want to go home.”

You know that Joel understands which home you mean.

“Yeah?” His voice picks up slightly with a fresh hopefulness as he peers down at you. “We’ll go home. Soon, baby.”

Your fist balls into the fabric of his shirt happily, letting a sigh of relief pass your lips into the crook of his shoulder. “Good,” you breathe out, relaxing into him. 

Tommy appears only moments later in the doorway with a sheepish look on his face as he interrupts you two so huddled up together on the couch. You stir as Tommy’s eyes linger uncomfortably, moving to sit up and untangle yourself from his brother, but Joel’s hold on you tightens, keeping you in place.

“Sorry,” Tommy stammers out, his eyes finding Joel’s. “Me and Maria, we were gonna head into town for some errands. Thought we’d give you two time to talk.”

“Already told her, Tommy. No need for tip-toein’ around it,” Joel shoots back, his fingers absentmindedly playing along the skin of your arms.

“Yeah? You doin’ okay there?” Tommy asks, looking to you. You give him a little nod, hoping that the strain of the situation isn’t too evident on your face - you don’t want either of them worrying about you. You like Tommy a lot, and there’s been enough trouble, enough heartache in this family because of you.

“An’ they seemed like they wanted to have a civil conversation ‘bout things?” Joel asks coolly. 

“Honestly, yes. Really, they mostly stay out of the way ‘round here, keep to themselves, that group. Hardly botherin’ anyone, an’ I was surprised to see ‘em this morning. They seemed real regretful, like they jus’ wanted to see how she’s doin’. They care a lot about you,” Tommy says, flicking his eyes to watch your face fall before you avert your eyes downwards. 

Guilt eats at your insides at the thought of Harry and Josephine stressed and worried, wondering how they could see you again when you’d all but moved on in the last few months. You had safety, a home, a warm bed every night and a man who cared for you in ways you’d never even dreamed of. While you’d been falling into the lap of this new luxury, maybe for them it had been a living nightmare, unsure of your wellbeing day in and day out. It was more than you’d ever expect from those two - wanting to see you so badly that they’d come to grovel at Tommy’s doorway. Josephine was not one to grovel in all the years you’d known her.

“We’re gonna do it. As long as… they want to keep it civil, like I said,” Joel tells him, speaking for the two of you. You find that you don’t mind it at all, letting him have those controlling reins back in his hands.

Tommy’s eyes light up slightly in surprise, and he leans his shoulder against the doorframe, smiling softly.

“Good. ‘Cause I already told them they could come by for dinner.” He shoots his brother a sly glance.

”Asshole.”

Joel had offered to take you for a walk around town to help ease your nerves but you’d refused, hunkering yourself even closer to him where you two stayed lounging on the couch. You had wanted to come all this way and see what was left of civilization, maybe even some of the best of it. So badly. Yet you shake your head adamantly before it’s burrowed back into Joel’s shoulder. 

You can’t take the stares, the heated gazes on the two of you today. The curious glances and judgmental thoughts you know follow about the way you look with Joel, his protective hands all over you and the dark leather strapped to your neck. It’s all too much given the news Joel dropped on you this morning and the impending, difficult dinner with Harry and Josephine. You aren’t sure you trust any of them to keep it peaceful like they’re agreeing to. 

“You were so eager to see what there was to see yesterday, now, weren’t you? Seein’ the bakery? Explorin’ the town?” Joel asks in a gruff whisper against your hair. The house is quiet, just you and Joel kindly left to your own devices by Tommy and Maria. It’s a relief, being able to close your eyes, hold tightly to Joel, and pretend you’re back home safe in the cabin together.

“I don’t want to anymore,” you mumble, sliding yourself down to rest your head in his lap, knees bent as you stare up at the ceiling. “I just… don’t feel good.” You hope the way you peer up at him forlornly softens him enough to not press the issue any further. 

“Hmm.” Joel gives you a curious look, reading through everything, reading through you as always. “Playin’ sick doesn’t work on me, y’know.” His sharp eyes do the rest of the talking, daring you to hide from him, knowing he will always find you.

“I just don’t want to go out, daddy. That’s it.” You turn your entire body to face away from him and cross your arms over your chest. You’re exhausted and feeling a wave of defiance crashing over you, two things that will speedily get you into trouble with Joel, yet you don’t find yourself caring. 

Maybe you want him to be angry, want to feel something punishing from him. Feel anything again apart from this numbness that’s spread over you the last few days. That sweet distraction, like he’d given you last night or the other morning in the woods. 

“You’re a bad liar. Tell me. Now.” The simple command of his voice pulls at you, too well trained to brush it off but that fire of opposition flickers inside of you again, begging for a punishment. 

You only squirm slightly, angling yourself even further from Joel’s view. His hand cups under your chin firmly in response, tilting your head back so that he can see you again. 

“Stop, daddy,” you groan, weakly fighting against his hold.

Joel arches a brow behind you and tightens his grip slightly, but it doesn’t hurt. His movements are so controlled, showing you that he knows he could hurt you and is choosing not to - small mercies. His other hand lands on your lower back, skimming over the fabric of your dress towards your ass. It’s intimidating, full of promises that make your breath hitch, realizing you might have him exactly where you want him. 

You want him to yank you over his lap, squirming until you’re forced to still under thwaps of his hands against your bare ass. Until you’re swollen and aching, skin raw and tingling the entire rest of the day. A reminder each time you sit and move that you deserved this, to remember how much you’re screwing everybody’s lives up. 

His hand lifts, and you know it’s hovering right above where you want it, making you steel yourself for the impact, your body tensing. It comes down in a soft smack, more of a loving pat than anything. You’ve jumped in preparation for the shock of it, still holding yourself rigid as you stare at him with a growing frown.

“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, honey. That ain’t gonna work on me this time,” Joel snips, now rubbing your ass cheek in a soothing circle. “You gonna tell me why you want me to punish you for nothin’? That’s not how the rules work, is it?”

“No,” you mumble, averting your eyes.

“No, what?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. So what is it then?” 

“It isn’t for nothing…” you say quietly, trying to keep the wobble out of your voice.. “The punishment. I’ve done everything wrong, I’m ruining everyone’s lives. I just want to feel like… like I still matter to you, that I paid for all the trouble I’m causing. Why, daddy? Why do you want us to be so different and now everyone sees me like a problem to solve? Why didn’t you just tell me all those things about you, so it didn’t have to be like that? I just… don’t want to think about it, about anything, just for a minute. You can do that.”

You watch Joel’s face slowly falling as you speak, everything going soft for you. He gives a tiny, disbelieving shake of his head. “You really feel that way? After everything I’ve said and done, that you’re ruinin’ my life?”

You feel your skin heating under his intense gaze. The way he’s worded it makes you feel silly, shame burning through you wondering how you could ever think that you were ruining Joel’s life after he’d shared with you last night how much you’d saved him.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, feeling your body sag. His fingers drum against where they’re sitting on your behind, somehow simultaneously patient and impatient as he awaits a full answer from you. “No, daddy, I don’t,” you finally say, sighing.

“Thas’ what I thought,” he quickly replies. “I know there’s been a lot happenin’ these last few days. And to be frank with you, sweetheart, I don’t give a damn what anyone else is thinkin’. If they’re upset by me or you or any of it, it don’t matter to me. This is all I care about. I told you I wished I had said more about my past here. I was a damn fool to think it wouldn’t catch up to us an’ hurt you. I-I’m sorry it had to be that way. I just… know I’m not always gonna be who you think of me as. The more you learn, the less you’re gonna see me the way you do now. I have a lot of shit I’ve done - bad things - an’ I’ll keep doin’ them, because that’s who I am now. That’s all I can do for us.”

You stare up at him in wonder, your lips parted with no words coming to you. You believe every word he says, and know he’s proved to you that he only cares about what you two have. No outside influence seems to rattle him, and it sparks a tiny flicker of inspiration inside of you, wishing to be more like him.

You reach up to touch his face, gently scraping your fingers over his wiry beard. “I’ll always like you, daddy, I promise. You can tell me any of it - I-I won’t see you as bad, I’ve already seen…” You trail off, looking at him with the shared understanding of what you’ve gone through together, all the sides of him you’ve seen and accepted. “I’ve seen you before. S-so please, you won’t keep things from me anymore? Or… you’ll try at least?” you ask sheepishly.

His crooked smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and he sighs. He studies your face, scanning over it with a pained expression. “I’ll try, sweetheart. I will.”

You sit up, bringing your lips to his cheek for a tender kiss. “Thank you, daddy.”

He kisses you back on the lips this time, cupping your cheek. Joel is so soft and pliant right now, exposed to you in a way you’ve hardly seen him before. You don’t know where his change of heart has come from, what moved him to smooth his edges for you, even if just for today. You want to keep this moment, the man he is right now, and save it, find a way to bottle it up and never have to wonder again.

“You’re being so nice today,” you muse with your nose still brushing against his, lips nearly touching, feeling emboldened by his new attitude. He nearly snorts and pulls back.

“I won’t be if you keep tellin’ me I’m not normally nice. You think I’m not nice to you, huh?”

You giggle, shaking your head when he wraps his arms around you, tightening them in a playful threat. “No, you’re very nice, daddy.”

“Damn right,” he huffs, satisfied. “Now, you really don’t want to go out today?”

You shake your head. “No. I don’t want to see anyone, really. Except you. I just need some time, I think. A-are you upset?”

“Upset? No, ‘course not. Means I get you all to myself.” Joel’s lips turn up into a devilish smirk as his hands start to skim over your body and you give him a shy laugh. “You just lay right back there an’ let me make you feel better.”

He guides your head back down to his lap and you take a deep breath, feeling your muscles relax instantly when his fingers start on your shoulders, rubbing them. 

“Turn on your side now, sugar,” he says softly. You easily obey, facing out towards the living room. 

His hands find your back, soothing circles and scratches sending goosebumps prickling along your skin. You hum contentedly, Joel’s touch already heating your skin towards something unbearable. You’re not sure if he means it to be a lead-in for something more intimate or not, but you feel the familiar pulse beginning between your legs, the warmth pooling there as your body responds. Joel’s touch, no matter the circumstances, always seems to do this to you. 

He bunches up your dress from the bottom, slipping his hand underneath to let his calloused palms touch your bare skin. You don’t mind how exposed you are now, the way your white, scalloped panties are out for him to see, because the second he makes contact with you again, you let out a sigh that sounds closer to a moan. You close your eyes and let the simple pleasure of his fingers scraping along your back again wash over you. 

“What were you like before?” you ask, hoping for the distraction you’ve been wishing for from him. A chance to hear more about life before the outbreak - a topic that fascinates you to no end but one you’ve rarely gotten a chance to hear much about. Too many people, Joel included, are closed books when it comes to that time. You can only imagine the pain, the profound sense of loss, that comes with missing what you can no longer have in such a devastating proportion. You’ve only ever asked for pieces of it, enough to build a picture of what you never had at all.

Joel looks at you curiously. “How d’you mean?”

“Like… before everything. What was your life like? What would you do normally, or with Tommy?”

He considers you for a quiet moment. “Well half my time I spent getting Tommy outta trouble,” he says wistfully. “He wasn’t always this responsible, y’know. But we had fun. Goin’ out to bars and the like, but really I was too busy to have much fun.”

His answer piques enough interest for you to open your eyes, angling your head towards him. “Why? Was it work? I know everything I’ve ever heard is that most people worked a lot,” you say practically. “Having a job sounds kind of fun, though. All the things people got to do.”

Joel snorts out a laugh at your dreamy tone. So naive, so far away from the truth, as usual. “I was no exception to all them people, I guess. Worked myself too much, shouldn’t have spent so much time…” Joel trails off into his thoughts, far away for a moment. “An’ no, it was not fun. We all did it to earn a livin’, it was nothin’ like how we spend our time together.”

“I-it was building stuff, right? Your job?” 

“That’s right,” he replies, nodding. “Contracting. We planned out buildings - houses, businesses an’ such - got them built.”

Contradictory to Joel’s tone, you think it sounds utterly fascinating. Any job you’ve ever learned about sounds like the most interesting thing in the world to you. The idea of a bustling lifestyle - working alongside others at offices, restaurants, and shops in a crowded city or town - has always had you secretly mourn what your life could have been. 

“Did you like it?” you ask him.

“Sometimes.” He chuckles, and you watch on with interest as his brows pull inward, lost in thoguht. “Means to an end, most days, to afford what I needed to.”

“Like… the fun stuff?”

”Mostly bills,” he replies with a flat chuckle, “But some fun stuff, I s’pose, yeah.”  

This conversation has him pulling away, and you can feel Joel sinking into his past - a time and place so far away from you. His eyes drift off into the distance, his fingers going stagnant from the absentminded way he’d been trailing lower and lower on your back, dangerously close to something more.

You used to like the cloud of mystery surrounding Joel, making him all the more alluring to you. This enigma of a man who had chosen you as his obsession, his everything. As he looks back into his past, a wistful tightness to his lips, you know you can’t reach him there, see into the parts of his life that made him who he is today - the man who wants nothing more than to have someone to give all his protection and care to. Instead of the intrigue it usually makes you feel, you only find sadness.

Your lips purse slightly as you blink up at him. “Daddy, what would we do back then? Like if you weren’t at work?”

Joel’s eyes snap down to you, sparkling with a sudden amusement that slips away into suspicion. “What’s with all these questions all of a sudden?” he asks, his hands finding their movement again, gentle brushes of his fingers now leading to your ass.

You shrug and curl your knees upwards, making yourself more comfortable. “D-dunno, I’m just curious what things were like. I’ve never heard all that much. And I want to picture you, the way you were before… well, me, or before any of this,” you say, gesturing your arms around as if to encompass the entire world and the way it’s fallen apart. A world you never got the luxury or displeasure of knowing in any sense, apocalypse or beyond.

He stares at you curiously, his dark eyes boring into you for a long, quiet moment. “There ain’t much to tell, baby,” he tells you, sounding exasperated. “I woke up, I worked, an’ ate a few meals if I was lucky enough to not be too busy with the bullshit at work. Crashed in front of the TV most nights.” He finishes his words with an apathetic shrug.

You bite at the inside of your cheek. ”So we’d do that, maybe? Watch TV together?”

Joel smiles softly, giving you a nod. “Sure, we’d do that. Whatever you’d want to do, baby. Come home to you waitin’ for me an’ it’d make my whole day worth the hassle.”

You return the grin, already trying to imagine life with him in a different home and an entirely different world bustling outside the windows. You wonder what kind of place Joel lived in, what his town was like, his neighbors. Did he have a big house? Smaller like the cabin? Was it on a tree-lined street similar to the one you grew up in, or did he live somewhere rural? All questions you bite back, knowing the rapid fire succession in which you’d have to ask would only serve to push him further away. You’d have to take little bits at a time as you have been, slowly - achingly so - painting this picture of who Joel is.

“What’s that look for?” Joel asks, seeing your faraway expression.

“Just picturing it. Us. Somewhere different, like an old house of yours or something. I feel like… I can see it. Even smell it.” You breathe in deeply, imagining Joel’s scent all over a modest house, neatly kept but well lived in, much like the cabin is now.

Joel gives you a chuckle. “Yeah? I’ll tell you it wasn’t much to brag about, that old house. It was just… a house.”

“I’ll bet it was nice, daddy. I wish I could see it. Tell me more, please,” you say, flashing your pitiful eyes up to him again, hoping to garner some sympathy. “Would you take me out places? Did you… go on dates?”

“Dates?” he laughs at your brazenness, shaking his head playfully. “You’re askin’ so many damn questions, baby.”

“You promised you’d tell me more,” you reply, watching him quickly fold, mildly irritated at the echoing back of his own words coming back to bite him so quickly.

“Okay, okay.” He scrubs a hand down his face before putting it back to you, this time on your thigh. “I didn’t date much. No time for it, really. But you want to know what we’d do on a date, that what you’re really asking?”

You give a simple, shy nod for your answer as you flutter your lashes at him, loving that he always finds a way through your timid, roundabout questions.

“Well, there’s goin’ to the movies. Or maybe a nice restaurant. Yeah, that’s where I’d take you.” He speaks methodically, seeming to be painting the picture in his mind as he goes. “You’d get all dolled up in one of these dresses that daddy likes so much on you. An’ I’d take you somewhere with real good food, nothin’ like my cooking. People would stare at ya, how pretty you look, but they’d know -” He leans down, close enough to brush his lips against your forehead as his hand slides lower, tucking it between your legs. A flash of heat hits your cheeks knowing he’ll find you wet, proof of how easy it is for him to manipulate your body.

“You’re with me. You belong to me.”

Your heart flutters at the image slowly being sketched in your mind as his hand works its way further between your thighs. Things you’d only seen in the form of an old, broken down restaurant that was in the town where your community had been settled. So much of it was beyond any use, but you would spend hours looking around in there - touching the shabby, tattered checkered tablecloths and imagining it full of people. Old, faded menus covered in mold and dust that you’d pored over, wondering how the dishes tasted. 

“Kind of like now,” you say, arching your back the slightest bit as your thighs part for him.

He grins darkly. “Just like now.”

“T-then what?” You flutter your lashes, inhaling sharply as a finger brushes over your clothed clit, teasing you.

Joel cocks an eyebrow, watching your eyes slowly start to glaze over. “Then… I think we’d be doin’ exactly this.” His fingers slide under the waistband of your panties as his words fade out, and you gasp at the touch. Your hips twitch into it, silently begging him for more when he easily slides two fingers into your dripping entrance. You snap your eyes to his, desperately seeking connection with him.

“This i-is part of the date?” you ask him, breathless, ready to hang on his every word.

“I’d be half tempted to do this under the table right in front of all those damn people,” he says, unhurriedly pumping his fingers in and out of you. You pull your bottom lip in between your teeth, biting back a moan, and roll onto your back, your legs falling apart so easily for him. “Wouldn’t have a choice, back then I’d never have believed such a pretty somethin’ would’ve been willin’ to go on a date with me.”

Joel’s fingers pull out, and the missing intensity and warmth leave a void that makes you cry out for him. His digits move to his lips and he sucks them clean, unable to tear his eyes from yours until they roll back slightly at the taste of you.

His grin turns a little more twisted, starting down at you intently, popping his fingers out of his mouth. “Would’ve had to taste somethin’ so sweet, ‘fore I missed my chance…” 

“I’d be yours,” you gasp out, bucking your hips up into nothing. Joel takes pity on you, cupping your cunt with his whole hand, the warmth only a second of welcome respite before you crave more. 

“Yeah? Think you’d have had eyes for an old man like me back in those days?” he asks, low and sultry as he strokes his fingers up your slit. You nod hastily, showing your devotion as your heavy lidded eyes look at him with sincerity. 

“Come on, then.” Joel stands off the couch, reaching out a hand to you. You feel the sudden loss of his comforting warmth, the pleasure he was steadily starting to build between your legs, but you don’t question it. You take his hand, letting him help you off the couch. He spins you into him, a hand on your waist pulling you nearly flush with his body. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, brushes of his clothes against yours as his hand snakes lower and his lips dip towards your ear. “Need to take my teasin’ little date upstairs w’me, don’t I? Show her how I treat sweet girls like her.”

“Y-yes, please,” you practically whisper, feeling your skin growing hot at his proximity and debauched little comments.

“Oh, she’s so polite too,” he says, condescension lacing his tone, a sneer on his face as he brushes his cheek against yours, pulling away. “Ain’t nothin’ about what we’re gonna do that’s so polite, sweetheart.”

Your body buzzes, butterflies flitting through your stomach as he pulls you by the hand towards the stairs. You follow silently, the only sounds are the creak of the stairs beneath your feet and your heart bursting as it races in your ears. You’ve experienced need before - Joel has shown you over and over just how badly you could need someone else’s body intertwined with yours, but this felt different. His sweetness, his willingness to play pretend for your sake, to comfort you when he knows you need it, touches you deeply. He may be masking it with dirty words and a promise to do something depraved once you get upstairs, but he cares. 

“Strip,” he commands you as soon as you two enter the bedroom. Suddenly, you’re the shy girl of months ago, standing with your mouth slightly open, unsure of how to make your limbs move. “Am I askin’ twice?” he says after a quiet beat. You shakily bring your arms to the bottom of your dress, pulling it upwards. His eyes follow the path of the hem, watching your body come into view, your tits spilling out immediately with no bra to hold them back.

“I hit the jackpot with this one, didn’t I? So pretty and obedient,” he says, patronizing you again. You feel a rush of wetness between your legs at his tone and the hunger filling his eyes. You fight every urge to bashfully cover yourself, falling right into this pretend universe he’s created where the two of you only met this evening on your first date.

“Leave those on,” he says gruffly, looking at your underwear, and you know without a doubt that he can see the way you weep for him, evident in an opaque little spot that’s only spreading on your panties. “On the bed,” he commands you next, and you clamber onto the mattress, sitting with your knees tucked underneath you, waiting with baited breath as he approaches.

“Back now, let me show you what daddy would have done to you after our date,” he says, gently guiding you to lay on the mattress by the shoulders.

Joel rummages through his backpack until he pulls out your leash, standing next to you on the bed, looking down with glazed eyes roaming over your body, studying you with a heady air that makes you shudder. He gathers your wrists in his hand and brings them above your head to the headboard, using the leash to bind them to the iron bars.

You struggle against them, showing Joel they’re tight enough. His smirk as he descends onto the bed, moving between your legs, emmenates pride and a softer form of him that you rarely get to see. It makes your heart swell and then race - how lucky you feel to see his walls coming down, even if just a little bit. 

“This is what I’d do to ya. After I held myself back in that restaurant from your pretty eyes lookin’ at me all innocent-like, not even knowin’ just how bad I want you. How much I’ve been thinkin’ about a pretty young thing like you, knowin’ I shouldn’t.” 

His hands press on your thighs, pushing them open, knees to the bed. You see your chest rising and falling more quickly in your periphery as you suck in air, focused on Joel’s hands pulling your panties down your legs. Anticipation buzzes inside of you as his hot breath hits your skin when he leans in to take a long, deep breath. 

“Fuck…” Joel mutters. “This life, another one, I’d do exactly this t’you.” His lips smack against your skin, hungry and wet until his mouth finds a home on your inner thighs, sucking and biting down. You yelp as you sit on that thin border between pain and pleasure while he marks you higher and higher until he finds your warm center. The bruises and bite marks he’ll have left, ones you’ll study in the coming weeks as they slowly change, will only make him more crazy for you each time he sees them, too. He’s slowly grazing now, only gentle, teasing kisses finding their way to where you’re aching for him to fully devour you. 

“Take you home after our little date, you’d be none the wiser, wouldn’t you? Think it’s all sweet of me to invite you in… my sweet, innocent girl. I’d tie you up, jus’ like this. Never let you leave my sight ever again, keep you safe right there in my bed,” he murmurs into your skin, possessed by the sight of you dripping for him, desperately straining against your binds to get closer to him.

“Daddy…” you whimper, one of your legs wrapping around him, needing to feel him closer. “You know… you know I’d do anything you want.”

Joel groans when his tongue strokes through your folds and your hips arch into it. Your wanton sighs and breathlessness after the slightest teasing should embarrass you, but with Joel, it never does. The look in his eye only grows more ravenous, more needy to see you fall apart just for him. You see his hips rut into the mattress at the taste of you, and it makes your eyes go a little wider, seeing him so wretchedly, unashamedly aching for you too.

“Yeah, that’s right, ain’t it? You’re a good girl f’me. Such a good girl…” he coos. The next moment, he loses control completely, burying himself between your legs, letting his mouth and tongue on your cunt do the talking for him - lapping fervently as you feel yourself get more wet for him, sucking gently on your clit, slowly working a finger inside of you. You both groan quietly at how easily it slides in, how open and inviting and desperate you are.

“So fuckin’ sweet, baby. It’s all f’me, it’s mine. This -” He pulls back, giving a swift slap to your cunt that makes you jump and yelp. “Is mine.”

You nod heartily in agreement, anything to get him back to the blissful way he was using his tongue on you, and when he does you let out a strained noise that somewhat resembles daddy. Heat flickers low in your belly, building quickly as he pushes his fingers deep inside of you, curling them upwards. Your hips buck, but he presses his forearm across your lower belly, anchoring you to the bed.

His attention on you slows to a painstaking pace - it’s soft yet intense, feather light flicks of his tongue while his fingers push in a gentle, toe-curling pressure inside of you. You wriggle underneath his strong hold, silently begging for more with your body.

“Mm-mm,” Joel coos into your skin, lapping a long stripe up your slit. “You’re gonna take what I’m givin’. She’s so perfect, baby, I need to enjoy her. Christ, so perfect f’me… Nothin’ could ever be so perfect.” 

The way Joel is taking his time, the subtle vibrations of his words and ensuing little groans tickling at your skin, his languid licks and slurps and sucks, sends you climbing higher and higher than you’d thought possible with the lack of his usual intensity and roughness.

“Oh- oh my god, daddy…” you cry out, the coil inside you tightening, your limbs starting to tingle with pleasure. You feel that familiar rush of panic alongside it, waiting for Joel’s command, his permission to feel it in full and give yourself over to everything he’s so benevolently offering you.

“She gonna come, baby? She gonna show daddy how much she needs him?” he growls into your cunt, and you nod wildly, feeling your neck slick with sweat on the pillow behind you, hands desperately pulling against the restraints. You watch through glassy eyes at his movements along the bed, his hips needily getting any kind of friction.

“Y-yes, please, please please daddy, please.” You pant the words, writhing beneath him as he picks up the pace, it’s own special form of torture as you try to hold yourself back. When he suddenly stops you cry out angrily, grunting as you try to pull your body closer, held back as the bars of the headboard creak against your strength.

“Look at her…” he says melodically, ignoring your frustration. His finger prods at your entrance, sliding up through your slickness and then back down again. “She needs daddy so bad, don’t she?” You can hear the lewd, obscene squelch as he pushes his finger back in as the answer he was looking for. He watches in a mixture of awe and smug satisfaction to see himself disappear inside of you over and over, working you up again.

“That’s a good girl, waitin’ so patiently,” Joel says, his eyes transfixed on your aching pussy as it greedily takes the second and then third finger he adds.

“Please…” you whimper out weakly as his head dips towards you again, wrapping his lips around your swollen, needy clit and sucking. Your eyes squeeze shut, your mind empty of everything but this - this pleasure, this pain of sitting on the precipice of something so close to heaven.

“Come, baby. Come.” The words tumble from his lips as you teeter off the edge into the abyss of pleasure he’s created for you - specially for you - knowing what makes your body tick, its needs and desires. The teasing only made everything crash into you harder, your hips held down with a rivaling force by Joel as he fucks you harder with his fingers, sucking hard on your clit with a flutter of his tongue while you writhe against him. You scream out your moans, unashamed and liberated as your legs shake and you’re blinded completely for those few blissful moments.

You sag, but Joel keeps going, sending your hips twitching when he laps and kisses along your lips, poking a tongue into your entrance and alternating with his fingers. Even when you tiredly call out to him, he doesn’t listen, intent on his mission to get every drop, every piece of you that he can. 

Possessed. Obsessed. Relentless. Everything you expect your Joel to be.

You’re trembling with low, weary moans passing your lips as you thrash your head side to side. “T-too much…” you murmur, yet your hips betray your words by twitching into Joel’s face, responding to his touch. 

“Again,” he demands, muffled as he barely gets the word out before he starts to eat you with an all consuming fire, grunting amongst the wet, vulgar sounds of you soaking his beard, dripping down onto the sheets. 

It nearly knocks you breathless, the way that your second high tears through you so unexpectedly. Your body tenses, a silent moan caught in your throat as your mouth hangs wide open, hips pressed tightly to Joel’s mouth.

He only gives you relief when you sag into the bed, body hanging heavily from the restraints. Joel pulls back, sitting on his knees. He takes in your face, glowing with a sheen of sweat, your limp form undone by him, and your fluttering eyes that struggle to stay open. Dipping down, he kisses your thighs once more, making you shiver as the heat finally leaves your body. He moves to untie the leash from around your wrists, and pulls you into his hold as soon as your arms drop down.

“W-what about you, daddy?” you ask, blinking up at him. Even with Joel’s help, you don’t know everything about sex, but one thing you do know for certain is that he always finishes too.

Joel grins softly at your innocent care for him, and his head shakes. “Don’t worry ‘bout me. This was all about you, sweetheart.”

His unexpected selflessness stuns you, and you wrinkle your brow. “Really? But are you -” 

He presses a finger to your lips, cutting you off. “I’m alright,” he says, grabbing your hand and bringing it to his lap, pressing it hard to his crotch. You’d expected a bulge or for Joel to be as needy as you’d been, but all you find is the fabric of his pants, and it’s wet. Your eyes widen as you gasp softly, staring back into his as he smiles devilishly at you.

“You…?” You can barely ask, glancing down at the dark stain, your face hot with embarrassment for having to ask, for wondering how it was even possible.

“Takes a special girl,” he tells you, making you press your lips together to suppress the beaming smile that wants to take over at the thought. Somehow Joel has this ability to oscillate between something so sweet and doting and the compelling, dominant force he’d been only minutes ago. “Made daddy feel so good he couldn’t help himself.”

“Wow…” you say, barely audible. “So you… you…?” Your unwilling stammer makes your cheeks blaze again, wishing you sounded more confident.

He gives you a smug nod while he thumbs your chin, seemingly unbothered by your shyness. “Made a mess of me, blossom. Maybe I should have you help clean daddy up.”

You lick your lips, giving him a curious look before glancing to the doorway and the bathroom beyond.

“Not like that, baby,” he tells you, grabbing one of your wrists, placing it on the waistband of his pants. “Help daddy take it out now,” he rasps, giving your hand a squeeze. 

You give him a long stare, blinking as you try to work out what he’s getting at. At the warning raise of his brows, you start on the button of his jeans, glancing tentatively up to his burning gaze. Even after all this time, you still feel like you’re fumbling, so unsure of yourself when Joel asks you to take the lead, even if just for a moment. The steady pressure of his hand on yours reminds you that he’s here every step of the way, that he’s still the one here to guide you, teach you.

The sound of his zipper coming down and denim rustling cuts through the tension in the room, and you wrap your hand around his shaft, warm and heavy and sticky in your palm. Joel wasn’t exaggerating when he said you’d made a mess of him. He smiles, sucking air through his teeth when you give his softening cock a gentle squeeze.

“That’s it, baby. You handle daddy’s cock so well now, don’t you?”

You watch as it comes into view out of his jeans, covered and nearly dripping with his release. Your chest heaves, feeling yourself turned on all over again by the sight. It’s strangely beautiful, knowing you had a hand in undoing Joel even a fraction of the amount that he does to you.

He releases your hand and uses his own fingers to swipe at his shaft, gathering up his cum and bringing it to your lips. They’re already halfway parted, and his fingers slip past easily. They sit in your mouth and the taste of him invades your senses, sticky and tangy on your tongue.

“Gonna clean up the mess you made, or will I have to ask you, honey?” Joel says softly, and you finally close your lips around his fingers, sucking softly. He sighs, watching the bits of his cum that had smeared on your lips on the way in only spread as he pulls his fingers out. He goes back again, repeating the motion, but with a lack of urgency that makes the entire situation so sensual and intimate your skin starts to prickle with desire again.

You find yourself scooting closer, your hips with a mind of their own as you approach his lap. He  puts a hand on the small of your back, urging you closer, until you’re straddling his knee. How is it that Joel always seems to know exactly what you need? The contact of your bare pussy on his denim makes you moan quietly as he pushes his fingers into your mouth again and you’re flooded with a fresh taste of him. 

“That’s daddy’s good girl,” he praises you, eyes watching you with a renewed reverence as you lick his spend off your lips in between another pass of his fingers, your hips slowly starting to grind against him. “Take what you need, honey.”

You relish in it a little more each time he brings his fingers to your mouth, tiny little whimpers that sound so desperate to your ears start to slip out, but you don’t care. You’re basking in his attention - his scent and his taste and everything Joel invading your space over and over again as you grind against him harder. 

“Jesus… that’s it, that’s it,” Joel urges you on, looking down to see the newly soaked spot on his pants as you shamelessly ride him, panting with desperation. 

“M-more… please…” you beg him, and Joel shoves his fingers deeper this time, making you moan around them. You’re addicted, something strange and foreign taking a hold of you, like you could stay like this the entire day. Just letting him sustain you on nothing but his spend over and over and over again. You feel feral, your hips twitching and shaking as you lap at his fingers before they’ve even touched your lips on the next turn.

“Such a nasty fuckin’ thing you are. Fuck, baby. That’s it, take everythin’ you need. Come another time for daddy.” Joel whispers praise after praise, seeing you lose sense of the world around you. You finally break, shuddering on top of his leg and moaning around his fingers, letting him smear his cum along your lips while you whimper out pathetic little daddy’s for him.

A little pang of disappointment moves through you as you come down hard and he takes his thumb, sliding it across your lips to give you one final taste. You suck harder, relentlessly trying to get every last drop as your legs tremble.

“Thank you,” you tell him tiredly as his thumb pops out of your mouth. You let your head droop until it lands on his chest, feeling the steady motion of his breathing. “For distracting me like I needed.”

He shifts his weight, relaxing back onto the bed, settling into it with you. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he says cooly, his smile giving him away. “I was jus’ enjoyin’ my date with you.”

You’re a ball of nervous energy, thumbs twiddling in front of you as you step into the kitchen after you got cleaned up, Joel having washed you off slowly and carefully, peppering kisses along your shoulders and neck. Reality came crashing back in hard, realizing it was only hours until you’d have to face what you’d been trying to run from earlier with Joel.

Maria is back home, busy at work at the island with Tommy sidled up next to her, his lips pressing close to her ear, whispering something with a smile. Maria laughs, playfully bumping him away using her hip, sending Tommy to give her shoulder a teasing nudge in return. You feel like an intruder, watching in on an intimate moment while neither of them notice your presence.

They look so happy, so normal, and you silently pray that maybe that’s what you might look like, too. That people could look at you and Joel - maybe while you stand pressed between him and the stove while he cooks back home, or curled up on the couch with your head laid across his lap - and think the same thing about the two of you. That the first thing they’d notice wouldn’t be your collar or either of your ages, but simply that you look happy together.

”Um…” you blurt out, clearing your throat as a tiny tickle pops up. Your hands bunch up on the fabric of the same pink dress Maria had given you yesterday before letting it fall. “Can I help?”

They both greet you with warm smiles and Maria nods. “C’mon,” she offers you, waving you into the kitchen and towards the sliding glass door at the back. You step out with her into the sun, taking in the backyard from where you two stand on a small deck. It’s an expanse of overgrown grass, planter boxes full of life, and a shed on the far side that sits against a fence dividing their house from the one behind them. In some ways, Jackson reminds you of where you grew up - the homes bordering one another, green yards and family units pretending like the apocalypse wasn’t able to land on their doorstep at any moment.

You clear your drifting mind, blinking hard, then catch up with Maria who is watching you carefully as you pull yourself out of your fog. She doesn’t say anything about your lack of focus, though. She just waits until you’ve joined her over at the garden and holds out a ripe cherry tomato for you to look at. You’re grateful for it.

“Let’s pick some of these for tonight. We could roast them with the zucchini. Might taste like home, yeah?” Maria says, calling back to your conversation last night about your garden at the cabin.

You gently pinch the perfectly red and shiny little tomato between your fingers, inspecting it with a soft smile. “Thank you,” you say, dousing it with more significance by stopping to look Maria in the eyes. “For letting me stay. Everything. I know… It’s got to be hard. I don’t want you all fighting over me.” The guilt of what you’ve unknowingly stirred up has been eating at you, and you hope that Maria understands you’d never intended for any of this. 

Maria gives you a little shake of her head, moving to pluck one of the tomatoes off and put it in a ceramic bowl she’d brought with her. “Told you that you’re welcome here, and I meant that. Joel is…” She pauses, licking her lips and pressing them together. “It’s no secret he’s not my favorite brother in law I’ve ever had,” she says, letting out a small laugh. “But he’s my family now. So if you’re… with him…” Maria strains out the words with a small grimace, quickly composing herself. “Then you’re family, too.”

You feel a sting behind your eyes at her words - a family. God, it hurts to hear the word, to feel it rattle you to your bones so deeply. 

Hadn’t you had a family? Twice?

It never felt like this before, though. There was always some semblance of strings attached to the care doled out onto you. Maria made it sound so easy, so simple to declare someone your family. Harry and Josephine, they’d fed and cared for you, taught you to navigate the complicated landscape that was being a virtuous woman. But here in the garden with Maria, the smell of ripe vegetables right under your nose as the breeze blows through, you feel her words ring truer than anything those two have done for you. It makes you feel immediately ungrateful, a wave of disappointment rolling through your stomach and making you feel sick. 

Keeping your eyes down as your fingers pluck a tomato off the vine, you nod solemnly. “Thank you,” you say again, unsure of how else to express the entirety of what you feel right now. She gives you a solemn nod of understanding in return.

“Nervous for tonight?” Maria asks you on your way back into the house after you’d picked a bowl full of tomatoes together in a comfortable silence. She seemed to be letting you talk when you felt comfortable, but your head has been too much of a swirling mess to strike up much conversation.

“I am a little…” you admit timidly. “But I’m trying to be strong.” For Joel, you think to yourself, omitting the words for Maria’s sake. 

“Don’t be,” she says casually. “You don’t have to be strong for anyone, you know. You’ve been through a lot. It can just be… dinner.” You snap your eyes to her face as she opens the back door for you two, but she’s not looking back. Her words had been said like it was the easiest thing in the world to follow her advice, but you know it comes from somewhere deeper. Maria has a tough exterior - she’s kind but seems to be a little brash when it comes to protecting what’s hers, what she believes in. It makes her more like Joel than you think she realizes. 

“Where’s -” you start, flicking your eyes around nervously, sensing the house’s suddenly eerie silence as you close the sliding glass door behind you.

“I think Tommy dragged Joel out to see about getting some chicken for tonight. We forgot to get it earlier,” she replies quickly, and you feel relief flow through you, dampening an anxiety you’d nearly not even registered. The same feeling that comes up any time you aren’t with Joel now. “We share things like that around here. The community system and everything.”

“My old community was like that too. We shared a lot of things, helped each other out,” you say with an involuntary softness towards your old life that surprises you.

Maria stares at you thoughtfully for a moment, her head tilted as she studies you leaning against the counter. “Can I ask you something?” she asks, moving to the sink to start rinsing the tomatoes. “You can slice those up,” she throws over her shoulder, nodding towards a large bunch of zucchini on the counter. 

You tentatively take the knife already laid out, swallowing at her tone. “S-sure…”

“Do you miss it? Your old home?”

“In some ways, yes,” you admit thoughtfully. “Just the sense of… being around other people. But mostly not, now that I’ve found something… else.” You keep your words vague, feeling a strange, anxious pulling in your core at sharing too many details of your private life with Joel with someone you know stands on shaky ground with him.

She seems to read your mind, wanting to pry further. “Even now? I know Tommy told you about Joel’s past - Scarlett and his uh, history with other women. How are you feeling? About all of it?”

You wrinkle your brow slightly, concentrating downwards. For a beat, the only sound is the knife hitting the cutting board as you slice through the zucchini, splitting it in half and beginning to cut little half moons into it.

“I guess it made me sad at first and I wish he would have told me, would tell me more. But I know it has nothing to do with me, not really. It was a long time ago… and maybe it’s stupid to be jealous that she… she was with him. People are telling me that Joel is the possessive one, but I think I am a little bit, too…” You breathe out a tiny laugh, smiling softly to yourself. “I know I’m not just a replacement, though. I-I’m special,” you assert, feeling pride welling up in your chest, maybe the first time you’d ever truly believed those words about yourself. Thanks to Joel, to his constant doting and affection that it could even be possible to see yourself in such a light. “H-he makes me feel like… I’m more than all of the other stuff. I just wish I had been able to be there sooner for him.”

“How’s that?” Maria asks, even toned as her brow moves upwards.

“We’re good for each other,” you say quietly, suddenly feeling self conscious spilling so much to a virtual stranger. “I wish we’d met sooner so I could have helped him.”

You look over your shoulder to see Maria at the opposite counter, nodding pensively. “I hope you’re right - that you’re good for him,” she replies solemnly. “You know there’s a lot of history there, a lot of hurt. I want to believe… that this could be good, but you didn’t see the worst of it.”

“I know,” you reply, sighing. Maria comes up behind you as you stare down at the cutting board, eyes glazing over as you find yourself lost in thought once again. She puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder and squeezes. “I just want all of this to be over.”

“All you need to do is know what you want, the life you want to live, yeah? You have options now, you’re not stuck somewhere like… before.” Her words are vague but you know that’s on purpose, that she sees the life you’d lived with Joel as equally lacking in freedom to where you spent your entire upbringing.

“Why are you being so nice to me after I caused so many problems for you? Aren’t you upset that I like being with Joel?” The words spill out of you, just one of the many fears you’ve been holding onto so tightly coming the slightest bit unwound.

She blinks a few times, brows furrowed as she studies your face when you dare to lift your eyes to hers. “I am upset about seeing what you’re going through. But what I don’t think you get is that none of this is your fault.”

Her words catch you so off guard that you freeze, knife gripped in your hand and hovering over the last bits of zucchini. Maria seemed to have a gift for reading people, or maybe you were easier to see through than you’d thought. You’d been carrying this situation around like the entire weight of it was on your shoulders, like you had to please everybody around you in what you chose to do with it. To hear her verbalize it makes it too real, too much outside the confines of just you and Joel. 

“How do I make it hurt less? Telling them…”

She sighs softly. “That you want to stay with Joel?” She’s said your decision more clearly than you’ve been able to out loud, too struck by guilt to admit it. You only nod, putting your eyes down.

“Do you think you’d be able to see them again, if that’s what you tell them?”

Your head shakes. “I don’t, no. They wouldn’t… want to. Their lives are too different, they already see me like I’m broken now, even more than before.” You fight the emotion from your voice, but know you sound as hurt as you feel. Years of pain from them bubbling up, all the things you’d never thought to question because it just was. Even with all of that, the debt you owe them for raising you feels like a punch to the gut when you consider telling them you’re staying with a man you’ve only met months ago.

The crease between Maria’s brows deepens, her usual no-nonsense expression softening for you. She sees all of it - your past, your pain, your heart too swollen with love to know what to do with all of it - and leans over and wraps you into her arms, squeezing you. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “It’s going to be okay, though. Promise.”

You frown at her when she pulls back. “How do you know?” you ask.

A brief moment of silence follows where you see her thinking, like moments of her life are flashing by her right until this very moment with you - a strange, unwelcome girl that landed in her life.

“I just do.”

When the knock inevitably comes to the front door, you freeze, your nerves frayed and on edge from worrying over this dinner the entire day. You’re still not sure that you’ve even processed Harry and Josephine being here of all places. How could fate have intervened so cruelly to put you in this situation, knowing that there isn’t a right solution, a decision that hurts nobody involved?

Harry and Josephine wouldn’t have it, you know they wouldn’t. Their attachment to you was… firm, much like Joel’s. You’re sure they could at least agree on that. Although you could never quite understand why they felt that way. 

After being the less than perfect child you know they’d hoped for, swallowed by your grief those first few years, you’d wondered why they continued to keep you around. Then came your lack of care towards the rules and commands the community doled out on everyone, which should have put them off of you. For some reason, you’d always found those rules to blame for your mother’s death with nothing else to go on. If it hadn’t been for their belief system, could your father have had an easier death, less of a shock to your mother’s system? Over the years you’d started to find comfort in those same rules, the familiarity helping you feel close to your long gone family and hold onto something stable.

Joel nudges you, and it takes you back to the present, where you’re being urged towards the front door, feeling his warm hand splayed across your lower back in support and possession. Right off the bat, you know he wants to remind the dinner guests who you belong to.

You stand glued to Joel’s side as Tommy opens the door, fighting the urge to slink behind him and hang onto his shirtsleeve like a child. It’s hard, when all you’ve ever wanted was that - to be a child, to be allowed that freedom to just exist, and Joel is maybe the first person to give that to you. In his own way, of course. 

“Hello,” you mutter in their direction as they look at you expectantly, standing straight with your arms at your sides, eyes dropped slightly - signs of respect they’d drilled into you.

“Oh, come here,” Josephine says, her tone strained with emotion you can’t quite place. She steps towards you, pulling you into her arms, and suddenly you remember. The rarely seen kind side buried beneath the rigid exterior she puts on to keep the precious order in her life from falling apart.

It’s awkward, taking you a moment to fully embrace her back, realizing that even before everything with the raiders, before your lives had been torn apart, she’d hardly ever hugged you. It feels nice, knowing there may be more to Josephine than she’d ever let on, and a flicker of hope stirs in your gut. 

“Hi Josie,” you whisper more kindly this time, watching her tight smile as she pulls back and spots Joel hovering behind you, hawk-like in his vigilance. Harry snatches you right out of Josephine’s grip, giving you an even tighter hug and you allow yourself to relax into it, if only slightly.

“We still can’t believe it,” he says breathlessly into your ear before pulling back, leaving his hands on your shoulders and taking you in for a moment with sweeping, studying eyes. The tension is thick between the two parties, you can feel it already, knowing this will likely end up being anything but a simple dinner together.

“Come on in,” Tommy interjects with what sounds like as much hospitable gusto as he can manage, feeling the air shift as Joel stands broodingly off to the side, observing. 

“Mm, howdy…” Joel mutters the halfhearted sound in greeting under his breath as they pass by, led out of the foyer and into the living room by Tommy and Maria. His arms are folded tightly across his chest, his head bowed down as he watches them move past from underneath his dark brows. You hang back and touch a gentle hand to his forearm, which instantly makes him relax his arms to his sides, albeit with a scowl still plastered on his face. 

Your small, encouraging smile seems to be enough to get him to follow you as you trail behind the group. You take in Josephine, her familiar small frame clad in a long, modest dress that looks far too hot for the summer heat that’s been sweeping through Wyoming. It strikes you as odd in the moment how little you’d thought about things like that before, how pointless it had seemed to question them. You’d have been wearing that same dress, too, if they still had their say about it.

It’s anything but comfortable as you all settle in at the dining table, the scraping of chairs being pushed out and back in, and rustling fabric of clothing the only sounds for far too long.

“I -” you stutter out, the sound caught in your throat when Josephine speaks up first.

“Thank you for inviting us. You have no idea how… truly regretful we are about yesterday. A shock to the system will do that for you. Won’t it, dear?” Josephine turns to Harry on the last question, smoothing her dress in her lap. 

“We could hardly sleep, we felt so utterly… distraught over the entire thing. Had to pray half the night over it. You must know… we didn’t anticipate… we never would have wanted to hurt you,” Harry says to you, reaching a hand out onto the table, an invitation that makes your heart clench along with your stomach. Their attitudes tonight, so distant from the two people you knew months ago, starts to make your head spin a little. Harry’s hand quickly clenches, and then flips over onto the table in defeat when you refuse to take it.

“I’m glad we can all get together then, yeah?” Tommy asks genially, yet the strain of holding the situation together already wears at his voice. You can practically read his already weary thoughts: this is going to be a long night.

“Yeah,” you say quietly, giving Tommy an encouraging lift of your face, trying to form it into some kind of smile for him. You know how hard he and Maria are trying for you and Joel right now, and you owe them this - a pleasant enough evening to hash things out between all of you. You can only hope that Joel is feeling the same form of gratitude, but the perpetual frown on his face shakes your confidence. 

“H-how is everyone? Or… I guess…” Your hands twist in your lap feeling guilt and sadness shoot through you at the memories of that day. “Did a lot of you end up here?”

Harry nods. “We were lucky, so many of us. Enough of us to rebuild. It’s been hard, not knowing what came next, but we know that Callum will lead us down the right path.”

You feel something inside of you shift at hearing his name. You should have figured anything would have been done to save someone as precious and irreplaceable as Callum. Your blood runs a little colder - there was always something about the man that inspired fear despite the fact that he was generally very kind to you. He’d had a hand in disciplining you before, but Josephine always said it should be an honor to have someone like him so interested in your spiritual well-being. It hadn’t always quite felt like that to you, though. 

“He - he’s here?” you ask, trying to tighten your voice from the wavering it’s threatening at you. Out of the corner of your eye you see Joel stiffen and his narrowed eyes as he studies your reaction to the mention of the group’s leader. You’re surprised to hear it, now that you think harder about it. Callum was risking exposure to a new myriad of people and beliefs, when before your secrecy and obscurity had been key to your survival. Although you suppose that hadn’t saved any of you from what happened, and desperate times would make even an obstinate man like Callum reevaluate things.

“Well you know he’s a busy man - trying to keep things going, counseling residents, all while finding us a new place to call home,” Josephine explains, her usual reverence for Callum bubbling up in her voice and sparkling in her usually cold eyes. “But he is staying here along with the rest of us. It’s been a time for all of us to get… closer.” She grins a little at the last word, a secret little gesture that you aren’t sure you can understand yet.

“I - I see. I hope he’s well,” you say politely. “I’m glad you two are okay, too.” You realized that you hadn’t quite expressed the sentiment to them yet, and it was true. You had always hoped that they made it out alive just as you had over these months you’d spent at Joel’s. You only wish circumstances were different, that maybe it had always just stayed as a vague hope, never to be confronted again. 

“So considerate.” Josephine clicks her tongue at you. “Haven’t lost all your manners living with him then, have you?”

You gape at her, feeling Joel’s body somehow tense even further than you’d thought possible next to you. Maria interrupts the impending awkward, stretching silence to announce that everyone should eat, proudly explaining how much of a group effort it was to get the meal together. 

Everyone’s pleasant remarks as they look down at their full plates after filling them up in the kitchen feels like only a weak balm to the discontent slowly simmering beneath it all. Tommy squeezes Maria’s shoulder as he looks proudly at the meal and gives her a semi-private smile, silent communication between two people in love.

“It’s not all bad, like you’re thinking,” you say to Josephine, finally finding your voice. “He isn’t… I’m still me.”

She gives you a sympathetic look imbued with her usual superiority, and it makes your blood run hot with frustration. “Oh, darling, you don’t know anything about it. You’re blind as always to the ways of the world, thinking so well of everyone, when you should be vigilant. Not letting the first man you see rip away everything you’ve ever learned.”

“Hey now,” Tommy warns her quickly, his fork pointed in her direction. “We’re here to have a nice meal together, yeah?”

Josephine studies Tommy, seeming impressed at his boldness. “In that case, I’ll get right to our point so we can enjoy the meal together.” Her attention turns to Joel, brooding and quiet across the table from her. “We just want her back. Want to start our new lives when Callum gets the sanctuary ready for us. Put all of this behind us - the raiders, losing everything, this awful period in our lives.” Josephine pauses, letting the emotions wash over her before she tenses, steadying her gaze on Joel’s face first, then yours. “We’ve decided it’s non-negotiable.”

Joel lets out a quiet snort next to you, shaking his head. Your hand splays on his thick thigh immediately, reminding him to keep his cool for his brothers’ sake, even if you wouldn’t mind watching the way Joel so vehemently protects you.

“What do you mean? Y-you all… are leaving Jackson?” you squeak out, glancing nervously at Joel to check in, finding him sitting stone faced with a tightly set jaw.

Josephine nods curtly. “Yes, we are. Callum has done wonderful work making sure we have a safe, new home. Even some people here in Jackson seem interested in joining us - our story, our way of living.”

You watch as Maria’s brow wrinkles slightly at the last line, her lips parting, but she decides against saying anything.

Josephine, the observant woman she is, catches Maria’s falter and moves to explain further. “We know you value your community, but so do we. Any new members are not only welcome, but a necessity to our survival.”

“Sorry, tell me if I’ve got this right,” Joel huffs out, breaking his silence and sitting forward. He locks eyes with Josephine, ignoring Harry in his periphery. A smart man - understanding who really pulls the strings, the one with the actual venom in this relationship. “You’ve been preachin’ your shit to the people here in Jackson? Pullin’ ‘em away from their homes here to join you in your… what was it you called it? Sanctuary? Yeah, real safe for this one, wasn’t it?” Joel makes a show of wrapping his arm around your shoulder, yanking you closer to show just how safe you are, thanks to him.

“Please -” you whisper, eyes wide and searching his face, already too far gone in the way it’s screwed up in anger. 

“No, they need to answer for it,” he snips, his eyes softening the slightest bit when he sees you recoil in fear. “You want to act like you care, like she means so much, but you let her go. Can’t get upset I was there to pick up the pieces of this girl, bring her back and see the value in her that y’all took the liberty of ignorin’ for years.”

Harry and Josephine both sputter from across the table. “V-value? What would you know about how we value her? The best -” Harry clears his throat, swallowing down his anger. “The best thing that happened to us right here.”

“It’s funny…” Joel leans forward on the table, lifting his eyes to Harry’s. “How I don’t believe a damn word comin’ out of your mouths.”

Josephine’s scoff cuts into the tight, silent tension. “You don’t know the first thing about valuing her. Mind the one thing you clearly want from her, isn’t that right? A young body to keep you warm at night, is that it? She’s hardly - she’s not herself anymore because of you.” She looks both you and Joel up and down in disgust. “You’ve ruined everything we worked for, ruined her.”

The way they’re speaking about you as if you’re not in the room makes you feel small, the brave version of yourself ready to come into tonight and stand up for what you want shrinks until you can’t find her anymore.

The room erupts at Josephine’s comments. Maria and Tommy start trying to de-escalate with words that overlap each other, their palms out in a calming gesture. Comments of “too far” and “let’s all talk this out” start to blend together until Joel’s voice booms above it.

“The hell is wrong with you?!” he cries out, ignited eyes flicking between Harry and Josphine. “Ruined her? Ruined her?! Who the hell raised her?!”

The couple shrinks back slightly at his raised voice, their first signs of weakness in this standoff. Joel’s broad body suddenly seems to fill much more of the room as he commands their attention, nostrils flaring and cheeks turning a steadier shade of red.

“I- well -” Harry tries to speak, quickly pressing his lips back together as silence descends on the room.

“Huh? Who was it?” Joel demands. “You think I ruined her? I saved her. And not in your sanctimonious bullshit way of savin’ people.”

“Daddy…” you breathe out, looking at him in wonder. His fierce defense of you is beautiful to watch, but you know it’s not going to help make this any easier.

The attention quickly shifts, the air around you moving to a halt, making your stomach turn. “What did she just say? What did you call him?” Josephine sputters out, her eyes flashing between you and Joel. 

Your lips tighten as your face heats in embarrassment under her calculated, scrutinizing gaze. Joel only doubles down on his near feral expression, clearly loving the way he can so easily antagonize the people who pose a threat to what he has with you. 

He gives them a sly grin, leaning his elbows onto the table, fire igniting in his eyes. “It bother you? That she thinks of me that way? Better at takin’ care of her than you two ever were?”

“Please,” you whisper again, a hand firmly planted on Joel’s thigh, squeezing to snap him out of it. “We can’t fight.”

“You’ve… made her sick,” Harry spits out, sounding choked up. “Darling, can’t you see that?” He looks to you and you’re frozen, your stomach tight and suddenly the half eaten plate of food in front of you makes you nauseous. Harry is out of his chair, coming around the table to your side, but Joel quickly puts his arms around you, pulling you close in an attempt to shield you from him.

“Don’t touch her,” he grits out, each word a sharp, new knife pulled out in defense. Harry lingers in shock, his hands dropping before he slinks back to his chair, defeated. 

“I don’t want to go…” you blurt out quietly, swallowing down the lump in your throat, willing your voice to go higher. “I don’t want to come with you guys. I want to stay with Joel.”

You hear a rush of air out of Joel’s nose next to you, the hand around your shoulder squeezing lightly, pride emanating from him. The weight on your shoulders lifts, and you take a deep breath, squaring yourself to meet their gaze. Josephine is unreadable, her head cocked as she blinks at you. She’s cool, calm, and collected when you’d expected an outburst, her hand wrapping around your wrist and dragging you out of the house. It sends a chill through your veins when a grimace spreads across her face. 

“All we want,” she says through gritted teeth, turning her attention to Joel again. “Is to get our daughter back. We’d lost a piece of ourselves when we realized how wrong we were for ever letting her out of our sight. Wondering how to get her back, if she’s alive. You’d understand that, wouldn’t you, Joel?” 

The cold calculation of her words pulls the air out of the room entirely, and you sense everybody else around you stiffening, a palpable tension radiating off of them. You seem to be the only one still able to move, turning your head to look up at Joel, who is as pale as you’ve ever seen him, eyes fixed on Josephine in a look you can’t decipher. Your lips part, yet nothing comes out but a strangled sound of questioning.

“Isn’t that right? That you’d do anything to get her back? We’re only doing the same as any parent would do.”

A low, husky sound climbs its way out of Joel’s throat, his fists clenched so tight that they begin to shake before he slides his gaze to his brother. Tommy’s face is screwed up in guilt and shock as he processes the quickly unraveling situation.

“What the hell did you do?” he roars, pushing back from the table, his chair clattering behind him. He stands up as he unclenches his fists, propping himself on the table by his palms. He hangs his head, nostrils flaring with each breath, but Tommy can only stutter across the table from him. 

“Da - Joel…” you whisper to no avail, your voice barely anything above a small squeak. You’re too afraid to touch him, but you want him to look at you, to see that softness return to his dark eyes as he explains in that way only he can what’s happening.

“J-Joel, I didn’t - I never thought -” Tommy scrambles for his words, his voice shaky as his eyes dart around the table, darkening when he sees Josephine’s satisfied expression.

“What did you do?” Joel asks again, punctuating each word through his heavy breathing. 

“I was just tryin’ to relate when we first met, I didn’t mean - I knew they lost theirs an’ just mentioned it, knowin’ we’ve been through that pain. I never would have if I’d known… fuck….” Tommy suddenly slumps in defeat, and Maria quickly holds onto him, whispering low reassurances. 

There’s a rushing in your ears that starts to drown out everything else, threatens to pull you away from reality as you try to put the pieces of this conflict together. You’re looking from person to person, torn between speaking up and letting things unfold as they are. 

“Oh, didn’t you know? She should know, if she doesn’t,” Josephine says with condescension, seeing your lost expression. At Joel’s angry silence and your despondent one, she continues. “His daughter, poor thing passed -”

“Don’t!” Joel finally yells out, “Don’t fuckin’ talk about her.”

A dizziness takes over and you fight to stay upright, blinking hard as your breath speeds up. Your thoughts swirl violently inside your head, matching the tune of your stomach. 

“Sarah…” you murmur before fully realizing you’d connected the dots. You grip onto the edge of the table to steady yourself before you look at Joel. His wild gaze is on you, the fear pooling in his widened eyes all the confirmation you need. 

How could you have been so stupid to not know before? To not ask? You’d seen the board, hanging in a place of pride above the fireplace here at Tommy and Maria’s, yet you were too absorbed in your own problems to even think twice about the names written on it with fateful dates below.

“She needed to know,” Josephine says, folding her hands in her lap. “If you hadn’t told her already, somebody needed to. He’s sick, darling. And he’s spread that sickness to you. Straying from us, our life, isn’t the end, it’s only the beginning for you. You’ll know just how sick you were, and how blessed you’ll have been to recover from that.” A shaky hand of hers reaches in your direction, desperate, clingy, looking to grasp onto you. You ignore it as your vision blurs in front of you.

The air is so thick with tension it starts to choke you as everyone sits silently, all eyes on you, a  mixture of unease and agitation staining their faces. But Tommy’s eyes look the saddest - dark and wide, his pupils blown out and irises glistening. His strained expression, full of regret, like he’s let you down, forces you to look down at the table.

“Get out,” Joel says, surprisingly controlled, yet sounding detached, unlike himself. Not your Joel. 

He slowly tears his scornful gaze from across the table to stare down at you. His broad form towering over where he stands, unblinking, nostrils flaring, shaking with unbridled anger - a true force to be reckoned with. 

“It’s not your place -” Harry tries to cut in, quickly silenced by the scraping of Tommy’s chair as he stands up, making Harry shrink back down into himself.

“I actually agree with my brother. Think it’s best for now,” Tommy replies.

You just blink softly in surprise at Tommy’s defense of his brother, fighting the tightness in your throat as Joel continues his silent staredown with you, trying to read you. You get the feeling that for the first time since you’ve met him, he can’t. The rest of the room seems to fade away from you - Tommy arguing with Josephine, her shrill voice threatening to cut through the rushing in your ears.

“Is it true?” you whisper, watching his eyes lose their composure for the briefest second. You know he wants to lie, deflect, and push it away again as he’s done every other time. Instead, Joel holds your gaze, and you watch his lips move, barely hearing the word.

“Yes.”

You’re up and moving, your feet carrying you as they pound against the plank flooring on your way upstairs. You rub at your eyes, trying to swipe the tears blurring your vision. The bathroom calls to you as your insides churn but instead you shut yourself in the bedroom, locking the door behind you and slumping down to the floor, putting your head on your knees. 

Deep breaths. It’s what you learned to do when you were overwhelmed at ten years old, facing the loss of your entire family, unsure of what a life like that could possibly hold for you. You can’t remember now which one of them taught it to you, the elders and members of the community who had visited you in that lonely house, that foreign house that was not yours but grew to be the place you’d called home.

Now you weren’t sure you had one at all.

It’s loud, so loud in your head beyond the noise of the shaky breaths you exhale into your legs, tickling the skin. You hardly hear them at all, or the knocking that comes to the door until it turns into a light pounding, a familiar voice at the other end of it. 

“Open up, c’mon, darlin’. Don’t - don’t do this -“ Joel calls out to you. You itch to simultaneously be near him and as far away from him as you could possibly get, and it messes with your mind.

“Why? W-why didn’t you tell me?” you ask him through your tears. Your chest tightens, that now all too familiar feeling of it caving in, your entire world changing, ravages you. You curl tighter into yourself, unable to stop the tears from flowing. “You had so much time…”

“I didn’t mean - I can’t go there. That’s why. Some things, sweetheart, you just -” His voice strains in frustration followed by the sound of his foot hitting the wooden planks beneath it. “Can’t talk about.”

You’re quiet for a long beat. “Even with me?” you manage to squeak out, unsure if he even heard you judging by the long pause that follows. You aren’t trying to hide your heartbreak from him, the honest, raw emotion of it coating the words that roll off your tongue.

“Yeah, even with you, honey. I - I ain’t like you, I can’t just… say it like you did. About your parents.”

You slowly shake your head as a fresh wave of panic washes over you, pulling you under, drowning you. “You’ll never… I’m so… stupid,” you spit out angrily, barely caring if he hears what you’re saying. “To believe I meant something. It was all about her. You don’t even - you can’t even love me.”

His voice is rushed, dangerously on the precipice between anger and desperation. “‘Course I do - fuck - please jus’ open this door, baby. Please. I’ll break the damn door down if I have to, just… let me in.” 

The exact thing you’re asking him to do for you. Let you in.

“I need air… I need…” you gasp out quietly, your weary, stinging eyes flicking to the window that’s thrown open, curtains billowing in the midst of an evening breeze blowing in. 

“Shit. I can’t hear you, baby. C’mon just open up and talk to me. I’ll tell you more, I’ll -”

His words fall on your now deaf ears as you stand up on shaky knees, praying they’ll support you as you pad over to the window and look down. It’s easier than you’d expected, practically a sign. There’s a small outcropping of roofing that you can climb out onto, sidling your way from there to the ground shouldn’t be too tricky, but…

You glance back at the door, hearing Joel’s pounding ramping up, and Tommy’s hushed voice now behind it, as usual trying to diffuse the situation that is his stubborn, possessive brother. It’s only for a bit, you think to ease the guilt, only to get some much needed alone time while you think.

You love Joel, but he can’t keep dropping bomb after bomb on you and expect you to spring back just as easily each time into his arms again. You know you’d follow him anywhere, that your need for him, your equal obsession with him runs too deep to let go of, but you’re tired. So tired, worn down from trying to love a man who you’re not sure wants you to actually know him. He wants to be your everything - your daddy, taking care of you, taking care of everything - but can’t give you more than a sliver of himself in the way that matters most to you. You know this behavior isn’t news, but it cuts deeper this time, knowing what you know now. A long kept secret, held so tightly to him, and you wonder if he’d ever have told you.

A daughter. The word restlessly floats through your head as you turn back towards the outside, fading sun along the grass in the backyard, and yank open the window with new resolve. You swipe the tears from your eyes when you hear the relentless question pass through your mind without permission once again as you swing one leg over the sill and then the other. 

Was she like you?

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, knowing that Joel finding you gone will send him into a panic and anger him. But like his own words earlier, it’s time for you to get what you want. Damn the consequences, damn Joel and his lies and withheld secrets from you.

All you want is some air.

The stables beckon to you of the few places you know in Jackson - the comfort of Willow’s warm, familiar presence and scent filling your nose as you bury your face into her neck. You’d pushed on through streets full of people, head low to hide your teary eyes, finding yourself here before you could realize exactly where your heart had led you. The dull thuds of your footsteps, shoeless in your haste, you now realize as your panic slowly dies down, are muffled by the soft hay in Willow’s stall. She greets you with a sweet whinny that makes your heart clench.

You know it would look bad if you were found here, like you were trying to ride off on Willow and escape for good. What if you were? What if you left all of this behind, found somewhere you could start over again? Somewhere far, far away from the unbearable pain that seemed to have a permanent residence inside of you now. For a second, you question your subconscious for bringing you here, then shake your head into Willow’s mane as a shock of terror rips through you at the thought. A life without Joel doesn’t feel like much of a life at all, you realize.

“Of course not. Right, Willow? I’d never make you leave Joel behind.” You say the thought out loud as you stroke along the sides of her head. She gives you a tiny snort, nuzzling you back, and you manage to crack a faint smile before it dissolves into your lip quivering.

“What am I going to do?” You sob, burying your head back into Willow’s mane, wrapping your arms around her neck. One hand grips tightly onto the o-ring of your collar, trying to steady yourself in the familiar feel of it. “Why do I love him?” you whisper quietly.

Because he is kind, in his own ways. He treats you well and is the first person to be honest with you about the world. Not his world, no, but he’s been honest where it counts so much of the time. Never skimping on the harsh realities, never trying to hide what others see as his depravity. He’s never seen you as flawed, as something to be unwanted - all of the things you’d presumed about yourself. You were his gift, you remind yourself with a pull at your heart.

Most of all, you know that he loves you, despite what you’d said to him. That love is twisted, you know, tainted from his past bleeding into the present and your future together. Yet when has this love ever been pure? From the moment he put you in chains - in more ways than one - and didn’t allow a seed of doubt to grow and send you away from him, it was impure. From the second he’d laid eyes on you, obsession already blooming, deciding the exact trajectory of the rest of your lives together, it never stood a chance to be anything pure. You’d started to believe that maybe no love really could be. It was raw and kept people staring, easily twisted into something sinful by strangers who knew nothing about what the two of you really shared.

Could he care for you like he does if he hadn’t experienced the loss of a child? Could he have this complete dominance, obsession, and reign over your every move if he hadn’t been brought to his knees all those years ago, hardened and ruthless by such a tragedy?

This is the Joel you get now, the one who has been through unspeakable things, ones he may never be able to share with you. Not the version you picture of him in his home, twenty years ago and happier with less stress weathering his handsome face. Not the version where he wakes up one day, warmly telling you how much he loves you in flowery words like you read in your romance novels. No proclamations, no simplicity in this life with him. 

He told you once that it would hurt, this love. And by God, it does.

You know he’ll have broken the door down by now, fear and anger coursing through him when he discovers the empty, quiet room. You don’t want to worry him, and finding you gone touches a deep, primal part of his past that you don’t think you can fix, no matter how badly you want to. It makes you cry harder, wondering how instead of healing him, maybe you’re only making him fall deeper, further into this place he’s buried himself. Is he sick, like they said? 

Joel knows you well enough to find you here soon enough, you think with a sinking heart. You lift puffy eyes off of where you’re tucked into yourself, realizing at some point you’ve sunk to the floor, crouched and blinking around heavily. 

The thud of footsteps nearing makes your cheeks heat - heavy ones, certainly men’s - and you steel yourself to be faced with Joel’s wrath. A pair of droopy, unassuming eyes nearly pass you by, stopping short after doing a double take at you crumpled on the floor with red eyes, utterly defeated. 

“My child, why are you crying?” he asks, soft and smooth, hiding his surprise. Calculated yet charismatic, he always was. Your surprise chokes you for a moment too long and he steps inside the stall without an answer, coming down to your level. 

“You know we can fix that. Come, come,” he says, and you feel your lip wobbling all over again at the familiar face before you. The first one you’d seen all those years ago, breaking the news to you that you no longer had any living family. A strange comfort to see him now, to feel him put an arm around your shoulders, and surprisingly, to feel yourself lean into it. When he hugs you, tears spring up all over again, streaking down your cheeks and dampening the spot where your face is pressed into his cotton button down. 

“Callum,” you whimper out, sniffling. His face greets you through blurred, teary vision, an understanding smile looking back at you. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…” You stiffen, suddenly mentally thrown back to all those months ago, when his authority was sacred, when it ran through your blood as much as anybody else in your community. There was always a fear there, burrowed deep inside from the way it had been drilled into you from birth. Respect and reverence: that was what Callum deserved for leading us so fearlessly. 

He shakes his head softly, not a trace of judgment in the way he studies you. The cold man you’ve known him to be is nowhere to be seen right now. It’s a welcome relief that you’d not even known you were craving this badly. Maybe he could actually understand and help you work out your feelings, not just tell you how disgusting you are now. Josephine always said he could counsel anyone through anything. 

He stands up, towering over you and emanating that quiet power of his. “None of that. Up now, let’s get you home,” he tells you, even toned and methodical, like a man as busy and important as him has all the time in the world for you. 

Pathetic and shaking below him, he offers you his hand. It’s a lifeline, a chance for someone to help you in one of your darkest moments. Warm skin meets yours before you can think, clasping tightly onto his hand.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Bath & Body Works

Mall Rats 2! Can be read alone. But if you want-- read Mall Rats 1 here

Summary: You'll drag Joel kicking and screaming into your bubble bath if it's the last thing you do.

A/N: I am stoked about this one!

Warnings: smut, fingering, handjobs, oral sex (f receiving), rubber ducky, joel is extra cranky, dirty talk, forced bubble bath with a grumpy old man, soapy tiddies, rubber duckies, country apple scented bubble baths

WC: 3.2k

You’re going through your bag of goodies from your first trip to the mall with Joel. You’ve got your undies and bras from Victoria’s Secret, along with some candles and stuff from Bath and Body Works. 

You would have picked out more, but Joel was throwing a bitch fit about how you were taking too long to pick out body sprays and whatnot.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…just fuckin’ pick one already. They all smell like chemicals and girl. I’m gettin’ a migraine.”

“From all the smells?”

“No. You.” You ignored him and searched for body wash to match your body sprays and lotions. “C’mon. Shake a leg, sweetheart.”

“I need body wash. I can’t find it.”

“Here” Joel grabbed a random ass bottle, shoved it in your bag, wrapped his hand around your forearm and dragged your ass out of Bath and Body Works. “It’s all the same shit anyway.”

Now you’re pulling out that random ass bottle of what Joel had deemed as the same shit as body wash. And it’s not the same shit. At all. 

Relaxing Bath Bubbles

Country Apple 

Awh, shit. Guess you’re about to give Joel another migraine. 

You walk over to his house and knock on his door, your backpack full of your Bath and Body Works goodies. Rubber duckies too. You snagged them from a broken claw machine in the mall. 

Knock knock knock knock knock

“Joel, open up.”

You knock some more. Joel opens the door clad in nothing but plaid boxers, his eyes squinting and his hair wild. “The fuck do you want?”

“Need to use your bathroom,” you say. “Now. It’s an emergency.”

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Why? You know what, I don’t wanna know. Just make it quick.”

He’s perplexed, but he leads you to his ensuite bathroom anyway. He says Ellie’s bathroom downstairs is heinous. You enter the bathroom and shut the door, and Joel lays on his bed as he scribbles in his book of crossword puzzles.

The first thing you notice about Joel’s bathroom is how nice it is. Spacious, a deep and wide circular inset bathtub. How he scored this, you don’t know. You strip, leaving your clothes in a pile on the floor then fill up the tub with hot water. You toss your duckies in the water, dump some Country Apple bubble bath in the tub and watch the bubbles emerge, then light your Bath and Body Works candles and turn out the lights. 

The water is soothing and the bubbles smell nice. You lean back in the tub and relax, watching your little rubber duckies float through the bubbles.

Only when half an hour goes by does Joel realize something’s up. He’s been stuck on his puzzle for the last ten minutes and completely forgot that you’re in the bathroom. He shuts his crossword puzzle book in frustration, sets it on his nightstand and turns out the light in his room. 

The flicker of your candles through the cracks of the bathroom door catches his eye. Confused, he decides to investigate. He’s about to knock on the door when he hears a splash. 

Joel doesn’t have time for this. He barges in to find you soaking in his tub, surrounded by candles and rubber ducks. He looks like he’s gonna have a conniption fit.

“Oh, finally,” you say excitedly. “Been waiting for you.”

Irritated doesn’t even begin to describe the expression on Joel’s face at how shockingly cavalier you are about bathing in his tub. “The fuck are you doing in here?”

“Using your bathroom.” 

“You said it was an emergency.”

“Correct,” you reach for the bottle of apple scented bubble bath and toss it to Joel. “Emergency indeed.”

“We need to go over what constitutes an emergency, then. Because this shit is not an emergency. Not in the slightest.”

“It is, actually,” you counter. “That’s bubble bath. Not body wash. They are not the same.”

 Joel looks at you and he’s not sure which of you has a screw loose, but clearly something’s not right here. You fill one of your rubber duckies with water and squirt him on his tummy “The fuck is the matter with you?” he snaps. Joel snatches the toy from your hand and tosses it behind you, so you fill another ducky with water and squirt him again. “Get your ass out of my tub and go home.” 

“Take it up with Tommy. My tub’s broken. He said he’d fix it but he never did. He said to use yours.”

“Tommy did not say that.” 

“You weren’t there. You don’t know.”

“You know what? M’not doing this. Out. Now,” Joel takes a step forward and reaches his arm through the bathwater to find the drain stopper. You grab hold of his arm, biting your bottom lip as you smile mischievously. Joel glares at you. “Don’t.”

You squeeze his forearm tighter and pull with all of your might. Joel tumbles forward into the bath, water splashes over the edge of the tub and floods the floor below. Joel emerges from the water gasping. “God bless it,”  and pushes his hair out of his face, then wipes his eyes and turns to you. The look on his face pierces daggers right through you. 

In a ballsy move, before he can stand up and step out of the tub, you slide over and sit your ass on his lap. You lean back to force him against the edge of the tub. “That’s better,” you say. “Need you to be my pillow. Your tub’s uncomfortable as fuck.”

“Not gonna be your anything. Get the fuck out of my tub or so help me god I will–”

“Joel, shut up. I’m trying to relax. And you should too, because you’re kind of a crankerpuss.”

Joel scowls. “Do not call me that.” 

“Well, you’re being very hostile right now.”

Oh, he’ll show you hostile alright. You don’t know the first thing about hostility. Joel’s about to pick you up and throw your ass out of the–

Nope. Bad idea. 

It’ll make an even bigger mess on the floor. You’re not worth the water damage. And then you’ll slip and fall, crack your skull open and there’ll be blood everywhere. Hiding the body will be Joel’s next step and he’s not in the mood for that. And of course, inevitably, you’ll knock over one of your candles and set Joel’s bathroom ablaze. 

So Joel shimmies off his boxers and tosses them over the edge of the tub. They land with a wet plop. He leans back with you still on his lap, accepting his fate as your human pillow. 

“Isn’t this nice?” you ask sweetly.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Shut up.”

So you quiet down and settle against Joel’s torso as best you can. Except as the minutes pass, he still won’t relax. He’s stiff as a board. His hands are in fists, resting on either side of his thighs. He’s practicing his deep breaths and going over the serenity prayer in his head. Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

“You seem tense,” 

“Mm,” Joel says. “Wonder why. What a mystery this is. I’m stumped, truly.”

“You tend to run hot. You know. Short fuse,” 

“You tend to drive me fuckin’ nuts,” he counters. You scoop up some bubbles in your hand, and Joel grabs your wrist and shoves it back underwater. “Knock it off. S’not playtime.”

You turn so you’re facing Joel and straddled on his thighs. You lift up on your knees, reaching behind Joel to grab a couple of towels. You drive him nuts, but at least he’s getting a nice view of your soapy tits. Pros and cons. 

You fold the towel and set it behind Joel to support and cushion his neck. “Is this nicer?” you ask. 

“It’d be nice if you weren’t here. See enough of ya already.”

“Get used to it,” you reply. “Got a whole lotta mall left to explore.”

“Don’t remind me.”

You don’t bother responding. Instead, you reach for a rag and a bar of soap and begin to lather it. You lift Joel’s arm up and begin scrubbing his skin gently. 

“Quit it,” he snaps, yanking the rag from you. “Washed earlier.”

Your feelings are a little hurt and you frown. “I’m trying to be nice.”

“Don’t need you to be nice to me. Need you to get out of my house. Now finish your bath.”

You grab the bar of soap again, this time without the rag. You lather it between your hands and reach for Joel’s arm once more, this time putting more emphasis on massaging him and less on cleaning.

This, he seems more receptive to. He lets out a little sigh and his head falls back on the towel you folded for him. You massage down his arm, letting your fingers squeeze and work his biceps, then his forearm, the palm of his hand and even his fingers. Your hand accidentally nudges his half hard cock, but he doesn’t startle or move you away. 

You’re thinking about his cock. You haven’t really seen it, hardly felt it. In a seamless transition, your hand leaves Joel’s and you reach between your bodies to play with his member. He grows hard with your touch, you can feel it. In your palm, he’s thick, heavy, and long. You trace your finger over the prominent vein that climbs up his length. 

Joel sighs and reaches for your hand that’s working his shaft. “What are you doin’,” he sighs. 

“Rub-a-dub-dubbing you.”

You think your eyes deceive you as a flicker of a smirk graces Joel’s face. It’s gone in an instant, but you saw it. You’ll have to alert the media. 

“Charming,” he mumbles. 

You continue massaging his member. You’re thankful that the bubble bath led you to this moment here with Joel, but disappointed that the bubbles are hindering your view. You slide your hand up and down, letting your thumb swipe over his swollen tip. 

“Feel good?” 

“S’good, honey. Yeah, so fuckin’ good. Keep it up.”

Joel’s leaning into it now. Melting like a candle. Eyes fluttered shut, lips slightly parted as a symphony of curses and pretty noises escape his mouth.

“Fuck, darlin’. Squeezin’ me s’good.”

 His chest is rising and falling unsteadily. The flickering candlelight bounces off of his skin and gives his face a warm glow. He’s got both hands on the globes of your ass cheeks, sliding over the expanse of skin. Up your waist and down your thighs, loving every inch of your body. 

You lean forward and hold onto his shoulder with your free hand while you stroke him with your other. You dip your head lower to kiss and nip at his jaw and neck. His skin is warm and fragrant like the bubble bath. 

One of Joel’s hands slither between your bodies and he cups your mound. His fingers reach lower to trace lazy circles into your clit. You pump him faster as he plays with you, soft breaths and groans falling from his lips. “Y’got it, sweetheart. Just like that. Just like–ohh, fffuck.”  He squeezes your ass tight as he finds his release, his body tensing and twitching under your touch. He lets out deep and guttural groans, music to your ears. 

He’s coming down from his high, still mindlessly tracing your pussy with his thick fingers. You’re watching as his breathing slows. He’s finally relaxed. And they said it couldn’t be done!

And just then, one of your little rubber duckies floats between you and Joel. The duck wears a mischievous smile. It’s like it’s thinking what you’re thinking. 

Subtly, oh so subtly, you reach for the ducky and squeeze it, then open your fist slightly and let it fill up. Joel’s eyes are still closed and he’s breathing peacefully as you hold the duck level with his face. You squeeze the ducky once more, and a thin stream of water squirts from the duck’s beak and onto Joel’s cheek. Got his ass. 

Joel opens his eyes slowly, his previously soft expression now harsh and irritated. Joel reaches for the duck. “You squirt me with that thing one more time…” he takes it from your hand, “Watch what happens.”

You bite back a smile. 

“Keep it up,” Joel growls. “Now sit back down and spread your legs. Water’s gettin’ cold.”

He’s got a soft spot for you, believe it or not. His brain is telling him to kick your country apple scented ass out the door, but his heart’s telling him to let you stay a while longer. He is a gentleman with principles, after all. A lady should always finish. 

“Wider,” he says. “Open up.”

He uses his strong, masculine hands to grip your thighs and spread them apart, but he doesn’t have to do anything. You oblige to his request immediately. He toys with your clit, circling and swirling his fingers over the sensitive bud before dipping his middle finger inside of you and chuckling. “Hmm,” he hums. “Selective hearing.” “What?”

“Nothin’,” he mumbles. “Just think it’s funny how ya only listen t’me when you’ve got my hand or my cock between your thighs.”

You answer him with a soft moan and scoot closer to him, wrapping your arms around him and nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck as he pumps his finger inside you, feeling how warm and wet you are. 

“So this is what it’s gonna take, hmm? To get you to be a good girl for me?”

“More,” you breathe. 

Joel inserts a second finger and you gasp. “Jesus, girl. M’gonna get carpal tunnel tryna get you to behave yourself.”

“Carpal what-el?”

“Don’t worry about it, pretty girl. S’nothin’.”

You whimper as his thumb swipes your clit and his fingers pump inside you. You hold his shoulders for stability as you grind your pelvis against his palm, rocking the water all over the place, over the tub. The waves bounce high and into Joel’s mouth, he’s annoyed as he spits out some bubbles. You may have overfilled the tub. 

“Y’need to sit still,” he says. “Makin’ a goddamn mess.”

“Sorry,” you rasp.

But the splashing continues. Joel gets an idea then. He pulls his hand away from your core. 

“No,” you whine. “Don’t stop, Joel, please–”

“Lookit that, usin’ your manners. Bein’ so nice,” Joel praises you. “You’re fine,” he coos softly. “Not goin’ anywhere. M’right here with you.”

Joel adjusts a few towels on the tile surrounding the tub, making a nice little bed for you. He lays you on the towel, watching as beads of water fall from your body and your legs dangle in the tub. He pulls you close, then licks one long stripe up your pussy.

“Yeah, that, keep doing that,” you beg.

“Not plannin’ on stoppin,” Joel chuckles, his low voice sending vibrations through your sex. “Gonna take my time with your sweet pussy.”

Joel does just that. He licks from bottom to top, top to bottom. He tastes every inch of you, from your slick folds to your clit and back down to your entrance. He flattens his tongue wide against you, lapping at your cunt and savoring the taste of your arousal. He loves the sinful, wet noises your pussy makes. 

You tug on Joel’s wet strands of salt and pepper hair, pulling him as close as you can get him. “I know, gorgeous. I got ya,” he whispers. 

Joel pushes two fingers inside you once more, this time curling them upward to find that sweet spot inside you. You kick your legs, splashing even more water than before. You’ve got an iron grip on his damp curls, twitching and shuddering with every flick of his tongue and sending water flying. 

This whole eating you out to keep you from flooding the bathroom thing didn’t go as planned. But Joel’s a trooper. He’ll soldier on and mop up your mess later. He firmly grips the area behind your knees, lifting your legs from the water and pushing them apart. They sit high at your hips, he has you in a vulnerable position. He devours you and holds you close with a certain tenderness, and you know you’re in good hands. 

“Mmmm,” you moan. “S’good, fuck.”

“Got a dirty mouth, hon. You know that?”

You do know that, but you can’t respond. The only thing you can do is whimper and make those sweet, sweet noises that Joel loves so much. “Keep makin’ those pretty noises, sweetheart.” he whispers as you squirm against him. He holds you tighter, keeping you still as he brings you to the edge. His fingers and tongue working relentlessly to make you dizzy.

“Gonna, fuck. M’gonna come, Joel. Please, please–” 

“Come on my tongue,” Joel tells you. “Let go f’me. Give me a good one, sweetheart. Wanna taste it. Wanna taste all of you.”

With his words and ministrations inside you, along with his tongue dancing on your clit, you dissolve under him. Pure pleasure courses through your veins, beginning deep in the pit of your stomach and washing over you, your torso and thighs. Joel’s name is the only word you know at this moment. You sing it like a hymn, worshiping the man who makes you see stars. 

Your head feels fuzzy. You’re hardly aware that Joel’s now kissing his way up your body, over your tummy and your ribcage. He kisses one of your breasts, then the other. He flicks his tongue over one nipple and lightly pinches and twists the other. “Didn’t get to give these tits of yours enough lovin’,” he mumbles. 

It’s touching. He’s such a good lover, but such a forgetful man. Guess what’s sitting right next to you.

Yup. Rubber ducky. 

Joel’s still kissing and massaging your tits, and you quietly reach for the duck. You squirt him right between the eyes. 

Joel snatches the toy from your hand. “Where do you keep finding these fuckin’ ducks?!”

You shrug and giggle, then Joel pulls away from you. He pulls the drain stopper, then dries you and himself off with fresh towels. “Alright,” he says. “You had your bath and then some. Get lost.”

You pout. “You’re not gonna walk me home? It’s late.”

“Nope.” Joel bites his cheek, knowing he’s not actually gonna kick you out to walk home alone. You’re making him soft, and he hates it. “Fine,” he concedes. “Get in bed.”

You giggle and make your way to his bed, watching Joel mop up your mess in the bathroom. He blows out the candles and returns to you. “M’way too fuckin’ nice to ya,” he grumbles. 

“Eh,” you shrug. “Could be nicer.”

Please comment/reblog if you enjoyed! Send me asks! Your interaction means the world and keeps me going!

Part 3

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Spencer's

Summary: You and Joel visit Spencer's. You snag some toys, then steal some batteries from Joel for those toys. He's not pleased.

Warnings: DRAMATIC!Joel, implied age gap, Joel is jealous of certain inanimate objects, Joel is winnie-the-poohing it, overstimulation, masturbation (m/f), general filth, unprotected piv, creampie, brat-taming (if you squint), spanking, use of sex toys, joel is pro-participation trophy, joel reads Savage Love, soft!dom joel, dom!joel, mall rats!joel

A/N: thank you thank you thank you to @papipascalispunk for editing and proofreading this story. I am so thankful for her help and lucky to know her 🩷

W/C: 4.3k

It’s patrol again. You’re in that old mall with Joel. And he’s quiet today, like he has been the past couple weeks. No shitty comments or dumb jokes. Hardly any of his usual grumbling, just quiet and stoic. He’s wearing a green flannel, sleeves rolled up. Beard recently trimmed, his hair a little less unkempt than usual. And he seems nervous, antsy, bouncing his foot as you both sit on a bench, taking a short break. 

You could help him relax. 

“Victoria’s Secret is back that way. Kinda wanna try on some more lingerie,” you suggest, hoping he’ll take the bait you’re offering.  

“Pass,” Joel says, “You know I don’t like that place.”

“You could watch. We had fun last time we did that, didn’t we?” you reach for Joel’s arm and try to pull him from his seat and toward that dreaded underwear store. He doesn’t budge. 

“Joel?” you ask, confused by his reluctance.

“I don’t know about all that, hon. Thinkin’ we should go to that bookstore, find some more books for the library back home,” Joel points toward a nearby Barnes & Noble, “Yeah?”

You shrug, “Sure, after.”

“After what?”

“This,” you lean toward Joel and grip onto the collar of his flannel, pushing it back to expose more of his neck. Pressing your lips to his throat, nipping and kissing the skin as your hand trails down his torso, fumbling with his belt. 

You’re not wasting time. 

“Oh,” Joel breathes shakily, “That.”

“Yeah,” you say with a satisfied smirk, “That.”

You nudge his head to the side with your nose and try to push him back into the bench, pushing his flannel further over his clavicle to expose more of his neck, but he stays firm. He grabs the hand fumbling with his belt and pulls it away. “I don’t think so,” he says. You pull away immediately and Joel looks at you with sympathy, concern. 

“What’s wrong? What’d I do?” you ask, feeling insecure, self-conscious all of the sudden.

“You didn’t do anything,” Joel says. 

It’s been a while since you’ve been with him, he knows you’re probably antsy for more because he is too. But he’s feeling apprehensive. Each time you’ve fucked, it’s been quick and dirty. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. He’s not sure what exactly your history with other men is, but Joel fancies himself a gentleman and believes in the campsite rule. Believes that you deserve better than what he’s been giving you. Starting with, say, a bed. You’re exhausting, troublesome, and you’re like a tick the way you get under Joel’s skin, but you still deserve decency. 

Decency won’t stop him from fucking the living daylights out of you, though. He’ll just be a little more gentlemanly about it all, moving forward.  

Joel clears his throat, “You’re young, you know. And I–”.

“And you what?” your tone is snarky.

“Jesus Christ, motormouth,” Joel snaps, “Would you let me finish speaking before you start arguin’?”

You shrug but remain silent, motioning for him to continue. 

“I just think we should do things by the book from now on. Dinner, talking, that kinda stuff. You know, I just want things to be sort of…nice for you. I dunno the word exactly, just...nice, I guess.” You watch Joel blush as he struggles to spell it out.

“Do you mean romantic? Like a date?" Excitedly, you gasp, "Are you taking me to the Rainforest Cafe?”

Joel stares at you blankly before speaking. Rainforest Cafe is a no-go, you're guessing. “No. Not romantic. And not like a date. A date is for two people that actually like each other.” 

And just like that, the attitude is back. He just exudes charisma. 

You pout, “You don’t like me?”

“No, I don’t. I barely tolerate you. But, you know. I still wanna - want you - I want us to…I don’t know,” Joel groans. It’s entertaining, watching him try to spit it out. 

Awh. He barely tolerates you.

You smile, “I barely tolerate you, too.” But Joel won’t look at you, keeps his eyes focused ahead. Still nervous, he fidgets with his hands and continues bouncing his leg.

“Was thinkin’ tomorrow,” Joel mutters quietly, “Y’could come over. Could be…nice. Maybe. Probably not, ‘cause you’ll be there.”

“Yeah. Sounds nice. Maybe. Probably not. ‘Cause you’ll be there too,” you mock his low tone. 

Joel glares at you, “Seven. My place. Be on time.”

—

After your break, you explore the mall further. There’s a store called Spencer’s, which looks neat. Joel agrees, unaware of exactly the kind of store Spencer’s is, so you both go inside. There’s funny t-shirts, cool knick-knacks and tchotchkes. Joel is looking at various lava lamps as you make your way toward the back, and he follows you. 

Holy shit.

There’s all sorts of things on this back wall. Handcuffs, lingerie, lubricants, vibrators, dildos, costumes.

“Wow,” you say, “Looks like your kind of party, Joel.”

Joel rolls his eyes, annoyed, “Shut up.”

“This looks nice. Not romantic at all,” as you poke Joel with a vibrator. 

He flinches, “Get that shit offa’ me, freakazoid.”

“We could use it tomorrow. On our not-date,” you smirk.

“Don’t need it,” he huffs. 

“Wow. You seem confident about that,” you say. Joel shrugs, a look on his face you can’t quite read. “Whatever. Maybe I’ll take it for myself. You know, for alone time.”

His face falls immediately. Joel, prudish as he may seem, truly does not have an issue with masturbation. It’s natural, it’s human. But something about you doing it makes it a little… jealousy-inducing. The thought of you, one of those toys between your thighs, you making all sorts of pretty noises that he can’t hear; it’s just too much for him. “Yeah, knock yourself out,” he says sarcastically, “You’ll have a lot of fun with a battery-less vibrator.”

“You still have some, don’t you?”

Joel scoffs, “I do. But they’re mine, and I sure as shit ain’t sharin’ with you, ‘specially not for those things.” 

“Sharing is caring, you know.”

Joel rolls his eyes, “S’a bold assumption you’re making there. That I care about you.” 

Rude. 

You poke him with the vibrator again. “Quit that,” he grumbles, “Now stay here a minute. Gonna take a leak, I’ll be right back.” He drops his bag and heads for a private area nearby. You stare at his bag on the floor and wonder if he’s fucking with you, because he never goes anywhere without his bag. Better to be safe than sorry is what he always says. And you know he keeps batteries in that bag. 

Ah, fuck it. He won’t know. 

There’s a sign that says “buy two toys, get one free”, and you’re not one to pass up a good deal, even if that deal means nothing now being twenty-or-so years into a fungus apocalypse. So you stuff three toys in your bag, along with one of the lava lamps Joel was checking out. You rifle through Joel’s belongings and pull out a handful of batteries, then stuff those into your bag too. Six should do it, hopefully. After twenty years, a lot of them are duds. You’ll try the toys out tonight, then sneakily put the batteries back in Joel’s pack tomorrow night on your not-date. And Joel will be none the wiser. 

—-

Joel is livid. 

Someone called off patrol today, so he was volunteered by Tommy to fill in. He’d still be back in time for your not-date, and although the change in his plans was not ideal, it’s not what set him off today. No, that was all you. 

His radio had died toward the end of his shift. No big deal, he thought. He reached into his pack and fumbled through his belongings to find his spare batteries. Only, they weren’t in his bag. So he searched a little longer before he realized he actually knew exactly where those precious batteries would be. No doubt inside you at the moment. 

Was he in danger without a working radio? Could’ve been, but no, not really. Will he never find batteries again? Yes, he will. Joel’s crafty and good at scouting supplies like that, even when supplies are sparse. What did pissed him off, however, is the fact he knows you consciously went behind his back to steal his batteries for those toys. You’ve probably spent all last night and all day today fucking yourself silly, couldn’t have waited just one more day. He feels a little insulted, topping off the jealousy already simmering.

Joel comes back to Jackson around five in the evening. He should be showering, cooking, setting the table, and tidying his house. But instead, he makes a beeline for your place. 

He doesn’t bother knocking on your door. He knows you keep it unlocked, something he constantly advises you against. He closes your door, and hears your long and pretty moans coming from upstairs. He’s not sure what’s coming over him or why he cares so much. He prides himself on being level-headed, rational. But all of that’s out the door when he hears your moans, moans that he believes should have been all for him and him alone. 

At least he gets to catch you in the act. 

Joel tiptoes up your steps, fighting his urge to stomp angrily. Your bedroom door is wide open, lights dim. There’s a lava lamp bubbling next to you on your nightstand. You’re laid out on the bed, legs spread, one toy between your thighs and two others lay next to you. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you moan Joel’s name. It’s a nice touch. Maybe he’ll go easy on you. 

Probably not. 

He stands in your doorway and clears his throat, “Enjoyin’ yourself?” 

“Joel!” you yelp and your eyes fly open. Joel moves to stand next to your bed, his gaze dark and intense, his mouth forming an unamused frown. 

“You think you’re slick, don’t you?”

Your words are caught in your throat. Ohh, you are so busted.

“How many’d you steal from me?”

The vibrating dildo you were fucking yourself with is still humming loudly, and in the otherwise silence of your room, it’s deafening. You fumble to try to turn it off. 

“Oh, no. Don’t let me interrupt your date. That’d be awful rude of me.” 

Too shocked to make any moves, you freeze, dildo still humming away inside you. And as anxious as you feel, you’re equally excited. You’ve picked up on Joel’s jealous side, and you’d be lying if you said some part of you wasn’t trying to rile him up. 

“I just, mmmm,” you moan, “Just missed you a lot. Couldn’t wait for tonight.”

“S’that right?”

“Yes, Joel.”

“You missed me so much you decided to deliberately go through my bag and steal my batteries?”, he spits, sarcasm lacing his words, “Yeah hon, sure looks like you missed me, fuckin’ yourself on that plastic cock.”

“Silicone,” you correct, though now definitely isn’t the time to bother with semantics. Joel notices you rocking your hips ever so slightly, chasing your orgasm as subtly as you can. You’re right, right fucking there. He can see it on you, you’ve got that look about you. Your breathing is shaky and your body trembles. 

“You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve,” Joel hovers over you, one hand next to you on the bed and his other reaching for your toy. 

“Please,” you beg. 

“Think you’ve made yourself come enough, impatient goddamn brat,” he mumbles as he pulls the toy away from your center, tossing it aside. You groan and whine in frustration. Just three more seconds, you would have been there. 

Fucking Joel.

“I’m at a loss on what to do here, sweetheart,” Joel says as he kicks off his shoes before sitting on your bed, his back against the headboard, “Can’t fuckin’ take those batteries back on account of they’ve all been inside ya.”

“Joel, I did not fuck myself with your batteries. That’s…not how that works.”

“Shut up, wiseass.”

“Joel, I was gonna give them back, I swear. I just wanted–”.

Joel cuts you off, not caring to hear the rest of your explanation, “All half used and out of juice? How generous. Lucky me,” he muses, annoyed.

“Joel–”.

“Don’t think you fuckin’ get it,” he snaps, “Y’got no fuckin’ self control. You’re lyin’ to me, stealin’ from me, sneakin’ around. And it breaks my heart, ‘cause I was startin’ to look forward to our date.”

“Date?” you ask in confusion. Joel’s cheeks turn rosy as he refuses to acknowledge his slip up. The not-date turned actual-date. “Joel.”

“Need to get through to you somehow,” he ignores you, still too upset,  “Got a couple different ideas in mind. I guess we’ll have to see which one sticks.”

He pulls you up and over his lap, your head laying on the crumpled sheets. He presses a hand firmly on your neck, holding you in place as he gently runs his other hand over the swell of your ass. 

You know what’s coming. And it’s been a long time coming, at that. You've noticed the way Joel looks at you, his angry stare and how he chews on his inner cheek. How his hands ball into fists, like he’s fighting the urge to strangle you. Wrap his hands around your neck and just fucking squeeze. 

Crack. 

The sting of his hand striking your ass is as delicious as it is painful. He smacks you again, harder. And it’s just as incredible. That sharp bite, how it sends arousal gushing from your core. You can’t help the moan that slips from your mouth. 

Joel pulls you off his lap abruptly, onto your knees between his thighs, and faces you towards him. He wears a puzzled expression, like somehow he wasn’t aware that spanking is more of a reward than it is a punishment, at least to you. “Ya weren’t s’posed to enjoy that so much.”

“Joel–”.

“Yeah, we’re not doing that. Fuckin’ weirdo,” he interrupts, shaking his head a little. Joel thinks for a moment, staring at you as he contemplates his next move. His eyes flicker to yours, and you can practically watch the gears in his head begin to turn. “I think,” he lifts his hips to pull both his jeans and boxers down his thighs, and his cock springs free. It’s the first time you’ve really gotten to see it. Long and thick, prominent vein, blushed tip a bit wider than his shaft. Curly dark hair surrounding the base. It’s artwork. “Think we’ll try Plan B,” he says firmly as he reaches forward, wrapping one hand around himself to stroke his member, thumb swiping across the tip. 

It should be your hand. And he’s well aware of this, but he’s giving you a taste of your own medicine before moving on to the main event. You extend your arm in front of you, but Joel doesn’t allow it.  “Ah ah,” he tuts, slapping your hand away, “You can go play with one of your rubber cocks. Since you love ‘em so goddamn much.” His words are biting, acrimonious.

He’s throwing you off. Joel, who says he couldn’t give a “fiddler’s flying fuck” about you, is upset that your pleasure wasn’t brought on by his hands today. Joel, who barely tolerates you. “Joel, please, I want you. I’m sorry,” you cry, “I need you, Joel, been missing you so much. Please, Joel. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“Layin’ it on pretty fuckin’ thick, sweetheart.” 

You cry in frustration, “Joel, I’m sor-”.

“Cut that shit out. You ain’t sorry. You’re sorry you got caught, ‘cause now you’re in trouble,” Joel keeps stroking himself, taunting you, “This is on you.”

Joel thinks back to when he was a teenager, when his father caught him with a lit cigarette hanging from his lips, how his father’s punishment was to make him smoke the whole pack, and how before he was even halfway through the pack the nicotine had made him sick to his stomach. 

Same idea.

Still stroking himself, Joel grabs one of the vibrators sitting next to you. It’s a wand type, light pink in color. He holds down a button and it buzzes to life, “C’mere. Between my legs. Do it now,” his voice is stern, authoritarian. You assume the position. Joel parts your legs wider, pulling your knees back before guiding your hands to hold the backs of your knees, keeping you open nice and wide for him. “You stay like this. Don’t move.” His flannel feels soft and warm on your skin. You feel his hot breath on your neck, his chest rising and falling steadily against your back. Wordlessly, he brings the vibrator to your core. He drags it over your lips, through your folds, coating it with your arousal. 

Joel circles your clit with the toy now, and your hips to follow the sensation. The way you’re sighing, moaning, grinding with his movements, Joel can tell you haven’t picked up what he’s putting down yet. 

Poor thing. Fucked herself stupid on all these plastic cocks. 

“Yeah, Joel, like that. Fuck, feels good,” you breathe, “Right there. S’good.”

Joel’s silence is disconcerting. There’s no dirty talk, no snide remarks like usual. But you’re too worked up to worry about why. Within seconds, you’re coming. Sweet, breathy moans and whines falling from your lips as you ride out your high. 

Joel presses the button on the vibrator, taking it up a notch. The buzz is louder, the feeling intense, nearing on too much. Finally, he speaks, “I really do hope your thievery was worth it, sweetheart,” he whispers in a low, raspy voice behind the shell of your ear, “Now tell me, exactly how many batteries am I short?” 

It’s getting uncomfortable now. You wrap your fingers around Joel’s wrist and try to pull him away from your core but he doesn't budge, “What? Joel, let up.”

“What’d I say? Hands on your thighs. Y’don’t move,” he barks. You do as you’re told, and he hums in satisfaction, “Now answer my question.” 

“I don’t know, six? I–oh, fuck. I was gonna give them back. Please, Joel, I can’t– ”

Joel scoffs, “Six? You stole six batteries. What, were you stashing them for winter? Squirrelier than I thought.”

“No, just…you know how sometimes, they-they-they, and they’re old, so–Joel, m’serious–”, you whine, almost pleading for mercy from the overstimulation he’s causing.

Joel pulls the vibrating wand from your core, and you exhale in relief, resting your head back on his shoulder. He’s showing you mercy. Or so it seems. 

But the sound of the vibrator clicking on is back in an instant. Slightly different pitch this time. You pull your head off his shoulder and watch in shock as he guides it to your pussy, notching the longer end inside. He doesn’t bother going slow as he parts your insides with the toy. You worked yourself up plenty.

“Whatever. Damage is done. So here’s the deal,” Joel starts, “You’re gonna come for me six times, one for each of the six batteries you stole from me. You’re gonna keep count, too. Got one down, right?” but you’re a mess of whimpers and whines, which is the wrong answer, “Or are we doin’ more?”

“One, one, we’re at one. Oh, god. Joel, please. Please.”

“Y’don’t even know what you’re beggin’ for,” Joel mumbles. His hand crosses over both his and your bodies to hold your jaw firmly, keeping your sight set on the picture between your thighs. The toy sliding in and out of you, wet and sticky with your juices. The shorter end sliding over your clit. He’s hitting your g-spot with precision, each thrust sending you closer to the edge. Within seconds, you’re seeing stars as Joel fucks you through it. 

“Count,” he demands. “T-two,” you moan, but Joel doesn’t relent. A third washes over you just as quickly as the previous one. “Three, s’too much Joel, please,” you beg.

“Quit whinin’,” he mocks, “I’m goin’ easy on ya, considering the fuckin’ stunt you pulled. You wanna make it more?”

“No, please. M’so tired.”

“Quit your whinin’. S’a punishment. Ain’t supposed to feel good,” he growls, “You’re gonna give me my batteries’ worth out of these little fuck toys. Make you come until you can’t fuckin’ walk.” You’re still holding your knees back as Joel fucks you through your third orgasm. The hand that was holding your jaw is now traveling lower, groping your breasts and teasing your nipples. Hot, salty tears of overstimulation and exhaustion roll down your cheeks. You’re shaking, trembling, and he knows it’s all too much. He wonders how many times you came before he showed up. So Joel decides to show a bit of mercy, feeling that pulling three orgasms from you is sufficient enough. For now.

He pulls the toy from your pussy and tosses it on your nightstand. He gives you a moment to breathe, to let your legs down. He rubs deep and firm circles into your sore, aching hips before lifting your limp, pliant body up to straddle his lap and face him. His eyes are soft and sincere, his quiet way of telling you he’s still here. And when this is all done, he’s gonna take care of you.

He’s still gonna fuck the living daylights out of you, though.

“You’re doin’ so good,” he tells you, “Almost there.” You nod and Joel lifts your hips, guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance and pulling your aching pussy down onto his cock with a soft groan, slower than he did with the toy. He knows you’re sore. 

He fucks you deep and hard, just how you like. You fall forward, resting your forehead on the thick line of muscle between his neck and shoulder. Whimpering his name into his hot skin, moaning somewhere between agony and ecstasy, “I-Joel, I'm serious. It’s t-too much, please.”

“I know it is,” he whispers as he bounces you on his cock, chasing his own release, hanging by a thread with the way you’re squeezing around him. You think Joel is feeling sympathetic maybe, as he decides to offer a compromise. “I’ll make–oh, fuck,” he gasps, “Make ya a deal.” You mumble incoherently against him, and Joel sits you upright, his cock stiff and filling deep inside you. 

“Right here. Look at me,” he breathes out, gently gripping your jaw to tilt your face up. You look at him with burning, tear stained eyes. He can see the exhaustion on your face. “Breathe, sweetheart,” he coos, “How many left you owe me?”

“Three,” you answer, breathlessly.

“Mhm,” he mumbles, rolling his hips slowly, “I know you’re tired, honey. Probably pretty sore. S’that right?”

“Yes, Joel.”

“Christ, poor thing. What a mess you got yourself into. I know you didn’t mean to, hmm?” You nod in agreement quietly as he fucks you a little more gently, offering you a slight break. “Just curious, wanted to have some fun, huh? I know how ya are,” his tone is soft and kind, but still teasing. 

You smile with a slight shrug. 

“Tell me you’re sorry for stealing, and you only have to give me one more tonight. Just gotta apologize, real nice f’me.”

“Mmm,” is all you can muster. You’re so spent, muddled and incoherent noises seem to be the only sounds your voice can make. 

“Words, c’mon now, baby. ‘I’m sorry, Joel’,” he instructs you.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you repeat, “For taking your batteries.”

“There ya go, sweetheart. That's it. Good girl,” he praises.

You sigh and collapse on his chest once more as Joel snakes a hand between your bodies. He finds your clit, his fingers warm and soft. With your face against his body, you bite down on his shoulder as his fingers begin rubbing slow, precise circles over your aching clit. No toy in the world could compare to the way his touch makes you feel. 

Just one more. 

He starts to fuck you deeper again, his free hand sliding up your up to grip around the base of your neck as he thrusts up into you, bouncing you on his cock. You’re liquid in his hands as he continues to steadily work your clit. That all too familiar pooling heat in your core is building back up for the last time, this one far more intense than the previous three orgasms he’s pulled from you. It crashes over you in waves, white-hot pleasure coursing through your veins. Joel feels your body tremble and shake, your fluttering walls choking his cock, pulling his own orgasm from him as he spills inside of you, filling you up with loads of his hot seed. 

God, how you missed that. Missed him.

It could have been minutes, maybe hours that you stayed seated on his cock like that, just breathing with Joel. He runs his fingers up and down your spine, strokes your hair.

Finally, you sit up and extricate your body from his to remove the batteries from the toys. “Here,” you hand them to him.

Joel wears kind of an affected scowl on his face as he takes them from you. “Batteries feel light.”

“Sorry,” you say.

Joel smiles softly, his eyes glimmering as he hands them back to you, “Keep ‘em. Got a stash at home anyhow. Now get dressed.” 

“Why?”

“Jesus, sweetheart. Y’got the memory of a goldfish. Cause we’re havin’ dinner, that’s why.” 

You bite your lip and smile mischievously, “Because it’s a date.”

“No. S’not a date, wiseass. You’re a lady and you deserve…hey-”, Joel stops himself, noticing the bubbling lava lamp next to you, green with blue bubbles, like the one he was eyeing back in Spencer’s, “S’a cool lava lamp. I always wanted one.”

“I know,” you smile shyly, “Picked it out for you. Just wanted to make sure it worked first.”

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GameStop

Summary: Mall Rats 4! (Can be read alone or, catch up with the mallrats in my masterlist) Joel tells you not to fuck with the Nintendo he stole from GameStop. His one rule. You fuck with it. That’s okay, though. Joel makes you play Mario with his fingers knuckle deep inside you.

Warnings: JOEL IS WEARING GRAY SWEATPANTS THIS IS NOT A FUCKING DRILL🚨‼️ fingering, teasing, edging, orgasm denial blowjobs, unprotected piv, creampie, jjoel is so tender and such a dick, arguing, inglewood up to no good, domestic moments, minor injuries, when will these two fucking kiss!?? Idk

W/C: 4.6k

A/N: thank you very much @papipascalispunk i appreciate you taking the time to edit this. I love you so much. did you know that? And everyone else, do you know how much I love y’all for reading and engaging? I do. In case you didn’t know already 🥰

Joel stands in front of your house early afternoon on Saturday, a box of cords and plastic in one hand as he urgently knocks on your door, “Open up,” he barks, “This shit’s heavy.”

“Fuck,” you groan, walking up to your front door wearing nothing but an ill-fitting t-shirt and some old boxers. You can see Joel waiting impatiently through the window. You open the door and squint at Joel, the daylight too bright for your eyes, “What do you want, Joel?”

“Need to use your TV,” he demands, stepping inside your home and placing a hand on your hip to move you aside, “Move.” 

“Why?”, you resist.

Joel motions toward his box with an annoyed expression on his face and your eyes light up. “Oh yeah,” you say, leading Joel to your living room where he sits in front of your old and boxy television, flipping up panels and tinkering with buttons before plugging in cords, “Can I play too? Will you show me how?”

“If you listen to me, maybe,” Joel mumbles as he’s setting up the console before turning to you, “Are you gonna be good and listen to me?”

“Of course not,” you smirk.

“Figures.”

You didn’t listen yesterday, either. You never do. 

-

Something had caught your eye and you went ahead of Joel, something he absolutely hates. He tells you your place is next to him or behind him. He leads. You follow.

“Would you quit fuckin’ wanderin’, Inglewood?”, Joel hissed at you in the second level of the mall, “I give ya an inch, ya take a mile.”

You rolled your eyes, “Why do you call me that?”

“Cause you’re always up to no good.” 

“I don’t understand that reference.”

“I know you don’t,” Joel sighed.

An odd clicking noise startled you both. It wasn’t quite that signature sound of a clicker, but it was enough to set you both off. You turned to Joel with wide eyes, and he reflexively pulled you close, one hand over your mouth and his other arm wrapped around your waist. Behind me, he mouthed. 

You nodded and took your place behind Joel, heart pounding in your chest. He walked forward slowly before stopping, pulling out his gun and his flashlight. In front of him was a dark silhouetted figure, something he couldn’t quite make out. It stood in front of a store with a broken sign, white and red glass lettering shattered. As he tiptoed closer with you following close behind, his eyes began to piece more things together. The figure was unmoving, and upon closer inspection it looked to be wearing almost…tactical gear? Was it FEDRA? He wondered what the clicking noise was. Probably just the mall deteriorating. If there were infected in the mall, they would have shown themselves by this point.

The figure stayed still, unmoving. Finally, Joel saw it. On the figure’s chest read, ‘Call of Duty: Out October 29, 2003’. Joel let out a breath of relief and put his gun down, “False alarm,” he said. “Wait.”

“What is it, Joel?”, you asked as he took quick steps toward the unmarked store. “Oh, fuck yeah,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice, “Get your ass over here. Follow me. First good thing in this godforsaken mall. Do you know what this is?”

“You know I don’t know what this is.”

Joel explained that it was a GameStop. They used to sell video games and stuff, had all sorts of fun things. He looked like a kid in a candy shop, stealing consoles and cartridges and gushing about how much he loved these games long ago. 

When you and Joel had returned from the mall, he practically sprinted into Ellie’s room, setting up their shared TV with a PlayStation and introducing her to some games. Ellie was ecstatic, and Joel knew she and the TV would be inseparable. 

-

Which leads him here, to your house, in front of your TV. 

“So I take it Ellie’s excited about the games and stuff you got her?”, you ask amused.

Joel fumbles with a controller to a Nintendo Entertainment System. “Big time,” he says. “They’re attached at the hip. So I’m commandeering your TV for today.”

“You could’ve asked, you know,” you tease, “I would’ve given it to you, asshole.”

“Don’t need you to give me nothin’. Just here to use your TV for a bit,” as he draws the curtains in your room, turns on your TV and adjusts the input, then sits back on your couch, legs outstretched on your coffee table, “It’s more fun when I take it from ya, anyway.”

You wonder if Joel gets physically ill at the thought of being polite, being kind to you. Nothing’s ever easy with him. He’s always ready to argue, ready to instigate. You roll your eyes, then leave Joel to take a shower and get dressed. You’re not sure what you were planning on doing on this Saturday, but video games with Joel seems to be your fate. 

By the time you have showered, Joel has already been playing for nearly 2 hours. You dress yourself in some comfy sweatpants and a hoodie, expecting to hunker down in front of the TV with Joel all day. You can hear the soft music from the video game from your room and Joel’s strings of expletives, or his cheers, depending on what’s happening in the game. You make a couple of sandwiches, some sliced apples, and pour a couple of glasses of water before you greet Joel in the living room. Standing in front of the TV, you watch as Joel tries to continue playing. There’s a little guy wearing a red hat, jumping over blocks and stomping on mushrooms. He makes a cute little ‘boing’ noise when he jumps, and the music playing in the background is playful, melodic. 

“Sweetheart, y’make a better door than a window. Get out of the way,” he gruffs. Joel’s got some fucking nerve today. He could have just kindly asked you to move. Tauntingly, you wiggle your ass in front of him, so he reaches over the coffee table and smacks it, “What’d I say about listening? Do you wanna play the game or not?” With Joel’s eyes still transfixed on the TV in front of you, you sit down next to him and place your two plates on the coffee table. “Everyday it’s somethin’ with you. Always tryin’ to get under my skin, always-”, Joel’s voice trails off as he glances at his plate, “Did you make me a sandwich?” 

You shrug, “You’re extra cranky today. Figured you could use a snack.”

“I’m not cranky,” Joel argues, “And I don’t need you makin’ me any snacks. Can make my own food.”

“Okay,” you say, eating your own food, “You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to. I’m not gonna shove it down your throat.”

Joel stays focused on his game until he hears the crunch of you biting into a slice of apple. “Wait, are those apple slices?”, he asks in a low tone. 

“Mhm.”

“You didn’t happen to cut any up for me, did you?”

“I did. Sprinkled cinnamon and sugar on top,” you smile proudly.

You watch Joel grumble to himself and play the game silently until he beats the level he’s on, then he pauses the game and sets his controller down. He picks up his plate of food and eats a couple of apple slices before inspecting his sandwich, “Did you poison this?”

“No, not the sandwich. The apples, yes. Don’t you taste the rat poison?” 

Joel rolls his eyes and takes a bite of his sandwich, “Gonna have to try harder than that, sweetheart. Up the dose next time. Tasty sandwich, though.”

“Noted,” you smile. Joel smiles too, almost imperceptibly, but you see it, the sparkle in his eyes and the way his face lit up when you told him you sliced up some apples for him too. 

“Tell me about your game.”

Joel raises an eyebrow, “It’s Mario. You don’t know Mario?”, and you shake your head no. “Jesus…you age me,” Joel takes another bite of his sandwich before continuing, “Mario’s a video game. Super Mario Brothers. He has a brother, Luigi. They’re plumbers and they fight Bowser to save Princess Peach. So that’s what I’m doin’ here,” Joel motions to the TV, “Savin’ Peach. Eventually.”

“Is it hard?”, you ask. 

“Kinda. Haven’t played in forever. But Tommy and I’d play all the time. Were always fightin’ over the damn Nintendo,” Joel chuckles, “Drove Mom fuckin’ nuts.”

“Maybe we should invite him over then,” you muse. 

“Nah,” Joel says, “Just me and you today.”

You smile, “Just us?” 

Joel nods, finishing the last of his sandwich and his apple slices, “Unfortunately.” He stretches his legs and his arms out long, then rubs his soft belly with a groan. “You’re trouble,” he tells you, “Tryna’ make me fat. I’m gonna go home and change into something cozier - jeans are fuckin’ tight.” 

“Bet I could make them tighter,” you bite your lip and nudge his thigh. 

“That’s a nice offer. You’re a charmer, Inglewood. Maybe later.” You huff as Joel picks up both of your plates and walks them to your kitchen sink, scrubbing and drying each one before pulling on his jacket. He walks back over to where you sit on the couch and points to the TV and his Nintendo, “Do not touch this,” he says, “It doesn’t have a memory card. So if you fuck with it, my progress is gone. Don’t unplug nothin’, don’t touch the TV, don’t–”.

“What if I–”.

Joel doesn’t let you get another word out, “Nope. Don’t do that either. Just leave it be, sit pretty and behave yourself. I’ll be back soon.”

You scoff and cross your arms as Joel leaves while staring at the paused screen of Joel’s game, then flicker your eyes lower to the controller Joel left on the coffee table. He didn’t say anything about playing the game. What’s the worst that could happen?

You reach for the controller and begin messing with the buttons, playing with the D-pad until the screen changes and you press ‘Start Game’.

The game starts. It catches you off guard. You fumble with the buttons until you figure out how to make Mario move, how to make him jump. A couple times you hit an angry looking mushroom and he dies. You snicker to yourself. Figures. Before you know it, you’ve passed Level 1-1 and you’re onto Level 1-2.

Level 1-2 comes and goes, and then Joel’s back at your door. You pause the game as he lets himself in. You wear a mischievous smile when you see him in his gray sweats and a t-shirt – your weakness. You can see the outline of his dick in those pants, and it sends a pang of arousal to your core. “Well don’t you look handsome,” you purr. 

“Pipe down, horndog,” Joel sits down on the couch next to you. Before he can reach for the controller, you slide your hand over one of his thick thighs and palm his bulge, then slip your hand under the waistband of his pants and play with his cock. He sighs as you stroke him, his sweet sounds getting you all hot and bothered. His cock is thick and warm, half hard and growing harder, but he grabs your wrist and pulls your hand away. “Later,” he reminds you, “C’mon. I know you can wait. I don’t have much of the game left to play.”

“Okay,” you mumble. You scoot closer to Joel as he picks up the controller, wrapping your arm around his and resting your head on his bicep. You squeeze your thighs together tightly, trying to relieve some of the pressure at your core. He tries to shake you off of him, but you don’t budge. “I’m cold, Joel,” you protest.

“So get a blanket. I ain’t your heater,” he complains, but you feel him relax with your touch, snuggling up to you a little closer like maybe he’s cold too, “God, you make me nuts.”

You say nothing as Joel reaches for the controller, presses a couple buttons before the game starts again. He starts playing, then squints and furrows his brows. “Woah, woah, woah,” he says, “This ain’t right. What - why - what happened? Did you touch this? Tell me you didn’t touch this.”

“I didn’t touch it,” you lie. 

Joel turns to you and glares, “What. Did. You. Do.”

“I tried out your game,” Joel continues glaring at you and you raise your arms in surrender, “What?”

Joel cups your cheeks in both of his big hands and shakes your head gently, “Why would you do that?” 

“You told me not to unplug anything. I didn’t unplug anything.”

“I also told you not to touch anything,” Joel groans, “Do you know how long it took me to beat those levels?”

“Just pick up where you left off, Joel.”

“I told ya, it doesn't work like that. No memory card, no progress. I have to start over now,” Joel whines, “Why don’t you ever listen to me?”

“Beats me,” you say, “But–”, you take one of Joel’s hands from his controller and suck his fingers before slipping it under the waistband of your sweatpants, “Now we can get down to brass tacks. Hmm?”

“One rule,” Joel hisses as cups your mound, “I gave you one fuckin’ rule.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But now that you’re not playing Mario anymore, you can make me come. And then I’ll make you come. And you’ll forget you were ever mad at me.”

Joel sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose before turning to you, his eyes now mischievously lit up. “You’re right,” he says, “I’m not playing Mario anymore. You are.” He places the controller in your hands, “I told you I wanted to beat the game, and mayb then I’d fuck ya. So now you’re gonna get me back to where I was so I’ll finish up the game, and maybe, maybe after that, I’ll fuck you. Cause I’m not doin’ all of this again. I’ve got other games I wanna play too.”

“Piece of cake,” you reply confidently. Though really, playing Mario is harder than it looks.

“Oh, really? Is it that easy?”, Joel says, raising his eyebrows in amusement at your confidence as you nod, “If ya say so. I thought you said it’s harder than it looks. Whatever. Go on, then.” Situating yourself next to Joel, you adjust your grip on the controller. Joel’s hand is still beneath your pants, fingers resting against your lips. You look at him, wondering if he’ll pull his hand away. “You put it there,” he says. “It’s stayin’.”

Whatever. You start the game feeling confident in yourself, and then Mario hits a mushroom and he shrinks. And then he hits another mushroom, and he dies. Joel hums in amusement and you shove your elbow into his side. “I didn’t say anything,” he smirks.

It takes you about ten minutes to get the hang of it, but eventually you do. When you start a new level, Joel presses two of his fingers against your pussy and it startles you. Mario hits a turtle and he shrinks again. “Joel,” you gasp, “What are you doing?”

Dragging his fingers up and down your folds at a leisurely pace, Joel shrugs, “Nothin’.” He’s definitely not doing “nothing”. It’s getting harder to focus now, and you’re making mistakes, getting hit by enemies, missing those little mushroom power ups that come at you every so often. You huff in frustration, and Joel chuckles to himself, “You suck, sweetheart.”

“Shut up, Joel.”

He presses the tip of his middle finger against your entrance, pushes inside before pulling his finger back out and dragging it up to your clit, smirking when your breath hitches in your throat, “Do you need some help? Pointers, maybe?”

“No,” you grit, “Shut up, Joel.”

“Hmm, alright,” he hums, his thick fingers now circling your sensitive bud. You can feel his intense gaze on you as you play the game, squashing Mario’s enemies to the best of your ability, but you were right the first time, it’s harder than it looks. Joel turns his attention back to the TV, “Hit that box with the question mark.” You raise your eyebrow in suspicion. It’s probably a trap. With Joel, it’s always a trap. “Watch what happens,” he instructs, so you hit the box and a flower emerges. Joel tells you to jump on it, so you do. Warily, though. Mario changes outfits. “There you go. Now if you press B,” he taps the other button on the controller, “You can shoot those guys with a fireball. Try it out.” 

Mario does in fact shoot fireballs at the enemies. This advantage makes the game come along smoother, so Joel ups the ante, drawing tight circles into your clit. “Joel,” you moan, “Quit it. You’re distracting me.”

“Thought you wanted me to make you come,” Joel taunts.

“I do, but not like thi–fuck–Joel, stop.”

“Tough luck,” Joel responds, “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

You do your best to ignore the sensation of Joel touching you, but it’s hard. He knows exactly where to touch you, how to touch you to make you squirm and moan for him. You have to fight yourself to keep your eyes from rolling back when Joel pushes two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out for a moment before abruptly curling them upward, hitting that sweet spot he knows and loves. “Jesus, Joel,” you moan, accidentally pressing the lower end of the D-pad. On the TV, Mario slides down a pipe and is brought to a new area. He’s able to run across the top of the screen, then finds an area with a bunch of pipes called the Warp Zone. This changes the game. You’re able to skip levels, making this whole thing go by even quicker. You’ll be on your way to fuck town in no time.

“Was wonderin’ when you were gonna figure that out,” Joel rubs his thumb over your clit as he fucks you with his two middle and ring fingers. You’re able to find a couple more pipes that allow you to go to Warp Zones, which doesn’t require quite as much focus on the screen. You allow yourself to savor the way Joel touches you, that warmth building up in the pit of your stomach. 

“Fuck, don’t stop,” you moan. That familiar edge begins to creep up just as you’re finishing another level. Your breathing quickens, your pussy dripping and gushing with every movement of Joel’s thick fingers. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t–”.

“Thanks sweetheart. That was a big help,” Joel yanks the controller from you with his free hand, then pulls the other away from your core. Now that you’ve gotten him to where he left off in the game, he focuses all of his attention on the TV, as if he was never touching you. 

“Are you serious?”, you’re in disbelief but Joel doesn’t answer, “Joel, I was about to–”.

“I know.”

You scoff, “Fuck you, man.”

“Yeah, I know you wanna. But I told you, you gotta wait til I’m done. You’re very forgetful, you know that?”

Frustrated, you shove your hand under your sweats and pick up where Joel left off. He clears his throat, “You can play with your pussy, or I can. Pick one but we’re not doin’ both. It’s up to you.” 

Jesus fucking Christ. This is bullshit. Joel can take control of your TV, but not your pleasure. You watch him in astonishment, how he pays you no mind as he plays the game. His eyes are glazed over and his lips slightly parted, deep in focus. It’s like you’re not even there. You lower your eyes from his face to his lap where his fingers move deftly, still slick and shiny with your juices. His thumbs dart back and forth over the D-pad and the buttons, and you wish he was still touching you like that. Expertly, with dedication and precision.  And then it catches your eye – the tent in his sweatpants, that little spot of dampness where his head rests against the fabric. He’s fucking rock hard from playing with you, leaking precome. You’re impressed with Joel’s ability to ignore his own arousal. Good for him. You, however, won’t ignore it. 

In a swift maneuver, too quick for Joel to even process, you pull down his sweats and let his cock spring free, setting the waistband under his heavy balls. You don’t even think, you just do it – lifting up his arm, you dive under and grip the base of his cock. You guide his tip to your mouth, swirling your tongue around his swollen head before letting it part your lips. Joel groans, “Think you can play dirty too, huh?”

“Mhm,” you mumble against him. 

“Knock yourself out,” he tells you, “You’re forgettin’ I have something you don’t – self control, my darlin’.”

You don’t care. This is more for you than it is for him, anyway. You haven’t gotten to taste him yet and it’s been on your mind. He tastes heady, salty, and slightly sweaty on your tongue. He’s warm and thick, you like the way his cock feels in your mouth. His smooth skin, how he squirms when you slide his cock to the back of your throat. 

Joel groans as you work his shaft, one hand gripping his base, the other fondling his balls. You hum against him, sending vibrations down his shaft. He rests the sides of his hands on your head as he plays with the controller, pushing you further down on his cock. “Last level,” he tells you. You suck him mindlessly as he plays, listening to Joel hissing expletives. You smirk with him in your mouth knowing which of his curses are directed at you and which are directed at the TV. 

Joel’s cock stiffens and twitches, he’s getting closer. You know it and so does he. “You know,” he says in a soft, warning tone, “If ya make me come, you’re shit outta luck. Can’t fuck you.”

Oh, shit. You weren’t even thinking about that. You pull your mouth off of him instantaneously, smacking your head against his controller and sending it flying out of his hands. “Fuck,” Joel barks. 

The controller lands upside down on the corner of your coffee table, the buttons hitting the edge just so, and Joel watches in horror as Mario disappears from the TV and is replaced by the main menu. 

You rub your head where you hit it on the controller, but Joel is no longer staring at the TV in disbelief. Instead, he’s looking at you. “Shit. I’m sorry, Joel,” you apologize, “I didn’t mean to do that. I’m really sorry.”

You expect Joel to be angry like usual, but he instead pulls your hand away from your scalp, lowers you so he can check the area you hit and give it a kiss, then lifts your chin back up while rubbing your bump. “It was an accident,” he speaks soothingly, “Mario can wait. Are you hurting?”

“Not terribly,” you tell him. And it’s the truth. 

“No? You sure?” You shake your head no and Joel nods. He rubs your head for a little bit longer, his big brown eyes are soft and sweet and worrisome. The kindest he’s ever looked at you, kindest he’s ever been to you. And all you had to do was smack your head on his video game. He holds your chin with his thumb and forefinger, then pulls you close and whispers quietly, “Would you still like me to fuck you? We don’t have to if you’re not up for it anymore.” 

You grin and nod your head, “Yes, please. I want it.”

“Get your ass over here, then,” Joel says as he lifts your hips and pulls your pants off, then pulls his own further down his thighs. He guides you to straddle his lap, holding his cock loosely between his middle and index fingers and his thumb. He drags his tip through your folds, then notches himself at your entrance before pulling your hips down, burying himself in you all the way to the hilt. 

You grip his shoulders and press your forehead to his own, sighing softly as you get adjusted to his girth. “I missed your cock,” you breathe, “Missed it so much.”

“I know you did, sweetheart. I missed you too.”

When you’ve adjusted, you begin to roll your hips, rubbing your clit against that soft patch of hair at the base of his cock, moaning and grunting softly, “Oh, Joel. Feels good.”

“I know it does,” he sighs as he leans forward to lift up your shirt and pulls it off of your body, then takes off his own, “That’s better.” He runs his thumbs over the soft curve of your tummy, then slides his hands up your rib cage before cupping your breasts, twisting and rolling your nipples. 

The way he looks at you makes your cheeks feel hot. You lean forward to hide your face, grinding your hips into him. He holds you close to his body with his hands wrapping around your back before gripping your ass and bouncing you up and down on him, stretching and parting your insides. You allow yourself to rest against him, letting him do the work and take care of you. His cock feels incredible. So thick, so hard, hitting against all of your favorite spots. “So good, takin’ me so good, sweetheart,” he praises, “Ya always do.”

Joel squeezes your ass tighter. He can see your reflection in the TV, loving the way your body moves, how you tremble, how you rock your hips, how you whimper his name. It’s all for him. “Wanna, fuck,” he sighs, snaking his hand between your bodies as he finds your clit with his fingertips, rubbing circles around it, “Wanna make you come on my cock. Make those pretty noises for me.”

With Joel’s cock hitting you right where you need him, his fingers playing with your clit, it’s not long before your orgasm approaches. “Right there, Joel. Like that, just like that,” you moan breathlessly, “I’m gonna come for you.”

“Yeah, gimme a good one,” he says. He fucks you expertly, each of his thrusts deep and intentional. It’s all for you. He just wants to watch you come, hear you moan his name, feel you soak his cock. Your breaths quicken and your moans quiet as you near your climax, and you come with loud cries and moans. Joel pulls you close, fucking you through it as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. “Fuck,” he hisses rocking his hips into you once, twice, three more times before he comes with a groan, painting your insides with rope after rope of his hot seed. 

You fall forward, resting your face against the couch as you both catch your breath. He rests his head next to you, looking deep into your eyes before flicking his gaze to your lips, then back up to your eyes. You stare at his lips too.

“Your head still okay?” he asks, “Smacked it real good.”

“Think so.”

“Gonna keep an eye on it anyway,” Joel whispers, “What am I gonna do with you, Inglewood, hmm?”, bringing his hand to your face and rubbing your cheekbone with his thumb. You’re still staring at his lips. His pink, pouting lips that have never kissed your own.

“I’m not sure,” you murmur, “What do you think?”

Joel runs his thumb along your bottom lip, pulling it down before letting go, “Haven’t got a clue.”

Joel leaves you to grab a warm wash rag and clean you up, then helps you back into your clothes. He reaches for the controller and starts up Super Mario Brothers one more time, and you snuggle his bicep like before. This time, he doesn’t try to move you. 

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Halloween Special

Summary: You dress up as Joel for Halloween, and Tommy helps you enhance your costume. Joel fucking hates your costume. God, you're annoying.

Warnings: smut, arguing, oral (f receiving) male masturbation, joel jerks himself off while eating u out, southern phrases, unprotected piv, rough sex, Joel stuffs your mouth with part of his costume to shut you up, creampie, secret Ron Swanson (Joel dresses up like a pirate the way Ron Swanson does), yee haw mothafuckas

A/N: This story absolutely can be read as a standalone, but if you like these two and would like to see more of their antics, they the Mall Rats and you can read more about them in my masterlist ! thank you @papipascalispunk for editing ❤️❤️ btw it is my birthday🎂🎉🥳i'm 21 today! And if you were feeling so inclined i wouldn't say no to some birthday wishes <3

“Why do all of these women’s costumes look like they’re from Victoria’s Secret?”, you ask as you and Joel rifle through the pile of twenty year old Halloween costumes. You’ve just gotten back from an old Spirit Halloween store with Joel, and now you’re sorting through costumes for the people of Jackson at his house. Some are salvageable and in good condition, some are old and moldy. 

Halloween doesn’t make much sense post-apocalypse. If there’s any candy left, it’s all rotten. It’s not practical for kids to trick-or-treat for baked goods and apples, the few sweets Jackson has to offer. So instead, Maria and Tommy are hosting a Halloween potluck at their home. All are invited and encouraged to dress up, bring food. The party’s tonight.

“Who knows,” Joel mumbles, “Just how it was.”

“Did you dress all slutty too?”

“‘Course I did. Turned all kinds of tricks back in my prime.”

“Then here–”, you toss Joel a nurse costume, “Be a slutty nurse for the party.”

“Yeah, no thanks.”

You snicker to yourself as you sort the piles. You’ve got girls’ and boys’ costumes sorted by size, and along with mens’ and women’s. “What are you gonna dress up as, then?”

“I dunno. Do I have to?”, Joel asks, “I don’t even wanna go.”

“Too bad, you have to. And you have to dress up, too. It’s mandatory.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “What are you going as, then?” you shrug in response. Joel tosses you a costume, the guy in the picture seemingly wearing a sort of hat shaped like a thumb. “Knucklehead’, it reads. So fucking stupid. “Get it?”

“Ha-ha,” you throw the costume back in his direction. The costumes are all sorted now, so Joel bags up each pile to take to Maria. “Do you want any help with those bags?” you ask. 

“Nah, I got it. Thanks, though.” 

“Will I see you tonight?”

“Depends. How slutty you dressin’?”  Joel opens the door and grabs the bags of costumes.

“You know, the usual. Lingerie and cat ears.”

“Mmm. Definitely stayin’ home, then. Get the door for me?” Joel asks as he’s standing in the doorway with the bags in his hands. 

“Sure,” you nod. And as Joel leaves and you shut his door, his flannel draped over a chair catches your eye. You have the best costume idea. 

–

You get to Maria and Tommy’s around six. Tommy greets you at the door, hair slicked back and wearing a cape, his usual toothy grin enhanced by plastic fangs. There’s red makeup resembling dripping blood from the corners of his mouth. “Hey you,” he says. “What do we have here?”

You clear your throat and speak in a lower affectation, “Shut up and quit smilin’,” before breaking into a fit of giggles. 

Tommy laughs too. “Joel?”

“Bingo,” you reply. You’re wearing Joel’s flannel and a simple pair of jeans, with an exaggerated scowl. 

“Costume is spot on, ‘cept for one thing,” you raise your eyebrows and Tommy continues, “You’re much easier on the eyes than he is.”

“Oh, stop it,” you blush and smack his arm. “Speaking of, Joel here yet?”

“Oh, yeah. Off in the kitchen or something. He’s gonna hate your costume, darlin’. Absolutely fuckin’ hate it.” 

“Good, that was the plan,” you smile mischievously. 

“I like how you roll, sister,” Tommy drawls. “An’ in fact…” Tommy looks around himself before moving a hand to your waist and stealthily guiding you to a nearby bedroom, his baby’s nursery. 

“What are we doing, Tommy?”

“Shh, be cool, be cool,” Tommy tells you. He loves your costume, but he’s got an idea. A great idea, a way to improve it. He picks up a bottle of baby powder from the changing table and sits you down, then sprinkles some in your hair and combs it through with his fingers. “Now we’re cookin’,” he says. “Gotta get you that silver fox look, like Joel.” 

 “Ahh,” you hum in agreement. Should have thought of that one. That’s good.

“And–” Tommy continues, “You gotta talk like him too. You know how to do that?” 

“Sure,” you clear your throat and speak in a low tone again, mocking Joel. “Fuck this, fuck that, fuck you–”

“Oh, very close,” Tommy laughs, “Nah, you gotta get southern on his ass, sweetheart. You know what I’m sayin’?” you shake your head no. “That’s okay. M’gonna teach ya.”

Tommy spends the next ten minutes running through a list of southern words and phrases, teaching you how to speak in a southern accent. At the end, you’re both in a fit of giggles. “God, sweetheart, I love ya. Joel’s gonna shit a brick.” 

You come out of the nursery with Tommy and make your way into the kitchen where Joel’s sitting. He’s at the counter, alone, snacking on some carrot cake. You’re still trying to compose yourself, biting your lip to hide your smile. “Howdy, pardner.”

“Uh, hi,” Joel eyes you and Tommy suspiciously. He does not like the way you’re both smiling, definitely causing trouble. “The hell are you two so happy about?”

“Nothin’.” you say, looking at Tommy. He subtly nods in approval. Don’t pronounce the ‘ing’ at the end of those words. It’s ‘In’. Nothing, nothin’. Fucking, fuckin’. Something, somethin’. “Uh, Joel, what’s your costume?”

“What’s it look like? I’m a pirate,” he grumbles. He’s got an…interesting take on a pirate costume. He’s wearing a plain button down shirt, striped pajama bottoms, and a long red tie tied around his tummy. You’re pretty sure there was a men’s pirate costume in the pile that you had sorted from earlier. 

Tommy brushes your hair from your ear and whispers something. You smile, then speak to Joel. “Well, don’t you look cuter than a dimple on a bug’s ass.” 

“Did you just have a stroke?” Joel squints at you, “Wait a fuckin’ second–that’s my shirt.”

You look down at your shirt in mock surprise, “Well slap butter on my ass and call me a biscuit! I guess it is your shirt, Joel!”

Joel’s blushing, redder than a tomato. His flannel is ill fitting, but to Joel, it looks perfect on you. He swallows thickly. You’ve got one less button closed than what he wears, and he’s fighting the urge to let his eyes fall lower. “Where did you even–never mind. You - I told you - God dammit, this ain’t–”

“This ain’t funny,” you interrupt, matching his tone perfectly. 

Tommy’s giggling like an idiot next to you, then faces his palm up by his hip for a high five. You slap his palm and this enrages Joel, who glares at Tommy. “Don’t encourage this. The fuck is the matter with you?” Goddamn little brothers. 

“What, don’t y’all like my costume? I’m you.” 

“‘Course you are,” Joel grumbles. “Though a witch would be more fitting,” He looks at you closer, “What the hell is wrong with your hair?”

“I’m a silver fox just like you, Joel.”

Joel rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do not call me that. I can’t even look at you right now. Jesus Christ.” He eats the last of his cake, then stomps off, away from you and Tommy. 

“You,” a voice interrupts. It’s Maria, dressed as a black cat. She’s so cute. “You two are playing with fire. Tommy, leave this girl alone. Joel’s gonna wring her neck.”

Tommy shrugs. “It was her idea.” 

Maria doesn’t care. She smacks Tommy upside the head and ushers him towards the living room leaving you all by yourself. Tommy turns back to you, busted, he mouths. So you look for Joel. 

You make your way through the living room, check the porch. It’s only when you’re in a hallway that you feel a strong hand grip your forearm and drag you to the guest bedroom that you realize where Joel stormed off to. “What in tarnation?” you exclaim, and Joel locks the door. “This bedroom ain’t big enough for the two of us.” 

Joel rolls his eyes. “Shut up and take off your pants. Do it now,” he grunts. You smirk and begin unbuttoning your - Joel’s - shirt. “Pants,” he scolds you, annoyed. “You keep my shirt on for this.” 

You quit unbuttoning the shirt, “Thought you don’t like my costume?”

“I don’t,” Joel replies. You can see the tent in his pants, how achingly hard he is. You smirk. He’s all pissed off and worked up, a brutal combination. Your favorite combination. All because you’re wearing his shirt. Not really, though. You know the gray hair and the southern accent are what’s really pissing him off. You wearing his shirt is just fine. 

In a fit of giggles, you can barely get the words out, “You’re hard as a match–wait,” you pause, unable to control your laughter. You catch your breath before continuing, “Shit fire and save matches, you’re hard as a r–”

“Don’t have time for this,” Joel grumbles. In one fell swoop, he unbuttons your jeans and pulls them and your panties down your legs, tossing them elsewhere. He shoves you on the bed before kneeling at the edge, pulling you by your hips. The cold air has your skin erupting in goosebumps that are then soothed by his hot breath on your thighs, as he presses sloppy kisses into your skin. “You have no–” he kisses your other thigh, “Fuckin’ idea,” then drags his tongue up your soft flesh, “What you’re doin’ to me, wearin’ my shirt like that. M’gonna devour you, sweetheart.”

Joel startles you by licking a long, fat stripe right up your hot and slick core, groaning as he tastes you, “Fuck,” you moan, fingers carding through Joel’s hair. You know this is getting tired. Seriously. Time and place. But even with his head between your thighs, you can’t stop. You struck gold. “Heaven to Betsy, it seems I have a visitor!” 

Joel sighs as he pulls away from your core and stares at you, unimpressed. “You done yet?”

“Darn tootin’,” You get no reaction from Joel. “Yes...I’m done.” 

“So fuckin’ sick of you. S’not funny. I don’t talk like that.”

And he’s right back where he was. First he’s inhaling you, your sweet scent, he licks another long stripe up your pussy, his tongue soft and firm against your core. He drags his tongue through your folds, moaning into your skin and savoring the way you taste.  He keeps one arm wrapped around your thigh while the other is pulling down his striped pajama bottoms just over his cock, the waistband resting beneath his balls. Joel spits on your pussy, then drags his thumb up and down your core, collecting the mixture on his fingertips before spreading it on his cock. He grips himself tight, stroking himself up and down as his tongue teases your entrance, exploring your sex.

You can feel his shoulder jerk with every movement of his hand on his cock. You wish you could see it, his shaft shiny with your slick and the head red and swollen.

“Good lord,” Joel whispers against you. He eats you like he’s starved, eyes closed and lips wrapped around your clit. His fingertips dig into your thighs at a bruising pressure, his nose is buried in the coarse hair that covers your mound. “Fuckin’ good…so fuckin’ good,” Your skin, your musk, your arousal. He’s addicted to it, addicted to the taste of your pleasure. And Christ, the way his flannel drapes over your stomach, peeking over the tops of your thighs. He could die a happy man right here, between your thighs. 

“Joel,” you cry, rocking your hips against his face. You’re moving too much. He bites your thigh and holds you firmer, his bicep flexing against you under the soft fabric of his shirt.

He alternates between lapping at your dripping core, sucking your sensitive clit, and fucking you on his tongue. Whatever he wants to do to you, because this is his treat. His.

“Yeah Joel, right there,” you whimper. You can feel it in your thighs, your gut, that familiar closeness is back. Under Joel’s tongue, you’re unraveling, coming undone for him. “M’so close.”

“This ain’t about you,” he growls. “Y’got yer kicks already, didn’t you? Teasin’ me in your little getup. Pokin’ fun and bein’ mean t’me.” 

“No, Joel, I wasn’t–”

“I don’t care, sweetheart,” Joel says softly as he works himself. You hear the slick sounds of his fist slapping against his skin. “I don’t care. This ain’t about you. M’doin’ this f’me. Don’t you dare come.” 

But you do. Not out of defiance, not to piss him off further. You just can’t help yourself. The way he purrs and growls into your skin, the way his arm holds you in place so firm. And his tongue, working pure fucking magic against you. Your orgasm ripples through you violently, taking you by storm. It feels hot and electric, intense and overpowering. Generously, he works you through it, licking and lapping at you, pulling every ounce of pleasure from your body that he can get. Static rings in your ears and you’re limp, pliant on the bed, eyes closed in pure bliss.

When you finally open your eyes, you realize Joel is standing above you, breathing heavily. Cock still achingly hard in his fist. “You weren’t supposed to do that,” he breathes.

“It was an accident,” you reply.

“Accident, my ass.” You bite your lip to hide your smirk. Joel knows that look on your face. Mischief. He reads you like a book, knows that you’re not done with your little act as you pull him onto the bed, flip him on his back and mount him. He knows exactly what you’re planning. Something about saving a horse, riding a cowboy. Of course you are. God, you’re exhausting.

You reach between your bodies and line his head up with your entrance, then sink down on him. Slowly, savoring the way he stretches you out. It hurts. He didn’t use his fingers on you. But you’re committed to what you have planned.

“Joel,” you breathe, rocking your hips slowly against him. “I have something to tell you.”

“What could you possibly need to tell me now, motormouth?” That devious smirk on your face…he knows what you’re about to say, answering his own question. He rolls his eyes, exasperated, “For the love of god…Go on, then. Get it out of your system, numb nuts.”

“YEEEE HAWWW!” you squeal, and Joel lunges forward to wrap a hand over your mouth. He did not think you were gonna be that loud. The party’s loud, but not that loud. “Jesus Christ,” he hisses. “The fuck is the matter with you? You cannot scream like that…Christ almighty.”

He flips you over, pulls out of you and rips the tie off of his belly. “My fuckin’ turn, now. Drivin’ me to drink,” He stuffs it into in your mouth, “Can you breathe?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s unfortunate,” he retaliates. He wraps your legs around his waist and lines up with your entrance once more, burying himself to the hilt in a quick shove with his hips. You gasp, your voice muffled by his tie.

He finds his pace quickly, pistoning into you at a devastating pace. Hard and fast and deep, like you love. “Fuckin’ ridiculous,” he pants. “You’re impossible. You know that? Impossible.”

You can’t smile, can’t speak. With your mouth stuffed full you can do is look at him with wide eyes, and all Joel can think is god, you have no business being so pretty and so fucking irritating at the same time. Joel’s shirt is buttoned halfway up your body and he watches your tits bounce under the fabric with every thrust of his hips. Your nipples taut and hard, the shirt falling away from your torso and framing your body just so, like you’re a painting, just for him.

“God,” Joel grunts. You wrap your legs tighter around him, hold his forearms that cage your head. You look into his eyes as he fucks you, his usual sparkling brown eyes nearly black with lust. And it might get you into trouble, but you need more. Need to feel him, taste him. Pulling the tie out of your mouth, you lift your head, kissing and sucking up his neck and all the way to his jaw and his cheek still slick with your own arousal. You taste yourself on his skin as you kiss his face, lips just centimeters away from meeting his own.

Joel makes all sorts of strangled noises as he pounds into you. His muscles tense and you can feel his cock twitch and stiffen inside you, and with his last few strong and deep thrusts, he spills into you. He comes hard, painting your walls with rope after rope of his hot seed.

He catches his breath on top of you as you trace lazy patterns into his back and his scalp, his head resting against the mattress. Completely drained of his energy. You can feel him going soft. “Joel, I need a rag or something before I make a mess on this bed.”

“Oh, yeah,” He looks up, raising his eyebrows when he sees his tie in his peripheral vision. He takes it, 

“You weren’t s’posed to take this out of your mouth,” he says, “Least you stayed quiet for once. Maybe you could be quiet the rest of the night, hm?” he mumbles as he pulls out of you, wiping you down gently with the tie. He folds it up to keep the mess of his spend contained. “You do that for me?”

You smile. If only you weren’t all out of the sayings that Tommy taught you anyway. Joel helps dress you in your pants and underwear again, straightens out the buttons on your flannel. He tells you that you don’t have to give it back to him as you comb your fingers through his hair, taming it. “Joel?”

“Yeah, hon.”

“You really didn’t like my costume?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joel smiles for the first time tonight, and exaggerates his own southern accent. “Bless your heart.”

You tilt your head, confused, “What’s that one?”

 “What, Tommy didn’t teach you that one?” You mumble a no and Joel hums. “S’a classic.”

“What’s it mean?”

“Well, I’d tell you to ask Tommy but you’re not allowed to hang out with him anymore,” Joel says. “Fuckin’ corrupted you. An’ it’s a shame, ‘cause I was startin’ to like you. God, he’s an asshole,” he complains, “And you are too, for that matter.”

You smile to yourself, then kiss Joel’s cheek before getting up to leave. Before you open the door, you turn to Joel, “Your costume sucks, by the way. Not even close to a pirate.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he replies. “Now get lost, you.”

When you leave, Joel adjusts his clothes. He clutches his tie in his hand, then leaves the bedroom, crashing into someone. It’s Tommy, wearing a shit-eating grin. Joel sighs, “What’d you teach her now?”

Tommy smirks. “Nothin’,” then slaps Joel on the ass, and Joel turns beet red. “Yee-haw, cowboy.”

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Love Spell

(Sex pollen) After eating some mysterious berries, you and Joel spend a very memorable and unexpected Valentine’s Day together 🍓🫐🍑🍆💦. (5.4k)

tags- pwp oneshot, jackson joel, slight dubcon bc of sex pollen, unrealistic romanticized descriptions of arousal,masturbation, little bit of edging, gay berries, orgasm denial, oral (f receiving) unprotected piv, creampie, biting, slight overstim, reader has a little crush on tommy if you squint but don't we all

a/n- happy valentimes!💕💖 thank you @beefrobeefcal, @notjustjavierpena, @tightjeansjavi, for their help brainstorming @noxturnalpascal for her help as well, and also for betaing.

if you're into sex pollen fics, @toxicanonymity has a great one called Lazaretto !!

masterlist, ko-fi, fic notifs

It feels like it’s been hours that you’ve been here in this dilapidated cabin with Joel. You don’t wear a watch and you’re not exactly sure what time it is, but it’s definitely time to go back home. Joel’s lost in focus at the kitchen table where the old wood is chipped and splintering, tinkering with his radio. He always seems to get stuck with this one, constantly malfunctioning. 

You’re bored. You’ve done all you can do in this place. Scavenged for supplies, looked through old books, though most are too damaged to actually read, all waterlogged and pages torn. And it’s dark in here too, gloomy. The couch you’re sitting on has broken springs, it feels like it’s swallowing you whole as you listen to Joel quietly futz at the table, softly swearing to himself. Might be time to retire that radio, you think.  

Fuck it. You wobble as you struggle to get off the broken couch. Joel doesn’t even look up as you stroll through the small space, he just mumbles, “No wanderin’.”

“I’m not,” you tell him. Quietly, you push open the front door and steal a peek at Joel. He still doesn’t notice you, so you leave the cabin. 

Outside it’s brighter, but overcast. Less gloomy than in that dingy cabin, though. You take note of your surroundings before exploring, there’s a trail that leads away from the house that looks intriguing that you decide to explore. As you walk along the path, you try to keep an eye out for anything interesting. There’s not much this time of year when it’s so gray and monotonous. The sky and the weather’s the same every day. Cold and cloudy. The snow has melted and frozen again, it’s icy and muddy now, not fresh and sparkly like it was before. And there’s no animals, no chipmunks or birds to watch. 

Something colorful catches your eye as you travel the path. It’s a bush, flowering and budding with fruit. They appear to be little berries, ranging in color from royal indigo to fiery magenta, and shaped like little hearts. You crouch down to examine them closer, twisting and turning them in your gloved hand. 

God, how you’ve missed fruit this winter. You’ve missed the cherries and apricots and sometimes peaches that grow in and around Jackson in the summertime. You’d eat them plain or incorporate them into pastries, sometimes mix them into your salads. These berries are such a fortuitous find. You shrug your backpack off your shoulders and scrounge around for a little cloth sack you keep for opportune moments like these, then pick off the little heart shaped berries and drop them into your sack. 

Something nudges your back. When you turn around, Joel’s there wearing a frown. “What’d I say about wanderin’?”

“I didn’t go far.”

“You weren’t supposed to go anywhere,” Joel chides. “What’s in your hand?”

You stand up to give him a closer look at the berries. “Aren’t they neat?”

Joel squints and his eyebrows knit together. “What are they?” You shrug in response. “You don’t know?”

“No,” you reply. You can already feel that was the wrong answer.

Joel’s a lot of things, but a botanist is not one of them. Still, he knows a few basic rules about plants. Leaves of three, leave them be. Don’t touch or eat any suspicious berries. That’s pretty much never a smart idea. Joel rolls his eyes before you can continue. “Well don’t touch ‘em then,” he gruffs.

“But I was gonna–”

“Don’t care. Leave ‘em be,” he interrupts. “We’re leavin’.” 

Joel turns around to follow the path back to the cabin, and for a moment you consider leaving the berries but you decide against it. Fuck it. Sweets are already hard to come by, especially right now. You drop a few more berries into your sack, place it neatly into your pack, then jog to meet Joel. 

-

Joel always walks you to your home after patrol shifts, but today it’s not necessary. You lie about stopping at the trading post instead. You can’t tell him the truth, which is that you're really stopping at the library to check out a couple of books about the flora in Wyoming. 

This is what you were trying to tell Joel. You’re not an idiot, you weren’t just gonna eat the berries willy nilly. You were gonna be responsible and look up information about these berries first, obviously. And if they happen to be poisonous, you’ll throw them out. No big deal. You just don't need Joel bitching in your ear the whole time.

But you don’t get a crystal-clear answer. You’ve got three books open at your kitchen table as you flip through their pages with one hand, holding a berry with your other hand. You’ve seen a couple berries in these books that look similar to your heart-shaped mystery berries, but not quite the same. Nothing is indicating that they’re poisonous, though. 

Still, these berries are odd and nothing like you’ve ever seen before. The colors are so very vibrant and they smell sickly, almost cloyingly sweet. The juice of the berry makes your fingertips tingle, similar to how it feels to touch a chili pepper but not quite painful the way capsaicin is. 

You’re achingly curious about the way they taste. Your investigation about the berries was inconclusive, but they’re probably fine, right? You could just taste the juice that’s on your fingertips. It’s not that much. Worst case scenario, it tastes bad. Maybe makes your stomach churn. A little berry couldn't possibly hurt you.

You bring your finger to your lips and taste the juice with the tip of your tongue. Despite the almost saccharine smell, it tastes rather tart. Almost bitter, even. Not quite something you’d want to put into a pastry, but perhaps you could just candy the berries and enjoy them that way. So that’s exactly what you do, first making a simple syrup on your stove to coat the berries in, then rolling them in granulated sugar. They’re beautiful, heart-shaped little berries that now sparkle with the sugar coating, perfect for Valentine’s Day. 

You sigh sadly. That’s today. You wish you could share these berries with someone. Joel’s the first person who comes to mind, but that’s a bad idea. He’d say something like ‘I ain’t your fuckin’ valentine’ and then probably scold you for disobeying him by taking the berries he told you to leave alone. So yeah, fuck that. 

Tommy, Joel’s brother, however…

Tommy and his major sweet tooth would be much more appreciative of your candied berries. It’s one of his biggest vices, that sweet tooth of his. You could drop some of these berries off to Tommy real quick tonight. He’s all alone with his baby, you saw on the schedule earlier that Maria’s on evening patrol shift tonight. Yeah, you’ll do that. You won’t stay for long, just a quick hi and bye visit. 

You line a little basket with some scrap fabric you have, it’s a cute red and white gingham pattern with little hearts where the stripes meet, very fitting for the occasion. You place your sugared berries in the basket and fold the fabric over top of them before pulling on your jacket and heading to Tommy’s house. 

Once you’re at Tommy’s porch, you knock on the front door. You can hear heavy footsteps approaching and when the door swings open, you’re greeted by Joel. “Oh,” you say, “You’re not Tommy.” 

“No I’m not. What do you want?”

You show Joel your little Valentine’s Day basket. “To give these to Tommy,” you reply. 

Joel looks judgmental as he raises his eyebrows in amusement. “I’m sure he’ll think that’s awfully cute, but he’s married, you know. Got his valentine already.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh shut up, Joel,” you reply. “It’s harmless.”

“Oh, sure,” he drawls sarcastically, “What’d you get him anyway?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you mock. 

Joel shakes his head. “Well Tommy’s not here, you know. He’s out with Maria. Didn’t want his valentine to be all alone tonight.”

“That’s sweet of him,” you say. “So you’re babysitting?”

“Mhm,” Joel hums as he nods his head. As if on cue, you and Joel hear the baby begin to fuss in the distance. “Speak of the devil,” Joel mutters. He’s off to go soothe the baby back to sleep but he lets you inside first, probably to drop off your gift and go. You place the little basket on the coffee table in the living room, first stealing and eating one of the candied berries you’ve gifted to Tommy. It’s tasty, you've achieved the perfect balance between sweet and tart in your treat. One more won’t hurt, Tommy won’t know. 

As you swallow the second berry, you take note of the way the fruit make you feel. Tingly on your tongue, just like how the juice felt on your fingers earlier. Only this time, the sensation is more intense. You can feel the sensation in the back of your throat, your stomach, too. It’s not unpleasant, just…interesting. Sort of ticklish, almost. 

When Joel’s put the baby back to sleep, he closes the door quietly and tiptoes back to the living room. “Do you want any help tonight?” you offer.

“Nah, it’s okay. Baby’s a good sleeper, not very fussy usually. It’ll be a boring night.”

“Ah, okay. No valentine to keep you company?”

Joel chuckles. “Yeah, god no,” he says as he bends over, placing a log into the fireplace which makes you wonder. It’s pretty warm in here, you think. You’d let the fire die down if you were the one staying here all night. But maybe Joel’s chilly. “Sit down,” he tells you. “Can I get you some water or somethin’?”

“Oh, sure,” you answer. You’re kind of surprised at the offer. You would’ve expected for Joel to tell you to beat it after his very transparently negative reaction to the possibility of having a valentine. Maybe he does want company, just not of the valentine variety. Joel hands you a glass of water and sits next to you on the couch. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he says. “What about you, no valentine of your own?”

“No,” you sigh sadly, taking a sip of water. 

“S’a shame. You seem to like it,” Joel gestures to the basket on the coffee table. 

“Yeah,” you shrug off your jacket and toss it onto a nearby chair. God, it’s getting hot in here. Fucking sweltering. “I dunno. I like all holidays,” you explain. “What about you, what do you think about Valentine’s Day?”

“S’bullshit.”

“Bullshit?”

“Yeah, total bullshit,” Joel explains. “Before the outbreak, it was such a stupid corporate holiday. Made people feel bad for being single…” Joel’s voice begins to fade out in your mind as he starts to go on a tangent. You’re having trouble focusing. You have your elbow sitting on top of the couch, resting your head against your fist as you stare at Joel. He’s not boring you or anything like that but gosh, it’s so fucking hot. Your skin is starting to feel damp as you begin to sweat. You wipe your forehead and stare at Joel as he rambles on. He doesn’t admit this to you and not to himself either, but Joel does sort of like Valentine’s Day. Or he did, at one point. Maybe even still does, just a tiny bit. But again, not that he’d ever admit that. When Joel was a freshman in high school years and years ago, he had saved his money to buy a heart shaped pendant for a girl he’d asked to the Valentine’s Day dance. She stood him up and it soured the holiday for him permanently, the poor guy.

“...all about sellin’ greeting cards chocolates and ugly-ass heart-shaped jewelry…” 

You nod as he speaks, but you’re not really listening. Is he sweating too? He has to be, right? Sweat. Oh god, his sweat. Why are you thinking about Joel sweating? Why are you thinking about his hair, curly and damp, sticking to his forehead? Beads of sweat trailing down that gorgeous face of his, the sharp slope of his nose, trailing down his jaw, pooling in that V-shape at the bottom of his neck. And then you’re thinking of where his neck meets his shoulders, how big and broad they are. Your eyes are trailing lower, down his waist and where his soft, pillowy tummy protrudes in his shirt slightly. And his thighs are so thick, framing his bulge just so. Joel’s voice fades out and oh god, you're imagining how firm and heavy his package would be, how it’d feel in your hands and–

Joel’s quiet. He’s staring at you expectantly, and you blink when you realize he’s waiting for you to say something, but you’ve not been paying attention to a single word out of his mouth for the last five minutes. “I uhhhh,” you hum, trying to think of something to say. “I thought Valentine’s Day was about celebrating Saint Valentine initially, right?”

“Oh yeah, probably, and Christmas was about Jesus before Coke got ahold of Saint Nick…” Joel doesn’t know. He goes on to say that some company called Hallmark took the reins and used the holiday to sell greeting cards. But the fire is burning brightly and it’s making your face feel hot and sticky. You’re feeling hot and sticky elsewhere too, as you become intensely mindful of how your body is starting to feel. You’re almost sizzlingly hot and there’s a new feeling, a dull ache in your core that's getting increasingly sharper as time goes on. Your brain is feeling sort of fuzzy, finding it hard to focus on anything but Joel and his body and his body on yours and how he’d taste and feel inside you and–

“Fuckin’ hate Valentine’s Day.” 

“Yeah, totally,” you mumble, “Me too, me too.”

“What?” Joel tilts his head in confusion. “You just said you liked it.”

“Yeah, I do,” you nod.

Joel squints at you as he realizes something went wrong. “You doin’ okay?” he asks, but you don’t reply. Your eyes are fluttering shut as you continue nodding your head slowly. “Hey, look at me,” Joel takes your chin gently, holding it between his thumb and his forefinger. He presses the back of his hand against your forehead, where it feels almost cool against your skin. He holds both of your cheeks in his hands after that, his touch innocent yet it sets your skin ablaze. He stares at you with those sparkly, seductive, deep chestnut eyes of his. “You feel warm.”

“Don’t you?”

“Mmm…not particularly,” Joel says softly. “Tommy’s got them single pane windows and thin walls, so it’s chilly. I’d reckon you’re running a fever. Why don’t we take this off?” Joel tugs at your sweater.

You nod silently. You’re so out of it. It’s no longer discomfort you’re feeling, it’s turning painful at this point. Your core is fucking throbbing, aching, now. Joel’s fingertips skate along your shoulders when he pulls down your cardigan, leaving you in just a thin tank top. 

“Seems like this bug came out of nowhere. S’it your stomach?”

You shake your head no, keeping your eyes closed. Looking at Joel makes whatever’s going on with you worse, somehow. Yet, even with your eyes shut, you continue to see him in your mind. You can fucking smell him. 

“Here, drink your water,” Joel holds the back of your head gently and places your glass of water at your lips, encouraging you to take a couple sips. “Think you’re sick, but I can’t take you home right now. Why don’t we–”

You pull away from Joel and use all of your energy to sprint to the bathroom, where you shut and lock the door and splash your face with some cold water. It does nothing. 

You don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you, but you know what you need right now. You’re not particularly proud of yourself for this, unbuttoning your jeans and sliding them down your legs. They stick to your sweaty skin, the denim is damp. When you kick them off your feet you lean against the door and spread your legs, shoving your hand down the front of your panties. Your pussy is fucking dripping as your circle your clit urgently, whimpering and crying softly.

To say Joel is concerned would be an understatement. You’re in the bathroom for 15 minutes as he waits on the couch, wondering what the hell is going on with you. He knows whatever’s wrong, you need privacy, but he can’t help himself. He paces quickly to the bathroom where he hears your muffled whines. What the fuck? Joel raps against the door quietly. “Hon? Open up. Tell me what’s goin’ on,” He backs away from the door when he feels you thump against it and yelp. He didn’t mean to startle you. “Open the door,” he says. 

“I can’t, Joel,” you sob. 

“Yes you can. Just open,” Joel waits a moment for you to open the door, but you don’t. “It’s gonna be okay. Just open the door for me.”

Fuck. Maybe…maybe you should just open it. It’s a compromising position you’re in but this is an emergency. And Joel’s seen you in intimate and compromising positions before, but those are stories for another time. Tentatively, you unlock and open the door. Joel wears a worried expression as he walks in, taking note of your appearance. Your hair messy, your skin sweaty. “It hurts, Joel,” you cry.

“What hurts?” Joel asks as he places his hands on your shoulders. “Where does it hurt? Let me see.” Your hand travels lower, where you press it against your center and bite down on a groan. Jesus Christ, you’ve never been this sensitive in your life. Joel notices then that your panties are damp, your fingers are shiny. He realizes you’re aroused, and deeply so, by the looks of it. But he’s thinking that this isn’t normal. Arousal can be intense, but not like this. Not so urgently, not to the point of true physical pain. Something’s not right here.  “Did you take something?” 

“No, no,” you breathe. 

“What the hell’d you get yourself into? You eat something?” 

Fuck. Your mouth drops open as you realize, it’s probably those berries. Oh god, he’s gonna be pissed. You nod quietly. 

“What’d you eat?”

“...berries,” you say, your voice barely audible. 

“Speak up,” Joel motions to his right ear where he’s lost his hearing. You say it again, whispering into his left ear. Berries. 

“Berries?” Joel’s confused. And then he remembers what happened earlier, when he was on patrol with you. Anger and frustration begins to bubble up inside of him. “The berries you didn’t know anything about?” Your lips are pursed in a straight line, a very visual admission of your guilt. “Those berries I specifically told you not to touch?” You nod. Fuuuuuck. “I’ll be goddamned,” Joel scoffs. He’s laughing dryly, but nothing about this is humorous. 

“I tried to make it go away but I can't,” you whine. “Fuck, it hurts, Joel.”

“Yeah, I'm sure it does.”

“Please touch me,” you plead, reaching for Joel’s face and cupping his jaw in your hands, “I need to—I don’t know, I think I need you to fuck me, Joel, please,” you beg urgently, your voice shaky. 

“Yeah, I’ll bet you do need that,” Joel taunts. He’s in disbelief. If what he thinks is happening is in fact happening, there’s not enough time to explain it to you. It’s fucking real. He can’t believe it’s fucking real.

 Some time ago, there was a community baking potluck sort of thing happening. Joel was standing in a corner, minding his business and eating a jelly pastry when a man approached him and said, “Hope you’re not eating the gay berries.”

Joel swallowed his bite. “Beg your pardon?” he said, annoyed. 

The man smirked and went on to explain a rumor that a FEDRA facility in Wyoming had genetically modified a berry plant to potentially use in a cure for cordyceps, but scrapped the idea when it had a fatal side effect they refused to disclose. This was largely forgotten by most people. 

Years later, a group of raiders happened upon the FEDRA facility which had since been abandoned. The raiders, likely not knowing that the berries were fatal, stashed them and ate them some distance away from the plant, closer to Jackson. At some point after eating the berries, the raiders, who were all men, became intensely sexually aroused, to the point of physical pain. Some tried masturbating to expel the feeling, but that proved to be ineffective. They knew what they needed to do but refused to give into their sexual instincts and died in about 24 hours, likely of heart attacks. Those that made love to each other lived to tell the tale, and thus the gay berries rumor was started. 

-

“You ate an aphrodisiac, hon.”

 “What?”

 “An aphrodisiac. Increases the libido. Which–” Joel reaches for your hand, and you whine as he pulls it away from your core.  He brings your glistening fingers to his lips, sucking them into his mouth, “Would explain this.” He hums softly as he tastes your arousal. Joel loves the taste of a woman’s wetness but this is different. You’re addictively sweet, something he’s never experienced before. Must be the berries.

“Please touch me,” you whine, “Please, please, please."

“Yeah, I will,” murmurs. Joel pulls off your tank top and slides your soaked panties down your legs, tossing them away. Joel lifts you by your ass and sits you on the sink, spreading your legs wide and slotting himself between them. He places one of his hands on the wall above you, the other one at your core, his fingers tracing along your dripping seam. “How’s this feel?” he asks. You’re moaning with what sounds like pleasure, but he needs a better answer. “Words.”

“Good,” you breathe, “S-sensitive. Need more.”

If the rumors are true, and–based on your current state–he’s betting they are, you have plenty of time before the side effects turn fatal. Knowing his touch isn’t hurting you, just that it seems to tease you, Joel decides he can let you deal with the consequences of your insubordination for a moment. He sinks to his knees and wraps his arms around your thighs, pulling your pussy close to his face. His hot breath on your cunt tickles and teases you. He pulls back a little to kiss your inner thighs, sucking and biting your skin gently. He can smell you and your musk, just as sweet as you taste.

You reach for his hair, carding your fingers through his scalp. You allow him to kiss your skin a little bit longer, but he takes advantage of the power he holds and teases you seemingly without end. You tug his hair impatiently, “Touch me.”

Joel pulls back and glares at you. “Do you really think you get to make demands of me right now?”

You scramble forward, reaching for him again. “Need you, I need you right now.”

Joel silently glares at you as he obliges to your request. If the situation weren’t as dire as it is, he wouldn’t be letting you boss him around like this. That’s fine. He’ll touch you if that’s what you want. Doesn’t mean he’ll make you come yet. Consequences. 

He moves closer to you, inhaling your sweet scent deeply before he first tastes you, pressing a single, sloppy kiss against your cunt. He glares at you intensely as he kisses your pussy, using his eyes to say what his mouth cannot. When he finally tastes you, really tastes you, his eyes flutter shut. He moans deeply as he drags his tongue up and down your folds, savoring just how heavenly you taste.

He pulls away from you momentarily to admire you. You’re glistening wet, your lips puffy and swollen, skin darkened. You poor thing. He watches you in awe as he spits on your pussy, then slides his thumb up and down your dripping heat. You writhe with his touch, hips rolling and back arching as you whine for more. Joel delivers, spreading your lips wide so his tongue can tease your entrance before diving in, exploring your sex. 

“Ohh, fuck,” Joel whispers in admiration. His mustache prickles against your skin, his beard scratches your thighs. He laps at you, eats you like he’s starved, his eyes closed shut in ecstasy. The flesh of your thighs billows beneath the firm, bruising pressure of his fingertips digging into you, his nose is buried in the coarse curls that cover your mound. “Taste so fuckin’ good…so fuckin’ good,” he praises. Your skin, your scent, your arousal, your heat. He’s addicted to your pleasure. He could stay here between your thighs for hours if the situation allowed it.

And it feels good, his tongue feels incredible as it soothes the aching in your core. But you’ve still not finished. Joel’s been savoring you for what feels like hours and any other time you’d be savoring this too, but you’re impatient, urgently needing your release. “Make me come,” you demand, “I need more, make me–”

“Am I hurting you?” he asks. “Are you in pain?”

“No, no,” you breathe. “It’s better, it feels better.” 

“Then you can wait,” he says. 

“Joel–”

“Quiet,” he interrupts. “If you’d have listened to me you wouldn’t be in this mess,” You groan in frustration, grinding yourself against his nose, seeking out release yourself. He bites your thigh and holds you tighter. “Nuh-uh, you knock that off. You’re not usin’ me like that.”

“Please, please, Joel.”

“You can beg me all you want. No,” he grumbles. “I’ll make it all better, you know that. But since I’m bailin’ you out, we’re doin’ this my way.”

The affirmation that he will in fact take care of you soothes you, but you wonder what exactly ‘his way’ means. It’s not long before you find out, when he’s repeating the same motions he was making before. Eating your pussy for his pleasure, alternating between lapping at your velvety folds and dipping his tongue into your center. Taking advantage of the oh-so-sweet side effects that these berries have on you.

Joel surprises you when he finally, finally pays attention to your poor, neglected face. “Oh my god, right there, right there,” you whimper. It’s almost instantaneous when you feel that heat in your thighs and your gut, that closeness you’ve been craving so desperately. Under Joel’s tongue, you’re unraveling, coming undone…

And he pulls away. You cry out, your face is hot and tears of frustration are beginning to well in your eyes. Joel wipes them away. “Breathe,” he whispers. “I always deliver. You’ll be fine.”

Joel helps you off of the sink, steadying you as your legs wobble. He spins you around so you’re facing the mirror and you can’t help but stare at each other’s reflection. Joel behind you, his face soaked with your slick and his still-clothed torso rising and falling steadily. You in front of him, stripped bare and your face wrecked, your eyes wide and pleading. The quiet clanging sound as he unbuckles his belt sends a shiver down your spine, and his hands feel so big and warm on your hips when he finally pulls your ass toward his crotch. The tip of his cock taps against your ass a couple of times as he uses one of his hands to push your chest lower, causing you to arch your back for him. Perfect. 

You clench around nothing as Joel notches his tip at your entrance, pushing into you slowly. “Christ–squeezin’ me too tight,” he hisses through his teeth. “Easy, sweetheart. You gotta let me in. Relax.” 

You push out a deep breath, allowing Joel to enter you fully. The way his cock feels inside you is incredible, his length filling you whole and stretching you deliciously. It’s just what you’ve needed. You’re impatient as you back your ass into him, but he doesn’t yet fuck you. He knows you need a moment to get used to him. 

“Unbelievable,” he whispers to himself with a tight shake of his head. Still can’t believe any of this. He was right about Valentine’s Day and he was right about those fucking berries. 

“What?” you ask. 

He pulls out of you and plunges back in with a grunt, “Nothin’,” he says. “Gonna fuck ya now.”

You moan loudly at the action and Joel scrambles to hold his palm over your mouth, keeping your sounds muffled. You watch his face in the mirror, how his brows knit together in focus and pleasure. His lips are parted and his tongue peeks between them slightly. He grunts and groans softly behind you as he removes his hand from your mouth, both of his now holding your waist as he finds his pacing. 

“Oh, Joel,” you moan. 

“I know, I know,” he murmurs. “You’re takin’ me so good. So fuckin’ wet f’me.” 

Joel fucks you steadily, a hard and fast pace to meet your needs. You back your hips against him to meet his thrusts. You take him, all of him, lost in the way he makes you feel. In truth, you’ve needed him for so long, long before the incident tonight. It makes everything all the more satisfying. 

Joel’s thighs smack against your ass, his heavy balls smacking against your clit, his belt buckle dragging rhythmically against the floor with his pants around his ankles. “So pretty with my cock in ya,” he groans, “You know that?”

Moans of a pleasure spill from your lips like honey as you’re struggling to keep quiet. Joel is too. You watch him in the mirror, how he bites down on a whine now and then. His graying curls are damp and sticking to his forehead, just how you imagined they’d look. You can feel his heavy breaths, sharp and unsteady. You adjust yourself slightly against Joel and bring his hand to your clit, encouraging him to massage the sensitive bud. “S’whatcha need, hm?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, “Please.”

Joel’s fingers circle your clit steadily as he hits that sweet spot deep inside you. It is just what you needed. That lost sensation from before is back as heat behind to coil in your gut. When your moans become quicker and more frantic, your eyes flutter shut. “Y’gonna come for me?”

“Mhm,” you whimper. “I’m so close.”

“I’ll give you what you need, baby,” he coos. Joel reaches for your jaw and has you look up in the mirror at his reflection. “Right here. Eyes open. You keep lookin’ at me when you come on my cock. I wanna watch you.” 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, Joel,” you gasp, feeling your walls begin to pulse and squeeze him as Joel massages your clit. “Right there, right there, fuck.”

“Yeah go on, let go,” he encourages, “Let go f’me. That’s it, sweetheart.”

Keeping your eyes on him like he instructed, you fall apart on his cock. Your orgasm bubbles over and courses through your body powerfully, like none you’d ever experienced before. It’s deep and satisfying, instantly relieving any and all discomfort in your body. 

“That’s it, good girl,” Joel praises as he fucks you, chasing his own release. The sensation becomes overwhelmingly intense. “Too much,” you whimper, “Joel, please come in me.”

 You’re a shaking and quivering mess. “I know, you’re okay, I know,” he rasps, his thrusts becoming deeper and frenzied.  “Quit’ squirmin’, let me fill you up. I’ll take care of– ohh,” Joel spills into you then, painting your insides with his hot spend. He pulls you flush against his chest, biting into your neck softly as he climaxes, breathing heavily and grunting quietly. His teeth bite softly into your shoulder and then he soothes the marks left behind with his tongue. 

Joel pulls out of you, both of you groaning at the loss. His come is warm and sticky as it drips from your sex and down your thighs. He turns you around, quickly searching your body for any signs that something’s still wrong. “Is it better?”  

Yes. All you can do is nod as tears of relief or overwhelm or something else begin to spill from your eyes, and Joel wipes them once more. “You’re okay,” he coos. “You’re gonna listen to me from now on, won’t you?”

“Yeah,” you reach forward and hug him tightly.

Joel hugs you back, stroking your skin. “Yeah, you’re okay, sweetheart.”

As you begin to regain your senses, that fuzzy, awful, discombobulated feeling now gone from your body, you begin to wonder: how did he know? 

“Joel?” you ask, “How did you know?”

“So they call ‘em the gay berries,” Joel begins... 

Please make more fanfics of Pedro's characters with plus size readers. I'm begging.

Pls help!!

I've been looking for a fanfic that I've read about Frankie Morales

The whole squad was in some kind of cabin in the woods and reader was sent there bcuz of her father or smth but I could be wrong 😭😭

(also I'm not sure if it's from tumblr or AO3 🫠)

Joel Miller x Sarah’s Mom Reader

Here’s a snippet (not completed) of a Joel Miller x Reader one shot where reader is Sarah’s mom and they lost each other during the Outbreak but meet again years later

Let me know if I should post the full oneshot on here

If you have any requests let me know as well!

Listen to “I bet on losing dogs” by mitski

“Holy shit Joel I think someone’s been here before” Ellie exclaimed. It hasn’t been long since both of them arrived and settled in Jackson for a bit. It was important for Joel that Ellie could live a normal life, as normal as it can get.

Both of them were looking for supplies they had to stuck up on. The area they were in right now supposedly cleared of infected.

The house they were scavenging looked too lived in for their liking.

Joel grabbed onto his gun while slowly marching through the house. But as soon as he made his way to the door, a loud yelp escaped Ellie’s mouth as she was suddenly grabbed and held at gun point.

“Don’t. Move. What are you doing here” a light female voice said.

Joel turned around and his breath hitched. His heart beating twice as hard as she couldn’t believe who he was seeing. It couldn’t be

“(Y/n)-“, “Joel..” they both said in unison. Her grip onto Ellie faltered as a chocked sob escaped her lips.

Joel quickly made his way to her as he engulfed her in his big arms.

The woman he spend his youth with, the woman he had sarah with, standing right in front of him.

“I thought I lost you” he mumble softly, stray tears escaping his eyes. She looked at him, her hand caressing his cheeks.

“Where’s Sarah, god I missed her if only I didn’t went to visited my sister when this all happened she must be so big now” (Y/n) face lit up the moment she mentioned Sarah, her now knowing that Joel was alive gave her the confidence that she would see her daughter again.

Ellie’s eyes shifted to Joel the moment she heard Sarah’s name being mentioned. She just recently found out about Joel’s daughter and her faith. She could see how Joel’s eyes twitched in discomfort.

Pedro Pascal girlies and Joe Quinn girlies got it bad today. How are we feeling?

Me personally need 3 or more business days to recover.

Therapist: Oh, you definitely have daddy issues

Me: no, I don't

Also, me hours later realizing all my favorite fictional characters are older man....

sex headcanons

note — NSFW. whelp. if anyone wanted proof of me being clinically insane, this is what you could show them. not only has all of my free time been devoted to watching anything with pedro pascal in it, this is also what i think about while watching these anythings. i know there are people out there who have loved him for longer and are even more obsessed than i, so i figured i would share my personal headcanons for the PPCU (pedro pascal cinematic universe, duh). big love for any fans of pedrito - nat

MANDO

- VIRGIN with a capital V

- did you see how he reacted when grogu touched his face? this man has not been touched since he was a child

- he grew up with the mandalorians but he was exposed to suggestive behaviors because, helloooo, bounty hunter

- you have to coax him into it, but it doesn't take much, since he plans on keeping you around long term

- plus, you're so good with the kid

- you provide him a safe space to explore both himself and also your body and he has no idea how lucky he is for it

- doesn't make very much noise, but loves to listen to you

- he won't last long, he’s so sensitive from years of going untouched, but this man's recovery time???

- unparalleled

- he also has the dick of a space porn star and doesn't know it

- but seriously, rice purity score is NOT lower than 90, and most of the boxes he checks are "running-from-the-police" related

- he really wants to be held and have someone run their hands through his hair and kiss his neck and hold his hands is that too much to ask???

EZRA

- his words are where he gets you

- who knew dirty talk could sound so elegant??? and poetic??

- what a tease he is, too

- he pants so heavily right in your ear holy sweet lord

- and loves to laugh during sex

- he doesn't take himself super seriously unless he gets super into it, which has been known to happen from time to time

- safe words have been used between you two, which there's no shame in, but he's so good to you afterward

- he loves aftercare, and being gentle and sweet after a rough session

- asks you what you want and makes you beg for it

- makes you feel like you're in control but really, he's the one in control

- will make you cum before he does

- kinky kinky boy, almost always willing to try what you want him to

- loves to pin you down, but after he loses his arm it becomes a bit harder, so he settles for holding you flush against his chest as you squirm in his strong grip

FRANKIE

- a little soft spoken, but will whisper in your ear in public because he knows it gets you riled up

- will stare you down from across the room with bedroom eyes

- he's got that pilot's precision if you know what i mean aha

- he's honest with you about what he likes and has no qualms about telling you up front

- gives off switch energy, but you're gonna have to really make it worth his while if you want to fuck him

- a very gentle touch, which he would love to be reciprocated

- he aches from years in the service, his back, his knees, his shoulders

- would probably drop dead if you gave him a massage as foreplay

WHISKEY

- what an arrogant piece of shit

- "gorgeous, darlin', sweetheart, sugar"

- he will butter you up like a roll on thanksgiving goddamn

- so straightforward, and very up in your face, but it got you to sleep with him the first time you met him, so you can't say it doesn't work

- not the best with his fingers, but dear lord that tongue does wonders when he's not talking

- is a man on a mission to please you

- will spend an absurd amount of time between your thighs, and loves to feel you try to push him away when you get oversensitive

- loves it when you get feisty

- pull his hair, bite down a little harder than usual, push him down onto the bed or forcefully unbuckle his pants and this man will be putty in your hands

- is SO LOUD, and expects the same from you

- doesn't understand that because you're not screaming to the heavens doesn't mean he's doing a bad job

- associates volume with pleasure which isn't always the case

- that's something you'll have to work on with him, but he's a patient man

JAVIER PEÑA

- keeps condoms and lube on hand at almost all times

- ohhhh boy is this man willing to go at it wherever, whenever, you name it

- will fuck you until he sweats, and keeps going afterward

- and will definitely do you right

- he fucks to feel in control, so good luck trying to take control with this one

- almost tries to distance himself from you at first, but really it scares him that he cares so much

- there's just something about orgasming at the same time as you that just makes his whole week, and your hole weak (ahaha)

- likes to fuck you from behind and fuck you roughly, hands both occupied at the same time, mouth on you, and dick inside you

- very hands on, but can be sweet afterward

- this man kisses like no other you've ever kissed before, he leaves you breathless

MARCUS MORENO

- leads by example wink wink

- will show you what he wants done to him, and is pretty vanilla, but in a good way

- is big on foreplay and also aftercare, probably one of the sweeter ones on the list

- he's almost methodical in his sex, very routine, but willing to deviate for you

- gentle, but deep, languid strokes

- thinks he's quieter than he actually is

- always has a lot on his mind, so he really appreciates it when you can ease some of his tension

- secretly was really experimental in college

- very attentive to your needs and likes to tease

- morning sex is his thing. when he gets home from a long day, he wants to eat and relax and sleep. but in the morning? before anyone is up and before breakfast is even being considered, he likes to wake you up with sweet bruises and roaming hands

MARCUS PIKE

- marcus is the type of man to respect your boundaries fully, keep copies of toys he knows you like at his house, and surprise you at work with flowers and a dirty quickie in the bathroom because you've wanted to try it so badly

- a more traditional way of thinking on sex, and semi-reluctant to do anything involving his ass, but will try it for you if you really want him to

- a very quick learner, this one, and incredibly intuitive

- what he lacks in skill he makes up for in enthusiasm

- it's almost like he can read your mind, when he uses just the right amount of pressure and uses just the right motion to make you cum for him

- you have no idea how anyone could give this up, let alone break his heart

- his favorite thing is having you ride him, your face buried in his neck as you grind your hips down as he whispers praise in your ear

- marcus isn't super kinky, but i'm sure you can convince him to try something new every once in a while

MAX PHILLIPS

- OFFICE. DESK. SEX.

- "a private word with you in my office, please."

- so very seductive. the hand on the small of your back gets you going and he knows it, but he'll have to be more subtle if he wants to keep you

- another one who will butter you up to get you to sleep with him. he's very obvious about it, so it may or may not work first time. regardless he's up for a challenge

- pays so much attention to your neck. you will have to invest in many turtlenecks if you want to be with max

- big on eye contact, except for the exception of fucking you senseless over his desk

- obviously, a vampire, so he's absolutely magic between your thighs

- is very personable with everyone else, mainly because he's a business major, but he LOVES to make you jealous, this man LIVES off of it

- will one hundred percent expect you to be putty in his arms immediately, and treats it as a competition if you aren't

- he WILL take it personally and will make it a personal goal of his to get you to like him and want to fuck him without using his powers

- a game of cat and mouse

- does not care at all about being loud in the workplace, but he likes to see you struggle to keep quiet, even if everyone else can hear you anyway

MAXWELL LORD

- has suCH a praise kink wow

- his favorite thing is to hear you moan and tell him he’s doing a good job

- a little more vanilla than his counterparts but does like to take control and be a little rough

- a switch sometimes, falls into ruts where he just wants someone to take care of him

- but he WILL NOT ASK FOR IT. his pride won't let him

- at first, he’s not as mindful of you as you’d like him to be

- his sex is fast and unpleasant with hands everywhere and mouths and teeth and touch

- so you sit him down, and show him what you like. very slow and sensual

- you take your time with him, and he eventually starts to do the same with you

OBERYN MARTELL

- remember din's rice purity score? yeah, oberyn's is maybe ten. which is pushing it

- when you meet him, he knows what he likes, and is very particular about it

- he's done his fair share of experimenting, but he's willing to try new things, if there's anything new to be tried

- takes control inside and outside the bedroom

- not afraid to show you your place

- he's the kinky one in the relationship, and he will let you explore his body all you want

- if he doesn't like it he will kindly redirect you, his hands on yours, stroking and tugging and redirecting pressure and placement so that you learn his body in and out

- loves to watch you with his girls and boys. what an exhibitionist this man is

- for most people, they have to choose between quantity or quality in their sex lives. oberyn martell is not most people

- he is a prince, and will not let you forget it, but likes it when you talk back and he has to punish you

PERO TOVAR

- the roughest one on the list, but not the kinkiest

- sex to him when he's at his worst is just a way for him to feel good and relieve stress

- when he's at his best, it's a way for him to make you scream his name

- very possessive about what's his, and if he has to show it in front of everyone else for them to know that he will do it

- this man fucks like a rabbit. how does he find the time??? nobody knows

- his libido is so high. you have no idea how he isn't absolutely spent at the end of a long day of fighting and training and wandering, but he'll fuck you where you lay if you let him and you're too tired to move

- once you accidentally walked in on him stroking himself, and the AUDACITY OF HIM

- he smirked, groaned, and asked you to help him out

- who could resist a man like that

when he’s sick headcanons

note — can you tell i was in a francisco morales mood when i wrote this? also, i’m incredibly soft. i just wanna hold them :’( also also send me your  own headcanons!! i wanna hear ‘em!! big love <3 - nat

MANDO

- he doesn’t know how he survived all those bouts of sickness alone when you step in to help him for the first time

- his body aches, and not the usual after-bounty-capture either

- his head is foggy, he can feel the sweat in his helmet, and his breathing is hard

- he can’t tell if it’s coming through the modulator, but when you bring soup up to the cockpit for him, he knows you know

- he takes it gratefully, knowing that if there was nobody else here he would have just gone to bed to sleep it off, dinner vetoed for the night

- your cold fingers wrap around the back of his neck, moving his cape as you do so, and he melts into you

- he doesn’t know that he lets out the smallest whimper when you do this, and it makes you want to tear off his helmet, pull him into your arms, and hold him until he’s better

- but you can’t, so you settle for a hand on his neck, and the tilt of a helmet when he drinks the soup in front of you, as requested

- he definitely has a fever, and maker knows what else

- so you tell him to get some rest, that you’d watch the ship and get him if anything went wrong

- you supervise him down the ladder, just in case, which he finds funny and sweet

- you wish you could squish into his bunk with him, but you don’t want to invade on his personal space, especially while he’s hot and sick

- you you settle into the cockpit, the ship on cruise control, and you check on him every once in a while, keeping grogu occupied and quiet while he gets some well deserved rest

EZRA

- you knew he would get it

- right after you recovered from your illness, he started displaying symptoms of the same one you had just gotten over

- shortness of breath, fever, aches, lethargy

- he had taken such good care of you, so it was only fair that you’d do the same in return

- resources were sparse and quarters were cramped on the green, but you did what you could to make him as comfortable as possible

- his feverish back was pressed up against your chest in a cot designed for one after he’d stripped down to his underwear to avoid overheating

- he really enjoyed you being the big spoon sometimes, and now was one of those times

- when he got too hot from your shared body heat though, you would sit on the floor next to the cot and stroke right behind his ear to get him to fall asleep

- you made sure he ate as much as he could keep down, and you gave him all the fluids you could spare for his speedy recovery

- it broke your heart to see your usually verbose boy so quiet and in pain

- he muttered fever nonsense to no one and whimpered in his sleep

- you moved your cot directly next to his in order to keep a close eye on him

- but you knew that with time he would heal, and that as soon as he started talking to you again he was getting better

FRANKIE

- he sweats through the sheets next to you in the early hours of the night

- you’re the one who wakes up first, and you honestly thought one of you had wet the bed because of how much liquid there was

- but you realize that it’s frankie, back drenched and sweating out whatever flu he had acquired from whoever he had gotten it from

- you wake him from what seemed to be a not great dream anyway, and when he realizes what happened, he apologizes, groggy from sleep and illness

- “no, no! i’m not mad, frankie, you just can’t sleep in this sweetheart. you’ll get more sick. how are you feeling?”

- he curls up deeper under the covers and you get out of bed to kneel next to him

- your hands card through his matted, sweat soaked hair, and you wipe the drops from his jaw

- “do you want a cool shower, baby? you’re soaked.” you suggest, but frankie is so out of it

- he was fine last night, you remember

- sure he didn’t eat dinner, and went to bed early, but you thought maybe he had a late lunch and a long day

- now, helping him out of bed to the shower, you understand that it was early onset symptoms of whatever he was battling

- he pressed heavily to your side and you’re nervous as you strip him down and get him into the tub

- he sways, and you’re not sure what you’ll do if he passes out, or hits his head, so you sit him down, take off the shower head, make sure the water coming out is room temperature, and you run she showerhead over his overheating body

- you’re careful not to get any water in his face and ears, and you don’t wash his hair, just his body with a gentle soap

- you figure this is one of the only times frankie will let you take care of him like this, so you milk it for all it’s worth

- you blow dry his hair on a low setting, just in case he has a headache, you change the sheets of your bed, you lay him down on his side and you bring him close to your chest

- which is how he falls asleep for the next few nights until his illness eventually subsides

WHISKEY

- he curls up in your lap on the couch as soon as he gets home from work, which is how you know something’s wrong

- but you ask him anyway

- “i don’t feel so great, sugar,”

- which scares you, because did he get drugged? is this just a regular illness? is this like a biowarfare mission gone wrong?

- you leave him to get the thermometer, and when you come back, he’s got sad eyes looking up at you that just break your heart

- turns out, it’s not biowarfare. just a fever of 100.4

- you slip your hands up the back of his shirt and it’s so warm, along with his forehead

- he moans weakly at your touch, worn and tired from his extensive mission that day

- he’s definitely been overexerting himself

- as you settle back onto the couch, he settles into your lap again

- you let him rest for a while, but not after long, you realize he’s fallen asleep, and you’re stuck there for god knows how long

- you turn the volume down on the tv just in case, and you stroke behind his ears and you play with his fingers

- it’s best to just let him sleep it off, and you're not opposed to letting him do it on your lap

- you imagine there are statesman resources you can use to help him, but if he’s feeling better after he’s slept it off, then maybe you won’t need to misuse them

JAVIER PEÑA

- you scared the shit out of him, knocking on his door like that

- in your blinding rage, filled with thoughts like “how dare he take the day off to bang hookers, to recover from his hangover, to generally be a hindrance to the fucking DEA,” you had not pondered the possibility that THE javier peña, was sick

- he’s pulling on a t-shirt just as he opens the door, wearing pajama pants, and it startles you to see him so disarmed and casual

- his eyes and nose are red, his hair is disheveled, and he looks... exhausted

- “wow, you look like shit."

- “i feel like shit,” he says, walking away from the door, sniffling

- you take this as an invitation in, and close the door behind you

- he collapses back onto his couch, where you assume he’s been all day, and wraps himself up in a thick afghan blanket

- his hands shake the slightest bit as he opens his lighter to ignite his cigarette

- you take a seat next to him and help him with his lighter, and he nods his thanks to you

- “you’re gonna be late,” he mutters, taking the cigarette from his mouth and blowing out smoke into his apartment, coughing it out halfway

- “i’ll call out,” you offer, eyes wandering up his blanket clad body

- he closes his eyes and lets his head rest on the back of the couch

- “go in. i’m just gonna sleep it off anyway,”

- you lean in close to him and press your hand against his forehead and he freezes, staring at you

- you run your hand down his neck and feel his warmth, and he melts into your touch just a little bit

- you offer to only call out for a few hours to get him settled and make sure he doesn’t die or something, and he lets you, simply because he knows his illness will only get worse

- when your time is up and you have to go back to work, javi’s eaten, gotten some fluids in him, and taken some pain meds

- you let him know that he can call you if he needs anything, and before you even walk out the door is sleeping contently on the couch

MARCUS MORENO

- you find out he’s sick when he calls you, and asks for a favor

- “hey, can you do me the biggest favor ever?”

- he’s super congested. at first you think it might not be him because of how grainy his voice is

- “i hate to do this to you on such short notice, but would you be able to pick up missy? i’m not feeling too hot right now.”

- when you make it back to their home, it's very clear why he thought he wouldn't be able to make it

- he's curled up in bed, tissues piled on his nightstand, trying to get some sleep, but clearly failing

- he notices the two of you come in, and you quietly usher missy away to her own room to entertain herself while her dad tries to get some rest

- he thanks you for picking up missy, and you tell him you'd be there for him whenever he needed you to be

- you make a special phone call as you care for marcus, keeping his curtains closed and running your cool hands up and down his back and shoulders until he felt like he could fall asleep

- you let him know that you'll be right back, that you were going to pick up a few things for him and that if he needed anything at all, just call

- knowing your chicken noodle soup skills were rusty, your special phone call had been to marcus' mother's house, where she had tupperware containers full of soup waiting for you to pick up for him

- when you get back to his house with pain meds, gatorade, and the soup, marcus is passed out in bed

- you don't want to wake him up, but you have a hunch that he hasn't eaten all day, so you whisper his name softly and lightly shake him awake

- he's so grateful and only eats a portion of what he normally does, but anything is better than nothing

- and you don't want him feeling even more sick as a result

- you end up eating the incredibly nostalgic and rich soup with missy at the table and talk to her about your day while marcus gets some sleep

MARCUS PIKE

- it's only when you get home from work that you realize something's wrong with marcus

- he's asleep on the couch

- which would have been fine, if you had worked overtime, or had gotten out late, but it was only four thirty

- plus, you two had planned on going to see a movie you he was excited about tonight in theatres and maybe grab dinner after

- the tv plays lowly in the background, and he hasn’t changed out of his work clothes yet

- he startles when you close and lock the door, and rubs his temples, eyes squeezed shut in pain

- "marcus, are you okay?"

- "yeah, i'm fine." he tells you, and when you mention the date, he looks shocked that he forgot about it

- "oh my god, you're right. i can’t believe i forgot, i’m so sorry babe, i'll get ready right now."

- you tell him it's no biggie, but he insists

- after you've taken off your work clothes and showered quickly for your date, you realize the two of you are most definitely staying in

- he's promptly fallen back asleep on the couch, and he looks adorable

- you put on your pajamas and he does too, and you settle into the couch behind marcus, flipping through channels with him

- he says he doesn't care what you watch, as long as it's not too bright or loud

- so you choose some old black and white movie with the subtitles on

- normally you're the one between his legs, as he rubs your shoulders and plays with your hair

- but this time, he's curled up into you, his back pressed up against your chest, his head tucked into your shoulder using it as a pillow

- you figure you didn't really want to see the new movie anyway, and decide takeout and casablanca was a better way to spend your time with your sick boyfriend

MAX PHILLIPS

- a big baby

- but he IS a vampire and DOES NOT get sick, which slips your mind completely when you come home after some overtime and find him paler than usual on the couch, his head in his hands

- you try to get him to tell you what’s wrong, and he refuses, but he caves when you sit down next to him and start stroking his head, and playing with the hair at the base of his neck

- he tells you that after the whole vampire fiasco with the company, he was set for a while, and has been feeling great, but he hasn’t had human blood in so long that it’s made him weak

- he gives you a sad puppy dog look, and you know he’s being an asshole about it, but you hate to see the dark circles under his eyes or the color his skin turns when he’s like this

- so you oblige, but you give him STRICT instructions to follow, otherwise you won’t do it again

- don’t take more than a pint, don’t leave unnecessary bruises, if you use your safe word he has to stop immediately, and he has to make it as quick and painless as he possibly can

- he nods enthusiastically, and pulls you into his lap

- he nuzzles into your neck, and grabs your chin, anchoring himself to you

- he blows softly on your skin, and presses hard kisses to the area to get your blood flowing and disarm you

- which isn’t fair because he knows your neck is so sensitive

- it’s a sharp prick when he ejects his fangs into your body and you stop moving completely, your hand fisting at his shirt, just listening to your breathing and his soft moans echoed against your skin

- out of habit your rub soothing circles into his back, more to sooth yourself then anything

- minutes pass, and you start to feel light headed and are about to tell him to stop when he pulls away, grinning ear to ear at you

- he’s back on your neck in seconds though, licking and sucking the leaking blood from the small holes he’s left in your skin

- now that, that feels much better than the bloodsucking that was going on originally

- you jump when he presses soft kisses to the sensitive area along your throat and dives a hand between your legs

- looks like someone’s feeling better already

MAX LORD

- tries to power through it as much as he can with pain killers and cough syrups, but after he almost passes out at dinner after a week of symptoms, you beg him to take at least a day off to recover

- that morning, his hair is a mess, he missed a button on his shirt, and his tie was uneven

- he was about to put on two different colored socks when he begrudgingly obliges

- you unbutton his shirt and help him take off his tie

- it’s easy to bring him back to bed after that, and you let him hold you from behind like a teddy bear, no matter how uncomfortable his arm is shoved under your neck

- usually he likes to be held, but he can feel his own back burning up, so he decides to hold you instead

- he whimpers in his sleep, plagued by fever dreams and his traumatic past

- so when he wakes you up in the middle of the night, something he so very rarely does, you’re concerned

- “i’m sorry, for waking you, i just... i just need... you... i want—“

- it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he needs a hug

- you hold him and rub his back until he falls back asleep again, in your arms

- when he wakes up with a killer headache, you fight to keep him in bed again, rubbing his temples and pressing kisses to his forehead

- he falls back asleep in less than five minutes

- needless to say, one more day off couldn’t hurt

OBERYN MARTELL

- it’s not often than he gets sick, surprisingly, considering how close he gets to so many different people

- when you arrive at his chambers that morning, the guards seem keen on not letting you in

- you argue with them, but they insist oberyn didn’t want anyone in there

- you call them out, obviously upset and visibly frustrated when his doors creak open and you see him, in a robe, hair messy and pressed down to his forehead

- he quietly tells the guard to let you in, and you’re a little confused

- he sits down on his bed and looks up at you with guilty eyes

- “apologies, my love, but I don't want you to see me like this”

- you scoff and roll your eyes at him, moving in front of him

- you take his head in your hands, and he stares up at you

- “apology accepted, but i’m offended, my prince.”

- he scrunches his eyebrows and presses his chin to your stomach

- you run your hands through his hair and he brings his hands to your waist

- “you think mere illness could keep me away? keep me away from you?”

- his confusion melts into a small smile, and he lets his head rest against your belly as you pull him into you

- “can i get you anything, oberyn? wine, medicine?”

- “no, my love. just you is enough for me.”

PERO TOVAR

- wants to be left alone for the most part

- grumpy in general, and it doesn't get better when he's sick

- he'll let you wipe a cool cloth over his forehead and neck, and doesn't complain

- he says he doesn’t want you there because he doesn’t want you to catch what he has

- you know, survival rates are low for things like this at this point in history

- but really, like oberyn, he doesn’t want you to see him weak

- he’s afraid it’ll ruin your image of him in your mind

- william asks you to get some rest, as they can’t afford to risk more days at the campsite with sick travelers

- so you oblige, keeping your distance from pero, but you stay vigilant

- you stand guard for him for most of the night, listening to him breathe, watching his chest rise and fall, until you eventually fall asleep too

- but you’re up early, with the rest of the men, except pero, who sleeps well into daylight

- the rest of them take off, desperate to find something for dinner, but you stay back with him, stroking his forehead, a gentleness that’s rarely ever been afforded to him, listening to him ramble half in english, half in spanish, but he has your full attention

- it would be a rough few days until he recovered, but his muttered thanks and appreciation for you was more than enough for you to do it all over again if he ever needed you to

when you sleep with him for the first time headcanons

note—it gets a little suggestive during oberyn's part, but nothing too crazy. i use sleep here in it's purest form by the way, so enjoy! let me know if you have any ideas for the next one! me and the boys are open to suggestions ;)

MANDO

- mando has always allowed you his bunk to sleep, whenever you like

- when you stayed with him on the razor crest and watched the kid, he was always more than willing to give it up anytime you needed sleep

- he didn't sleep much anyway, and usually your sleeping schedules didn't overlap

- but boba fett's ship doesn't have much space to begin with, let alone enough space for all of the crew mates he's happened to find recently

- which mean's you and mando, having already been living together and already know each other, were sleeping together, in the same small bunk, at the same time

- he offered to sleep on the floor, or pressed up against the wall

- but you got mad at him for even suggesting such a thing

- there was more than enough space for the two of you to sleep, you argued, though there was barely enough room for one

- it was comical, trying to press up against him, and find a spot comfortable enough for the both of you to lay

- it was jarring to you when he removed a single pauldron for you to rest your head on his clothed shoulder

- you felt like you had violated him in some way, seeing him just the lightest bit more bare than usual

- though you were slightly uncomfortable from the rest of the beskar pressing up into your body, you were lulled to sleep in minutes from the sound of his steady heartbeat

EZRA

- the cots had never been a long term solution

- that you knew

- so when the morning comes around, and your cot drops your ass on the floor, you wish you gotten new sleeping arrangements the last time you were in town

- you were just wishing it had taken longer for them to fall apart the way they had

- there wasn't much on the green, in terms of furnishing markets

- the cots had been the only barrier between you and the floor, and now, there was nothing protecting you from the frigid, uninsulated ground of your broken down ship

- it was ezra who offered up the idea: put one blanket down on the floor, and use the other one to cover the both of you with

- you took a second to ponder it, thinking of any idea, any reason that could be used to save you from having to sleep next to ezra, the man who had been so warm and kind to you, but you had frozen him out, because of your ridiculous crush on him

- you offered up the idea of just disassembling the cots and using the cloths as protection from the cold

- but this wiseass pulls out the cloth from the cot and his blanket and compares the two, and there's no way the cloth is going to have any integrity making contact with the ground

- so you agree, and when nightfall comes, you're too exhausted from harvesting all day to fight with him

- he puts his blanket down as protection, and you all but collapse on top of in

- ezra does you the service of tucking you in, before climbing in next to you, and you're soothed by his warmth

- not soothed enough that you fall asleep immediately, still unnerved by the idea of sleeping so close to him, hearing him breathe, feeling him move

- but he throws his good arm over your body and pulls you into him, muttering something about the cold

- and your heart melts just a little bit as you fall asleep, pressed up against his chest

FRANKIE

- frankie had been upset for weeks after his divorce, which was to be expected

- but everything had been so stressful on him, and you were getting worried for his mental health

- he hadn't been answering calls, he'd cancelled plans with you last minute, which is something he never did, and he hadn't been doing anything for himself, just living in a rut of paperwork, sleeping, eating, and going to work

- so when he calls you up to ask you to go camping with him, you obviously say yes

- it's almost a two hour drive to the campsite, and frankie is fairly quite, which isn't usual, but you get some good music going and some good conversation going, and soon enough, you and frankie are laughing and singing your heads off on your way there

- it's getting dark when you arrive, and you make quick work of getting everything out of his car when he realizes something is off

- "oh no" he exclaims, and you fear the worst

- "what? what's wrong?"

- "I brought the small tent."

- "how small is the small tent?"

- "i brought the four-person tent, not the ten person tent."

- "are you kidding frankie? i'm sure we'll fit in a four-person—“

- "i'm telling you, it's not as big as you think it is, trust me."

- when the tent is complete, four-person is an exaggeration

- it's a four-person tent if the four-people were sardine packed and the size of children

- it's going to be just enough room for both you and frankie to lie down in with your sleeping bags

- but that's for a later time, because frankie has marshmallows to roast and lots of things to tell you after he's been ignoring you for a whole week

- he apologizes and you sit next to him at the firepit on your site, and you listen to him talk, and give him advice, and rest your head on his shoulder

- and when it's late into the night and you two go to retreat to bed, you have to squish up against his broad shoulders that seem so much broader in the small tent

- and when he wakes with nightmares of his fighting buddies and far too many sleepless nights, he pulls you close to him, and falls asleep again, until the sunlight streams through the front flap of the tent far too early in the morning

WHISKEY

- that day’s mission was harsh

- it had you spent, not only physically, but mentally as well

- as you lie awake in your bed, you realize you’re not getting to sleep tonight, whether or not you had another important mission that morning

- the hotel bed was creaky and entirely not your bed from home and the air conditioner was broken so it was freezing

- you figure there’s no better time than the present, and you’re well aware whiskey is right next door

- if he’s awake, you’ll ask him to have a drink with you, and if he’s asleep, you can just hop into bed with him

- he’s a deep sleeper anyway

- you’re careful turning the knob into his room, just in case he’s asleep, and you spot him in his bed, on his side, breathing softly, room cloaked in darkness

- you come around on his side of the bed and you whisper his name

- he stirs a little

- you debate going back to your room and just toughing it out, but he doesn’t give you the chance

- he’s up, groggy and hair tousled and in just a plain t-shirt

- “sweetheart? what are you doin’ here? what’s goin’ on?”

- you tell him you didn’t want to sleep alone tonight, and he wipes the sleep from his eyes and squints at you, using only the moonlight to help him see

- “what kind of gentleman would i be if i refused you my bed?”

- this makes you smile, and he lifts the covers for you to get in with him

- you plant your head on his shoulder and drape an arm over his chest, cozying up to him as close as possible

- his hand rests comfortably on your back, and he breathes rhythmically

- and you’re silently grateful he doesn’t ask questions, just lets you curl up into his side ands lets you fall asleep with him there

JAVIER PEÑA

- it happened in a flurry of passion and kisses, hands roaming his body and yours after a far too close dance with death

- if it had not been for his bulletproof vest, he'd be lying in a hospital or a morgue

- but he wasn't

- his body was warm and so was yours and the ride to his apartment was far too quiet for your liking and his

- it was only appropriate you accompanied him for a drink after such a great victory for the DEA, but it had taken a toll on both of you, mentally

- you more so than him, which is why you ended up drinking much more than you normally would have when you drank with javi

- he tried to laugh away the stress, complaining about his sore and bruised ribs, but the room was still tense

- emotions ran rampant through your body, and when he brings it up, tears start to pool in your eyes at the thought seeing him for the last time, in a suit, at his own funeral he wouldn't attend if he had the choice

- he sets his drink down and pulls you into his arms, holding your waist and cupping the back of your neck, stroking behind your ear as he listens to you cry softly in his shoulder

- he reassures you he's fine, nothing happened to him, and you pull away from him, grab his face, and stare into his eyes

- he smiles kindly at your own red ringed eyes, irritated from crying, as you try to memorize each streak of brown in his own

- it's too much for the both of you, and you pull him into a kiss

- his mouth is surprisingly soft compared to your own drunk passion, and as much as he'd love to take you right then and there on his couch, he knows he'd regret it if you woke up the next morning and regretted it too

- so he entertains the kiss, not that he minds, and leads you to his bedroom

- where the silk sheets and heavy comforter that smell so strongly of javier peña pull you to sleep next to him, faster than you'd like to admit

MARCUS MORENO

- missy and your daughter had always gotten along very well

- you were very familiar with marcus, and could even call yourselves friends to an extent

- your daughters were very intelligent little girls, and knew that if they got the two of you talking when you came to pick your daughter from his house, they would have at least another hour to play while you two chatted endlessly about boring adult things

- for missy's birthday party, she had wanted all of her friends over for a huge sleepover, and of course her father caved

- he couldn't say no to her no matter how much he tried

- marcus, the genius he was, figured that if the kids were all under one roof having fun, why not let the adults have fun too?

- everyone was invited

- the kids would have lots of different fun activities to choose from, from swimming, to games in the backyard, and a movie night under the stars outside

- and the adults were welcome to stay, chat, drink, and play adult card games marcus had saved for special occasions

- the night of the sleepover, a dozen children and adults were packed into his backyard, watching some new movie he had rented the missy was excited about

- but it was freezing, and you hadn't expected to be outside for so long

- marcus realizes this and he leans over quietly, so not to disturb the movie

- "are you cold?"

- "oh! no, it's okay, i'll be fine—“ you try to excuse yourself, but he gets up without a word, and returns with a sweatshirt of his

- it fits snugly over your head, and completely eliminated the chill in your bones

- it doesn't take long for your eyes to start getting heavy, and soon enough, you're passed out on marcus' shoulder

- "what if we camp out here for the night?" he suggests, and the kids are more than excited

- the adults know what he's up to

- but they let him anyway

- it'll be great to tease him about later, and besides, you guys are adorable together

MARCUS PIKE

- working together with marcus was always a joy

- he was always very respectful and funny

- you knew he had his heart broken more than once in the past, so even though you dropped hints that you'd want something more with marcus, you let him take it at his own pace

- when you dropped by his place that night, with important new documents you had received right before you left work and chinese food, you're ecstatic when he lets you in

- you spend hours pouring over the documents, making sure every single detail was covered and examined, when you realize how tired you are, and how loud the rain is coming down outside his window

- "it's getting really late. i should leave," you say, but marcus stops you

- "you could always, y'know, stay the night if you wanted. i'd let you have my bed."

- you smiled at him, but politely decline, as you wouldn't want to kick him out of his bed, but you yawn again

- "look, you're exhausted, and it's pouring" he points out, "you know most accidents happen by people falling asleep behind the wheel when it's raining?"

- you laugh at him

- "you just made that up,"

- "i did, but you should stay. if you don't want to i totally understand, but you'd be missing out. my bed is really comfortable."

- "is that why you're always late to work?" you quip, and close the files

- he gasps in mock shock

- "that was one time, and my alarm didn't go off," he claims, smiling at you

- he lends you a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and you pretend to not see a slight blush on his face when you walk out into his bedroom with them on

- marcus was right when he said his bed was really comfortable

- somehow, in the middle of the night, you two find each other, his face pressed into your shoulder, your arms wrapped around him, and the rain comes down even harder

MAX PHILLIPS

- "i just need some space from him, is all."

- that's all you had to tell him for max phillips to be on your side, rubbing your shoulder and telling you that all men suck anyway, you didn't need that jerk of a boyfriend to be happy

- well, now ex-boyfriend

- of course he had ulterior motives, and you knew this, but you didn’t care

- your heart wanted someone to watch movies with and eat a pint of ice cream out of the tub with you, and if max was the one who would do that, you’d settle with him for the night

- the way he pulled you into his arms, and pressed his body up against yours, was more than comforting

- he made funny jokes, tried tickling you, anything he could think of to get you to smile for him

- and for the most part, you did

- you were sick of your ex bringing the mood down the way he did, no matter how much you missed him

- the movie has gotten boring a long time ago, but you listened to max’s breathing, and felt his chest rise and fall behind you, and it was enough to lull you to sleep

- and he would’ve woken you up, to take you to his bed, but he was scared you’d leave to go home if he did

- so he took his couch throw, pulled it over the two of you, turned off the television, and settled back as you got comfortable on his chest

- this was a side of max phillips you’d never seen before, and you didn’t expect to see any time soon

- so you relished in it, and let sleep pull you in

MAXWELL LORD

- his head aches, and his eye is still bleeding on the plane back to washington d.c.

- the ride back is silent, save for the rumbling of the engine

- he rests his head against the wall of the airplane for most of the ride there, and you take comfort in knowing while he’s asleep, he’s not in pain

- when he starts getting restless, having what you think is a nightmare, you start holding his hand, stroking your thumb up and down his soft skin

- it takes him a minute, but he calms down, and you don’t let go of his hand

- with nothing to do but watch him sleep, you decide taking a nap too would be your best option

- which is when the plane hits a particularly rough patch of turbulence

- he bounces awake, nervous and alert, and you tell him it’s just the plane, everything’s fine

- when you pull him into your shoulder, he takes the opportunity to fall back asleep

- you can feel the tension in his neck just by having him rest his head on your shoulder

- you keep a firm grip on his hand, when your own eyes start to get heavy

- your head rests on his, and the rest of the ride there is smooth and painless

OBERYN MARTELL

- he had been pursuing you for quite some time

- as the second son of a king, he was more than accustomed to people saying yes to appease him

- he was forward with you, and you were forward back with him, and he liked that

- it was your words that told him you weren't looking for anything long term, that if he were to pleasure you, and you him, he would be nothing more than a simple one night stand

- boy did he prove you wrong

- your legs were so weak afterward, you couldn't bare to get up

- he took incredibly good care of you, squeezing your sore thighs and rubbing your aching muscles, pressing kisses up and down your back, brushing the hair out of your face

- it only increased your attraction to him when he brought in more people, caring for them and having them care for you, and by the time you had finished, you felt as though you couldn't physically go another round that night

- he purred in your ear that every night with him would be a night like this, and you whined back, making him grin and capture your mouth in a passionate kiss

- you didn't mean to fall sleep with him, but all the nibbling bites at your ear and the serotonin coursing through your veins had you spent for the night

- he let you sleep, and even stayed for a while before being summoned for an important meeting

- you made a mental note that eventually, you two would need to do that again, because you slept like a baby the whole night through

PERO TOVAR

- it's below freezing when you settle down for sleep that night

- no matter how much wind the tent tried to keep out, it just wasn't enough

- you're bundled up in all the clothes you had brought with you, the only blanket that could be spared, anything that could try to keep you warm, but nothing’s working

- the cold just bleeds through the blanket and your clothes, into your legs and chest and bones so that you can’t fall asleep if you tried

- you figure the only way you’ll be able to get any rest to be ready for the next day, is to go find a warmer place to sleep

- if the fire’s still going, you’ll rest there

- you shiver as you pick up your things, but your interrupted by tovar, who comes in with a thick fur blanket wrapped around his shoulders

- “where are you going?”

- “i was just going to sleep next to the fire,” you say, trying to keep the chill out of your voice

- “it’s going to be cold tonight. lay down.” he instructs, and you oblige

- he lays the blanket down over you and climbs underneath it next to you, so that your shoulders touch and watch him for a second before he turns over and tries to go to sleep without a word

- you pull the blanket up to your shoulders and you feel ten times warmer already, but it’s the heat from tovar that really entices you

- so you push back against him, your back against his, and fall asleep with the warmth of his muscles against yours

a steadfast heart will conquer

summary: you show up at frankie’s doorstep in the middle of the night after your boyfriend gets violent. he invites you in and lets you stay with him.

pairings: frankie morales x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of bruises

At midnight, you speak in fragments.

“I’m at your front door.”

He’s more asleep than awake. He doesn’t have the brain to question you.

“It’s raining.”

He can tell. He can hear it through the phone and from his bedroom window.

“Can you come let me in? Please?” You ask, and before he can say anything, you hang up. He stares at his phone, but figures there’s a girl at his front door, waiting to be let in.

He takes a second to unlock the door, in his groggy state, and sure enough, there you are, in all your midnight glory, on his front doorstep. It’s more romantic in movies, he thinks.

There’s nobody outside except for you. The streets are desolate, and the lamplight is obscured by the pouring rain. It thuds off of your car that’s parked in his driveway, and he knows it’ll bleed in through the crack in the door that doesn’t quite meet the frame.

He’ll help you fix it tomorrow.

But right now, you lean into him, slowly, and wrap your arms around his neck. You're wet, he notes. Wet and cold. He’s sure you're soaked down to your socks. Hair, jacket, shoes, all dripping onto his hardwood floor. You're still on the steps, so he pulls you in, but you refuse to untangle yourself from him. The wind sounds even harder now with the two of you inside.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he mutters, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. He pulls back to look at your face, but you're buried deep in his chest. He wishes it was under different circumstances.

The pouring rain punctuates every silence. He can feel you shaking.

You don’t answer.

He lets you not answer.

There’s a storm brewing in his chest. He has a sickening premonition as to why you’re here. He tries to ignore it, but his gut instinct is always right.

He shuffles awkwardly to close the door, and it muffles the rain. He can hear you sniffling now.

“What happened?”

There is only moonlight streaming in from the window over the couch. You keep your face buried in his chest when he flicks the light on. It’s harsh and bright and he grabs you by the shoulders, pulling you back to look at him but you don't remove your face from his warm, dry chest.

So he waits.

“What’s wrong?” he asks again, softer, in your ear. You rub your forehead on his worn t-shirt, and his arms find their way around your shoulders.

You find the strength to look at him from somewhere deep inside you, eyes red and swollen, eyelashes dark with tears. You squint almost imperceptibly, adjusting to the light. You’ve never felt more safe than in his embrace. Your noses almost touch.

The last and only thing he wants to do is kiss you.

He notices the red mark right away.

On your temple. His eyes soften. You watch him look at you, almost like it’s the first time.

“He hit me,” you say, congested from the tears.

Like he doesn’t notice. Like he doesn’t feel anger shoot up into his chest, heat and warmth and fire in his fingertips, down the back of his calves and aching his face. His sickening premonition coming true. He can’t come up with a single reason as to why he would do this to you. It makes fury throb in his bones. He can see your boyfriend throwing the punch and it makes him want to vomit how enraged he is.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks sincerely.

“Want me to hurt him? I’ll hurt him, you know I will. I’ll hurt him so bad,” he trails off, jaw hard and teeth grinding. Nostrils flared and lip twitching.

“No.”

He watches you rest your head on his chest, the side that your good-for-nothing dick stick didn’t punch, and he’s so careful with you, soft hands and rigid muscles.

“I just...” you start, and he’s listening. He’s listening to every word.

“I didn’t want him to hurt me. And I didn’t want to hurt him. So I... left. I went and sat in the CVS parking lot,” you admit. He figures you needed someone to talk to. He wanted someone to listen to. He’s wide awake now. He still has fight in his blood, so he repurposes it. He holds you, securely. Strong and firm.

“I was gonna fight back... but I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, I really didn’t.” you say. He closes his eyes. He steadies his breathing. How could someone so sweet, so powerful, so kind, end up with the exact antithesis of all of those things?

“I know,” he reassures, “I know you didn’t.”

You sigh shakily into his chest. He’s there for you. He’s steadfast and unwavering. You could collapse into him and you trust he would catch you, help you up, dust you off, or in your case, dry you off. But you don’t. You stand strong with him, and you let herself be supported by him. You yourself whole still. Shaky, and faltering, but whole, all by yourself. With him there, you feel a little steadier, resolute in your decisions. He supports you, and you love him for it.

“Can I stay here?” you ask.

“Of course,” he replies.

His clothes don’t fit you, but you don’t mind and neither does he.

Your hair smells like roses and rain.

You take his bed; he takes the couch.

It’s hard for him to fall asleep there, but he doesn’t mind that, either.

It’s four AM when you wake him up for the second time this morning. The grogginess is stronger than before, it seems. You’re on your knees in front of the couch, face level with him, and he jerks back in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” you say, placing a hand on his chest. His bare chest. His shirt is somewhere, he doesn’t care where. It got hot, he recalls.

“Y’scared me,” he mumbles. Would this girl let him get any sleep?

“Come sleep with me. I feel bad,” you say.

“Woke me up ‘cause y’feel bad?” he asks, and you can tell he’s irritated, but tired more than anything. Sleep carries heavily through his voice.

“No,” you clarify, “I woke you up ‘cause I had a nightmare.”

Now he’s the one that feels bad.

He lets you lead him to his own bed, but he makes a pit stop on the way to use the bathroom. He finds you curled up under his covers, staring at the doorway, waiting for him.

He smiles and joins you. He sleeps on his back. You sleep on your stomach.

He has one pillow. you have one too.

You both listen to each other breathe.

You throw an arm over his stomach. He rubs his thumb over your hand.

It’s not storming anymore, but you can both feel the electricity in the sky.

The old, squeaky mattress creaks as you move, swapping your pillow for his shoulder. It’s not as bony as you thought it would be.

You only wake up when his alarm goes off on the nightstand beside you.

You groan, and realize you’re curled up with someone in a bed that’s not your own. Your face aches as you relive the events of last night.

He wakes up when you shift to turn off the alarm, taking his time to notice you.

“Hey,” you say, in his shirt.

“Morning,” he yawns, not in his shirt.

“Thank you,” you start, but he cuts you off.

“No no no, don’t do that, don’t make it...” he trails, sitting up in bed. He rubs the sleep from his eyes again. All things considered, he got some decent sleep. He thinks it might have something to do with the warm body that was pressed up against him all night.

“No, really,” you say. You sit criss-cross on your side of the bed, and he has to remind himself that it’s his own bed (singular), not your bed (plural), and the whole bed is his bed. But for now, he can say it’s your side of the bed. At least to himself.

“Thank you for being there for me.” you say finally. He smiles at you.

“Of course.” He whines as he yawns, and things are okay for now. The storm is over.

“You want breakfast?” He asks, getting up and stopping at his dresser to put on shorts. His boxers were fine last night, but now that the sun is shining through the window, it’s kind of weird. He pulls on a shirt too.

“I have taquitos,” he says walking into his kitchen, and you squint at him, hot on his tail.

“Taquitos for breakfast?” you ask skeptically, and he makes his way over to the freezer.

“Taquito time is all the time.” He clarifies, taking the cardboard box from underneath a tub of ice cream and a bag of frozen peas. He freezes, before he turns around to look at you.

“Do you, uh, want some ice for that?” He says, and it takes you a second to realize what he means.

You touch the bruise softly, applying light pressure and wincing when it hurts.

He notices and puts the box down on the counter, wrapping the peas thoroughly in paper towels before handing them to you.

You nod a thank you, and hop up on his counter, holding them to your face.

He notices his shirt on you again, and his shorts on you, and how domestic this would be if that mistake hadn’t laid his hands on you. Though he does admit, you probably wouldn’t have been here in the first place without that run in.

He thinks he’d rather never see you again rather than have you come to him hurt like that.

He moves over to you, and carefully moves your head away from the cabinets holding the dish ware so he can open it. There’s tension in the air. He plates the taquitos and you listen to the buzz of the microwave as they warm up.

Neither of you touch your respective phones while you eat your taquitos. There are decisions to be made that will have consequences. You glance at your phone, but look away each time. Your eyes never meet. You both focus on the plate of miniature crunchy tortillas made with fake corn, filled with beef that was probably artificial. Neither of you mind.

After breakfast, or what could be sufficed as breakfast, he watches you finally check your phone.

“seventeen missed calls,” you read, “and thirty something texts.”

“Wow.”

“Not as crazy as I expected,” you note.

“Wanna see if he left any batshit voicemails?” you ask, grinning. He’s less than excited. Your smile falters as you read the texts.

“What? What’d he say?” he asks, getting up from the table to read over your shoulder. You make no move to hide the texts from him and something like relief floods his veins for a split second.

“Nothing,” you clarify, “just that... he’s so sorry… how he’s such a terrible person, that he’ll never do it again.”

He stares at you.

You ignore the messages and lock your phone.

You look up at Frankie.

“So?” he asks.

“So?” you ask back. He clears his throat.

“What are you gonna tell him?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh, grabbing the empty plate and sliding past him. You turn on the faucet in the sink and wait for it to get hot.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, but you don’t respond.

You add soap to a sponge and start washing the minimal dishes there: a bowl, a few spoons, your plate, a whisky glass.

He stands by you, grabbing a hand towel from the countertop and wiping the dishes down before putting them away.

“Why don’t you have a drying rack?” you ask, as he puts away the last of the glasses.

“I dunno,” he says, “I don’t have that many plates and forks and stuff, so I just dry it and put it away as I go.”

“Hmm,” you remark, and turn off the faucet. He hands you the dish towel and you wipe your hands dry before folding it and placing it on the counter. You look at him and sigh. The elephant in the room is demanding your attention.

“What do you think I should tell him?”

He stares at your bruise, and he feels the anger from last night bubble up in his throat again.

“That you’re gonna send me to beat him the fuck up.” He says, and you roll your eyes, staring at him endearingly.

“I’m not getting back together with him.” you say, and he feels his heart do some weird stuff in his chest.

“It’s over for us. I’m breaking up with him the next time I see him.” you say, a finality in your words that make him confident you would do as you said.

“Good.” He crosses his arms and shifts his weight to one side.

“Should I go see him today?” you ask.

“Do you want to?” he questions. You sigh and shake your head.

“You’re no help.”

“Hey! I’m so much help,” he defends, and you smile at him.

“Sure.”

“I can go with you if you want,” he says seriously. You stare at him.

“If you want,” you offer, and he nods his head.

“Okay.” you say.

He watches you grab your phone and your now dry clothes and make your way into his bathroom. He listens as you close the door and waits until he hears the water start running, accompanied by soft music.

He squeezes the bridge of his nose and takes a second to examine the thawing bag of peas on his kitchen table.

He smiles to himself as he makes out the lyrics of your song.

As he puts the bag back in his freezer, he runs a nervous hand through his hair and stares at your car in his driveway.

He wants nothing more than to bruise you up himself, his mouth on your skin, his hands on your hips.

But that thought is fleeting. He gets closer to the bathroom and can hear you singing clearly, and he takes a second to listen before he speaks.

“Hey, I’m gonna go take a quick look at your car, okay?”

The water turns off.

“What?”

“I’m—I’m gonna go look at your car!” he says loudly, “the leaky door!”

There’s quiet for a moment before you’re unlocking the door, in only a towel. His towel.

“Thank you!” you beam, and with one hand clutching the towel to your chest, you hand him your car keys.

“They were in my pocket. It’d be kinda hard to get in without them,” you joke.

“Yeah, ‘course.” He grins lopsidedly, keeping his eyes a respectable distance from your naked torso.

With a smile, you close the door in his face.

The music resumes, as does the water, and Frankie breathes.

It would be a miracle if he made it through the day without sending someone to the hospital.

i luv him guys this is real

Brooklyn Baby // Pedro Pascal

Yeah my boyfriend’s pretty cool, but he’s not as cool as me

pairing: dom!pedro x fem!reader

genre: small drabble, unedited

word count: 444

warnings: fluff, kissing, teasing, lil age gap

note: PLZ ik this is a kpop oriented acc, but I want to write about what comes to mind and rn what comes to mind is HIM. God forbid a woman have hobbies, lol maybe I should stop re-watching Narcos🕴🏾- dubu♡

“I am going to eat your soul, and shit it out LESNICKI,” the TV screamed loudly, your eyes widening in delight as you watched your favorite movie for the millionth time.

You were getting ready for a night out with your boyfriend, and the only thing comforting enough to fill the silence of your apartment was the sound of a horror film. Your obsession with horror movies stemmed from an early age, but it’s one of the many quips Pedro loves about you.

You could talk for hours about your favorite movies, quoting lines like a most prestigious dork award was to be given after your efforts. He could send you tumbling over in laughter one minute, but have you writhing under him the next.

He used his talent to his advantage, what could he say? Someone as beautiful as you decided to give him a chance. While you were questioning your luck the entire first date.

You heard the door to your apartment open, jumping slightly when the TV simultaneously emitted a loud noise. “Y/N?” You heard his voice call you from the living room, heavy footsteps making their way deeper into your place.

“Almost ready!” You stood up from your vanity, pulling up the zipper on the black skirt you wore.

You ran to your bedroom door swinging it open in excitement. You were met with the familiar smell of his cologne, wrapping your arms around his towering frame.

“Hey sugar,” his lips stretched into a smile, leaning over to kiss you smoothly. He felt cold, the faint taste of mint and cigarettes still on his breath. You melted into the kiss, content and moving your arms to drape over his neck.

Mmm, you hummed against his lips remembering the lip gloss you just applied, sheepishly pulling away to stare at his glossy lips.

“Thanks I needed that,” he said sarcastically, wiping the lipgloss from his lips with a swipe of his thumb. Winking at you as a finale, you laughed at his expression.

“You look so handsome,” you said tugging at his suit jacket, loving the tight fitting black shirt on him. “You look like money, baby.” He kissed your hand sweetly, asking you to give him a spin. You happily complied.

“Come on we should get going,” he said grabbing your coat from the bed, watching as you bent over to put on your heels. Taking the opportunity he aggressively grabbed your ass , contemplating if you should leave after all.

“You’re right, we don’t want to miss drinks.” You insist turning around, smirking at him knowingly. He shoves his hands in his pocket, titling his head suddenly.

“Let’s not stay long.”

these are so dbf!joel coded idek what to tell u

i’m gonna barf i love him sm

this