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bunnysbrainrot · 3 days

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Unspoken Rules

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟹 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 '𝚃𝚘𝚘 𝚂𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝' 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚢𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙷𝚘𝚣𝚒𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐.

Relationship: Joel Miller x f!Reader, Jackson!AU

Content: Angst, protective Joel, kissing, sexual themes, make out session, size kink (kind of?)

Summary: The day after the town dance, Joel doesn't seem so sentimental for your time together. The emotional rollercoaster leaves you confused. Something is off about him now, and it's taking everything in you to not leave yourself to blame. Finally, Joel tries setting a boundary, but will he hold to it?

[ A/N: For this series, I invite the reader to make up their own backstory for how they end up in Jackson. I'll keep descriptions in the chapters vague, as I didn't want to assign a backstory when it's something people can have such fun with! ]

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep

The gentle chirping of your watch pulls you from sleep, but not without some protest. You groan softly at a headache taking form and begin to regret last night's decisions. Prying an eye open, a green 6:31 AM shines back at you, though the sun hardly shows it through your curtains. A dim lavender sky peeks through instead.

What a nice start to the day, you think to yourself, sighing loudly as you shift to sit up; the rush of movement swells your pesky headache, making you squeeze your eyes shut.

"Shit," you grumble, rubbing your eyes, "fuckin' mead, man... never again."

And especially never before patrol day.

The thought of riding your horse through rough Wyoming terrain doesn't excite you. Instead, you get the gift of an unsettled stomach, but pull yourself out of bed nonetheless.

••••

"Good morning!"

Your neighbor's cheerful greeting rings in your head, but you know she means well. She'd been at the dance last night, too, but you didn't get a chance to talk, from what you remember, at least. Giving her a small wave, you force a smile you hope is genuine enough to sell the 'I'm not hungover' act.

The food stall is desolate, to your relief, save for the man running it. You seem him every time you stop by, though neither of you have exchanged names, but he has memorized your order already. His eyes shine genuinely when he hands you your food.

"It's good to see you again," the man says, "welcome to Jackson."

You smile appreciatively and take the sandwich, giving him a brief thanks before heading off. He provides breakfast for the patrol groups, but never wants anything in return. Maybe you could repay him, somehow, you think. Mulling it over, you tear into the sandwich while you make your way to the stables. The thick, earthy smell of hay wafts past, and the sputtering of horses sounds ahead.

Rounding the corner reveals today's patrol group - it's evidently much smaller than last time.

Joel doesn't turn when your footsteps approach. You spot the beautiful mare you'd ridden last patrol, Belle, occupied with a bucket of hay. She huffs loudly when you meet her, angling her head to look at you, before resuming her breakfast. Joel silently adjusts a hefty saddle onto his horse nearby. Clinking of metal clasps fills the silence before Joel breaks it.

"How's the hangover?"

There's a terseness in his tone, as if forcing a conversation he doesn't want to have. He doesn't turn to you when he asks the question.

You pause for a beat, "Kicking my ass a little."

Joel nods once, "Been there."

This Joel isn't the same man you danced with last night, this version doesn't remember, or simply doesn't care. Nothing from last night was special enough to hold onto today. Shame starts to sink in your uneasy stomach. So he really did mean it, when he called himself a fool for dancing with you.

"Where are we meeting up with the rest of the group?"

A casual tone masks the pain blooming in your chest, and the tears that prick your eyes. You wouldn't dare let them fall in front of Joel. He shouldn't know how much last night meant to you, even if he wouldn't bat an eye at your tears. It seems like last night's biggest mistake was thinking that he, somehow, was true to his actions. When his lips were brushing against your neck, hovering over your ear, before his tone had gone seductively darker.

"Just us today. Smaller groups help cover more ground."

It feels like an invisible string is pulled between you when he speaks, growing more taught with each bated breath and expressionless comment. You come to notice that Belle is already donning her saddle and gear, a task you hadn't done yourself.

Glancing at Joel, you hesitate, "Thank you for getting Belle ready."

Finally, he turns from his horse's saddle and shifts attention to you. A steely look in his eyes reprimands you without words. It didn't seem like a favor. He'd done your work for you.

"Saddling up is the boring part. Not as tricky as it looks, though. I'll ask Maria to show you how," he offers dismissively.

It’s a nice gesture, but the Maria part begins to register. He won’t show you, or doesn't want to spend time alone with you after what transpired last night. Confusion lingers in the back of your mind - Joel invited you to dance, and now it's as if you've never held a conversation before.

You nod, "Sounds good to me."

Even though it was not, in fact, good at all. Maybe last night really was some drunken mistake, but it wouldn't make sense of Joel's demeanor now.

Why did he look like he had something else to say?

••••

"Pretty day today," Joel states.

Sunlight streaks between distant mountain peaks, painting the morning fog with a breathtaking display of orange and yellow. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see how it casts a golden halo around Joel's salt and pepper hair, highlighting its warmer browns. He turns to his saddle bag, giving you a glimpse of his face; the sunlight works wonders. He's warmer and brighter... there's more life to him.

Joel gestures to one of the peaks ahead, "See that mountain over there? The shorter one to the right - we stop at the base of it. On the way out there, we're on lookout, gettin' rid of any stragglers. At the turn-around point we'll rest, and the trip back is supply pickup, in case we find anything."

You clear your throat, carrying on, "Got it... Must be a long route, hm?"

"At an average pace, 'bout two hours or so. If you're bookin' it, you could do it in less than one."

The talking is helpful when it's useful information, but anything else reminds you of last night, of that version of Joel. When he was in such stark contrast to this gruff personality, and if you were being honest, it had intrigued you. Pulled you in deeper.

In fact, from the moment you saw him, he caught your eye. On that chilly morning, where you stood timid and anxious amidst the crowd, something clicked in place when he'd briefly turned to you.

A certain roughness in his look told you that something, many things, has roughed him around the edges over the years. You couldn't tell his age, but you could assume that he witnessed the fall of everything. Back then, the world crumbled with the rise of the infection, its haunting mortality rate, and there was no hope of it being stopped after it had begun. You wondered what Joel's life had been before he ended up in Jackson - how his 'regular life' was, back when the world made more sense.

His accent is distinctly and seductively Southern, one you could listen to for hours. Clearly he isn't from around here - any kind of travel across so much terrain isn't an easy task, and it would take months at a steady pace.

So how the hell did he wind up in Jackson?

Joel reaches for a canteen of water, unscrewing the top and tossing his head back, taking in a few deep gulps. His jaw twitches as he drinks greedily, and follows it with a low, satisfied sigh when he's finished. The sound casts you into a void of unholy thoughts. Something tightens in your core, a feeling that, you now realize, you haven't had in months. Years, maybe.

Effortlessly, Joel shines light on an emotion you hadn't addressed to even yourself: a primal need for something.

••••

With the exception of picking off the straggling infected, the patrol is continuing quite smoothly. The sun is slowly inching its way across the sky, keeping you comfortably warm in a gentle breeze that relieves your dull headache. Now, Joel leads you down a path veering toward an open stretch of pasture at the base of the mountain. Peering ahead, you see the trail reach its end at the start of the field, and beyond spans into a sea of rolling hills that takes your breath away.

"How you doin' back there?" Joel asks.

"Still good," you reassure him.

He nods his head toward a fence far off in the pasture, "We go to the edge of the perimeter, then we loop around. We'll take a breather first, though."

You follow in his stead until he reaches the old wooden fence, dismounting his horse, and carefully tying its reigns to a nearby fence post. Dismounting Belle gives your hips and thighs a wave of relief to get some blood flowing again. You head to the fence on unsteady legs, leaning against the weathered wood as another gust of wind rushes by. The cool wind across your skin makes you turn to face its source, tossing your head back to invite its presence at your neck. Your eyes flutter shut, and the world melts away for a while.

He wishes he could burn this image in his mind. You throwing your head back as the wind blows, entangling itself through your hair, your clothes. That soft smile tugging at your lips has him completely distracted before you let out a happy sigh. A soft, breathy sound that makes his imagination wander, against his better judgement.

After all, last night was a mistake.

The moment Cara had called for your attention, inviting you to join his group, Joel knew the night would end differently than he expected. You wore a shirt that accentuated every area his eyes shouldn't have wandered to, but they did. Across the lot, he'd watched you dance for hours, spinning and twirling and laughing and really, truly, living. He could see a light in you, a fire that couldn't be put out.

But if you're a fire, Joel is gasoline.

"Listen," he starts. He already knows where this is heading, that he's ruined this moment, and that there will be nothing in his power to make it any better.

But he can't let you fall into a delusion. This idea that you want him, yet you have no idea of what's underneath. He can't have you focused on him when there's a whole community to serve. He's doing a service by telling you now, he assures himself.

Nipping it in the bud.

You turn to face him quickly, knowingly. He can tell by your fidgeting hands that you might know what's coming. And he can see it in your wide-eyed expression, still somewhat hopeful. He braced himself to see that face fall.

"What happened last night... ain't my best moment. I didn't hold myself back when I shoulda have, and I..." he straightens, "it can't happen again."

The words come out meaninglessly. Joel speaks, but can't hear himself, his words come from some far-off mental script he'd prepared when he'd gotten home last night. He can see it hit you - the realization, the way your body goes completely still. Your bottom lip trembles slightly, yet you hold a solid smile despite the hurt he sees in your eyes. Your hands have frozen in place, knuckles growing white from gripping them together so tightly.

"I-I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have gotten so carried away," you explain.

Your apology is a blow to his gut. Have you been blaming yourself this whole time? As if you could even be at fault. Joel asked you to dance. You were about to go home, and he asked you to stay out of his own selfishness.

He needed that light, that fire. A brightness that only you've possessed, and it had him hooked from the first time you'd spoken, at last patrol. You had strayed away from your position in the party and had wound up next to him. It hadn't registered who had joined him, and before he had the chance to issue a harsh 'stay back', there you were, in complete awe.

Joel remembers it clearly: the way your eyes shone with delight, an infectious smile that for a moment, lifted his spirits. Every patrol was the same. Same people, same routes, over and over and over again with exhausting mundanity. Until you came along.

There was a light about you he could not touch.

In every way you are his opposite. On one hand, Joel is harsh, serious, and doesn't care much about his impact on others, let alone their feelings. You, on the other hand, represent everything Joel could've had for himself - kind, flexible, and you naturally cared for others.

Joel can't seem to remember when he lost that side of himself. He doesn't understand your capacity for kindness in a world this dark.

"You shouldn't be apologizing for anything," he says.

You pause and look toward the ground, wringing your hands again, "I should've just gone home."

If you had, you wouldn't be on the verge of tears right now.

A surge of regret fills his chest. Someone as kind as you doesn't deserve the pain of rejection; you should have someone who cherishes you, who can appreciate your softness without tainting it.

"Why'd you stay?"

There was no use for excuses now.

It's harder to meet his eyes this time, but you want to see his reaction to your answer.

"Because you asked me to dance."

Confusion knits Joel's eyebrows together when he asks, "And that was so special?"

"Yes. Was it not that way for you?"

He opens his mouth to answer, yet he hesitates. The long pause doesn't much to help your confusion, you truly want to know, to hear it from him first. If it wasn't important, it'd be easier to forget it happened in the first place.

It would certainly be easier than an unrequited love. Anything is easier.

"That's not what I said."

"It's implied," you state. Joel averts his gaze to the fence, idly picking at a loose piece of wood. "It's alright if it wasn't, I just... I need to know."

Another beat passes before he gives his answer, at long last. Joel matches your pose from earlier and leans with his back against the fence.

"It was. Special, that is," he says gently. That softness in his voice was greatly missed, and it's a breath of fresh air to hear it once more. "It's just... you're still new here. I don't want you getting distracted-"

"Are you calling yourself a distraction?"

Joel's eyes dart to you, "Am I not?"

You press your lips into a thin line, making his question ultimately rhetorical. He nods once, then turns his head to you. The intensity of his stare demands it to be met, so you meet his eyes and find a playfulness there, a hint of the Joel from last night.

"Am I one?"

"Telling you would just give you ideas," he teases.

You smirk, "So I am."

"The worst kind."

Shifting your weight on your feet reminds you of the soreness in your legs, so you lift your arms, and push yourself onto the top of the fence, dangling your legs over the side. The silence between you now isn't as uncomfortable as earlier. No, this is the silence of anticipation, wondering what or who will give a resolution.

"What about me is so distracting?" You ask.

In place of words, Joel makes his way to you, positioning himself in front of your swinging legs, which now shook a little more than you'd like to admit. He closes the gap with hands on either side of you, gripping the wood beneath his rough fingers.

There's no way to place his expression when he looks at you again.

He replies, voice low and strained, "Everything."

You can't miss it when his eyes wander to your lips, hovering there a moment longer than he needed to. Taking the opportunity you look at his as well - you knew they were soft, but hadn't felt much of them. Need and hunger are all you can feel as you stare.

When his lips meet yours, there's something that tells you that maybe this situation was inevitable. One look at him, and you knew how you felt, and exactly how willing you'd be to take your time with him.

But today, Joel doesn't need time. He knows what he wants.

He groans into your mouth when you move your lips against his - the sound of a starved animal finally getting their fill. It draws a moan from you, matching him in a sweet harmony. There's a gap between you still, that simply isn't enough.

You reach forward in search of the waistband of his jeans, hook your fingers through his belt loops, and tug Joel forward. His mouth crashes into yours once again, skirting his tongue across your bottom lip, begging for entry. One at a time, you wrap your legs around Joel's waist and secure yourself tightly against him, gripping at his shoulders with a ferocity you didn't recognize.

It's not as slow as you would've liked him to go, but it's the pace you need. For how long it felt to wait, for how impatient you'd been.

And he knows how to deliver it.

His hands roam carefully around your waist, squeezing and fondling with an avarice that shows he's been waiting just as impatiently. Every caress sets you alight, erupting goosebumps along your arms and neck, which Joel is slowly shifting his attention to.

"Joel," you pant, but it's all you can muster. There's more to the sentence, but his lips stop you. They play at the soft skin below your jaw, suckling gently before his tongue slides along your supple flesh, bringing himself to your ear.

He catches your earlobe between his teeth and bites playfully. Another moan falls past your lips, another breathy utterance of his name. Joel plants a kiss below your ear. You card your fingers through his hair, tugging at the soft strands.

"Careful, pretty girl," says Joel, reaching upward to support your head as it's thrown back in pleasure. He weaves his fingers into your hair for a comfortable grip, and pulls your head back further.

The constriction chokes you, but you smile anyway at the dull pain from where he holds you. With his strength, he has you exactly where he wants you, and can keep you there. The high-pitched moan you sing next has Joel losing his composure, his actions growing sloppier as you continue.

But, to your surprise, he releases you first.

Joel pulls back with a final kiss pressed to your lips again, a deep and savoring one. The back of your head stings from the grip he held on it, though it gives you a rush of adrenaline you won't trade for anything.

The sigh he lets out is one you can recognize, because you're breathing the same one.

This complicates things.

Hi guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it took a long time to write, and I think it's because it's not smut, and it was very frustrating, so next chapter will have a LOT more (i'm already plotting)

#fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou2 #tlou fanfiction #joel tlou #joel miller #pedro pascal joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #smut #smut writing #bunny writes

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bunnysbrainrot · 6 days

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Bourbon and Mead

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟸 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 '𝚃𝚘𝚘 𝚂𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝' 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚢𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙷𝚘𝚣𝚒𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐.

Relationship: Joel Miller x f!Reader, Jackson!AU

Content: Alcohol consumption, flirting, slow-burn tension, slow dancing with Joel, teasing, POV switch. Bear with me, folks, this'll be worth it.

Summary: It's been a busy first week in Jackson, but you're finally starting to feel at home. Even still, you haven't made many new connections, but hopefully tonight's big event can help. Despite your nerves, you go anyway, and see some familiar faces.

Word Count: 4,300+

It had been just under a week since your patrol with Joel and his group, and you're settling in rather well. For such a shabby spot, you have decorated your living space impressively, and it settles something in you. After so long, you're really starting to have a place to call home.

Knock, knock, knock.

The noise shakes you out of a stupor, and you make your way to the heavy wooden door, and tug it open to reveal a friendly face, Maria.

You've had little chance to interact with new people since arriving in Jackson - when you're working as a community this directly, a hell of a lot of work goes into it. Which means, everyone's busy. Just about constantly. That being said, outside of your own room, Maria has been your only companion.

She can sense your loneliness, too, but she hasn't let on. The last thing you needed was the pressure of making a name of yourself in the first few days, so she had kept you busy with chores, patrols, hunts, you name it. To her, that plan would help you adjust to how Jackson functioned as a whole, so you could have the foundation of being a community member, to get your bearings.

Her smile is bright as she speaks, "Hey, sweetheart, just wanted to let y'know about the dance happening tonight. If you're feeling up for it, you should stop by."

The offer erupts a warmth in your chest.

"The dance?" You ask eagerly.

Maria nods, "Used to call it a square dance, but not enough folks know how to, so it's more of a get-together now, but we'll have music, drinks, the whole nine."

It doesn't take long for you to choose your answer. You cheerfully tell Maria, "That sounds wonderful. Where is it, and when does it start?"

She starts to describe the layout of the nearby buildings to the dance, waving her hands in front of her methodically, "But trust me, you won't be able to miss it. Just follow the music." Maria ends her sentence with a wink.

"What do I wear?"

There's a beat as she looks you over, and past your shoulder to your chest of drawers, which she helped stock when you first arrived.

Maria waves a hand dismissively as she replies, "Some people take the chance to dress up, some people dress down. You do whatever you're comfortable with, honey."

You flash her a grateful smile, and she issues a small goodbye before walking off.

---

A good few hours buffers you before the dance. The optional dance, but something in you will stop at nothing to go. You need to see people, have some laughs, live a little.

You take your sweet time getting ready, too. Some downtime is well deserved and rare, but it gives you the perfect window of time - debating on your outfit takes the longest. You opt for a casual hairdo, one that won't get your neck all hot and sweaty once you start dancing. The watch on your left wrist reads 6:47 PM up at you.

Whooping voices can be heard outside your window as people saunter down the street, toward the festivities, you assume. You sneak a peek through the curtains, eyeing a gaggle of townsfolk laughing alongside one another. Their eyes are bright, voices uplifted and loud. The men clap each other on the shoulder aggressively, while the women jab each other in the sides with their elbows. There wasn't much to make out, but whatever they were joking about had them roaring with laughter.

Seeing the crowd inspires you to make way out the door. You ensure all your lights are off, save for your nightstand lamp to come back to an inviting space. A deep breath later, and you were out the door, too.

There's a new feeling in the air, and you can place it precisely. Upbeat music plays far down the small Jackson streets, but its effects are widespread. All around, the other residents beam brightly as they go about the evening. Most people nearest you exchange small 'hello's' and wave politely, others still smile your way. Tightness wells in your chest as you realize just how long it had been since you'd seen so many friendly faces.

The music's volume eventually blares as you near the open area for the dance. The weather proves to be fair enough to host the event outside, so rows of string lights hang between nearby poles and sides of buildings. In the back of the venue is a group of people wielding a variety of instruments, nodding and bouncing with the quick beat of what you knew as bluegrass music.

"Hey, look who's here!" A voice calls out. You glance around until you realize the call was for your attention. You turn to the voice and recognize the woman from last week's patrol, who'd given you the rundown of who your partners were.

You greet her in return before registering the rest of the group. A few of them could be familiar around town, but for the most part, new faces.

Except for one.

Joel's eyes aren't on yours when you find him in the group. He's looking to one of the men, seemingly in a deep conversation. Perhaps he could feel your eyes on him, because his eyes flicker to yours for a split second. He pauses, lets his conversation partner speak, while he gives you a polite nod, before turning back to the man.

The fluttering in your gut was a dead giveaway, this is why you wanted to come. The prospect of seeing Joel again was exciting, but usually slim. And here he was. If only he could just move on from his conversation...

A hand lands on your arm comfortingly. The kind woman tells you, "It's so good to see you again! How have you been settling in?"

There's a twinge of an accent in her words, Southern, but more subtle. Her words are as soft as a hug.

"It's been going alright, finally getting to decorating," you start. The woman listens. Wait... did she ever introduce herself? Shit. How were you supposed to see someone this much without knowing their name?

"That was the best part when I got here. Once I had my space set up, it really felt like home," she replies.

There's a beat of silence between you, and it breaks when you ask, "I'm sorry if this is awkward, but I never got your name the first time we met." You briefly introduce yourself before she replies.

Her eyes crinkle when she smiles, "I'm Cara. I never introduced myself, but I wanted you to have at least be one friendly face here."

"I'm thankful for it, I really am. It feels better now that we have names to the faces," you offer with a nervous smile.

Cara looks at you mischievously, softly grabbing your bicep, "Let's get a drink. Whaddya say?"

That kind offer melts your anxiety away, and all that's left is you, Cara, and the joy of sharing a drink with a friend. In moments, you have a glass of homemade mead in your hand.

Someone else from the group calls Cara over, so for a moment you're left alone with your cup of fermented honey goodness. It's sweet, slightly bitter, but leaves your stomach feeling warm as it settles. The burn in your throat is numbed by the warmth in your belly. You make it back to Cara's group and decided to strike up conversation with those folks, thinking that it'd be a good place to start.

The first few conversations are long - a flurry of questions about your background, your journey out to Jackson, and how you've been adjusting to the move. You learn some basics about some of them, but there's a distraction lingering in the back of your mind.

Joel.

A few people in the group break away to leave for the dance floor, the jovial music beckoning them ever closer. You don't follow immediately, which leaves you with a few stragglers, and him.

For the first time in days, you hear his voice again, "What'd you get?"

The question snaps you to attention, looking down into your glass. You glance back up at him and motion with the cup with a swish, "Some mead, I think. Pretty good."

He nods, "Pete makes some damn good mead, 'specially if it's for a party. Pulls out the good stuff."

Part of you wonders if his lighthearted talking is to make up for the blunder on last week's patrol, to ease the embarrassment you still held from it.

"What's in your cup?" You retort.

"Usually it's bourbon, but tonight, it's beer," he replies with a gaze into his own cup. He copies your motion and swirls the cup a few times. A bit of the foamy liquid sloshes out and onto the dirt in front of your, nicer, combat boots. Some of the beer spatters onto your feet and into the dirt.

"Damn, maybe they should cut me off," Joel jokes, reaching into his back pocket and revealing a handkerchief, holding it out to you. "Sorry 'bout that."

You take the cloth, "Making a mess of the place already, and it's not even eight o'clock yet, impressive."

The joke seems to land with Joel; you can tell by the way the corners of his eyes tighten.

Joel

What you say makes him chuckle. It's rare to find someone with a sense of humor these days. That kind of fresh attitude can bring a lot of life in a world like this, especially around here, especially after the loss these people have felt.

New folks were few and far between, given how desolate Jackson had become since the world fell to shit, but there was a wind of change when you arrived last week. Joel could tell from the second he saw you on patrol, even trotting ahead of the group at one point. The light in your eyes when you awed at the mountains tugged at his heartstrings. A type of longing for that kind of simple joy. To be young, without most of his hardships, seeing new parts of the world, even though it had shrunk.

On the patrol, you had gotten too far ahead, in line with Joel in the lead, and you knew it wasn't your place, but you hadn't shied away from him. In fact, you had embraced it, and listened keenly when Joel advised you keep your distance. Normally it'd feel like taming an unruly child, but you had a certain curiosity in your eyes, you were eager to learn.

Joel knows how harsh he can be, let alone to new faces. The worry of how that attitude rubs off on people subsided decades ago - one could say that Joel has truly embraced that 'grouchy old man' stereotype. That attitude has saved his ass more times than he could count, and has kept him safe after all these years. But, there's an unavoidable weight when it comes to hardening yourself up as much as Joel has. It's a truth that he's been evading for years. You make yourself untouchable, but you forget how much you need someone else.

Even so, it's easier that way. You keep losses to a minimum as long as you're not attached. Living that way had gotten him this far.

But now you stand in front of him, with beer-splattered boots and a kind smile despite your new shoes being soiled. You take his handkerchief and bend down to clean your shoes, and hand the cloth back to Joel. His fingers brush against yours when he takes it back - yours are delicately soft against his calloused ones, and it takes him by surprise.

In that split second, Joel's eyes search your face for any change, to see if you freeze like he does, to see if your breath hitches like his did, for any sign that this isn't just some fluke.

It could be a trick of the light, but Joel swears there's a new redness in your cheeks. When you look at him next, it's with bright, innocent eyes, a type of innocence Joel would surely ruin.

"Thank you, Joel," you say softly. His name on your lips is the sweetest thing he's ever heard, it's almost sickening.

Joel clears his throat and gives you a nod, "It's the least I can do."

The sun is dipping behind the mountains, streaking the sky with glorious pink hues against the emerging stars of dusk. A fiddle lilts happily as the song picks up pace, the tune itself serving as an invitation to get yourself moving. In the distance, Cara flashes you a wide smile, and waves a beckoning hand over to her gaggle of folks. You can barely make out her words as she mouths them.

"Let's dance!"

Joel notices your distraction, looking back at Cara trying to whisk you onto the dance floor. There's a good number of people breaking into a flurry of moves, all whooping and laughing as they pass one another. Joel looks back to you, the softness that was there before is seeming to dissipate. His face is hardened again, resigned.

"Guess I'm being stolen away," you say.

"Be careful," Joel replies, "Carried Away Cara doesn't let up. You'll be dancing for hours."

You comment, "Didn't know I signed up for that kind of night."

You've reached the group by now, and Cara is already handing you another glass of mead, and a huge smile to go along with it.

----

You're onto drink number four, you think, and the sky has shifted from a pale pink to a deep indigo, littered with bright stars and a beautiful crescent moon. It seems like the music has blurred together without beginning or end, and your boozy haze doesn't reveal any tiredness, so you keep dancing. Joel was right, Cara's had you dancing for what feels like hours at this point. But damn, did she know how to party.

The song the group's playing begins to slow down, and part of the crowd disperses away. Chattering can be overheard amidst the quieting music. You place a mostly-empty glass onto a nearby picnic table and look around the venue. Folks pass you by with a pep in their step, their faces flushed red from alcohol and relentless dancing.

A breath of fresh air wafts through the venue, rustling through your hair that had tacked with sweat to the nape of your neck. You smile from the sensation, relishing in the cool air across your hot skin. Shit, what time is it?

Your watch beams 10:13 PM back up at you.

Damn, where did all that time go?

The night has given you a rush of adrenaline you haven't found in what feels like months. Something about this dance is erupting a sense of joy you were sure you'd never feel again. Laughter, dancing, good people. Such simple things really do lift the spirits.

You can feel a pointed stare at you off to the side, but do you dare look? Of course you do - it's not like the mead is letting you act composed. Being as subtle as you can muster in your state, you glance to the side, where that looming sense had come from. Far off, leaning against a tall wooden fence, is Joel.

While he had practically ignored you when you'd first seen him tonight, he can't take his eyes off of you in this moment. Your heart skips a beat when he holds the stare, his deep brown eyes never leave yours, even as other partygoers pass between you. It's as if the world had paused, but perhaps just for you, frozen under Joel's gaze, the sole subject of his attention.

He stands alone on the side. No one to interrupt you if you go over...

Before you decide, you wave and smile. A silly drunken grin you'd normally hide. Right now, with his focus only on you, is the most alive you've felt in months. The high of it creeps up from behind, whispering encouragement in the form of a dare. Go up to him.

Your legs make the journey before you register what's happening; your body suddenly has a mind of its own, no way to back down now.

The narrowing distance from Joel pushes your heart to your throat. While your legs carry you smoothly, your senses are turned upside down. The anxiety you have about Joel is nothing but a distant memory. Tonight, you'd overcome your nervousness.

"Not much of a dancer, hm?" You call to him over the music.

A small smile spreads across his lips, "With these knees, I'm lucky to do a damn foxtrot. Someone out there was having the time of their life, though."

He truly has a gift. The moment he speaks, everything else seems to disappear. God, you'd ask him question after question just to hear that voice - deep and gravelly, but the accent is thick and sweet like molasses. A slip of your imagination has you wandering into uncharted territory. Imagine a "baby" or "honey" or "sweetheart" in that voice... Your mind vacates long enough for Joel to arch an eyebrow at you, and you're immediately brought back down to earth.

"I don't know how I went dancing for that long," you exhale.

Joel shakes his head with a chuckle, "You'll get some damn good sleep, that's for sure."

It'd be better if you were sleeping with me.

The unfiltered thought jolts through you, snapping you back to attention. Maybe the mead was making you a little too confident.

Behind you both, the music group's slow beat has pulled folks into a smooth rhythm. The dance floor littered with small groups and couples as the song continued. This new intimate energy could not have been timed any worse. You took a big breath and let it out slowly.

"It's getting late, I should probably head home."

Joel pauses, looking toward the band, then down into a cup of amber-brown liquid. Maybe he resorted back to his usual bourbon.

You follow suit and watch the band play on. A tug in your chest begs you not to go, not yet.

"Think you got time for one last go?" His question snaps your head to him. There's a new spark in his eyes, a softer glint amidst the chocolate brown.

Your answer is immediate, breathless, "Of course."

Anything. Anything for him.

As long as it reveals a glimpse of the man underneath the tough shell. It's still in him.

Joel extends his hand, palm up, to take yours. You lay yours on top plainly, holding a breath at the sensation of your skin against his. It's not like before with the handkerchief. This time, it's intentional, he wants to touch you.

The way his fingers curl to hold your hand settled that debate. His touch is careful. It didn't take a genius to know how rough he could be, with those toned muscles shifting under his plaid shirt; in contrast, he held you with such delicacy, as if you'd break if he gripped too hard.

"You know how to dance at all?" Joel asks.

You bark a laugh, "With this many drinks in me? Highly doubt it."

Joel's laugh is louder this time around. You can actually make it out, and you can feel that it's genuine. "I warned you about Cara. Now I get a drunk dance partner."

"Hey, you asked me to dance. You don't get to give me shit for havin' a good time," your words slur together, proving Joel's point.

Amidst the crowd, Joel manages to find you two a nice spot with plenty of room. The surrounding couples look how you feel - entranced with their partners, focused and attentive, like the other person is the only one left in the world.

"How 'bout this? You lead me."

You freeze, "But, I-I don't know what to d-"

"Do what you want. I'll follow."

"And if I make a fool of myself?" You question.

His other hand migrates to your waist, holding you gently at your side, "The you better really sell it."

Your laugh is giddy. He lets you have room for mistakes. There's room to be human around him.

A deep exhale later, you place your hands on Joel's shoulders and begin to sway, a slow and steady pace with the beat of the song. Seems the mead has done its work of clouding your judgement - you're locked in the swaying motion.

"Is this okay?" You ask softly, finding Joel's eyes. There's a warmth in them you hadn't seen before.

He nods gently, "You lead the way, sweetheart. Don't worry about me."

Who'd have known that a single word could melt you completely. Your mind instantly hooks on it, cycles it in your mind as if to brand it into your memory.

Sweetheart.

Your smile is instant, but feels like one of those sloppy, stupid drunk grins that reveal how not-yourself you are at the words.

And so, you sway. As promised, Joel follows right along.

He shifts closer, readjusting the hold on your waist, spanning his fingers along the small of your back. A polite caress, not meandering and wandering around like most drunk men you'd encountered. Joel can keep his hands to himself. Joel has manners. Joel has self-control.

There's a lead to follow with his movements, you discover. It does feel more natural to wrap your arms around his neck like this...

In a swift moment you've melted into him, and with it, your nerves.

You also find that it's far more comfortable to rest your head on his chest. A beat later, your senses return, and you raise yourself back into standing position, realizing the crossed boundary.

"Gettin' tired already?" Joel asks bemusedly.

Maybe he didn't catch it. Thank goodness.

"You're basically rocking me to sleep here," you quip back.

Joel reminds you, "You're the one leading us."

You roll your eyes as you shake your head, bringing a laugh from him again. The sound of it lights you up from inside, flipping your stomach. You'd already learned that that sound was rare.

"Some dance partner I am," you say sarcastically. Joel's smile broadens, and the hand on your back shifts. His thumb idly sweeps across your spine.

Somehow, your arms are back around his neck, and your head is against his chest, all without protest. Joel's thumb still caresses your back as a sign. The song in the background changes to something simpler, with fewer instruments, giving highlight to a slow solo from the fiddle player.

"You're right, I think I'm gonna sleep like a log tonight," you murmur.

Joel's chuckle vibrates against your cheek. The huff of his laugh gives you a whiff of bourbon, sickly sweet and smoky, blending in with his deeper woodsy scent.

"You gotta be more careful next time," his voice slows. "We'll get some water in ya, help fight that hangover tomorrow."

You nod against him, smiling broadly, knowing that you're in good hands. Your words come out sheepishly, "I'm sorry I got so drunk. I... didn't think you'd see me like this."

A gentle squeeze on your side.

Joel's breath skirts across your neck when he mutters, "You think I'm gonna blame you for havin' a good time?"

His lips graze the shell of your ear as he speaks, and his words have a secrecy to them, an intimacy you hadn't seen from him before. You pay attention to the feel of his lips on your skin - they're soft and gentle, but know where to drag along in all the right places.

It's enough to leave your knees wobbling in your drunken stupor, high purely off of his touch, head spinning as you search for a new sensation.

"It has been pretty fun," you reply between trembling breaths.

There's a subtle brush of lips against your neck when he speaks, "I'd say I'm havin' a pretty good time."

Your knees practically buckle beneath you.

The rush of it all has you pulled back from him now, staring at him with surprised eyes. It's not that you didn't enjoy or accept that move, just that quickly, in front of so many people...

Joel's look shifts to something of embarrassment, "Maybe I've had a lil' too much."

You let out a nervous laugh, "I think I'm right there with you, I... I'm sorry."

He doesn't ask what the apology is for. He knows exactly which line was crossed. The hardened look returning to his eyes tells you that this moment of bliss is coming to an end.

"You don't got anything to be sorry for," the thick Texas accent is palpable in his reassurance. "I'm bein' a fool."

A fool. For doing this.

Hopefully he can't see the way that word breaks you. You force a bigger smile, a dismissive one that says 'we can just forget this ever happened', with a wave of a hand.

You offer, "Like you said, just having a good time."

His smile is wry. There's something unreadable in his expression.

Nonetheless, his grip of your waist loosens, releasing you as the fiddle in the background song comes to a silent end. Something akin to tension hangs in the air between you, pulled taught like a string to be severed.

"Well, I won't keep ya any longer. I... appreciate the dance. I know you're probably itchin' to get back in bed, so..." Joel says, trailing off, pressing his lips into a thin line.

You nod, collecting yourself, "Y-Yeah, probably good to get some sleep soon. You, too."

Joel smiles again, but his heart isn't in it like before.

He gives you a quick pat on the shoulder, eyes averted, "Get home safe, alright?"

Before you can wish him the same, he's lost amidst the crowd.

Hello, my sweethearts! So glad to be developing this story more, and I hope you've been enjoying so far! If you'd like, vote in the poll below for how'd you like to see this story develop (if you catch my drift)

As always, thank you so much for your support. And if you're new, it's nice to meet you! Love you all!

-Bunny

{all banners/dividers are from cafekistune on Tumblr}

#joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #tlou #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us 2 #bunny writes #smut #smut writing #fanfiction #tlou2 #pedro pascal joel miller #pedro pascal

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bunnysbrainrot · 14 days

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Hello Miss Bunny! I was wondering if you would be open to doing another Crowley/ X reader/ Castiel like Vices and Virtues I really loved the store, and I can't find any more in this category, and I'm super into it, haha.

oh ABSOLUTELY. dare i suggest…. a series? 😏

#fanfiction #supernatural #spnfandom #spn #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural smut #ask bunny #castiel #crowley spn

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bunnysbrainrot · 26 days

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Too Sweet

A series inspired by Hozier’s ‘Too Sweet’.

Relationship: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Content: No sexually explicit content, at least not yet. Some slight fluff? Slow burn vibes? Joel is kind of a dick (for once in my writings), but a protective dick.

Summary: You’re one of the newest arrivals in Jackson after a long trip to seek refuge. Now that you’re settling in, one of Jackson’s most integral men is the head of your first patrol. Will Joel be able to set aside that gruff demeanor for the sake of meeting someone new?

A/N: I’m so sorry about my recent hiatus, everyone. I’ve thought of this series for a while, to get me inspired again and to work towards something bigger. I’ve also thought about having some sections/chapters be from Joel’s perspective. Thoughts on that? Sorry it’s nothing spicy yet, but we’ll work up to it. Tensionnnn

The sound of birds echoed outside your bedroom window. By some miracle, you’d found a community, after so many months wandering either alone, or with the occasional group, but never for long. The mattress beneath you squeaks as you shift in your bed. Normally an irksome noise, but it reminded you that you were finally safe.

A faint light of dawn trickles through the gaps in the curtains, streaking around the room in a periwinkle hue. Your sluggish grog was slowly wearing off, while you processed your plans for that day. It was a Thursday, according to your new watch. God, you hadn’t realized how much you missed being able to tell the time. Who knows truly how long you’d been out there. Days blurring together, the minutes excruciatingly drawn out without company.

It was nice to be a part of something again.

Finally, you sat up in bed, rolling your head to stretch your neck. How long had it been since you had a proper pillow?

A smile crept onto your face. You’re better rested than ever, but an anxiety still ate away at you. Today was your first patrol outside of Jackson. You weren’t alone, of course, but the expectations you held for yourself could be your downfall.

“Okay, let’s do this,” you whispered to yourself.

Walking over to your dresser, you eyed yourself in a dusty mirror above the chest of drawers. A kind woman named Maria had provided you with a few new outfits when you’d first arrived a week ago. In the meantime until today, she’d given you those days to process and settle, and you were grateful for her patience.

When Maria had asked you what role you’d like in the community, she could see the steely glint in your eyes. Well seasoned from years of fighting and running, yet still a kernel of a protective rage.

You had expressed to her of your journey before finding Jackson. On that day she asked you how many of the dead you had taken out thus far.

“In total, by myself, well over three hundred, I would say. I don’t know, I think I lost track at some point.”

Her expression shifted to one of assurance, like they’d just gotten a worthy addition to their town. Someone who could protect what they’d all built.

She explained the basics of patrols, the routes laid out on an old map, with hand drawn trails and indicators of the area. You made an attempt to remember as much as you could, but surely you’d get good practice being out there, actually doing it.

————

You check yourself before heading out the front door. This time of year, the weather has started to warm up, so your opted for a t-shirt, jeans, a light jacket, and a ‘new’ pair of hand-me-down boots.

The air outside was cleaner than you’d imagined. The scent of early morning breakfasts wafted through the breeze, bringing a pang to your stomach. Maria hadn’t mentioned how long patrols would take; you debated if you had time to grab something from a stall in the heart of town. Other residents had been given spaces to cook for the community, giving out easy meals for these hardworking people.

Turns out you did have time, to your relief. In a matter of minutes, you held a piping hot breakfast sandwich in your hands, its heat seeping into your chilled fingers.

A few folks wave a friendly ‘hello’ as you trek to the Southern side of Jackson, to its border wall to meet up with your patrol group. There was a huddle of both peiple and horses, you noticed, as you got closer. One of the people turned to you, giving a wave in recognition.

“Hi, am I late? I thought I’d have time to get breakfast,” you explained.

There was a woman with kind eyes who spoke next, “Not at all, these bastards just insist on getting up at 5:30.”

“That sure is an early start.”

“It gets them cranky like you wouldn’t believe,” she replied, quickly cut off by a new voice.

It was a gentleman who called to the group, “We all here?”

His voice wasn’t commanding, but it did put people into gear to check themselves. Clearly he was the one in charge of this patrol. The look in his eyes told you all you needed to know.

He might be someone to watch.

You turn to the woman, “I’m sorry to ask, but I don’t know anyone here yet. Is there any way you could give me a run-down of who everyone is?”

With a smile, she listed off the names of your group members, pointing them out. Some of them noticed and waved, others gave a slight smile, and others asked for your name. All were introduced until it was down to the man who’d rounded the group.

“And, that’s Joel. He’s head of the patrol.”

Your eyes shot to Joel now that you could put a name to the face. There was a moment of pause when you met his gaze, a moment frozen in time from his stare. He scanned over your face, down to your shoddy boots, and back to your eyes.

His expression doesn’t soften as he says, “Glad to have ya with us. Should be a horse on the way for you.”

Joel turns to face the gate as he rummages through his pockets for a folded map. He unfolds the paper until it spans across his horse’s shoulders.

The rhythmic clonk of a horse’s hooves came from behind. A familiar face approached with a stunning mare, it’s Maria.

“Mornin’ everyone, that should be it,” Maria traded off with you, handing you the mare’s lead. She spoke louder, announcing to the group. “Y’all stay safe out there. Shouldn’t be too bad, but it is getting warmer. Keep an eye out for groups.”

Members of your party nodded before Maria walked off, giving greetings to other folks who’d just begun to bustle around.

Your attention shifted back, specifically to Joel. It seemed that whatever he says, goes, so that’s what you’d follow.

Two men at the top of the wall made their way to the edges of the gate, hauling it open. Golden sunlight peeked above the mountains ahead, casting the world in a yellow glow.

Joel nodded, then a gruff, “Be smart. Stay close.”

————

The sun was overhead now. You’d been out here for hours, keeping an eye out for any infected that roamed too close to camp. A while ago, you spotted one trapped in an abandoned cabin. Which was quickly dispatched by one of the men in your party.

That cycle repeated almost wordlessly amongst you all. Hardly a single word had been uttered aside from Joel’s occasional command or redirection.

For the most part, things were going smoothly. And after a few minutes of some peace and quiet, you realized you’d strayed away from your spot in the formation. Your horse had fallen in pace with a beautiful brown stallion, riding on top, was none other than the leader.

Joel.

You’d turned to see who it was, but were quickly met with another intense stare. Your gaze darts to the side as you issue an apology, “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to get so ahead of everyone.”

For the first time his expression does soften. A slight hint or kindness in his eyes. The corners of his eyes crinkle with his slight smile.

“It happens. Just… keep a lil’ distance. You’re new, can’t have you rushing ahead without someone else with you.”

The words would form a lecture if it weren’t for his tone. It wasn’t scrutinizing, but rather soft and protective.

His advice brings a smile out of you. A genuine one, for the first time in a while. Perhaps he wasn’t as much of a hard-ass as you’d assumed. You tug your horse’s reins to slow her pace, creating a few feet of space between you and Joel.

Yet even still, that smile he gave you kept your heart racing.

It would be a horrible idea, to fawn after him.

Right?

That thought had no effect on the tightness in your chest, or the fluttering in your stomach. Perhaps it was simply happiness that someone so hardened could be so easily friendly. A hard exhale later, you told yourself that it was the camaraderie that flustered you.

—

The group had made their journey back to town. Aside from the occasional runner, there wasn’t much defense needed this morning. Once your group returned, you’d have lunch and trade off with the next group, and share your findings before they venture out.

You had let your mind wander as you rode with the group.

In a split second, your mare bucks in fright. There was no time to assess what scared her before you were shooting ahead, flying past your patrol group.

“Nonononono- NO! It’s alright, it’s alright-“ you cry, but it falls on deaf ears of a scared animal. Tugging on the reins made no difference. You still shot ahead of the others, directionless without someone to guide you.

“It’s alright, baby, you’re safe! You’re okay. It’s gone!” You plead to the horse to slow down. The reassurances don’t seem to be enough.

A thundering set of footsteps is heard behind you. In a swift move, Joel jabbed his horse with his heel, pushing himself to race ahead of you.

With the rush of the air and galloping hooves, you could hardly make out his instructions.

“What?!” You shouted.

“Pull the reins! And I mean pull!”

You gripped the leather of the reins, drawing them to your chest, tugging your horse’s head back and away. Her pace slowed, but she kept running, now to the left. You could make out a curse from Joel as he redirected.

In a stroke of luck, he made some headway. Joel’s horse zoomed forward, and merged directly in front of yours, and the interruption slowed the mare’s pace just enough.

Another tug of the reins helps her into a steady beat. Joel was directly ahead, now turned to the side to block more of the path. Your horse huffed and threw her head frustratedly. In that short time you had no clue just how far you’d strayed away - looking backwards told you that it was at least a few hundred meters.

Embarrassment showed in your flushed cheeks and wild expression, looking to Joel for some sort of scolding.

“I think something scared her. I.. I didn’t get a chance to see, it all happened so fast-“

Joel raised a hand to stop you mid-sentence. He didn’t wear a smile like before, but his expression wasn’t angry. If anything, he had that protective look once again.

“I know. They’re skittish, ‘specially her. She needs a little more control than the others.”

It’s a reassurance, truthfully. You breathed a sigh of relief knowing you weren’t on the shit list on the first day. Your breathing had slowed down now, though your heart still raced wildly in your chest.

He scanned your face thoroughly before he asked, “You alright?”

A nod is what you could muster. It’s enough for Joel to give a nod back before waving to the folks behind you, the rest of the group, to call them over.

“Maybe next time I’ll have a more confident horse. No offense….” you paused, “what’s her name?”

Joel’s lips tugged into a smile, “That’s Belle you’re ridin’. Poor girl hasn’t been out in a while, so she’s not as warmed up to this. But you did good with her, all things considered. Handled it well.”

You reached down to pat Belle on the side of her cheek, caressing her carefully.

“It’s okay, Belle. We’re with you. You’re alright now.”

A smile vanished from Joel’s face when you look back up at him. He cleared his throat, his eyes skirting away until your party began to join up with you two.

“It’s all good. Belle got the jitters. Let’s head home.”

With that explanation out of the way, the team could finally resume their return home. Along the way, Joel didn’t have much else to say, much to anyone actually. His silence was solemn - definitely not any invitation to strike up conversation.

Perhaps that’s how he’d always be - resigned, reserved, and off limits to everyone. A part of you ached at the thought of it.

For Joel, that loneliness could be his downfall.

Hi guys! Thanks for reading, I’m sorry if it seems a little boring, but it’s for the sake of the story building. TRUST it will get nasty soon. 🥰

#fanfiction #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #tlou #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou2 #bunny writes #smut #smut writing #the last of us fanfiction

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bunnysbrainrot · 1 month

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hey bunny, just wanted to let you know that you're one of my favorite writers in the spn fandom. your work is amazing. i particularly love your sam/dean/reader threesome series. It changed the whole game for me and got me back into writing smut after almost a decade. Just wanted you to know that.

you’re so sweet 😭😭 this made my day. if i’m being completely honest, it’s been tough with increased anxiety lately - it’s been a cycle of getting too anxious to write (my irl job takes up a lot of time and mental space, so i don’t have enough brain power to make a cohesive plot, my brain is soup), but i’m going to be focusing on getting my mental health into shape in order to write stress free, so my works can be as genuine as possible!

i love you, and this is just the perfect message to find on my birthday, thank you sweetheart

xoxo

#fanfiction #supernatural #spnfandom #spn #supernatural fanfiction #ask bunny

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bunnysbrainrot · 2 months

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obsessed

୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ · · 𝒱𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑒’𝓈 𝒟𝒶𝓎 𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 · · ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧

𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 / 𝓇𝑒𝒷𝓁𝑜𝑔 𝒾𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝒶𝓋𝑒, 𝓃𝑜 𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒹𝒾𝓉 𝓃𝑒𝒸𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒶𝓇𝓎

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bunnysbrainrot · 2 months

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Hi!! I love your writing! ❤️

I was wondering what your stance is when it comes to heavy angst and dub or noncon in fics?? If it's not your cup of tea, please ignore this ask. 🤗

I'd love to request a fic from your hand about monster!reader who kidnaps Sam to "feed" on him sexually...? Could be a succubus maybe....? Or, hell, maybe reader is just some deranged serialkiller who wants to blow off some extra steam? Kind of like "The Benders" having fun torturing people, maybe? I just... I'd really like to read some angsty noncon smut where Sam is taken total advantage of and manhandled... *Slurp*.... Evil!reader using Sam would be such an interesting read, I think!

Thank you in advance! And again, if this isn't something you're on board with, don't hesitate to just say no or ignore. ❤️

Anyways, thanks for writing all of these lovely fics!!! They're appreciated! 😘

hi my love! i love how in depth your request was and i thank you for taking the time to ask! i dont write a lot of angst, or at least not with much violence. i think it could be hard to write something like that, just due to past trauma, but that’s just room for more personal growth :)

i do see what i could do with your request, and how to expand my work, thank you so much for the ask honey!

#fanfiction #supernatural #spnfandom #spn #supernatural fanfiction #ask bunny

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bunnysbrainrot · 2 months

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I know it’s not the usual but you should totally do one where Sam and Rowena fuck 😮‍💨

AYO.

THATS GOT ME THINKIN.

#fanfiction #supernatural #spnfandom #spn #supernatural fanfiction #ask bunny

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bunnysbrainrot · 2 months

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Sinners - Teaser

Relationship: Sam Winchester x Reader

Content: Explicit sexual content, teasing, more kinks and details to come with the full version, nothing too warning-worthy right now?

Summary: Disguised as a priest and nun on a case, time alone with Sam back at your motel is everything but holy. The taboo of your situation has Sam dealing with some… impure thoughts. Will Sam be able to contain himself?

In the past few weeks you and the Winchesters uncovered some suspicious deaths in a remote area of Georgia. The locations of the tragedies spanned over 50 miles apart, meaning that the team had to split up to cover more ground. Dean had split from you and Sam two days ago, and the night before in the motel had been fairly normal. It seemed like Dean did this on purpose; you had drunkenly admitted to him of your affection for his younger brother.

Whether or not Sam knew of this, you had no clue. And now in your nun getup, it was all too fitting that you began to pray that Sam was unaware. The two of you calmly made your way past the yellow police tape, preparing warm smiles for a victim’s family.

Sam knocked on the door, letting out a bated breath. Weren’t nuns supposed to dress modestly? Your outfit was the proper attire, but the way it hugged your curves left too much to Sam’s imagination. It was his turn to pray that it didn’t stir too much in him, to let him keep his composure.

An older man answered the door, his expression easing at the sight of your attire. Turns out this costume was better received than you thought. You had to channel your tone and proper verbiage before speaking.

“Apologies for showing up unannounced, Mr. Peters. I’m Father Jeremy, and this is our sister from a local church.” Sam waved a hand for you to introduce yourself.

You chose to use your name, seeing that this was your first nun-appearance.

“We’re here on behalf of the church to offer support for your family, but we also have a couple of questions, if you don’t mind.”

Hopefully there were no questions about the nearest Catholic church, otherwise this whole façade would crumble. Mr. Peters’ face only softened further.

“I’m glad you’re here, Father, Sister,” he addressed you with a sad smile, “Please, come in.”

Sam stepped in first, using a beckoning finger behind him to have you follow him. The house was modest, but eloquently decorated. You recalled the murder that had happened, that brought you to this town, and shuddered. Mr. Peters’ daughter had been brutally murdered and discarded in a creek, signs indicating the presence of a vampire. Their daughter had been missing for two weeks before the time of death, which is what you and Sam aimed to discover.

“Mr. Peters, we are part of a youth outreach program at the church. Our aim is to help troubled youth, with restorative services and social connection. We were wondering if your daughter had any odd behaviors before she went missing. Perhaps she became more secluded?”

The man looked confused at first, “Odd behavior?”

Sam gave a small nod, “We notice that teenagers in need of help oftentimes become more distant with their families. Our goal is to provide better services to our youth, which does include finding the source issue.”

Mr. Peters have a small background of his daughter, admitting that she had become distant with the family. Not just that, but her anger had only worsened, amongst several harmful habits. It wasn’t uncommon for teens to become immersed in the occult and all things dark, but being surrounded by the wrong people can lead to harmful connections.

“I see,” Sam started, “and do you know what kind of people she was surrounding herself with?”

Another confused look from Mr. Peters.

You added, “This way, we’re able to identify warning signs - things to be wary of as our youth members meet new people.”

This seemed to clear things up, bringing out a detailed recount of his daughter’s recent social group. But, their social media had been recently deleted, preventing the family from getting their closure. As far as they knew, their daughter had made new friends, ran from home, and was found brutally murdered.

Sam’s eyes darted to you when you shifted in your seat, the fabric of your black dress sliding gracefully along your thighs. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but seeing you dressed up like this sent his mind spinning. The last thing he should be thinking of is taking you dressed like this, but he couldn’t shake it. His mind raced of scenarios the two of you could create, each one dirtier than the last.

But right now, the task at hand was covering the tightness of his pants. He leaned forward, the broad muscles of his arms flexing beneath his black shirt. Blush creeped onto your cheeks, much to the attention of Mr. Peters, who looked at you with concern.

“Sister, are you feeling alright?”

You nodded and gave a small wave, “Oh, I’m fine. Just a little warm is all. I apologize.”

Mr. Peters stood, “No need to apologize, let me get you some cold water. I’ll only be one moment.”

The room had gone oddly quiet paired with Sam’s intent stare at your face. You turned to find a concerned Sam inspecting you fully.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asked softly.

A slight nod, “Yeah, it’s just stuffy in this outfit.”

“Well, once we’re back at the motel we can get you out of it.”

A beat later Sam realized how that sounded. He tried to backtrack, but Mr. Peters had already returned with your glass of water, which you gratefully sipped on. It took everything in your power to resist the images that came to mind. Sam’s hands roaming your body, stripping that baggy dress off of your body, his mouth finding every nook and cranny of your neck.

Sam seemed to have taken over the conversation for the last few moments before standing. Mr. Peters had already given a short list of his daughter’s friends, and their usual hang-out spots. Your attention snapped back to reality; you placed the water glass down with a small thank you, being pulled up by Sam.

His hand could practically wrap the entirety of your arm, his grip stable and warm. Goosebumps rose on your arms, brushing against the tough fabric of your dress. The air outside carried the comfort of fall, the breeze being cool and refreshing on your hot cheeks.

At the car, Sam reached for your door to open it for you, something completely new to the both of you. You glanced up at him with wide eyes. The movements he made to reach the handle had pulled your bodies dangerously close, fully brush against his chest, pressed into the car. A inexplicable scenario that would raise a few eyebrows, for certain.

“Sorry, I just didn’t want you to trip on your dress,” breathed Sam.

Honestly, he was thankful for the little slip up - being this close to you had been a wish of his, but there had never been any excuse for it to happen. Your focus shifted from his soft, hazel eyes down to his parted lips. Sam’s attention shifted to your lips, lowering to your chest for a split second. A selfish move on his part, but the damage had already been done.

Your hand fumbled for the door handle, fingers sliding over his own. The two of you shared another longing glance before getting you into the car. Sam tucked in loose bits of your dress so the door wouldn’t snag on them.

“Alright, hands and feet it, watch out,” he whispered. You noticed how his hands fumbled more than usual, surely due to the nerves. Perhaps you had been reading this wrong, maybe you had taken things too far? Maybe you had overstepped and embarrassed him?

“Thank you,” you replied, giving him a genuine smile. Sam’s cheeks flushed, unmistakably a sign that maybe your anxieties been just that. Simple anxieties from overthinking this whole thing.

Now settled in the car, the two of you made the trip back to the motel. After stepping inside you beelined for the bathroom.

At least, until Sam’s voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Hey, could I talk to you about something?”

You turned to face him, eyebrows raised. You’d be lying to yourself if you said your heart didn’t skip a beat.

“What’s up?”

With the silence in the room, you took the cue to sit on the bed. Sam towered in comparison, his lean physique defined by the lamplight.

His voice softened, “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to get that close, I-“

“Sam, it’s okay,” you cut him off with a laugh, “don’t worry about it. I wasn’t bothered by it.”

He relaxed his shoulders. Sam began to dig through his bag for another set of clothes.

“You look good as a priest, by the way. You sell the bit nicely,” you stated.

What you said made his heart skip a beat. Was that a compliment, or just conversation? Sam couldn’t tell, so he turned to you once more with a goofy grin on his face.

“Thanks,” his expression darkened as his eyes raked you over, “You look good as a nun.”

There was no mistaking it - he was taking his time looking over you. Your breath hitched in your throat when he turned, leaned casually against the desk your bags laid on. You transfixed on the way his hands moved around his belt buckle. Mildly fiddling, but you couldn’t help but imagine him following through.

“Not my best outfit, but thank you,” you replied. Sam pushed away from the desk, slowly stepping toward the bed where you sat, tense with every step.

“I would agree there, you’ve worn better,” he commented.

You head snapped up to meet his eyes. A surprise note of flirtation filled your voice.

“Okay, so what’s my best outfit, then?”

He scoffed, “We playing twenty questions?”

You pointed to your outfits, smirking proudly at him, “Look at our getup, man, it’s like a confessional.”

A bright laugh came out of Sam; he tilted his head back as he thought.

“My answer isn’t exactly… appropriate.”

“Sam,” you laughed, “Confessional. You gotta tell me.”

He let out a groan before lowering his head, steadily giving you his answer, “Your dark jeans, and that long sleeve shirt. The, um… the one with the v-neck, you wore it almost every day over winter.”

“And that was inappropriate?”

“It’s why I like it that’s inappropriate.”

“Okay, then, why do you like it?”

The last thing you expected was for Sam to close the distance. He stepped until he was directly ahead, arms crossed over his chest as he locked eyes with you.

“It made your ass look nice.”

His tone was surprisingly serious, like he had been thinking of this answer for a while.

“Hugs your body in the right ways. And it makes your, well, chest… look nice.”

Sam humored your shocked expression but pushing things further. If you could dish it out, he could dish it back.

“What’s my best outfit?”

As you collected yourself, Sam stepped closer, bringing a hand to your cheek. He lifted your head, hai thumb grazing over your cheek.

“It’s a confessional. You have to tell me,” he joked, earning a slight glare from you. That sour face melted away when Sam placed his hand beneath your chin. He tilted your head back to have you look at him.

Shit.

“Jeans,” you breathed, “V-neck black shirt.”

Sam leaned in, brushing his lips across your cheek. The closeness set your skin ablaze, each trailing lip and finger sending shivers up your spine.

“Is that all?” Sam whispered.

His eyes met yours once again, a startling seriousness lurking inside. You pushed past the shyness of your answer. The honesty could break the tension that had building all this time.

“Pajama pants… no shirt. When you just get out of the shower.”

Sam’s lips curled into a satisfied smile before planting a slow kiss to your cheek. He moved gradually to your jawline, sprinkling chaste kisses until his lips hovered over yours.

“Have you wanted this?” he asked.

Your frustration was intangible - a bottle that had been shaken too much, and ready to blow. He was centimeters, millimeters away from giving you what you’d truly wanted. The silence between you signified the utter defiance to give him this so easily.

“Confessional,” Sam’s voice reverberated against you, but he offered nothing to your pleading lips, “tell me, little nun, have you thought about this? Wanted my lips on yours?”

A small whine escaped you as Sam’s hand lowered to your throat, pressing softly to the tender flesh. The loss of blood flow muddled your thoughts into complete ecstasy, with no urgency to regain control. With just one move, it was clear to Sam that you were undoubtedly his.

You gave him a small nod. A low growl thundered in his chest before pressing into you further, laying you flat on the bed. Locks of chestnut hair framed your face, with a breathy Sam hovering his mouth over your neck.

“Nodding doesn’t count. You gotta use your words, sweetheart.”

Amidst the constriction on your throat you nodded and choked out a small, "Yes."

Sam's growing smile is all you need to know you've satisfied something deeper within him. Darkness floods his eyes seeing you like this, utterly at his will under his touch. If he'd known sooner that this would be the outcome, he'd have bought that nun outfit ages ago.

"That's better," he whispered.

------

Hi everyone! I know it's just a teaser for now, but I wanted to show you something I've been working on! I've also been pretty busy with work and writing for my book series, so things have been a bit busy for sure haha

I love you all, and I keep an eye out for the full version of Sinners!

#supernatural #spn fandom #supernatural smut #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #bunny writes #spn smut #smut writing #smut

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