#posting on main (mane) too

[macfrog]

jet

🎉 thank u guys so much for 1k followers 🎉 i don’t know how we got here but i love you all endlessly and can’t thank you enough for all the love n support. here’s some smutty joel to celebrate 🤩 this might become something, it might not. i dunno. wanted to try it out tho. lmk your thoughts ✨

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you and joel have an agreement: follow his movements, follow his orders, stay alive. what happens when, one night, he asks you to break the deal?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) post-outbreak!joel, pining i guess?? when don't i pine for this man, praise kink, light bondage, fingering, unprotected p in v sex (don't u dare), creampie, dom!joel, soft!joel, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), cursing, cute horsies

word count: 6.9k

main masterlist

Somewhere between Missouri and Illinois, last time you checked. Joel has the map, and you don’t bother asking him to see it much. You’ve been following the Mississippi north, on his orders, looking to hit St. Louis sometime tomorrow. Provided you don’t run into any trouble, that is.

It’s been three days with no safe refuge. Camping out in deserted houses with wood for windowpanes, stores infested with rats, office buildings with infected roaming. Joel figures the outskirts of the city are a good spot to stop for a couple nights, regain your strength, find supplies.

You’re a few paces ahead of him, only turning your head slightly when you notice an offramp, and looking back ahead when he doesn’t give any direction. You weave in and out of abandoned cars, hips swaying with the clipping of your horse’s hooves on broken asphalt, Joel’s horse in time at your heels.

You’d untethered the pair of them on a farm back in Nebraska. Joel had told you to stay put while he cleared the house, but you’d wandered over to the field when you spotted them. Timid, skittish, starving.

Five minutes hooked over the fence and they were both eating grass you’d pulled from the earth, right out of your hand. Joel’s heavy footsteps approaching had spooked them back a few steps, but you’d petted their muzzles and when he did the same, they soon warmed to him, too.

He’d jerked his head in a nod and muttered, “Good job,” before finding two saddles, strapping them on, and helping you onto the chestnut brown one – who you’d named Jet.

Joel had found tins of food in the farmhouse, and a switchblade for you to carry. He had a new stain on his shirt.

“Infected?” you asked.

He grunted in reply. Then rolled the tins into his backpack and hoisted himself onto his own horse, giving her reins a tug.

You knew that meant that yeah, there’d been infected inside. And recent, too, going by how well-kept the horses looked. It can’t have been longer than a week.

Joel’s silence as you both wandered down the farm track probably meant that there weren’t just adults in the house, either.

You’d glanced over to him, giving him a small smile. Bent over and reached for his horse’s ears, scratching where her soft black coat met her mane. The reins lay loose around Joel’s knuckles.

Protecting and providing for you was more important than some infected kids in a farmhouse. Joel had made that more than clear over the time you’d been with him. But somewhere, buried deep underneath years of fighting and killing, tucked away under a dusty flannel shirt, you knew his heart was hurting.

That was two weeks ago. Joel hasn’t talked about it, and you’re not interested in bringing it back up. Y’all got to the farm, took everything it had to offer, and you left.

Jet clicks her way along the highway somewhere south of the city. It’s still bright out; Joel reckons probably a few more hours of sunlight, so you know he’ll be scouting for places to camp out soon.

You lean back to stretch your spine, hand steadying yourself on Jet’s rump, her tail swishing as she walks. Her head bobs, looking from left to right, from the trucks with smashed windows sprouting moss, over to the trees losing leaves in the fall breeze.

It’s peaceful. Not much is, these days.

It’s quiet enough that Joel can listen for any sound of oncoming threat, and quiet enough that you can shut your eyes and pretend like you’re on some trail in the Texas country, on a warm summer evening; not exhausted, covered in dirt, weeks since you washed, days since you slept.

You’re humming gently to yourself, imagination taking you down by a creek where Joel pulls you by hand off the horse and you sit down to a picnic or something. He’d bring a basket. Maybe a bottle of wine, or a cheese board. Maybe he lays you back and kisses you on the blanket. Maybe his hand starts to wander up your thigh, skirt ruffling as he goes…

“Not much out here, is there?”

His voice startles you, bursting the seams of your daydream. He isn’t much of a talker, not unless you start it. You sit up straight and give your head a shake, as if dislodging the fantasy from your mind.

You twist around to look at his face; squinting under the bright white sky. Tired, same as you, lined, flecked with years and sun and survival.

“Hm?” he asks when you still don’t reply.

“Not a lot,” you finally say, clearing your throat and turning back to the road.

Finding the horses isn’t the only thing that’d happened two weeks ago.

Joel hadn’t wanted to camp in the farmhouse, hadn’t wanted to have to shift the bodies. Too much effort, or too much for you to see, maybe. You’d protested, heart set on a night’s sleep in an actual bed, but he hadn’t budged.

And you knew not to push him.

The sun was setting, though, so Joel led you down a dirt track toward a barn and burst the padlock. He tied the horses up just inside the door, used bundled up hay as a makeshift mattress upon which he laid out a blanket for you.

He barricaded the door as you lay back, did a walkaround of the place just in case any infected – or worse – were waiting to surprise y’all, and then sat down next to you.

Your head by his thigh, you put a hand on his knee.

“You can lie down, too, y’know.”

He grunted in response, breathing deep and steady.

“Joel.”

You took his shoulder and tried to pull him down to you, but the man is stronger than anyone you’ve ever met, even in his late forties, and you were convinced he’d only pretended to be yanked toward you so as not to hurt your feelings too much.

He remained upright. “Just want to keep watch for a while.”

Joel’s like this when you’re on the road. He’s cautious. On high alert. Always watching ahead, always listening out for whatever he thinks he might hear in the distance. Sometimes you can say something to him and have to give his leg a kick for him to answer you.

You’d sighed and pushed yourself up to lean your bicep against his. He furrowed his brows and scanned you from your jeans to your jaw.

“If you’re up, I’m up,” you told him.

“You need sleep,” he replied flatly.

You shrugged. “So do you.”

“What good is both of us tired?”

You sighed again and shook your head. You weren’t gonna argue with him.

Good thing he didn’t feel much like arguing, either. Ten minutes later he was on top of you, jeans loose on his thighs, head buried in your shoulder, fucking you senseless. Grunting and groaning into your skin.

You’d scored marks into his shoulder blades with your nails that you’re sure, if you peeled back his shirt right now, would still be there.

It’d tired you both out enough that Joel settled with your head on his chest, his hand in your hair, eyes trained on the barn doors. You don’t know if he slept a wink. You never know if he sleeps these days.

Joel hears the hoarseness of your voice and knows that you’re tired, ‘cause he clicks to his horse and she trots up alongside you and Jet. He pulls the map from his backpack. You tilt your head to take a look.

“Keep ridin’ for another hour,” he mumbles. “’m sure we’ll find somewhere soon. Looks like we’re still a little way out of St. Louis.”

You nod, rolling your head back. The cloudy sky burns your corneas as you watch a bird fly overhead. Joel slips the map back into his bag and you feel his hand on your thigh.

“You okay?”

“Mhm. Tired,” you whisper.

“Only a little while longer.” He gives your leg a small squeeze and his hand returns to the reins. He doesn’t fall back, instead, stays ambling along by your side. It feels like company. Feels nice. Feels…normal.

Two weeks is a long fucking time. Especially when your adrenaline peaks on the regular, sometimes multiple times in one day, and you’re alone with Joel all day and all night. Trusting each other, relying on each other. Saving each other time and time again. It was only natural that you began to rely on each other for…more than just survival.

You can’t remember when you found him. It was in the QZ, back when you believed in stability and structure. When you believed in people. Now, the only thing you believed in was Joel. Broken, hurt, shut-off Joel, who’d grumbled an apology when his shoulder brushed yours in the hallway and changed everything.

You like to think you were something new to him, something different. A challenge, maybe. Something worth holding onto, anyway, for reasons he was yet to let you in on.

He had an apartment of his own, with a bed of his own, which was something you weren’t used to. You shared a cramped apartment with Luce, a single mom with a two-year-old. Joel’s was where you went when the tantrums, the screaming in the middle of the night, the ration cards being destroyed either by ripping, by eating, or else by other means, became too suffocating.

Joel didn’t believe in anything or anyone, either. That’s what kept you coming back.

He’d just open his door and step aside to let you in. Barely a word. He’d ask if you’d eaten, and share his plate with you either way. Wordlessly picking away at the same food, making sure you got the last spoonful of soup, the last strip of jerky.

Most nights he’d fuck you until your mind went blank, nothing but the smell of him, feel of him, sound of him. No talking, no kissing, no touching. Just the sound of the bed springs, Joel’s soft groans as he bottomed out inside you. The feel of his hot skin, hips rubbing against the inside of your thighs. The bare, cracked brick walls of his apartment would fade away with each thrust, and then slowly seep back in when your orgasm began to wash away.

You knew it was time-wasting, for both of you. Scratching an itch. But some nights, it felt like more. The nights when he’d be so caught up in what he was doing, so caught up in you, that he’d forget to pull out. The nights his hips would snap messily and suddenly he was spilling inside of you, a deep groan humming against your skin between his teeth.

He wouldn’t care to ask, and you wouldn’t offer the information for free, but you remember every fucking time he did it. Where it’d happened, the position he had you in, how long it took for him to finally peel his body off of yours.

And afterwards, he’d let you sleep with your head on his chest. Let you play with his fingers. Let you talk to him; let you ask questions.

Didn’t mean he answered all of them. Didn’t even mean he answered much. Some, he’d give away more openly than others, but you soon got used to clocking when he was keeping a secret. Make a mental note of it, remember to chip away at it.

He trusted you, though; you knew that. Knew it by the way his fingers knotted safely in your hair, the way he’d lie naked with you until the sun came up. The way his breathing would slow, the way he’d mumble in his sleep.

You never talked to him about the incoherent words he’d breathe – but you could piece them together well enough to understand him better than his waken self would ever reveal.

When you brought up leaving, one rainy night weeks ago, he thought about it maybe twice over. Asked how he was supposed to keep you safe.

You do that already, you told him.

‘s different outside. You don’t understand.

It can’t be any worse than in here.

You’d taken a step forward, and he’d flinched, but allowed you to take his strong jaw in your hands. You tried to form a sentence, and when your throat closed up, eyes flitting between his, he took your wrists and lowered them. The shadow of a rain-spattered window doused in a sickly amber glow across his face.

You’d wanted to kiss him. And had he left your hands where they were just a few seconds longer, you think you might’ve. Joel saw it in your eyes, and stopped it.

Whatever. It had still convinced him. He packed his bag and you snuck down the fire escape the following night. Joel’s fingers were hooked around your belt loop the entire time, keeping your hip in stride with his all the way until you were at least a hundred feet away from the QZ wall.

His other concern was his age. Why someone like you would want to run away with someone like him. Forty-something, graying, past his peak. He has, like, twenty years on you. Once he made some reference about Bruce Springsteen and, when your face blanked, he sighed and took the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

I know who Bruce Springsteen is, asshole, you’d said, just didn’t get that reference.

He’d shaken his head and given you a sly, twisted smirk, then pushed you out the door of the apartment block you guys were searching.

Still, despite the years between you, you have one major thing in common.

You’re both good at getting each other…there.

Joel knows exactly what to do to make you tick. You know exactly how to push him until he does it. It’s in the way you look at him, the way you touch him. Things you say that make his stony eyes flit once down your body, and then you know you’re in.

It’s a little harder to do while on horseback, you gotta admit. The best you can do is look at him, say a sentence or two laced with want and need. Hope that he reads through the lines.

It’s worked a few times, when Joel’s suddenly found a shed or basement you can camp out in and then made it difficult for you to walk for the next couple days.

Right now, you feel too tired to even bat your eyelashes at him, never mind coming up with lines to turn him on. You’ve been on the highway for a few hours by this point, little sign of shelter anywhere nearby. Joel holds his hand out and you bring your horses to a stop in view of a hospital a couple miles ahead.

“That’s gotta be teemin’ with them,” you say, looking over to study his expression.

“Hm,” Joel agrees, and glances to the right.

“What you thinkin’? Sun’s getting lower.”

He takes a deep breath, pulls on the reins. “Know somewhere nearby.”

He heads off the highway with a click of his teeth, and you follow. You shut your eyes, chin burying beneath the collar of your shirt. You’d kinda hoped that he’d offer to clear even a small part of the hospital for you to rest up, maybe more, but you trust him enough to lead you somewhere safer, somewhere quieter.

That trust begins to wear thin, though, when the sun disappears behind the trees, drowning you guys in a low dusk, and the temperature begins to fall. Joel’s using what’s left of the gray light to guide him, slowing down to take a hold of Jet’s reins and line her up with his own horse.

“I thought you said an hour,” you mumble, grip becoming slack on the leather.

“Changed my mind,” he replies. “Almost there.”

Your eyes start to roll with exhaustion, hips aching from the position you’ve been sat in for hours now. It’s not until you notice the silhouette of a tall sign in the clearing, black against the fading purple sky, that you blink yourself awake.

Joel pulls you and Jet off the road to a deserted parking lot, shadowed by a motel. He slows the horses down, listening for any signs of life, leading them to the side of the building.

“Easy,” he whispers, pulling on the reins. Both animals come to a halt.

He slides off the saddle, hitting the ground with a thud. He takes your hands, pulling you down to him, and you glance around.

“Stay here,” he tells you, and you don’t have the energy to argue back.

He makes off, pulling his gun from his holster. You stand with a hand on each horse’s muzzle, gently petting. Joel’s gone for a decent amount of time, his silhouette slowly sneaking in and out of every room, spending a couple minutes in each before he clears it.

He returns with a box of pills, some gauze, and a bottle of water, which he hands to you. You take a long swig and pass it back, and he does the same.

“What will we do with Jet ‘n…?”

“Huh?” he asks, replacing the cap on the half-empty bottle.

“What’s your horse called?”

“She ain’t got a name.”

You tsk. “Bad owner.”

“We ain’t their owners.”

“Mine’s is Jet. Pick a name.”

Joel sighs and shakes his head, but you know he’s gonna spend all night thinking up some name to go with yours. “We’ll tie ‘em up out here.”

“What if something happens to them?”

“Well,” he says, leading them toward the shelter, “if somethin’ happens to them, it only means it’s about thirty seconds away from happenin’ to us.”

He jerks his head toward the first room as he ties them up, and you know the conversation is over.

You wander into the small, dingy room, pulling your jacket from your shoulders. It smells of damp, the wallpaper’s peeling off the wall above the bed. The sheets are in disarray, a little dusty, but they look clean enough. The bathroom walls are covered in grime. Drawers empty, closet doors missing, entire place ransacked.

It’s as good as you get, these days. At least it has a solid roof.

Joel settles the horses and closes the door gently behind himself. You’re already tugging your boots off, sat at the foot of the bed.

He rests his gun on the nightstand and straightens up, stretching his back with a quiet groan.

“’s cozy,” you offer, and he nods.

“Better ‘n risking that hospital.”

The bedsprings creak when you shimmy up the mattress, resting your back against the hardwood headboard. It ain’t the most comfortable, but then it’s not meant to be, is it? It’s only meant to be safe, which Joel’s made sure of.

He stands at the bottom of the bed, watching you as you bounce up and down a couple times, laughing quietly at the sound of the springs beneath you. His expression clouds over under low brows.

“Y’okay?” you ask, tilting your head.

He nods again. Eyes flitting up and down, from your face to your neck, back up, and then lower still. Your chest. Your stomach. Your legs. You feel your heartbeat quicken when he takes a step forward.

“Just had to find somewhere better.”

“Better?” You smile. “Have you seen the world, Miller?”

He leans his knee against the foot of the bed. His brown eyes darken even more, and his jaw tenses.

“Had to find somewhere better,” he mutters, “so I could fuck you in peace.”

Your breath catches. You stare from his lips back up to his eyes. His fists are balled tight. His chest heaves with steady panting. There’s something flickering in the depths of those warm eyes; an ember, drawing you in. Tantalizing you.

You sit forward, pushing onto all fours, and crawl down the groaning bed to him, rising onto your knees when your hands meet his shirt. Your chest against his stomach, you look up into his eyes.

His rough hands knot in your hair and he pulls down, yanking your head back and your chin up to him. He studies your face, outlined in the moonlight seeping through the window. Then he lowers his jaw and lines his lips against yours.

“That what you want?” he hums against your mouth. You swallow his words – they claw at your throat as they go.

“Uhuh,” you breathe back, trying to connect your lips. He doesn’t allow you; steadily dodges your jaw like you’re a pair of negative magnets, repelling off one another. You moan.

“Needy girl,” Joel whispers. “Two weeks too long for you?”

“Mhm.”

You’re not tired anymore. You’re fucking desperate. You feel your cunt dripping, seeping through your underwear, worsened when Joel’s hand reaches down between your legs and cups you through your jeans.

You gasp and grab his arms to steady yourself.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, hand tensing around your core.

Your lip trembles as you watch the way his mouth moves, how he shapes the words. His teeth locked between soft lips, dappled with brown hair, ends singed gray. The way he almost spits the words.

Your chest meets his torso when you breathe in, a deep, shaky breath. Joel notices; the corners of his mouth twitch, holding back a smile.

“Want you to…want you…”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish your sentence. He pushes you back and falls on top of you, strong body pinning you against the mattress, hand still clamped to your crotch.

His head dips to your neck where he bites, scratches and sucks, mumbling against your hot skin, “Tell me, baby. Use your words.”

Your head begins to swim, body starts pulsing with electricity. Baby. Joel’s pet names are limited to one thing. One activity.

“Want you to f– fuck, Joel – fuck me.” Fuck me fuck me fuck me.

His hand begins wrestling with the button of your jeans. Thick fingers fumbling with your zipper, taking your waistband with both hands and hauling it down. The force of it pulls you down the mattress too, squealing as Joel rips the denim from your legs. You lower your hands to help him, but once they’re tossed to the floor, he bats you away.

He’s shaking his head, tsking, then takes both your wrists in one of his huge hands. Fingers twisted around your delicate skin, pinning them above your head. The bed sighs around you when he pushes your hands into the mattress. Your back arches, your chest rising to meet his.

Your legs part, knees settling either side of his waist. Of course they do. It’s what you know now. It’s basic fucking instinct at this point.

His free hand returns to cup your sex, feeling how wet you are through your now soaked underwear.

“Baby,” he coos, “this all for me?”

You nod a little too eagerly, not that you’re present enough to care. But it beckons a smug smile from Joel, who begins sliding your panties down your thighs.

Your hips lift to let him drag the fabric down, biting your lip, not willing to wait another fucking second for him. Lace meets denim on the torn-up floor, and you sigh, settling back against the rusty bedsprings and mottled sheets.

Joel’s free hand ghosts from your wrist down to your elbow, teetering along the sleeve of your t-shirt over to the collar, where he pulls it so far down into the valley between your breasts that a small noise passes your lips.

“Hm?” he asks, fingers pausing against your breastbone.

“’s my only shirt. Don’t…”

He kisses his teeth. His gaze never lifts from your heaving chest, skin damp with sweat right underneath his fingers. You can see him tossing it over in his head. What he wants to do, versus what he probably shouldn’t.

He blinks. Decision made.

“Give you one of mine,” he growls, and hooks his fingers, dragging the fabric of your shirt lower and lower until the collar tears open and it’s another scrap lost to the motel room floor.

And then there you are, naked and writhing underneath him. He’s still in his dusty flannel. There’s sweat lining his forehead. He holds himself over you, hovering, taking every inch of you in and storing it behind his eyes.

You jerk your hands, trying to break free just to touch him, feel him, but he pulls away again, tutting.

“No, pretty girl,” Joel coos, “gonna take my time with ya.”

You moan in protest, still wriggling under his body. His grip on your wrists doesn’t loosen, not even when his free hand dips to undo his belt. The cold metal kisses your naked thighs when he pulls it through his jeans; the leather drags up your torso and across your face as he lifts it.

He takes your hands individually, careful and yet rough, urgent, and slots them between the slats of the headboard. Your head turns up to watch what he’s doing. The silver of his belt buckle knocks against the wood as he slips it under your wrists, feeding it between your skin and the mattress, wrapping it around the slat between your hands.

Then he slips the belt through the buckle, and pulls. Tight. Your hands come together, wrists kissing, the leather burning your skin the tighter he pulls. You whine, head rolling back to meet his gaze, fixed on yours.

“Since you don’t wanna listen.”

The drip in his voice, sweet like honey, smooth as whiskey, forces your legs open wider. Joel smirks, pushing himself down the mattress and out of your view.

Staring up at the gray ceiling, you’re left just to feel him. Feel him as his palms splay out on your knees, pushing them into the bed. Feel his stubble graze the inside of your thigh as he drags his tongue up, leaving a trail of wet behind.

Feel when he breathes a whisper across your aching cunt, something you can’t hear over the ruffling of sheets around your head as you toss around. And feel when his fingers part your lips, opening you up wide for him to really fucking see.

“Fuck, baby,” he says, and you find the strength to lift your head to watch. He’s leant over you, one arm hooked around your left thigh, holding it open, the other fucking…playing with you. Like you’re some fancy gadget. Like you’re brand new to him.

“So,” he runs two fingers from your clit through your folds, “fuckin’,” lines them up at your entrance, “pretty – for me.”

He pushes up into you, and your head hits the pillow with a stifled groan. You’re panting through your teeth, back arching the deeper he goes, stretching you out and rocking waves of sparkling heat through you. Waves that hit the other end of your stomach and come rippling back, throbbing around his thick fingers.

His arm bears down on your thigh, forcing your legs wide open for him. His hand cups your clit and you buck your hips, rutting against the base of his palm. Joel laughs softly.

“Patience, darlin’. Don’t want it to be over ‘fore it’s even started.”

Your head rocks back and forth, eyes tight shut. It’s all you can fucking do, tied tight to the bed. Joel pumps his fingers in and out of you, adding a third when you’re wet enough, thumb never leaving your clit.

You can feel your orgasm brewing in your stomach. Feel the tension between your hips. You’re chasing it, eyes shut, focusing only on Joel’s hand fucking in and out, in and out. You’re coming close, body pushing into the mattress, legs widening even more to let him slip a fourth finger inside you.

“Feel good?” he asks, almost with a laugh. There’s a smirk painted across his lips, you know it, even though you can’t find the energy to open your eyes.

You whimper in response, some small, muffled sound roughly shaped like yeah.

“Yeah,” Joel agrees, and his wrist flicks harder.

You moan every time his fingertips kiss the edge of your cunt, pushing against the soft walls. You moan when he drags them out, leaving you empty. Again, when he pushes them back in, rough and fast. And then when he lowers his lips to your ear and tells you how good you’re being, how pretty you look, how hard he’s gonna…

It’s like he changes his mind in an instant.

Withdraws his hand, slick-covered and still hooked. Pulls it away as quickly as he pulls your orgasm from your body. It drains from you; reduces back to an ache you can’t reach.

Joel slips his fingers between his lips as he readjusts himself, repositioning on the squealing mattress. Sucks them clean as casually as he would at a cookout or something, then takes your hips in both hands and straightens you up.

His jeans are tugged down barely past his ass. He’s not prepared to waste any time ripping his own clothes off like he did yours. Just leans forward, pulls his solid cock from his boxershorts, and spits into his hand.

You watch through eyes glazed with lust as he strokes himself a couple times, eyes always on your swollen cunt, groaning as his spit coats his shaft. Then he lowers himself to you and does the same, only running his length through your folds.

You whine, feeling that familiar thickness separate you so close to where you need him, and yet so fucking far.

“Joel…” you whisper, but he’s not listening.

Transfixed on the sight of his cock moving against your soaked cunt. Listening to the sweet, wet sounds the pair of you make. His tip catches on your entrance a couple times and you gasp. Just fucking do it already.

“Fuck,” Joel growls under his breath, and then…

It’s been months. Might even be years. But the feeling of him pushing inside you for the first time is still the same. Every. Fucking. Time. He’s bigger, thicker than anyone you’ve ever slept with before. And he knows it, because every single time, he glides into you without hesitation. No time for you to adjust. Just fills you up straight away, lets you deal with it later.

He’s cocky like that. Too careful when you’re on the road, and too careless when you’re between the sheets. Not that you’re fuckin’ complaining.

Your mouth falls open in a choked moan. Your lungs are gasping for air. Joel’s all you can feel.

Your elbows lift into the air, arms desperate to break free just to grab onto him, ground yourself, feel him close against you. Your wrists lock against the hardwood, leather digging into your skin as punishment for trying to break free. You’re stuck; nothing but the overwhelming feeling of him between your legs, filling you up and leaving you empty over and over again.

“Good girl,” he’s panting, still watching where his cock lines up with your cunt, and then disappears inside.

He leans down and his lips find home on your shoulder, sucking sweet marks into the skin like he always does. His tip bumps against your cervix, jolts of sensitivity pushing through you each time he bottoms out causing you to whine into his flannel.

“Fuck, Joel.”

“I know, I know. I got you. I’ll get you there again, baby.”

You had a routine. Follow his movements, follow his orders, stay alive. Deviate slightly from that routine, even for a minute, and you threw the whole agreement into jeopardy. One misstep on a crowded street dotted with cars once had a sniper open firing at you both for nearly two hours until Joel found him and put a bullet between his eyes. That time your curiosity got the better of you and Joel almost lost a hand stopping you from walking down an alleyway and straight into a wire trap.

Repeat it, Joel had said that night. Crouched by his apartment window, rain battering off the glass. Hands on the frame, ready to hoist it up and let you slip out any second. Repeat. It.

Do as you say, you whispered back. And only then did he pull the sash.

This is not the fucking routine. This is not the agreement. You fucked, of course you did. But that’s all it ever was. Hungry, touch-starved, desperate sex. Bored sex. We-almost-died-today sex. Not this.

Not: clear an entire motel just so nothing within a two-mile radius gets to hear you fuck me senseless. Strip me down, tie me up, push me to the edge with your hands, but don’t let me go without you. Curl your lips around my ear while you’re buried inside me and whisper praises. Whisper baby. Whisper…anything you like. Anything you wouldn’t say when the sun’s up.

This feels like it means something. To both of you. Feels like Joel’s looking for something in you, asking something of you. And you want to give it to him, whatever it is.

And maybe that’s the point.

He’s proving that he could make you do fucking anything. Let him tie you to a bedframe, push you close enough to the edge that you can feel the pressure of release beckoning you forward like the wind circling your ankles.

And you’re proving that you’ll do it. You’ll do what he says. Follow him to the edge, refuse to jump. Pull his body into yours, make it feel like home for a night.

He’s proving that he’ll take care of you, and you’re proving that you’ll let him.

Your wrists are burning. Leather digging marks, searing skin, then rubbing over it again and again to cut it deeper. It’s starting to hurt, if you’re honest with yourself. Your face probably gives it away.

Probably, possibly. Definitely.

Joel notices you quieten and lifts his head from the crook of your neck. Studies your face for a fraction of a second and knows.

“Hey,” he says, reaching up. He loosens the belt with one hand whilst still deep inside you, hips thrusting slowly just as a place marker.

When your hands slip free, Joel’s clasp gently around your wrist, fingers delicate over the sensitive, reddened skin. His eyes almost glisten at the sight.

“Baby…” he whispers.

“’s okay,” you reassure him, loosening his grasp on you and settling your shaky hands on his jaw. “I’m okay. Liked it.”

Joel lowers his forehead against yours and picks his pace up again, and you moan into the space between your lips. Your legs lift higher, knees bumping against his shoulders. His hips snap into yours, his jeans rutting against the inside of your thighs, the bed creaking with each messy thrust.

“Close, baby,” his voice vibrates against your lips.

“Yeah,” you whine, chest pushing against his. “Fuck. Right there. Fuck.”

Your arm drapes over his shoulder blades, nails dig into the rough cotton of his shirt. Your left hand is still at his jaw, fingers caressing his cheek. Joined together at your hips and your brows, gaze never really meeting for longer than a second, but still. You’re right there. Joel – he’s right there.

It’s new, it’s intimate. It’s almost…sweet.

“Gonna cum with me?” he asks, sincerely. He’s not trying to coax it out of you. He’s checking that you want to fall over the edge. Not for him, not because of him, but with him.

You nod and he returns it, sweat sticking his dark hair to his forehead.

With his eyes on you, flitting between your parted lips and your batting eyelashes, too scared to settle on either place for too long, he lifts your hips and fucks into you fast. Deep. Fucking – hard. Skin slapping against yours, breath hot and tangling with yours between your lips.

The pressure between your hips begins to build again, rapidly, Joel adding to it with every movement. Every push of his thick cock against your walls only draws them in tighter, closing around him, holding him closer to you with each moan escaping both your lips.

“Darlin’…” he murmurs in a broken voice, and you know. He’s starting to falter. Thrusts weakening.

“’m there too,” you reply, gasping for breath.

“Let me – feel you,” he says, “pretty girl.”

Maybe it’s the fact you don’t normally talk. Maybe the fact he never touches you the way he has tonight. Maybe it’s him wanting you to cum first, before he will.

Or maybe it’s pretty girl, that finally sends you over.

You look so good to him. You’re being so good for him. ‘n he can’t help it, has to let you know. Has to let every thought that passes through his head slip out past his tongue.

Pulling his chest flat against yours, you throw your head back to the pillow with a moan so filthy, so guttural that you’d be surprised if you don’t have company in five minutes.

Joel’s at your heels, face buried between your breasts, groaning into your chest as his cock twitches deep inside you and you feel him fill you up.

Your orgasm’s still knocking you senseless, every nerve in your body electrified. You’re holding Joel tight to your body, his ear flat to your chest, and you know he can hear your heartbeat. Know he’s listening to it throwing punches from behind your ribcage.

He’s still groaning through his breaths, heavy and thick with his release. Cock still deep inside you, still, softening. You lay like that for…well, you’ve no idea how long. But after a bit, Joel pulls himself up off of you and wanders into the bathroom.

You sit up on your elbows, taking deep, steady breaths, and let the stars in your vision dissipate. Joel emerges a couple minutes later and finally tugs his jeans down. He lifts both his shirt and the tee underneath off in one motion, tossing them onto the sideboard, then slips back under the covers, wordlessly hooking a hand around your upper arm and pulling you down onto his chest.

Your legs intertwine with his. There’s cum seeping out of you onto his thigh. Both of you, mixed up as one. His fingers sift through your hair, doing little to untangle it but trying all the same. His breathing in time with yours, his lips pressed safely to the crown of your head.

Before you know it, you’re sleeping.

Dawn breaks early. Too early. You’re still tangled up in Joel, feeling his chest rise and fall. Listening to his heartbeat – slow, calm. The drapes – not that there’s much left of them – are too thin to stop any light from flooding in. It’s only a matter of time before he wakes up.

The rough sheets sting against your wrists – red marks scoring them where Joel’s belt had been. You wince, running light fingers over the grazes, hissing at your fingertips as they go.

It hurts way less than it thrills you. This little reminder of what you did last night. What Joel did. The pain subsides the longer you touch the scars, knitted brows melting into a smile.

You slowly lift your head, propping yourself up on your elbow. Just watching him. The dust in the room frames him in a sea of white glitter, the slow-emerging sun lights across his face and dips where the scar on his nose sits.

His arms are still around your waist, cradling you. Holding you to him. You know he’s stirring when they tighten, and then fall loose. Façade back up. Walls slowly rebuilding.

You dress yourselves in silence. Run out of words to say. There ain’t nothing to say – nothing that wasn’t said last night. Joel sinks into the mattress beside you to tie his laces, and your arms brush against one another a couple times. It’s like fire on ice.

He’s first to leave the room. Just pulls his jeans over his boots and stands, unlocks the door and lets the light flood in. You check once over for anything left behind, and slip out. The air is cool, twilight still slowly washing away. You sling your jacket over Jet’s back and pull yourself up.

Joel’s t-shirt is loose over your shoulders. He gave you a fresh one from his bag. It smells like him, but you don’t let him see when you bury your nose into it to breathe him in. The hem bunches up over the top of your thighs once you’re sat on the horse.

His eyes scan down you once, surveying you in hisshirt. Then he swerves off back toward the road, silhouette cutting between the rays of sun streaming between the pine trees.

“Ghost,” he tosses over his shoulder.

“Huh?” You click to Jet to follow.

“Horse’s name. Ghost.”

“How come?” you ask when you’re side by side with him.

He shrugs, upper lip turning. “When it’s dark, you can’t hardly see her. She’s like a ghost.”

Joel’s hand surfs gently across Ghost’s mane, fingers scratching her shining coat. Your bodies rock in time with the sway of the horses’ walking. The echo of their hooves on the asphalt masks the silence for a few moments.

“Alright,” you eventually accept, turning away to watch the sun lift above the prickly treetops.

And to hide the smile tugging on your lips.

----------

taglist: @earthtogrogu @sexygaypalpatine @serenaxpedro @brittmb115 @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi

(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel the last of us #the last of us #the last of us hbo #the last of us fic #tlou #tlou hbo #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #no outbreak #soft!joel miller #dom!joel miller #post outbreak joel miller #post outbreak joel

[felinefractious]

i really dont know much about maine coons but they look super cool, what are the "maine coon features" you mention in your post about people thinking their longhairs are maine coons?

The appearance of the Maine Coon is supposed to be a well-balanced. The head and muzzle should be squared with a clear stop. Ear tufts should be distinctly present.

For the sake of showing the Maine Coon is classified as a “semi-longhair,” so they aren’t supposed to be a giant puffball like the Persian or British Longhair.

I’m having a hard time explaining it in a way that I feel makes sense.

The French registry LOOF has some excellent illustrated standards for some of their breeds. Cedarseed has also put together an excellent visual guide to various breeds available for purchase as an e-book or physical copy.

It’s an awesome, huge resource that I can’t recommend enough both for the feline artist - be it big cats, other wild cats or our domestic buddies - or the purebred snob afficiando likes myself.

On the left we have Honey Sushi, a Domestic Longhair available for adoption mis-labeled as a Maine Coon mix and on the right we have Tigerfeet Billie Holiday the Maine Coon.

Honey’s ears are too wide-set and rounded, he lacks the characteristic ear tufts and his muzzle is not well-defined. His whisker pads kind of just blend into the rest of his face as an entire unit compared to Billie distinct muzzle that leaves no question where no question as to where it starts and ends. Billie also has the squared head of the breed while Honey does not.

Tallulah Gin is listed as a Maine Coon x Persian mix, although she is most likely a Domestic Longhair. Her coat is an excellent example of what a Maine Coon’s coat shouldn’t look like - not that anything is wrong with her beautiful fur, it’s just not Maine Coon fur.

Compared to this Maine Coon from The Opal Temple. You can see that the topline is smooth and “short” but the fur gets gradually longer towards the belly and pants where it achieves maximum fluff. Also note that the Maine Coon’s head doesn’t disappear into a Lion King worthy mane, the ruff is more moderate and follows the same pattern as the rest of the coat of being short up top flowing downward into the longer part of the coat.

There are random-bred cats with one or more of these “Maine Coon” features, and there are Maine Coon’s which are more moderate or more extreme and don’t meet the standard to a T.

I can show you pedigree Maine Coon’s with wide forehead, tall ears, insubstantial ear tufts, proportions not well-balanced or however many faults you want to list.

I can also show you random-bred cats with squared heads and muzzles, well-spaced ears, a coat that’s short in the right places and long in the right places and falls just so.

I’ve met cats where I’ve been told they’re a Maine Coon mix and I don’t go “Oh obviously” but “Yeah, I can see that.” This isn’t commonplace, but it’s happened a few times where the cat has been passable as a poorly bred Maine Coon or mix.

But what gets me is so often I see people - online and in person - who say their cat is a Maine Coon or Maine Coon mix, they sweat up down and sideways that it must be true because the cat looks so much like a Maine Coon…

And then the cat is the moggiest moggy to have ever moggied. Not a single Maine Coon feature in sight, unless you include long fur - and some of them don’t even have that! Is the resemblance that they’re both cats? Is that what you’re seeing?

If you’re going to try to sell me on your cat being a Maine Coon or mix at least show me you have a basic understanding of the breed’s conformation and show me what features make you feel that way about your cat that don’t include “big” and “fluffy.”

#anonymous #asks #cat breeds #maine coon

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

VIII ║ Silver Pony

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 7: Fleabitten | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 9: Warmblood }

Rating: E

Summary: And just like that, your week at the Statesman Ranch comes to an end, leaving you grappling with the prospect of saying goodbye to Jack.

Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, grief, flirting, insecurities, very light soft!dom overtones, sexual innuendoes, risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 7.5k

Notes: Here we are, the penultimate chapter of Palomino. I had the last scene in mind since the very beginning of the series, actually putting it into words has been so emotional. Thank you as always for your patience and your love for this series, I'm eternally grateful that you're still with me as we wrap up this beautiful journey cowboy Jack and his Darlin' started almost a year ago ❤️

P.S. Please excuse typos and any mistakes as I had very little time to edit with the husband ill this weekend.

Coaxing Scotch to a halt at the end of the track - the last lookout point before the trail slopes downhill and homeward - you let the leather reins slip long and loose as he stretches his neck and shakes out his mane with a low nicker. 

A hundred feet drop below, between the palomino’s ears turned forward in anticipation, is the Statesman Ranch in all its glory, nestled in the fertile valley of green pasture, with its winding creek and red roofs. You can see tiny people milling about, the stables busy in the middle of the afternoon, and horses grazing in the fields bracketed by white picket fences.

Out of the corner of your eye, Whiskey comes to a stop next to you, close enough that your knee bumps into Jack’s. 

You keep your gaze on the ranch below as you ask half-jokingly, ‘Is it too late to turn back now?’

He chuckles, and you twist towards him, your own lips curling. ‘I believe we had this exact same conversation the first day, darlin’.’

It’s not too late to back out, you know.

Oh no, you’re not getting rid of me now, cowboy.

You don’t even realise you’ve fallen quiet until his calloused hand slides over yours, fingers tangling together. Jack brushes a sweet kiss to the heart of your palm that goes right to the one in your ribcage. 

He cocks his head to one side in a gentle question. ‘Shall we rip off the bandaid, darlin’?’

Knowing there’s no other way around it, you squeeze his hand. ‘Let’s go, cowboy.’

Jameson is the first to spot the five of you passing through the backgates. The sight of him zooming up the slope with his ears pinned back in excitement has you laughing, the horses nickering hello as his barks echo in the valley. 

It makes no sense really - you barely know this place after all - but something inexplicably comforting and familiar tugs at your insides as you ride through the ranch. Stable hands call out to Jack in friendly greeting and to you with polite ma’ams, between bales of hay being loaded, saddles and tack polished, and the clang of steel on iron from the farrier’s workstation out back. All the while, Jameson trots faithfully by your side, as if he’s known you all his life.

‘You sure know how to make a girl feel special,’ you coo at him and he barks back, tail wagging.

Jack winks at you and says cryptically, ‘Well, you’re about to feel a lot more special, darlin’.’

Sure enough, when the horses clop into the main stable yard, your jaw drops.

‘Look what the cat dragged in!’ bellows Champ with a huge grin on his face, standing in front of the stable doors with hands on his hips, larger than life than ever.

You chortle at the huge Welcome Back! banner stretched over the barn door, complete with over-the-top cowboy themed helium balloons, bumping into each other in the afternoon breeze. You catch Jack rolling his eyes fondly at the scene.

Champ gives Scotch an affectionate ruffle on the mane as he comes to a halt by the wooden post. ‘So - how was it, m’dear? Was it everythin’ I promised it would be?’

‘Everything and more,’ you answer in the affirmative as you dismount, letting him pull you in for an enthusiastic hug.

‘That’s what I like to hear!’ he beams and pats the palomino soundly on the rump. ‘And Scotch? Was he a good boy?’

‘The bestest boy,’ you gush, throwing your hands around the horse’s neck in a hug. ‘He deserves all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Swinging his leg over the back of Whiskey’s saddle and landing gracefully on booted feet on the opposite side of the post, Jack quips, ‘But you’ve already fed him all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Champ chortles. ‘And what about our cowboy? Was he on his best behaviour?’

Jack points a self-righteous finger at his boss. ‘I’ll have you know our guest rated the pack trip a perfect ten out of ten, so I’ll be expectin’ an immediate raise. Ain’t that right, darlin’?’

A loud scoff coming from the stables turns your head, and you smile when Tequila emerges, wasting no time taking his aim at Jack. ‘Hold your horses, Daniels. Pretty sure the food poisonin’ knocks a few points off!’

Crossing the yard with his usual swagger, he sidles up to the other side of Scotch and tips his hat at you, leaning his elbows on the saddle. ‘Welcome back, sweetheart. Good to see you up and runnin’.’

You bite your lip at the mischievous wink he tosses your way.

Champs harrumps indignantly. ‘You have some nerve askin’ for a raise, son! Poppy was madder than a wet hen she heard about that. As you well know, she expects a full report at dinner tonight.’

Jack huffs in jest. ‘I’m puttin’ in a call to my attorney as we speak.’

The banter is spirited and relentless as the cowboys make quick work of untacking and unloading the horses, Champ insisting you shouldn’t lift a finger and talking for more than the three of you. 

When the stable hands take away the last of the bags with your dirty laundry to be laundered, Jack takes a hold of both Whiskey and Bourbon. Clearing his throat, he seems to hesitate for a second, a tick in his jaw, but he eventually nods at you and says, ‘Well. I best be bringin’ the boys in now. Catch you later, darlin’.’

The bottom of your stomach gives out at the catch you later, darlin’, knocking the breath clean out of you, unprepared for the dread that courses through your veins like lead at the sudden prospect of being apart. Your fingers twitch with urgency, wanting to reach out, grab him by the front of his shirt, and cling to him -

Get a grip, woman.

You physically shake yourself out of it, and instead, try to bide your time. ‘Or, you know, if can I help with anything at all -’

Jack clearly catches on to your reluctance, but Champ is insistent. ‘Absolutely not! Now, it’s just gettin’ to four o’clock, so there’s plenty of time to go back to your room, clean up and join us for sunset drinks in a couple of hours. How does that sound, ma’am?’

Jack’s mouth stretches into a reassuring smile that you wish were imprinted into the skin of your forehead instead. With a promise in his eyes that it’ll only be a couple of hours, he leads the chestnut and pinto into the stables.

You don’t even try to hide the slump in your shoulders and your wistful, lingering gaze on the cowboy’s retreating back, nearly jumping out of your skin when Tequila gives you an almost brotherly pat on the shoulder over Scotch’s back. ‘I gotcha, girl.’

Speaking up, he calls out, ‘Hey Champ, Ginger was just tellin’ me that you got an urgent message from Harry, so you better give him a call back - you know how he gets when you don’t.’

The older man flinches dramatically at the mention of his accountant, flinging his hands up in frustration. ‘Damn distillery is more trouble than it’s worth! I better go - you remember your way back to your cabin, young lady?’

Before you can get a word out, Tequila cuts in, ‘Jack can show her the way if she doesn’t, I’m sure.’

The sly reference goes straight over Champ’s head as he bustles off, but not without a polite tip of his hat. Once he’s out of sight, you smile at the cowboy. ‘I appreciate that, Teak.’

He winks at you and spins on his heels to take Scotch to the washing bay. ‘Consider it part of our excellent service at the Statesman Ranch, sweetheart!’

You find Jack hatless in Bourbon’s box, his eyebrows reaching for his hairline, slick with sweat, when you slip in and shut the door quietly behind you.

‘Whatcha doin’, darlin’?’ he asks with a lopsided smile.

Even though you didn’t run into anyone on your way in, you glance around to make sure you’re alone before grabbing him by the open neck of his shirt and tugging him into you. One palm on his cheek, rough with the stubble starting to peek through since his last shave at the Halfway House, you press your lips to his, blood thrumming with the thrill of sneaking around.

You catch the hitch of his breath with a wet suck on his bottom lip and he groans - too loudly in the mid-afternoon quiet. Cheeky hands wander south and grab you shamelessly by the ass, his tongue questing deep into your mouth, and you can feel him hardening against your stomach, drawing a whimper from you.

Pulling back reluctantly, his nose still on yours, he growls. ‘Such brazen behaviour.’ 

Your tongue darts out and swipes the underside of your upper lip, drunk on the taste of him, and his dark gaze follows. ‘I think you like it, cowboy.’

‘Too fuckin’ much,’ he admits with a pained moan and a chaste kiss to your temple, nose in your hair, as if to calm himself down. ‘You should go clean up, I need to finish up here and you’re distractin’ me.’

You pout, laying your cards on the table. ‘But I miss you.’

His gaze warms at your admission, and he stoops to kiss you again. ‘I know, but it’s only for a little while, okay? I’ll come ‘round your room to pick you up at six.’

‘Fine,’ you reply begrudgingly. ‘Be quick, ok?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he teases and swats you on the bottom playfully as he herds you towards the door. ‘I won’t be long, promise.’

Taking two steps down the corridor, you look back one last time at Jack, who’s still watching you from the stall, leaning on the top of the door. When he blows you a lingering kiss, the thought strikes you unbidden -

If it’s this hard leaving him for a couple of hours.

Feeling the tell-tale sting in your nose and the prickle of tears at your eyes, you push the thought out of your mind - 

You put one foot in front of the other, and walk away.

You didn’t realise how much you missed civilisation until you surprise yourself with the longest sigh under the rain shower. Head bowed under the steady stream, you take your time, lathering yourself until you’re cocooned in olive scented bubbles before rinsing, relishing the firm water pressure soothing the knots and soreness lurking under your skin.

But there’s a deeper ache, one that can’t be reached from the surface.

You have literally not been apart from Jack for the last four days. You’ve been showering together since the Halfway House, for crying out loud. It hasn’t taken you more than the stretch of an arm to catch his hand, or the turn of your cheek to find his lips.

A laugh bubbles in your throat as you wrap yourself in a fluffy towel. The word codependent springs to mind.

Standing in the middle of the room in just your underwear, you sort through the clean clothes that are folded neatly on the bed. Pulling on the prettiest top you brought and the same pair of jeans you wore on your birthday, you dig out your makeup bag and settle in front of the vanity, putting on a Spotify playlist and humming along as you get ready for dinner.

One second you’re blending in your foundation, then the next - liner in your grasp and poised over the corner of your eye - panic rudely sets in.

What if -

What if the chemistry between the two of you was conditional on forced proximity?

What if Jack was only attracted to you because there was literally no other woman for miles and miles?

What if -

You startle at the knock on the door. 

It’s deja vu when you pad across the oakwood floors on bare feet, your heart threatening to thunder out of your chest when you twist the knob clockwise.

Jack is leaning on the doorframe, freshly showered himself, damp locks curling into his forehead. The yellow flannel he’s wearing is new to you, but not the way the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, over his sunkissed forearms.

For one moment of madness, you want to sink your teeth into the thick, sinewy -

‘What is it, darlin’?’ he asks, amused by your scrutiny.

You shrug, fingers fidgeting with a touch of shyness. ‘Just thinking about the last time you were on this doorstep.’

‘When you were swept away by my good looks and charm?’ he quips, arching an eyebrow.

You let him have this one, teasing, ‘Something like that, cowboy.’

Straightening up to his full height, he pulls you in by the waist so that you’re almost standing on the worn leather tips of his boots, the span of his palms warm on the small of your back. He doesn’t even bother checking over his shoulder before brushing a tender kiss on your lips, and it takes you right back to that first time in the field of wildflowers at dawn.

And you just know, in your heart of hearts - there is no what if.

In the middle of nowhere, up in the mountains, the sunset hour demands nothing short of worship. Miles and miles of grassland, trees and summer blooms become altars dipped in bronze at which to prostrate oneself as the sun sinks, rejoicing at the rapture of the end of day.

Whilst not as transcendent as what you experienced on the trail, the last sunset over the ranch is giving as good as it gets. The sun gilds the fields in gold on its descent as the stable hands bring in the last of the horses for the night while the swallows fly home above. The river that winds through the ranch is ablaze with the refracting light, and across the yard, you can hear the impatient whinnying of those waiting for their supper. 

Jack and Tequila are setting up the barbeque and firepit, the orange glow of the twin flames taking the place of the fading daylight. The familiar scent of burning wood grounds you - you’re feeling a bit out of practice being the centre of attention after being alone with Jack for the past week.

Ice cold lemonade in one hand and buffalo jerky in the other, you smile when Ginger approaches with a hug. ‘I’m sure you’ve had to answer this question about fifty times today, but how was it?’

‘You want the short answer or long answer?’

‘I want a dissertation if you have it in you!’

You sneak glances at Jack over Ginger’s shoulder while you chat, and he watches you back from afar as he bustles in and out of the kitchen, always trailing two steps behind Poppy. You catch snippets of their conversation as they go back and forth, and you pick up enough to know that she is grilling him on the ‘food poisoning’ incident. He shoots you puppy eyes every time he passes by, which makes you grin.

You may or may not have been a bit distracted by the cowboy when Ginger asks, ‘So, did you catch Jack washing in the river in the end?’

A violent cough racks your entire body as you choke mid-swallow, and she chuckles, giving you a comforting pat on the back. ‘It’s ok, girlfriend - I don’t have to know!’

You knock back more lemonade and choose to play coy. If only she knew.

Champ is in his element, swapping out your drink for a whiskey soda as the dusk deepens and making sure the snacks platter is topped up with locally made boar and elk salami. Despite only having half an ear in the conversation while he keeps an eye on the dinner prep, he’s somehow still fully invested, and is particularly interested in the photos and videos you’ve been taking on Jack’s DSLR.

‘And that’s what you do for a livin’, young lady?’ he asks, putting on his reading glasses so he can study the photos downloaded onto your phone.

‘Adjacent. I’m in marketing, I do quite a lot of business-to-consumer social media campaigns,’ you explain, switching to Instagram to show him your employer’s profile. 

Champ turns to Ginger. ‘Do we have the social media?’

She exchanges a fond smile with you. ‘No we don’t, boss, but we do have a website. I think it was last updated in 2012.’

Champ holds his chin between his thumb and index finger thoughtfully. ‘What do you think, m’dear? Should we get the social media?’

‘It depends,’ you answer truthfully. ‘If you want to boost occupancy, social media will definitely help connect new guests, and also encourage repeat visits. But if you asked me, I think the real potential is on the distillery side of the business.’

Champ perks up under his cowboy hat. ‘I’m listenin’.’

You tap the bottle of Statesman whiskey that’s sitting on the barrel table. ‘Jack told me that you only handle wholesale orders right now, which is perfectly fine. But if you want to go direct to consumers one day, social media is the way to go. I’ve worked with vineyards and gin distilleries, so I’ve seen how effective these campaigns can be.’

Humming pensively, Champ sips at his whiskey, neat, a faraway look in his eyes as he mulls over your words. ‘Well, that’s somethin’ to think about, I’d say.’

There’s no other way to end the trip than with a western cookout. The barbeque station is packed with trays of beautifully cut and aged meat from neighbouring ranches, sausages and brats, while the smoked brisket and ribs that have been cooking all day are brought out from the smoker in the kitchen. 

On the side, a picnic table draped with a chequered table cloth is crammed with baked beans (smoked in-house), corn on the cob, pasta salad and soda bread; and on the greens front, there’s homemade coleslaw, potato salad and greens freshly picked from the vegetable patch.

It’s a feast of epic proportions, and it doesn’t surprise you at all that Poppy is pulling out all the stops.

Jack mans the barbeque under her supervision, wielding the tongs with showmanship, and your heart purrs at the familiar sight of him cooking by firelight as darkness well and truly sets in. You feel slightly adrift not being by his side, but Champ is keeping you entertained and well fed, piling seconds upon thirds on your loaded plate despite your protests.

By the time Teak takes over at the barbeque and Jack makes his way towards the communal table where you’re all standing, you’re sipping slowly on your third whiskey and soda. You smile at him over the brim of your tumbler which he returns, and your body leans unconsciously towards him, before remembering where you are. He tucks his right hand into his back pocket, and you want to think that it’s because if he doesn’t, he would reach out for you.

Being denied his touch when he’s right there has you shifting your feet restlessly. Your fingers itch for him, there’s an insistent prickle under your skin that you know he alone can placate.

You venture a peek at Jack, wondering if he’s faring any better than you are. Feeling your eyes on him, he turns to you, his gaze dropping to your mouth none too subtly, the muscle in his neck tensing. Caught in the moment, all you want to do is to run your tongue down the hollow of his throat and taste the smoke on his skin -

You look away in case you do anything rash.

You’re barely holding it together when the conversation moves on to your birthday at the Halfway House.

‘And how was the dinner?’ asks Poppy animatedly. ‘Did you like the cake?’

Despite yourself, you beam, ‘Like it? I loved it, thank you so much! I was so spoiled.’

‘Did Jack show you a good time?’

‘Oh I should say so,’ cuts in Tequila despite being six feet away at the barbeque. At Jack’s glare, he quickly adds, ‘He decked out the place real nice, y’know, with balloons and shit.’

With a shake of your head, you chuckle, ‘And he dressed the horses up in birthday hats and tinsel!’

With the barbeque dying down to a low, simmering flame, Poppy slides in a couple of peach cobblers in pie dishes directly onto the embers to warm up. Leaving behind gravy-stained plates stacked up high on the barrel table, the group drifts over to the low-set deck chairs sitting in a tidy circle around the firepit. 

Emptying the last of the whiskey into his glass, Champ calls out, ‘Jack, m’boy, how ‘bout you run to the cellar and grab us another bottle of the fifteen years?’

‘Sure, boss,’ he replies, hanging back and catching your attention. ‘You wanna come look at the cellar, darlin’? It’s quite a sight.’

Champ is delighted. ‘What an inspired idea! Take your time, young lady, it’s not quite the distillery cellar, but we’ll save that for next time.’

Teak gives you a two-fingered salute and a knowing wink as Jack leads the way. ‘Enjoy the tour, sweetheart!’

Jack barely waits until you’ve turned the corner behind one of the barns before backing you up against the wall. You taste whiskey and woodsmoke on his tongue as he pins you in place with his broad frame, and you haul him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him.

‘I missed you, darlin’,’ he whispers against your lips.

‘I was standing right next to you, cowboy.’

‘I know,’ he whines. ‘Took everythin’ to keep my hands to myself.’

Your cheeks warm at his words, and you reach up to brush an errant curl back from his eyes. ‘Me too.’

Jack grabs your hand and takes you on what must be a shortcut to the kitchen, since you don’t recognise the route. Practically dragging you down a flight of steps at the back, he lets go of you only to pull open a heavy oak door. Your eyes widen when the orange lights flicker on, stepping into the cellar lined with hundreds, if not thousands of bottles, floor-to-ceiling shelves nestled into stone arches carved into the walls. 

You wander the perimeter of the room, carefully pulling out dusty bottles high and low to inspect the years printed on the labels, but Jack is having none of it. Face nuzzled into the nook of your shoulder, he grinds his half-hard cock into you impatiently, calloused palms sliding under your shirt and squeezing your tits through your bra.

You moan, the sound echoing under the low vaulted ceilings. ‘What are you doing, cowboy?’

‘Want you now,’ he rasps into the back of your neck, teeth catching the sensitive skin.

‘What’s gotten into you?’ you ask, a laugh caught in your throat as he ruts against the cleft of your ass needily, a shudder rippling through you when you feel just how much he wants you through the denim.

‘It’s the change in altitude,’ he rasps, dry humping you in earnest now, his fingers fumbling with the front of the zipper. ‘And you’re really fuckin’ sexy in these jeans.’

‘Such a sweet talker,’ you tease, reaching behind you to undo his pants. ‘We got to be quick.’

He yanks the front of your jeans down so hard the movement jolts you forwards, flipping the denim inside out and dragging it down to the middle of your thighs, your panties going with them. His question is hot in your ear. ‘Want me to use protection, darlin’?’

You don’t skip a beat with an emphatic, ‘No.’

‘Fuck,’ he growls at your one-worded answer. ‘Lettin’ me fuck you bare? I’m one lucky cowboy.’

Your pussy throbs at his words alone, and you gasp in surprise when Jack manhandles you to the middle of the room, where a row of aged barrels rest on their sides, elevated on a sturdy shelf to keep them off the floor. He bends you unceremoniously over one cask so that your front is pressed up against the curved wooden surface, then, kicking your legs apart and notching the head of his cock at the mouth of your cunt, he sinks into you in one determined thrust.

‘Jack!’ you cry out, voice hoarse, filled almost painfully full, suspended on the tips of your toes as he plants his feet and drives into you, pulling out to the tip before plunging all the way back in, so deep you feel him in your throat. His breath is harsh and hot on the shell of your ear, but you can’t hear him over your own cries.

‘That’s it, darlin’,’ he croons throatily, his jeans rubbing the back of your thighs raw as his grip on you bites into your sides, holding you in place as you writhe. ‘Such a good girl, lettin’ me bend you over like this, takin’ me so well.’

Nails skidding over the wooden grain of the barrel as you scrabble for something to hold onto, you mewl, ‘Yes, yes, yes, feels so fucking good, cowboy!’

The slap of skin on skin bounces obscenely off the walls, and between the buck of his hips and his groans, you hear the slick squelch of your pussy stretching for him.

It seems to spur him on, and he snaps harder into you, rasping, ‘Look at you naughty thin’, lettin’ me fuck you in the middle of the cellar when anyone can walk in.’

Only then does it hit you - the absurdity of having fucked your way across the open country on this packtrip, taking for granted the liberty of literally screaming to the high heavens, free from prying eyes and ears. Juxtaposed against the sudden and very real prospect of getting caught, your body instinctively reacts.

Jack feels you clench wetly around his cock, a choked chuckle halfway in his throat. ‘Fuck, you filthy girl, you like that, don’t you? Want someone to walk in on us when I’m balls deep inside this pretty pussy?’

Your back arches, and he slides in so deep you’re sure you’ll be feeling him for days after, even when you’re a thousand miles from here. ‘Yes, yes, yes sir -’

The next thing you know, he’s gripping your hair and pulling, making you watch him over your shoulder. His eyes are black, jaw hanging open and teeth bared, and he’s gone - he’s thrusting recklessly into you, and you have no idea how your spine hasn’t snapped from being bent so far backwards. Then one rope-worn palm comes down on your right ass cheek in a cracking slap, making you gag on a half-groan, slick trickling down your thighs at the sting.

Jack leans over you now, caging you between his arms, his soft kisses on your neck an antithesis to the uncompromising rhythm at which he’s pounding into you. He coaxes, ‘Gonna cum for me, darlin’?’

Two of his fingers nudge between your legs and you whine when they make landing on your swollen clit. You nod desperately, clawing at the smooth wooden barrel under you. ‘Yes Jack, please make me cum. Please.’

‘Don’t you worry, you will,’ he says matter-of-factly, smearing mouth and tongue down the side of your neck. ‘You can do it. Make a mess on my cock, c’mon, darlin’ -’

When you clamp down around him, it takes Jack everything - everyfuckin’thin’ - not to let go and pump into you, fill that tight little cunt as you wail his name, quaking and squirming in his grasp. Air doesn’t quite reach his lungs, and he’s biting so hard on the insides of his mouth that it swells instantly, wanting so badly to mark you, to possess you in the most primal way a man can -

With a strangled groan, he pulls out, but only just - he’s already cumming before he can even wrap a fist around his cock, spurting crudely all over the swollen lips of your pussy and the curve of your ass as he milks himself dry, shudder after shudder. His spend drips so prettily down the back of your thighs, stopping just short of staining your jeans, that he goes light-headed for a moment. He sways, and if not for you grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him down for a lazy kiss, he probably would’ve keeled over.

He looks down at the mess he made, crooning into your ear, ‘You’re so beautiful covered in my cum, darlin’.’

You squeak, startled, when he runs this thumb down your slit, still so slick and wet for him, and he has to fight the urge to fucking scoop up his cum shove it into you, filling you only to have it drool out of you when he holds the pretty lips open -

He feels your eyes on him, like you can tell what he’s thinking. He winces, shame rearing its head as he apologises, ‘I’m sorry, I got carried away. Was it - too much?’

Cupping his cheek in your palm, you pull him down for another kiss. ‘Never. I’ll take everything you’ve got, cowboy.’

Jack somehow has a handkerchief in his shirt pocket, which he brandishes with a flourish, prompting a giggle from you. ‘A gentleman if I’ve ever seen one.’

With a playful smirk, he declares, ‘Damn straight - my mama raised me right.’

Gently, Jack cleans you up, and you’re happy to let him do all the work, your body heavy and sated. When he’s done, he swivels you around and presses his lips to your temple. ‘Come back to my house tonight, darlin’?’

You tuck your nose into the crook of his neck and breathe in deeply. ‘I’d love to, cowboy.’

He’s carefully folding up the soiled handkerchief and tucking it into his back pocket when you hear footsteps on the stairs, and the two of you have barely pulled up your jeans when the door swings open.

There’s a dramatic pause as Teak takes in your dishevelled state and none too guilty faces. Looking distinctly unsurprised, he bursts into laughter nonetheless. ‘The cellar? Is nothin’ sacred to you heathens?’

The cookout winds down over bubbling hot peach cobbler and homemade vanilla ice cream that Teak collected from the freezer in the kitchen on the way back. It’s pushing ten o’clock when Champ calls it a night, and you all help with bringing the dirty dishes and leftovers inside.

Poppy and Ginger make quick work of putting all the food in tupperware and into the fridge. Jack and Teak load up the dishwasher as you finish off the last of your drink.

Champ dusts his hands, as if he’s the one who’s done all the tidying up, and asks, ‘Your flight tomorrow isn’t until afternoon is it?’

You nod, passing Jack your empty glass. ‘Yeah, I need to drop off my rental truck as well, so I think I’ll have to leave around eleven.’

He pats you on the back. ‘Alright then, we’ll see you tomorrow mornin’. Have a good night’s sleep, young lady.’

‘Say goodbye before you go,’ adds Ginger, giving you a peck on the cheek.

‘Dinner was incredible, Poppy, thank you,’ you smile as she pulls you into a warm hug.

The redhead winks at you. ‘My absolute pleasure. I’ll fix you a little takeaway lunch to go tomorrow for the journey home. No plane food allowed for our guests!’

The kitchen empties until it’s just you, Jack and Teak, with the latter grinning at you two like a lunatic. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugs. ‘So you guys wanna hang, or -’

‘Get the fuck outta here, Teak!’ Jack growls.

The taller cowboy ambles over to you, joints loose with alcohol, and gives you what can only be described as a bear hug. 

‘Just try keep it down, will ya? It’s real quiet in the valley at night and some of us have to work early tomorrow,’ he ribs with an insolent wink. ‘Guess we won’t see you lovebirds at breakfast?’

‘Not if you’re there,’ Jack retorts, to which Teak flashes a good-natured middle finger and saunters off into the night.

Jack draws you into his arms and you slump against him, relieved that you’re finally alone. ‘Shall we, darlin’?’

His fingers curl securely around the back of your hand, his thumb rubbing soothing circles at the base of yours as he closes the kitchen door behind you. It strikes you this is actually the first time you’re holding hands - there was no need for that when you were in the saddle, or camped in close proximity. 

Your cheeks stretch with a smile so wide that the muscles ache. The mundanity of walking side by side, hand in hand, shouldn’t be this thrilling.

It’s quiet other than the grind of gravel under your boots and Jack’s heavier ones. The night air is sweet, the blanket of stars above you just as magical, but it’s not quite the same kind of stillness at the lower altitude. Perhaps it’s the way the sound travels with buildings and other people around, maybe the very physics of it is fundamentally different.

Turning into the parking lot, your attention is piqued by a handsome motorcycle parked all on its lonesome next to the main lodge.

Pride in his voice, Jack says, ‘Darlin’, meet the Silver Pony.’

You know nothing about motorcycles, but you can appreciate the sleek lines, the classy tan leather seat and the retro elegance about her as you circle it. Her silver paint job gleams in the lonely porch light. ‘She’s beautiful, cowboy.’

‘She’s an old girl but she got good bones. I restored her myself,’ he proclaims proudly, before admitting, ‘And well, Teak helped too.’

Opening a little cabinet attached to the side of the main lodge, Jack pulls out a helmet that has you laughing. It’s painted red white and blue, stars, stripes and the full monty, with the word WHISKEY painted across the front in bold formation.

He grins at you. ‘Found it in a yard sale. Too good to pass up.’

Lowering it over your head, he tightens the strap carefully under your chin. It’s a bit big, but it’ll do for a short ride. Blinking up at him, it brings you back to that first day in the stables, and you feel the same pull that you did when he fitted you with your hat.

Except this time, you can do something about it. Standing on your tiptoes to kiss him, you giggle when your helmet slips and knocks into his forehead with a clunk.

Putting on his own sensible black helmet, he plants his left foot by the side of the bike and swings his right leg over the leather seat. 

You’re taken aback by the spike in your pulse at the sight - you’d think that having seen him on horseback all week would have prepared you for it. But there’s something about the way he leans over the top of the motorcycle, thighs wrapped around the metal body, forearms flexing as he grasps the handlebar. 

Starting the ignition and knocking back the kickstand with the heel of his cowboy boot, Jack nods at you. ‘Hop on, darlin’.’

You do, and you don’t need to be told to hold on tight.

The Silver Pony purrs to a stop outside a modest cottage, about a ten-minute cruise from the ranch, down a short dirt track from the main road. It’s pitch black except for the headlights that illuminate an unexpectedly floral front garden. You hop off and take off your helmet before Jack kills the engine, plunging you into a very familiar darkness.

Switching on the light on his phone, he reaches for your hand and pulls you gently to his side, his solid warmth welcome even though it’s nowhere as chilly as it was up on the mountains. Flashing the light towards the front yard, he tells you, ‘Ginger has quite the green finger, this is all her work. It took some time, but the vegetable patch is just startin’ to come through this season.’

Keys jangling, Jack unlocks the front door and ushers you inside, flipping on the lights. 

It’s a cosy space, not big by country standards, but more than spacious enough for one cowboy. It’s clearly a man’s house, with a distinct lack of decorative touches other than a vintage map of Wyoming hanging over a dining table and a crowded bookshelf by the door. Dark wood with orange knots line the floors and ceilings, the warm tones reminding you of nights around the campfire.

Walking through the tidy but lived-in space, you pass an open kitchen with a breakfast bar that backs into the living room. A rustic stone fireplace stands in the corner, bracketed by a cosy sectional with deep seats.

Jack watches you mill about, taking everything in. When you stop by the fireplace, he asks jokingly from across the room, ‘So, what’s the verdict?’

You tease, ‘Not gonna lie - I’m disappointed there aren’t more spurs and lassos on the walls.’

He chuckles and steps into the kitchen. ‘You want a nightcap?’

‘Just water thank you, I think I’ve had enough to drink.’

Filling up two glasses at the sink, he crosses the room to join you at the mantelpiece.

‘How long have you been living here?’ you ask, setting your glass on the shelf after taking a sip.

He takes a moment to reply. ‘I took a long break off work after my wife died, then moved in here straight after. Couldn’t stand bein’ in our house alone - couldn’t bear bein’ there at all.’ He pauses, and his lips quirk with a wry smile. ‘Champ and Teak packed everythin’ up for me and drove it all here.’

His honesty hits you squarely in the chest, the weight of the grief behind his words nearly knocking you back a step. You reach for him, closing the two-step distance and wrapping your arms tight around his waist.

Eyes closed, he lets you anchor him to the moment. Maybe he shouldn’t, but the confession slips right through his teeth. ‘I haven’t brought any women here. Ever.’

He holds his breath as he feels you hold yours. 

You mumble into his chest, ‘You have to stop making it harder for me to leave, cowboy.’

Then don’t. 

The two words are on the tip of his tongue, and for a second, he worries that he actually said them out loud. But he knows he can’t. It’s mad. It’s been a week. It’s not fair on you, not when you have a whole life back in the city, thousands of miles away, and his is right here in the shadow of the Bighorn Mountains.

So he says nothing.

Eventually, you pull back and tip your face up towards him. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the wetness lining the seams of your eyes. 

‘Let’s go to bed, cowboy.’

He watches you from the doorway, where he leans idly against the frame, body relaxed from the whiskey sodas at dinner. The curtains are drawn and the light from the bedside lamp soft, casting orange shades on the walls and your skin as you shrug on the shirt he leaves out for you. The last button done, you snuggle comfortably under his sheets, and his heart lurches.

Not for the first time, the thought crosses his mind -

You look like you belong here.

‘Are you gonna stare all night, cowboy?’ you tease, sinking into the pillows.

He shrugs and closes the door behind him, shedding his clothes as he goes. ‘Can’t help it, darlin,’. You look good in my bed.’

‘It’s so comfy,’ you sigh happily, watching him strip down to his boxers.

‘It’s just the hard ground talkin’,’ he says, climbing in next to you. Bundling you into his arms and sliding one leg between yours, he kisses you, a deep exhale leaving him as he does. You smile so wide the corners of your eyes crease, and he watches as they land somewhere behind him.

His stomach drops when it dawns on him what catches your attention.

But it’s too late. You sit up, leaning over him and grabbing a hold of it with gentle hands.

You stare up at him. ‘Jack.’ 

He doesn’t even remember the last time he really looked at the photo. It’s there when he wakes up, when he goes to bed. It sits on the bedside table by the lamp, probably covered in dust. 

Untouched.

His silence doesn’t deter you, but your tone is soft, and he understands that you’re giving him an out if he wants it. ‘What’s her name?’

His throat goes drier than sandpaper, and he’s suddenly speaking through a mouthful of cotton. It takes him two tries before he manages to enunciate. ‘Addison. Everyone called her Addie.’

‘Was this taken at your wedding?’

He nods, picking at a loose thread on the comforter.

‘Look at you all dashing in a suit, cowboy,’ you hum appreciatively, tracing a fingertip over the smart dark grey tweed jacket with navy accents. ‘Where did you get married?’

‘At her parents’ ranch.’

‘Under this magnolia tree?’

He nods again. ‘It was her favourite spot.’

‘She’s so beautiful,’ you say quietly.

His eyes dart to the photo in your grasp despite himself. Swallowing thickly, he says, ‘She’s buried there now, where she was always happiest.’

At that, you return the photo to its place on the bedside table, almost solemnly. This is usually the point when people stop asking questions, so when you snuggle into the crook of his shoulder, gazing at him expectantly, he frowns in confusion. 

‘What is it, darlin’?’

‘Tell me about her.’

Jack is stumped, flustered at your request. He shifts, sitting up stiffly against the headboard. ‘Like what?’

You shrug. ‘I don’t know. Like - how did you meet?’

His answer is short, factual. ‘On the rodeo circuit. We both worked on the tour.’

You give him an encouraging nudge. ‘And? What was she like?’

‘She -’ he pauses and holds his breath, weighing his words. In the end, it’s the truth that he tells you. ‘She was the best person.’

He stutters to a stop again, but you’re still peering at him, your expression curious and open. He knows you won’t push him, he trusts that you wouldn’t. He could reach out and switch off the light right now, and he knows you’d leave it at that.

But a small part of him demurs. He doesn’t have the words to describe it, but something unsettling and hopeful at once stirs in his stomach, one that is stopping him from cutting short this somewhat unconventional pillow talk.

So he tests the words on his tongue, starting with something small. ‘She was a cat person. All the barn cats loved her, no matter where we went on the circuit.’

Watching the way your eyes smile at the detail, he feels a little lighter. He adds, ‘We literally had cats camping out in our truck, and I’m allergic, so I’d be sneezing and covered in hives on the long-distance drives between rodeos.’

You laugh, and his chest swells with the realisation that he doesn’t remember the last time any mention of his wife sparked anything but sad side glances and commiserating pats on the back - let alone joy.

Over the years, he had let go of her joy. Because it doesn’t hurt as much to mourn her this way.

And the guilt that he did this, took the easy way out, is almost too much for one soul-crushing moment - until you lay your head on his chest, unfurling one hand and pressing it into his side, literally holding him together, rib by rib.

He tells you about Addie. Things he’s been afraid to remember, but even more afraid that he had forgotten. Her likes, pet peeves, where she went to college, her favourite show, her irrational fear of butterflies, her favourite dress, the song that always got her up on her feet dancing wherever she was, whatever she was doing, when it came on the radio. 

You listen, picking up on the way his voice falls back into that beautiful Southern cadence that you have come to know as he remembers his wife, nothing but love in his eyes as the guardedness fades with each memory he confides in you. You pepper the pauses with follow-up questions and playful quips where you’re draped across him, one arm folded underneath you and the other over his waist, but you feel yourself nodding off as the hour grows late. 

He holds you to him, his palm spanning your lower back, until you go quiet.

Jack is tired, his own lids drooping with impending slumber, the sprint down memory lane taking more out of him than he expected. Brushing a kiss to the crown of your head, he rolls you off his front and onto your side, tucking you into the rumpled sheets. Spooning you from behind, he murmurs one last thing on the shell of your ear.

‘She would’ve loved you, darlin’.’

Notes: When I first started this series, I didn't have a backstory developed for Jack other than that his wife died eight and a half years before Darlin' comes on the scene. It's been such an organic and fulfilling journey developing his character and his history over the series, filling in the blanks as we and Darlin' got to know him better.

It's so important to me that his wife and his grief isn't pushed to one side for the sake of easy story telling. I've dropped little hints of his bereavement throughout the series, nothing too loud, but it's there in the background, my way of paying respect to one aspect of canon Jack that touches me very deeply despite the mess the movie makes of his story.

Out of all my Reader! characters, I would say that Darlin' is my most unassuming one. Not in a bad way at all, it's just that she doesn't have as loud a personality as Shiv or Pin, or as dramatic a storyline as Sweetheart. But this chapter, she just really came into her own. That last scene will stay with me forever ❤️

Edited to add a reminder that we still have one more chapter to go before we say goodbye to these two. I’m not ready 😭

#palomino series #jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey fanfiction #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey fic #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels au #agent whiskey au #pedro pascal character fic

[penvisions]

for the record {a joel miller oneshot}

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader, brief F!Reader x F!OC

Summary: The longer, more dangerous patrol routes around Jackson are designated to you and one Joel Miller. You both have an understanding with each other, talking wasn’t the biggest concern for either of you, but being confident in each other was. He wasn’t a bad friend in your scavenged life, but then again you were beginning to think you didn’t want to be just his friend...and that’s got you more than a little sexually frustrated. 

Word Count: 6.3k (idk what happened, y’all)

Warnings: oh lord, okay: implied f/f attraction, implied f/f smut, use of sex toys, masturbation, language, pet names, p in v smut, sexual frustration, pining, mutual pining, reader is a hot mess, no use of y/n

A/N: okay, so this took a wildly different route than i anticipated? but i kinda like the way it turned out. I’m sure some scenes seem disconnected or the characterization doesn’t flow throughout but i got tired of reading and re-reading the entire thing and said ‘eh, it’s as good as it’ll get’. please let me know what y’all think?

Your hands released the hold they had on the lapels of his shirt, moving lower to rip open the snap buttons on his shirt to expose the top of his chest. He didn’t give you the chance to explore as he took your hands in his own and guided them to feel the hard length of him through his jeans. “This what you wanted, what had you so goddamn irritable all those weeks before?” He taunted in your ear, his warm breath on the side of your neck sending shivers down your spine. He twitched underneath your hands, and you felt your underwear dampen even more.

ao3 link || main masterlist 

“Ngh, it’s not working.” You whined pathetically, your body shaking on the bed. You were on your knees, face down on your pillows and turned to the side as your hands reached back to hold a pulsing toy to your center. The tingles you were feeling were almost what you wanted but they were weak, not building just fleeting jolts of pleasure teasing you. You felt like a fool with your ass canted in the air, knees spread to give you easier access to your folds, the toy gripped too tight in your hand. With a huff you let yourself crumple to the bed, the sheets making weird lumps underneath your form where it was bunched up from your fidgeting.

Your morning was not going the way you wanted at all…

-

“Would you shut up.” You couldn’t help the sharpness of your voice. You were so frustrated, everything getting on your nerves. Joel hadn’t meant to push you buttons but he just was. He was a decent friend, though he could be a better one to some people, to his family. He looked up from where he was tethering his horse to the post outside the barn. His gruff, no nonsense attitude getting on your nerves all throughout the day despite normally being able to work with the man. His offhand remark about needing to get home soon and the way he nearly rushed ahead of you with his horse finally being the last straw. As if he was the only one who had shit to do with the rest of his day.

He looked up from the worn leather in his hands to see you tying off your own horse before going over to the woman who watched over the horses with measured steps. He wasn’t sure what he said to illicit such words from you but he didn’t let them get to him, he could ignore you just as you had ignored him most of the day. It was a mutual clashing of gruff nature that happened from time to time.

The woman was listening to you talk about how you were worried about Peaches having stumbled over some rocks in the river you passed over on your patrol, suddenly nice and friendly after being surly and quiet the entire route. The woman was watching the way you brushed your hand over the neck of the horse, running your fingers through the mane to work out the tangles.

Joel took in the way your hands lingered over hers when she offered you a brush to work the bigger knots out. The bloom of color on the woman’s face had him looking to your face where a small, knowing smile had graced your lips. You leaned closer to her, bringing her had with the brush to where your other one was tangled in the horses mane, “There’s some tension right about….here.”

Joel was mesmerized by the way you were interacting with her, he had never seen you so forward. The flustered giggle from the woman who had your attention that sounded in the air was a good enough sign to shove off. The heat in your eyes another as he glanced at you one last time was another. He was struck by the way his mind supplied the word beautiful as he took in the way you filled out your tight jeans and simple white tank top, allowing for your tan to be seen by anyone around. Your hair was mused from beneath that damn wide brimmed hat you wore to keep the sun out of your face on patrol, the deep green of it looking good paired with your long curls pulled into a braid.

He walked off, trying not to let his gaze rove over you in a way that could be described as lingering.

A few hours later, after his shower and a small nap, as he sat on his porch with a cup of coffee. He was enjoying the quiet of the waning day, the sun beginning its descent toward the horizon when your front door opened just a few yards away. The woman from the stables lingered on the porch, her hands in her pockets as she spoke in a hushed tone. You were barely visible from his vantage, though he could see an arm leaning against the frame of the door and your long locks loose as you nodded before saying something that had the other girl blushing bright red before leaving. Once she was down the street and out of view you moved to sit in one of the chairs you had out on the porch.

You ran your hands roughly down your face, a deep sigh falling from your lips. You knew you should go back inside and put proper clothes on if you were going to be out here, anyone could walk by and see you in your sleep shorts and the bralette you had worn underneath your tank top earlier. Bruises from the day littered your skin, two newer ones blossomed red on your collarbone: a telltale sign of how you spent your afternoon.

You had managed to make sure one of you had a good time, the girl too inexperienced to return the favor. But she had been such a pretty little mess begging for your touch that it hadn’t been a complete failure. The pleasure from spending a few hours in bed with the woman simmered just beneath your skin, the breeze sweeping through the valley Jackson resided in bringing goosebumps out on your limbs.

You felt eyes on your form, and you turned to look at the house to your left, the one on the right had yet to be assigned to anyone. And of course, it was Joel Miller out on his porch, staring right at you. His hair was tousled from sleep, a lax air about him as he seemed to still be getting his bearings after his slumber.

He was in a t-shirt and sweatpants, the shirt trying its best to contain his arms as he cradled a steaming mug in his large hands. Not breaking eye contact, he brought the mug up to take a sip, his lips curling over the porcelain and catching your eye. You watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he lowered the mug to rest on a knee, his tongue peaking out to catch an errant drop of whatever he was drinking.

Before you could even register it, you were up out of your chair and making your way down the three steps to your porch. A bare foot had just stepped into the grass when the small figure of Ellie popped through the front door, a holler about dinner being ready loud from her as she brandished a wooden spoon at Joel. He tore his eyes from you, all his attention focused on his daughter as he stood.

Your eyes watched as he did so, the sweatpants doing either the devil or god’s work you weren’t sure. The thick fabric made his figure look broad, his thighs strong as he stood, the waistband was low on his hips. But it was the unmistakable bulge you had seen as he stood up that had made your mouth go dry and your skin buzz. With an embarrassed huff you turned on your heel and ran back into the safety of your house.

You could not believe you had just been about to jump Joel Miller. The man had been minding his own business on his own porch. In broad daylight. You needed to handle this, it was getting out of hand.

“Do you mind giving Joel a hand today? He needs-“ Tommy approached your spot in the dining hall, mug of steaming coffee in his hand and a loaded plate that he placed beside you.

“I do.” You cut off the chipper looking younger Miller man, not meaning to sound so mean towards him.

“Uh, well, I can’t help him today and-“

“Tommy, I can’t work with him today. You had me with him on patrol yesterday.”

“Did y’all get into a fight or somethin’? You’re normally so willing to help around where it’s needed and you two get along better than most.” He set down the fork he was using to eat with beside his plate before giving you his full, concerned attention. It was breakfast time in the dining hall, you had just walked in to get a couple fruits before disappearing for the day but had decided to sit at the absence of a particular older man.

“Just need the day to myself.”

“….everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You’ve just been…a little short with everyone lately.”

“Everything’s fine.” You stood abruptly as you spied a broad figure making its way to you and Tommy, not even thinking about how you hadn’t even touched your own plate yet. You scrambled over the bench seat and took off out the door before Joel even set his plate down on the other side of the table.

“Well, alright then.” He huffed as he settled in for his meal.

“What’d you do?”

“What the hell are you goin’ on about? I didn’t do a damn thing to that woman.”

Tommy watched his brother over his mug, bringing it up to take a sip from it. He watched the way Joel turned to watch your form disappear through the front door. Brows furrowed and a frown settling in place.

“She didn’t even let me finish asking her to help you out today before she was sayin’ no and then she saw you comin’ this way and took off. Something happen on patrol?”

“She was huffin’ and puffin’ all day but seemed fine once we were back in town. Chatted up the girl at the stables just fine.”

Tommy took a bite of his food, pensive. Joel stabbed his fork into his own food, it was way too early in the day to be dealing with whatever was going on you.

Neither brother saw you for a few days. You had traded the rest of the week’s patrols you’d been assigned in exchange for the coffee you hoarded in your cabinet. People willing to make the trade even if you didn’t give them reason as to why. You had holed up in your room, taken root in your bed and just wallowed. You were fully aware of how pathetic the whole situation was. But you couldn’t face Joel or the nice girl, Stella, from the stables.

The patrol this morning was early, early enough to avoid one of the people you were avoiding. Unfortunately, the trek to Teton village was one that select people were allotted. It was an overnight one, the longest and one of the most dangerous. You and Joel being the only people without time restrictions due to other responsibilities around the town. You were just finishing up saddling up the two horses and led them outside as Joel approached. As he made his way down the street, you mounted up, ready to get the day started. If he was surprised to see you or that you had done up his horse for him, he didn’t show it as he took the reigns you held out to him.

He nodded at you, his fingers brushing up against your own as he did so. You pulled your hand back as if you had been burned and clicked to get your horse moving.

“Hey, just wanted to check in with ya,” Joel looked over his shoulder toward you, your horse was trailing behind his. The morning was quiet, the sun had risen completely and the forest was quiet. “Normally you’ve gone on about somethin’ or other by now but you’ve been sulking. Somethin’ wrong?”

“Just don’t feel good.” Was your gruff answer, unwilling to entertain conversation. You didn’t know why he was so concerned, somedays it was just like this. Either he had too much on his mind or you did and there was an understanding about it. You didn’t expect him to direct his horse to stop, making you do the same. He turned a bit more to face you in his saddle, brows furrowed in worry. His big brown eyes held a little too much emotion as he gazed at you. Your body deciding to take whatever it could from him, and you felt yourself get slick at his attention.

“You can tell me what it is, maybe I can-“

“It’s girl stuff, leave me alone.” You clicked to signal your horse into movement, going around him and continuing on your way. You shifted in the saddle, the friction of the seam of your jeans making you feel a little crazed and you tried to adjust.

The rest of the ride up to the cabin had been going okay… until a group of four raiders has decided to ambush you and Joel. It had been a quiet moment, just trekking through the woods when a shot rang out and your horse began bucking. You had tried to keep balance, but the creature was hurt and panicked. When you had tried to climb down you had been tossed a bit. You hadn’t been off the horse for a second before two men had come out from the trees and grabbed you, two more going for Joel on his horse. You had tried not to scream, but you were positive terror had taken over you as their hands had gripped you in places they had no business touching under the guise of retraining you.

He had killed every one of them, in such a quick and efficient way. His chest had been heaving with his actions, arms roped in veins where you could see the skin of his forearms, his hands clutched tight over the handle of a blade and a gun. His hair had gotten wild, waves that would surely turn into curls if it were longer in disarray from someone trying to choke him out. There was blood splatter along his neck and up on his cheek and you practically flinched when he placed the weapons back where they belonged on his person and leaned down a bit to reach a hand to you.

“Don’t- don’t touch me.” You stuttered as you backed up, palms up to keep him at bay. You were past anger and frustration, it was only ever going to get you so far. You were feeling desperation crawl like ice through your veins. The only thing that would bring warmth back to you was his touch, but it would light a fire in you that you weren’t sure you were strong enough to fight off.

“What are you goin’ on about? You afraid of me now?” He stayed where he was but brought his hand back to rest on his hip. “You seen me in action before.”

Maybe it was the way his eyes were dark in the shade of the tree canopy or the thrill of having taken out a threat. Maybe it was the way he always looked so goddamn good up on a horse, his thick thighs looking strong and sturdy as he guided the animal across the terrain. Maybe it was the way he was standing, one leg slightly popped out, hands on his hips and head canted down to gaze at you, an eyebrow raised in a slightly teasing manner.

Maybe it was the way you were on the ground, hands holding you up as your legs were spread out before you from your fall. Chest pushed out slightly from your shoulders holding you up, heaving as you tried to catch your breath. You felt desire hot in your entire body as you stared up at his broad form, his shadow falling over you. You licked your lips and were about to tell him off again but something flared in his eyes and-

“I’m not afraid of you, I wanna fuck you!” The words rushed out of your mouth before you could even think.

Joel didn’t say anything, he just continued to stare at you. You were sure your face was flushed a deep crimson; it was certainly burning enough to be. Your skin was alight, your entire body humming as the words had crawled their way from where they had dug themselves deep in your middle, had been consuming you from the inside out. They had been fleeting before but decided to make you their new home and filled every nook and cranny of your body, not giving you a moment of rest since they had solidified. You don’t know how long they had been forming but you didn’t really want to find out how long they had been whispering over your skin, your mind.

When he finally moved, you flinched. Even though he walked away from you and mounted his horse, your body pressed further into the dirt. He didn’t so much as glance at you as he guided his horse back the way you had just come, abandoning the rest of the patrol as he headed back toward town.

“Where the fuck have you been?!” Tommy’s voice was booming as the man descended from where he had been keeping watch atop the gate as you entered through back into the safety of town. “I’ve been waiting for you all fuckin’ day since my dumbass brother got back! He made it seem like the raiders got you.”

You were quiet, gently walking beside the injured horse and guiding it back to the stables. You felt completely rejected. You had been left on the fucking ground after being ambushed. Injured in more ways that just physical, you ignored the frantic panic of the man following after you, demanding answers from you. And you knew it was petty, you knew it was unprofessional, but you couldn’t help it. You were shutting down, back to how you had been when you first arrived. It was better to be alone. You’d learned your lesson.

“Are you gonna answer me? You both broke protocol and scared the shit out of everyone! Please just say something, anything!”

“Finished patrol. Ran into raiders two miles from the cabin. Your brother got injured and turned back. I cleared the cabin, there were a few infected. Took longer traveling because Peaches is injured. I’ll fill out a report.”

“He said you got thrown off your horse and they dragged you away. Said he tried everything but had to come back.”

“If that’s what he said happened, then that’s what happened.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your brother is a piece of fucking work, do not put me with him again. So help me, I’ll pack up and leave if you make me work with him in any capacity from here on out.”

You could tell your harsh words stunned him; he had stopped in his efforts to follow your gaited movements. You continued on to the stables. You explained in clipped words to Stella what had happened to Peaches, ignoring the way her eyes were lingering on you and her hands kept brushing against your own.

You stalked away from the interaction, legs heavy and your entire back hurting from where you had landed after your sudden dismount. You could tell your whole left side was already bruised, scrapes having bled into the fabric of your flannel and stained it for anyone to see. You pulled your hat lower over your brow when you spotted an all too familiar figure on the porch of the house next to yours.

You felt a heavy gaze follow you as you passed the house and made it up the short walkway to your porch. Your foot faltered as you picked it up to ascend the few steps leading up to your own porch and front door. Your foot didn’t land, the front of your boot collided with the step and your body fell forward.

You couldn’t help the pained yelp that pushed itself from your throat as your back pulled from the effort to throw your hands out to catch yourself.

You don’t know how he managed to close the distance so quickly or why, but Joel was suddenly hovering over you, hands helping to hold you up. His fingers were spread wide to not put too much pressure on any one spot, he had seen the blood and dirt marring you the second the commotion had stopped earlier on the trail.

“Leave me alone.” You pushed his hands from you, ignoring the way they sparked electricity on your skin over where they rested on your shirt. You stood back up, leaning heavily on the railing and practically pulled yourself up the steps.

“Look-“

“I said leave me alone. You made it clear how you feel when you left me on the fucking trail.” You moved as fast as your body would allow you up the steps and through the front door. You slammed it in the pinched face of one Joel Miller without a second thought. You leaned back on it, chest heaving as you realized tears had sprung up once again. A sob wracked your body and you brought your hands up to cover your mouth as more followed.

You didn’t just want him to fuck you. You wanted him.

You were put on different patrol rotations, Tommy taking the longer and more difficult routes you had fallen into with his older brother again. You were paired with younger people, those who were new to patrol, or had less experience and needed to be with someone who could make better decisions. It was easy to go into training mode and give them the run down, tell them the way things need to be done and why. It didn’t give you time or energy to think about anything else. That happened when you were safely back at home in the confines of your room.

Stella, bless her heart, still lingered when it came to you, her smiles quick and her voice chipper. But you just returned her attention with polite smiles and tips of your hat. It was late, the sun dipping down below the horizon as you closed off Peaches pen, who had made a full recovery from a few weeks ago.

While a sigh, you directed your route toward the center of town. You hadn’t been out in weeks, opting to keep to yourself if you weren’t on patrol. The help you had been lending to the Miller brothers and their building had ceased. Neither of them had confronted you, Maria had dropped by a few times to check on you. You had been cordial, offering her coffee it was the morning or dinner if it was the evening. She seemed content to just share the space with you, taking what you could give even if you were quiet or only made small talk concerning those you were training.

A drink sounded nice tonight, maybe a meal you hadn’t made yourself.

An hour later you were pleasantly tipsy and dancing in the arms of one of the younger patrolmen. He had nervously asked if you could teach him some steps to impress the girl he had his eye on and the alcohol in your system had you saying yes before you could think better of it.

A few songs later and you were pulling Stella from where she was at a table with her friends up into your arms and guiding her through some faster steps. She was all giddy laughter, bright smiles, and wandering hands. You leaned in close and murmured apologies to her and asked if she was okay with just being friends, genuinely apologetic for how you had been treating her. With a parting kiss to her cheek, you set her back with her friends and took off toward the door.

You settled on the bench that was a little ways from the door and pulled a rolled cigarette from where it was tucked into the ribbon that wound around the base of your hat. You lit it and took a long drag, unaware of the door opening behind you. You were so lost in thought that you nearly jumped out of your skin when someone plopped down beside you, their knee knocking into your own.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Nah, just me. But you’d think I’d be the devil with the way you been ignoring me”

No. No no no. Not that voice, that deliciously low southern drawl. The cigarette fell from between your fingers, landing on your thigh to burn a hole through the denim and smart your skin.

“Fuck!” You scrambled up, brushing frantically at the singed fabric to get the heat out. The liquor decided at that precise moment to take you over from pleasantly tipsy to uncoordinated tipsy and you stumbled over your feet. You landed hard on your ass, hat falling to the dirt beside you. When you looked up, Joel Miller was staring at you with an amused smile. It was a soft look on him, his eyes glittering in the lights hung up around the square as he looked down from where he remained on the bench.

Embarrassment flared hot over your face, the scene too close to the last time you had really interacted with the man. But this time he wasn’t borderline glaring at you. He was casual, relaxed, surely he was tipsy too. To be interacting with you, to be so easy going with you. You hadn’t seen him in weeks, if he hadn’t been tucking tail to run at the sight of you, you were doing so when you noticed him.

“I’ll walk you home, was callin’ it a night anyway.” He seemed to temper for a moment, brow furrowing as he contemplated his next words. “My entertainment for the night decided it was time for the show to end.”

Your waning flush darkened again, at the insinuation that he had been watching you dance the whole night. You don’t know what compelled you to take his hand when he offered it to you this time, as he stood from the bench and leaned over your still fallen form.

Maybe it was the way he was trying, the way he was talking as if nothing had happened, that you hadn’t totally ruined the tolerance boarding on friendly acquaintance you both had found in each other since day one. Maybe it was the way he picked up your hat and placed it gently back on your head, because he knew how important it was to you. Or the way that his hand was so warm as it clasped over your own.

Maybe it was the way that this is how things went with you, someone did something stupid or fucked up in the heat of the moment and it wasn’t talked about after some time and things went back to being okay.

Maybe it was in the way it seemed he almost missed you, or the way that you certainly had missed him.

“Stubborn girl, let me help you.” His voice had turned husky as he closed you in between his broad chest and the door. His warm hands came up and wrapped around your trembling ones, taking the keys from you with ease. He leaned forward a bit more, his hips connecting with your backside as he unlocked the door. He didn’t turn the knob or go to push it open, just breathing in the scent of honey and vanilla that mingled with the twang of whiskey on your skin.

“It didn’t bother me, what you said.” He seemed hesitant to bring the event of all those weeks ago from the middle of summer to the present. It wasn’t how either of you dealt with things, opting to push things deep down and ignore them until they didn’t really matter in the face of everyday issues. His hands were clenching in a pattern at his sides, his tick for when he was nervous. “For the record.”

“Figured you didn’t want me around because it did bother you, that way you didn’t have to deal with me anymore. You made it clear you don’t feel any way about me.”

“Is that why you been ignorin’ me?” Joel’s smoldering gaze watched as you lifted the hat to rest on a hook by the door, there was something behind his eyes you couldn’t quit make out when you turned back around to face him. “Because that’s not the case and you know it. You’re one of the only people in this town that doesn’t make me feel pushed or pressured to be anything. You let me just be me, even if I’m not the best a lot of the time.”

“Leave me alone,” The same last words you had spit at him all those weeks ago fell from your lips again unbidden. You weren’t even sure if you meant them anymore. But if you repeated them, maybe he would realize you meant the opposite. You didn’t intend for your voice to lilt the way that it did but of course he caught onto it. The way you didn’t deny anything he just confessed to you. It made him feel a little brave, it made him take a step closer to you. You mirrored his movement, your body crowding the back of the couch.

“You weren’t the only one with who was frustrated, darlin’. Had to see you take that poor girl to bed only to get nothin’ out of it.”

A weird whine sounded from you as his words brought the frustration of not being to find release for weeks now back to the forefront of your mind. Your skin buzzing with the intention behind his words.

Maybe it was the liquor in his system or the liquor in yours, but the room became charged almost as if a switch had been flipped now that you both understood the other. Your eyes dilated at the move he had taken toward you, your tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip. He took another step and felt himself harden completely in his jeans as his nerves lit up. You weren’t really telling him to leave, and he really wanted to find out what you tasted like after all this time.

“Well would you look at that, you went from all riled up to whinin’ in two seconds flat.”

“Shu-shut up!”

“Oh darlin’, you’re all bark and no bite right now.” To emphasize his point he leaned over you and placed his hands atop the back of the couch, caging your body between him and the piece of furniture. You didn’t move an inch, every muscle in your body locked up as the heat of him standing so close. The smell of him so close. Your heart hammered in your chest, and you were sure he could hear it in the quiet of your living room if the soft grin on his face was any indication.

Your eyes were trained on his own, the taunting glint you saw had you moving before you even realized.

Your hands shot out to grip the lapels of his damned, snug denim shirt and you pulled him down enough to sink your teeth underneath his jawline. He let out a guttural moan as his hands flew to grip the flare of your hips tight, body pressing into yours and pinning you to the back of the couch from the waist down. You soothed the bite with the flat of your tongue before moving sucking kisses down the column of his throat. Your hands released the hold they had on the lapels of his shirt, moving lower to rip open the snap buttons on his shirt to expose the top of his chest.

He didn’t give you the chance to explore as he took your hands in his own and guided them to feel the hard length of him through his jeans.

“This what you wanted, what had you so goddamn irritable all those weeks before?” He taunted in your ear, his warm breath on the side of your neck sending shivers down your spine. He twitched underneath your hands, and you felt your underwear dampen even more.

You could only nod as you captured his lips with your own in a desperate, open-mouthed kiss. His tongue tasted of whiskey as he licked into your mouth. Your hands quickly relieved him of his belt, the clinking of it drowned out by the heavy breaths…

“F-uck…you’re takin’ me so well,” He used the momentum of resting his forearms down by your head to grind his hips into you. The head of his cock sent a cascade of white pleasure over you as it stimulated your g-spot.  

“’m close, Joel, please.” You begged, you begged for the release that was so close, that was coiled so tight in your middle it was bringing tears to the corners of your eyes. He continued to grind into you, his lips coming to press sucking kisses along your collarbone. He bit down hard and it sent you over the edge as the pain sparked low in your core. Your muscles tensed, you could feel yourself clenching him tightly where he moved inside you, working you through your orgasm. A stuttered sound rumbled deep in his chest as his grinding turned into fast, hard thrusts.

He hauled you up, bringing your blissed out form flush against his chest as he sat up on his knees. You whimpered as you felt another orgasm build at an alarming rate. You clenched your knees around his waist and moved down against him, chasing it as he continued to chase his own. His hands were on your hips almost painfully tight, where he helped to pull you down as he thrust up into you. The sound of skin on skin was loud in the room, the bed frame creaking as you both took what you needed from each other.

“C’mon, give me another, sweet girl,” He curled his arms underneath your armpits to rest his palms on your shoulders and used them to bring your hips down to meet his with even more delicious friction.

“Haah, Joel, I- I can’t.” You dug your nails into his own shoulders, pulling a growl from him as the feeling went straight to his cock buried deep inside you.

“You were so desperate for it for so long, yes you can, give it to me sweet girl,” He snaked a hand down to rub two fingers over your clit in small circles. You choked on a moan that ripped from your throat as white spots danced across your vision. The clench of your third orgasm milking Joel’s out of him. His hips stuttered as hot ropes of his release filled you up, some of it dribbling down his length where it began to leak out of you. 

He moaned at the sight, resting his forehead against yours as you both panted.

An alarm blaring had you beginning to stir, the sheets tangling around you as you twisted to reach for the clock on the bedside table. When you flopped back on the bed facing away from it, your bleary eyes feel on the already awake form of Joel. His eyes were serious as he watched you settle back into the bed. He almost looked wrecked and that had you shooting up on your arms and moving as close to him as possible.

“What’s wrong?” You brought your hands to cradle his face, fingers brushing underneath his conflicted eyes.

“You were still on the ground and I just… I just fuckin’ left you there without a word.”

You felt your chest thud at the pain of the memory, the one that plagued your restless nights as summer had droned on and waned. It had faded to a facet of life, something that had once happened. Sometimes it was heavier than others.

“…it wasn’t the best reaction.”

“That’s one of the worst things I’ve done since comin’ here.” He confessed into the crook of your neck where he had buried his head. You just tightened your arms around him, comforting him as he worked through it. His voice cracked on his next words. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry, I’ll carry that with me until I die.”

You both laid there, wrapped up in each other and whispered words of apology to each other. For the things you’ve done to each other to the things that have happened to each other. Comfort turned into promises and promises turned into kisses.

After getting showered and dressed, you walked to the stables together. Sharing a thermos of hot coffee, the steam rising to keep your faces warm in the face of approaching autumn. You were mid laugh when Joel raised his hands to cradle your face and pepper kisses over your face, stopping right there in the middle of the street in the early morning. Chuckles in between kisses had your heart racing in your chest.

When you both rounded the side of the stables there were already two horses saddled and a waiting Tommy at the gate to the outside pen beside it. He crossed his arms and walked passed you two with a simple, “Y’all are fuckin’ idiots. You know that?”

#dev writes #dev writes smut #tlou #tlou fic #tlou fanfic #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #smut #the last of us #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fic #jackson era #p in v #ao3 link #ao3 fic #ao3 #archive of our own #tommy miller #fic: for the record #dev's fic #jackson era joel miller

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I’ve always wanted to help others in some way and doing things like this has always made my heart feel like I’m doing something good in the world, you all deserve encouraging and positive words to get through your days! 💕

If you end up liking my art, you can always find me at @faelingmagic on tumblr or all my other socials at http://linktr.ee/faelingmagic

I look forward to drawing for you all!

ART TAG / MAIN BLOG

#mod page #look at all the cute ponysonas

[jxsterr]

IM HAVING MORE POST TOTK THOUGHTS YOUR HONOUR

one main thing i was thinking about was what if zelda still had some of her dragon instincts

- it’s ironic bc of their joint fear of falling but i could 100% imagine zelda getting REALLY into launching herself out of skyview towers just to glide through the air and freefall

- dragon to adrenaline junkie arc

- zelda’s the type to learn how to do tricks mid-air

- watch her do a spin n shit

- link catches wind (haha) of her new fascination with freefalling and takes her back to courage island

- glider set on. her first few attempts have awful times bc she’s too busy having the time of her life spinning around in the air

- she tries again and beats link’s time now that she’s actually trying. he’s stuck between offended and impressed

- link tries to beat her time and fails. she goes up and beats her record Again to rub it in his face

- the steward construct attempts to pat his back

- zelda loses her absolute MIND when link conjures up a stonewing and starts attaching fans and a steering stick to it

- ignoring game’s mechanics that it disappears after a while bc again LAZY idea

- zelda clinging to him from behind when they first take off (she waves the construct goodbye tho)

- once she’s gained confidence she dangles her legs over the ledge and takes in the views

- “these places feel familiar for some reason..” “really?”

- he’s flying her along her old path as a dragon

- zelda takes a thousand more photos of the views ofc. she had recently begged robbie to upgrade her storage for this exact reason

- she’s closing her eyes to focus on the feeling of the wind whipping past her and she feels nothing but Alive

- link definitely takes her flying whenever she’s burnt out from the school and in a bit of a funk to cheer her up. she always comes back with a grin on her face

- I STRONGLY BELIEVE IN THE WHOLE ZELDA FEELING A STRANGE WANT TO BE NEAR THE OTHER DRAGONS FROM HER TIME AS A DRAGON

- her path literally intermingles with all of the other dragons u can’t tell me they don’t all have some cool dragon connection to each other or something

- link flying alongside naydra but far enough that they don’t get frozen so zelda can be close

- naydra feels like an old friend.. why does she feel like an old friend??

- link shows her photos her took with her when she was a dragon and she almost cries again

- he was with her even when she couldn’t talk or even acknowledge he was there?? she’s a blubbering mess

- link’s panicking oh my god why is she crying no wait don’t cry oh god

- “how often did you visit me??” “daily.”

- she’s sobbing

- link decides to hold back on telling her about how he weaved silent princesses into her mane for the sake of both of them

- she finds the photo anyway and silently hugs him for like 10 minutes bc she can’t find it in her to pull away

- link takes her to north lomei labyrinth and they fall all the way from the sky to the depths

- zelda’s laughing wildly and yelling about how fun this is the whole time and link’s just happy to see her smiling

- you can’t tell me that these two wouldn’t become just a Little impulsive in their off time and do shit like this constantly

#let them be wild and unserious #zelink #legend of zelda #zelda x link #loz zelda #zelda tears of the kingdom #zelda totk #zelda and link #totk link #totk spoilers #loz totk #totk #tears of the kingdom #loz link #link #loz #loz tears of the kingdom

[alexthebordercollie]

Reposting this old piece of Fluttercord art. It is adorable and it brings me joy. I used to have an MLP next gen ask blog for a while. It got kinda popular but I eventually burnt out cause I kept getting flooded with questions about random background characters I didn't care about, like single-episode characters or even ponies with only a couple lines of dialog. The blog was supposed to be focused on the kids of the mane six and when it started getting derailed by that flood of questions by people who didn't care about the stories I wanted to tell it just kinda ruined it for me. Like I would write whole chapters of a fic or make long meaty story posts get almost no engagement on them then be flooded with questions about unrelated characters. That and being harassed any time I took too long to post, it just made me feel like no one actually cared about the quality at all as long as I was churning out generic pony art as fast as possible.

Anyway long tangent aside. I still love these boys. The yellow one is the older brother Chaos and the red one is Anarchy but everyone calls him Archie. These two were adorable and I love Fluttercord so much. Archie was effectively the Twilight of my mane six crew. The main mascot character of the blog. Both boys have Discord's powers.

Chaos is loud and rowdy and well, chaotic. He likes pulling pranks and causing general mischief. He's also typically pretty reckless and irresponsible. As a colt he once plunged Equestria into chaos during a temper tantrum and Celestia had his powers sealed inside a gem he wears around his neck. He can get them back when he's proved he can be trusted with him but as a young adult, he's still yet to have earned them back. Chaos looks like a mostly normal pegasus but with Discord's red and yellow eyes. His cutie mark is the symbol of the discordian society, the sacred chao.

Archie is quiet and reserved. Unlike most ponies Archie is almost always fully dressed. He's much more comfortable with clothes on. He works as a librarian at Twilight's castle and is a dragon scholar. Taking frequent trips to the dragon lands to study their culture and biology. He's well-liked by the dragons. Despite his polite and calm demeanor he's one of the few ponies most dragons have ever met who really seriously tried to understand them rather than writing off their culture as nothing but senseless brutality. Archie looks like a mostly normal pegasus but with dragon wings instead of pegasus wings. His cutie mark is a dragon.

#mlp fim #mlp g4 #Archie #Chaos #fluttercord #fluttershy #mlp discord #mlp #my little pony

[kwillow]

Ambroys basking in his cache of gifts and sweet words from secret admirers. Gotta be careful, though. If his ego is inflated any more, he'll pop.

(I wanted to doodle something to accompany a post answering some messages regarding this candy-colored cad but got a bit carried away. :P Well regardless, asks under the cut!)

Why thank you! He would drunkenly insult people, though he tends to be more passive-aggressive and backhanded rather than outright insulting - well, most of the time, anyway. He thinks he's a lot more subtle in his derogatory comments than he actually is.

Aaaw, this is too sweet!

Older Ambroys is much more reserved about seeking and accepting physical affection than his younger self, for myriad reasons (that one day I will expound upon in more detail, fate willing). He still enjoys it, though.

He's still proud of the stars on his cheeks and the gold in his hair and all that, but the signs of age are something he is not at peace with. For some, like the wrinkles, they're a sign that his time on this earth is finite - and death terrifies him. For others, like his paunch, it's more just embarrassing to him in a more mundane and vain "I was voted Prom King in high school and I was on the Varsity track team now look at me I'm an old man boo hoo hoo" type of way (though he's actually more physically adept in his older age than he was when he was younger for Magical Heritage Bullshit reasons, the sentiment remains).

As for your question, it's totally fine with me for Ambroys to be portrayed as non-heterosexual in fanfic or fanart or one's secret imaginings. Even though all of his "canon" love interests are women, I wouldn't rule out of the possibility of him developing affections for someone who isn't a woman. Chase your bliss!

Haha well both furry and aasimar Ambroys would bask in the attention, though poor aasimar Ambroys' jealousy is not going to be helped!

No shame on being a furry though. I didn't consider myself one either but I feel like it's harder to make the argument that I'm not given the sheer number of ponies I've drawn by now...

He would accept this, so long as you don't mess up his hair.

He would say: "good!" I would say "don't waste your life on him!"

Oh he would be pleased to be so distracting, I'm sure.

And sometimes we can't help but to have a type... I know I seem to have a thing for rich effete douchebags with buck teeth and big pointy noses... not quite sure what's up with that.

Yessss... yesssssssss... or perhaps I should say "I'm sorry."

I didn't mean to make him this way... I guess I underestimated the power of a brushable mane.

Ambroys DOES like being worshipped (way too much and way too literally, as you might be able to tell) but he wants to have his imperfections hidden if he can!

He's just horribly, horribly vain and unwilling to let go of his youth... even though he got to enjoy being youthful for three times as long as a mortal would.

YES that song is on his playlist (which I have for all my main characters because I'm a dork). It's just too perfect. One of the many ideas on my miles-long to do list has to do with depicting a scene from that song. The trouble is that it has to do with dancing, and boy am I not very good at drawing dancing poses. xD Oh well, gotta try for the boy!

Heh well I think we could agree that a normal horse probably couldn't pull off the breeches he wears quite so well... I'm flattered that you think of him when you see horsies in the flesh! Huzzah, I've ruined one of the Earth's beautiful creatures for you! >:)

Oh wow, my guy is stepping out of my brain and into other people's subconsciouses... I need to put a leash on him. :P But this was a fun read!

It's very in character Ambroys to try to undercut a rival's self-esteem by framing it as something OTHER people say, but oh no, he'd NEVER say something like that, of course. Mean girl behavior. He does have friends that don't actually like him - and he doesn't like them either. But one needs to have friends for appearance's sake - just one more accessory, really!

OKAY, I think that's everything! Or at least enough for this post, ahah.

Thanks to everyone for your kind words on my not-so-kind character.

Unlike him, I'm really humbled and grateful by the positive reception he's received. I deeply appreciate your kind messages... even when it takes me eons to reply to them, gah.

#my draws #ambroys #amaranthine #asks #technically? #furry #unicorn #some of these are months old i'm so sorry Dx #my excuse this time is that I have what I fear is an RSI developing in my wrist/arm #so I'm trying to limit drawing/typing #alas... just can't catch a break between work and the limits of my weak human form

[ya-boi-ferals]

Was able to create these redesigns while we had nothin to do in classes. Im tryin to slowly make myself fall in love with art again and my hyperfixation on mlp redesigns are helpin me do that >:'] ...and oh boi this is gon be a long post feel free to read my rewrites ehe

I had so much fun through the whole process for this one! (Tbh the mane 5 becomin more like semi ocs now) For my version, Pipp is more of an actress/performer who does multiple side gigs and hobbies. Shes basically the city's "angelic sweet girl" since shes known for playing a soft and whimsical persona, often doing her iconic closed in ears and faded voice to give a more innocent look for the public. Her attitude is no different in private but she forces herself to stay too positive even when shes in need of relieving some strong emotions. Im not a fan of Pipp being a stereotypical phone addict in the show so I instead headcannoned her as neurodivergent and needing a distraction everytime or else she gets all panicky when shes doesnt have anything to do, she tends to overshare info, forgets to rest, known to take other's spotlight away and dissociate a lot (especially when reading fan comments) Shes disabled and uses formed cloud wings designed by her sister.

As for her redesign, I made her mane to be more stylish as a way to show her expertise on hairstylin. Her tail and tiara is rose shaped to go with her last name "Petals". And her colour pallete is brownish purple and powdered pink to give her character a more softer feel.

Lmaoo I have a lot to say- Anyways heres an old piece i made for zipp Im still confused how to draw her hair patterns...

In my ver. Zipp is well known for bein hardworkin and intelligent. Shes not ready to be queen and often "slacks off" with her main royal duties but she organizes and fixes problems happening outside the castle by talking to the staffs. Shes extremely curious and learns a lot of random detailed infos since she was young which ended up makin her become great at managing situations happening in and out the city, which is why her mother is so persistent on makin her the next queen. Zipp is a solutionist and researcher but she only focuses on what catches her interest before goin on the to next. (Ngl all the mane 5 are neurodivergent to me) Because of how determined she is on those interest, shes made several secret places to avoid just doin main work. Her fav studies are chemistry, physics, cosmology, ecology and aeronautics. Shes mysterious to the public eye but her friends know that shes just a bundle of hyperactive mess once she starts discovering smth new. I assume og Zipp is secretly non-binary coded but for my version, shes a transmare and everypony already knows and accepts it.

I gave her a more light pink and blue green mane colour. Her bangs are like sherlock holmes' as to pay homage for zipp bein a detective in the series along with some side braids. I also gave her twilight freckles and tired,soft looking eyes (not only cuz shes a workaholic like Pipp but its also cuz of genetics)

Aight, I was never really a fan for givin the mane cast just one element and the fact that G5 series havent showed any mentions of it just made it seem unimportant. Soo I instead gave them multiple elements that the mane 5 will develop as their journey goes on. Pipp will be the element of Strength, Purity, Assurance, Control, Pride, Value, etc. While Zipp is the element of Curiosity, Determination, Potential, Wonderment, Eagerness, Persistence, etc. (I imagine if twilight would have ever come back from the dead she would most likely write down what their elements would be as she observes the mane 5)

#mlp gen 5 #my little pony #mlp redesign #mlp art #artist on tumblr #mlp rewrite #redesigns #rewrite #art #I dont even like G5 much but damn I cant stop hyperfixatin on what the potential could have been #next time u will see me writin a bible- #school be damned my love for art is slowly comin back #digital art

[sircarrieart]

Finally got around to updating my redesigns/au designs for the mane 6!!!

(An alt design for pinkie + some lore under the cut!!)

LORE TIME

Okay so in this au (that I’ve personally dubbed the crystal au) Twilight is the princess of the crystal empire (which is ruled by her parents) and is the niece of Celestia. She’s sent to Canterlot as an ambassador and also to start preparing to take the throne in Equestria. (Bc Shining is going to be king of the crystal empire)

While she’s there Rainbow dash is appointed as her personal guard. Pretty much almost all pegasai are in the military (that’s a deeper political thing I‘ll cover later). Rainbow dash is a well respected general and one of the faster soldiers. She used to be one of Celestia’s personal guards until she gave her to twilight.

Those two are the ones with really any connection to each other before the main story takes place.

Apple Jack is a former solider, retiring after a few injuries. She now works as a gardener for the Canterlot castle as well as occasionally helping Big Mac take care of the family farm.

Rarity is still an aspiring clothing designer but is a bit more sheepish and shy about it in this au because she kind of gets her dreams squashed one too many times. She also works in the Canterlot castle as an assistant to the pony that dresses the nobles (idk remember what that’s called lol)

Fluttershy used to be a soldier and was actually pretty high up in ranking but after a pretty traumatic battle made her realize she didn’t like being a soldier she fled. She now lives in the ever free forest and instead of just being really good with animals she may or may not have fought a few of the strings ones and gained their respect. (She also gained the respect and friendship of discord who lives in the everfree forest too!!)

And lastly, Pinkie pie!! She’s the only one without connection to Canterlot. She’s still from a small farm way on the outskirts of Equestria. I’m thinking it’s still a rock farm where they harvest stone and jewels for the nobles in Canterlot. Pinkie has always felt differnt given her bright colors and after hearing how bright and color Canterlot and central Equestria is she decides to leave home and travel there. She meets the others because she has a knack for unknowing getting into situations she shouldn’t be in and is also good at solving things, becoming a vital part of helping the rest of the main 6 solve the big issues of this rp (that I’ll get into later as well!!)

Lmk if you wanna hear more!! I’ll probably still post more info at some point anyways lol!!

#art #digital art #artists on tumblr #mlp crystal au #mlp au #mlp redesign #mlp twilight sparkle #mlp rarity #mlp applejack #mlp pinkie pie #mlp fluttershy #mlp art

[sparrowsworkshop]

"Don't You Worry" by OneWingedSparrow

Main Tags: Twilight Princess, Post-Canon, Zelink, Link & Epona, Fluff, POV Epona, Trust Issues, Retrospective

Summary: Epona notes Zelda's nervousness around Link, and thinks it is undeserved. Read on AO3 Reblogs are appreciated! Hey listen, have a TP Zelda song rec since you're here :) ~

Epona knew her master’s hands. Link’s pull on the reins was never harsh, never hasty. She could not say the same for Fado; that man meant well, but, while occupied with counting the goats they were herding, he always clutched the reins too tightly, putting too much pressure on the bit. Nor would she say the same for the children she loved; whether nervous about being up too high on her back, or simply so confident to be up so high, they would cling to her mane with fervor. Talo especially held a habit of jerking.

When the Bulbins had taken her, they roughhoused her more than even Talo could have. She did not appreciate the rough talons that cut into her skin while they wrestled a coarsely woven bridle over her head and clamped their harshest bit, perhaps better fit for a boar, over her tongue. She did not like the feel of their hands on her reins, as they yanked her hither and yon with no care for her own sense of direction. To them, she was only a vehicle that carried them from one point to the next. She had been glad to break free of their stiff, demanding control.

When her master found her again, his touch was as welcome as a summer breeze from Farore. Gentle, and soothing, and steady, and sure. He guided her, but did not force her; he let her go her own way, but tugged her away from distractions as necessary, ensuring they arrived at their required destination.

Epona knew her master’s hands. She had spent countless years of her life helping Link plow the fields, tote the crops, haul the firewood. She knew the firm kindness by which he brushed her coat, the quiet strength by which he mucked the barn, the fond tenderness by which he patted the goats. Even when the herd got ornery, and he had to wrestle a wayward, bleating fugitive back to the ranch, Link’s might never lost its meekness. Epona knew her master’s hands, and she knew they were trustworthy.

Why was it, then, that the princess of Hyrule seemed nervous of the hand offered unto her?

Glancing back over her withers, Epona shook her mane and waited. For how long the princess had hesitated to receive the gift, it was as if Link had offered a writhing snake instead of a shimmering tiger lily.

The forest whispered a patient breeze to pass the time, while the ever traipsing brook muffled any conversation between the two. Epona swished her tail in warning as a fly droned by. Thankfully, it did not land.

Movement at last caught Epona’s eye. The princess finally accepted the gift, though she received it not in her hands, but in her hair, as the giver—her Hero—carefully reached upwards and tucked the flower behind her ear. No, Epona thought, the princess’ hands were meant to receive something greater than that lovely gift. After all, Link was reaching out once again, and this time, there was no hesitation; the princess let her hand rest in his.

Epona’s ears flicked forward. While she watched in excitement, the two began to wander, their footsteps drifting towards the water that danced with dappled sunlight.

Yes, anyone skittish could discover the truth, even the very princess of Hyrule.

Her master’s gentle hands could always be trusted. ~

#thanks for reading! #epona #link #zelda #twilight princess #tp zelink #zelink #zelda fanfic #tloz fanfic #post canon #fluff #sparrow fics #don't you worry #oneshot #loz fanfic #loz #tloz tp

[justagalwhowrites]

PROMPT 114 BUT THE ITS THE READER WHO CAN SING NOT JOEL 🙏🙏

OMG Hi Bestie!

Thank you so much for this prompt (which was sent in by other folks too!) as it’s the PERFECT chance to introduce y’all to Bambi, the main character from the next fic I’m going to write, Yearling.

This fic is set post season 1 in Jackson and Bambi comes to town after spending years with raiders and, before that, years on her own surviving. Joel starts calling her Bambi the minute they meet - her wide eyes and skittish way of being reminding him of a baby deer. I’m sure we can all guess where this is going.

The drabble below isn’t canon but it is a good way to get a taste of Bambi and Joel and what’s to come in Yearling. I hope you like it!

Linger

You think you have privacy when you decide to sing for one of the horses. Turns out, that’s not the case.

Based on Prompt 114: “I didn’t know you could sing.”

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: none!

Length: 1.5K

The vet said the horse was going to be fine but still… it didn’t feel right to leave her overnight.

“Hey there, Cassiopeia,” you said, keeping your voice low and gentle. The horse whinnied at you from her place on the ground. You got down on her level, tucking your legs to the side, and gently trailed your fingers down her forehead. “How are we feeling, sweet girl?”

She huffed in response. You smiled sadly.

“I know, it hurts,” you said. “Gunshots are no fun. People are the fuckin’ worst.”

You looked around her side to the bandage at her flank. It was, all told, a pretty good spot for a horse to get shot.

But it was still getting fucking shot.

You felt extra protective over Cassiopeia. She was the first horse you’d helped bring into Jackson. She had been a wild, free thing when you’d brought her to the town after several horses had been lost to attacks by raiders. The patrol needed horses, you knew how to catch and break them. It made sense for you to bring them in.

The horses, at least, led a pretty plush life here most of the time. They had enough work to keep them occupied and entertained, a pen that let them stretch their legs and graze, comfortable and clean stalls. Not to mention enough food that there was no risk of them starving in the harsh Wyoming winter.

It helped you justify capturing them and breaking them. You were helping them have an easy way of living, once they came around to it. A way out from the threats of wolves and raiders.

It just came at the cost of a cage.

You’d been a caged animal once. You knew what it was to catch a glimpse of the world you knew existed from behind bars. Yes, the horses here were treated far better than you had been but a cage was a cage.

Cassiopeia shifted and huffed, laying her large head in your lap. She was a beautiful animal, her coat coal black with a white star mark on her forehead. That’s why you’d named her what you did. A bright star in the dark, a creature that was trapped in a place a more powerful being had placed her. Where you’d placed her. And she’d been shot for a job you’d trained her to do.

“You did so good, sweet girl,” you said, gently stroking her mane. She whinnied. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to her head. “You got your rider back safe, helped him escape raiders. You deserve a good, long break. Recovery time and then some. I’ll swipe you some apples tomorrow, you’ve earned them.”

She seemed satisfied at that and shifted a bit again, settling her head against you. You leaned back against the stall wall and thought about her rider, the one she’d helped protect: Joel Miller, the surly man who’d brought you to Jackson to begin with.

You’d hardly had any contact with him in the months since. In fairness, you hardly had any contact with anyone if you could help it. Animals were way more your speed. You wanted as little to do with people as you could possibly manage and Joel seemed to feel the same.

But you did wonder about him.

He’d been so damn insistent on bringing you back to Jackson when he found you. Like he saw something in you that was worth trying to save. It didn’t make a lick of sense.

The horse shifted again and nudged your stomach with her head.

“Oh I’m sorry,” you looked down at her. “I thought we were done talking, I thought I was giving you a chance to rest young lady.”

She huffed and looked at you, raising her head a bit, insistent.

“Do you like it better when I’m talking?” You asked gently. She set her head back down. “Alright, I can keep talking then…”

Not that you were a stellar conversationalist.

But you could sing. It always calmed your horses before, them comforted by the sound of your voice and the rhythm of song.

No one around to hear how out of practice you must be, at least.

You tried to think of a song before you found something you actually remembered the lyrics of.

“If you, if you could return,” you sang it soft and lilting, slow enough that she could sink into it.

“Don't let it burn

Don't let it fade

I'm sure I'm not being rude

But it's just your attitude

It's tearing me apart

It's ruining every day

I swore, I swore I would be true

And honey so did you

So why were you holding her hand?

Is that the way we stand?

Were you lying all the time?

Was it just a game to you?

But I'm in so deep

You know I'm such a fool for you

You got me wrapped around your finger

Do you have to let it linger?

Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?”

“I didn’t know you could sing.”

You about jumped out of your skin, Cassiopeia’s head flying up off your lap. You scrambled back into the corner of the stall, looking something you could use as a weapon as Joel came and leaned against the stall door frame. He crossed his arms, looking a little amused.

“Easy, Bambi,” he said. “Not gonna bite.”

“Scared the shit out of me,” you panted, adjusting on the floor of the stall again so Cassiopeia could lay her head on you once more.

“Sorry, wasn’t tryin’ to freak you out…”

“The fuck are you doing here?” You asked, still not ready to trust his word that he wasn’t here to hurt you.

“Wanted to check on her,” he said, nodding to the horse. “Hell of a mouthful you named her, by the way. Where the fuck does Cassiopeia come from?”

“It’s a constellation,” you said, going back to stroking the horse’s mane. He nodded slowly.

“Have to tell Ellie that,” he said. “She loves space…”

Joel hovered for a moment and then sat down against the stall wall across from you. You pressed back against the stall

“You play, too?” He asked. “You sure can sing like you know music…”

“Been a few years but,” you shrugged. “Yeah.”

He nodded.

“If you want, you can borrow my guitar,” he said. “Long as you bring it back.”

He looked you up and down and you tensed. He frowned.

“I’m really not gonna hurt you, Bambi,” he said. “You don’t gotta try n’ hide from me.”

“Yeah well,” you shrugged. “You haven’t given me much reason to believe you yet.”

“Would I have gone through that much fuckin’ trouble to get you to Jackson if I wanted to hurt ya?” He asked, almost bemused.

“Yes.”

“Well, I didn’t,” he said. “Sides, we’re apparently gonna be patrol partners soon. Gonna have to get used to me.”

“Well on patrol I’ll have a gun,” you replied. “Good luck fuckin’ taking it from me on your own.”

“Not gonna hurt you there either, Bambi,” he said. “Surprised you know the Cranberries. Seemed like before your time…”

You frowned.

“I was an adult when the outbreak happened,” you said. “I had a job and shit and everything. That song was big when I was a teenager.”

“Sorry, I thought you were younger,” He said. “Know how to play it?“

“I could figure it out pretty quick,” you said. “I was only ever good at two things, music and horses. I’m outta practice but I could play it quick. I’m sure of it.”

You looked him over for a moment. His shaggy graying hair, his soft brown eyes. Part of you wanted to be next to him. But most of you was scared. Joel was a big man, you were still weak even after a few months in Jackson. He could do whatever he wanted to you if he got you in the right position. You didn’t trust him not to.

“You play then?” You asked. “Since you have a guitar.”

“I play,” he nodded. “Wanted to be a singer when I was a kid.”

You snorted.

“Sounds about right.”

You and Joel talked for hours. You didn’t really notice that it happened until the sun started to rise, Cassiopeia asleep on your lap. But it was the longest you’d talked to another person in years.

“I should get back,” Joel said, craning his neck to look at the sunrise. “Got shit to do this morning…. Well, now.”

“I should, too,” you agreed, getting up. “At least go and wash off the stall.”

“Thank you,” Joel said watching you for a moment before getting up himself. “For lookin’ after the horse. Didn’t expect anyone else l to care about her like I do.”

“She’s my baby,” you shrugged.

Joel nodded.

“Well, Bambi, it was nice gettin’ to know you a bit,” he said. “Sure we’ll end up talkin’ more on patrol soon.”

“Yeah,” you said, letting yourself stand a little closer to him than you normally would. “Sure we will.”

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #sneak peek #follower celebration

[rararazaquato]

Valentine, you're a

horse

(rain code pony au. design notes under the cut!)

just as a note, i haven't seen my little pony since i was like. 11. and also i don't think i watched beyond twilight becoming an alicorn. my knowledge of later seasons mostly comes from horsecomix. so if i say anything that contradicts the Horse Lore, sorry about that.

ok now for individual designs.

yuma is a unicorn, mostly because mystery labyrinths require him to be able to hold a sword and talk at the same time. in addition to his memories, he lost his cutie mark in the pact, so everyone who sees him is like "damn you're an amnesiac AND a blank flank? pick a struggle". he doesn't have any accessories by default, but he probably gets a little hat in the rain + his cape in the mystery labyrinth. he was the first pony i drew, so his face looks a little janky. i struggled with drawing the ponies from any angle other than a perfect sideview, and the snouts/mouths were the hardest parts by far. the front view i did for yuma was a bit easier than the 3/4 view i did for most of the cast, but it was still tougher than i expected. pony artists who mimic the style of the show have all of my respect.

shinigami's spirit form was changed a little bit, although it was already so abstracted compared to a real human that i didn't feel i needed to change much in order to make her fit into the pony universe. i just swapped her horns out for wings and gave her a horn. i also removed her thumbs and made her colors closer to her human (er, pony) form. she's no longer a "death god" in the traditional sense, now being the "princess of death" in the same way twilight is the princess of friendship or cadence is the princess of love. she was sealed away because she was shit at her job (just killed a fuckton of people for no reason) but anypony who stumbled across the book she was sealed in can make a contract w her just like in rain code canon. obvi this is a little dark for the actual mlp universe, they wouldn't be putting a trigger-happy murder princess in their rated y cartoon, but this is the same fanbase that made fuckin. cupcakes and rainbow factory and a whole slew of others that make the main characters of mlp infinitely more fucked up than canon shinigami ever was. so i feel like we can have a little suspension of disbelief here.

shinigami's true form is an alicorn, obvi. she's a god princess, she's gonna be an alicorn. i tried to refrain from giving the characters too many accessories to better mimic the simpler mane 6 designs, but shinigami looked so naked with just the crown. so she also got her flower and little necklace. i didn't even attempt to put her hair in braids, since drawing her face at that angle was such a challenge already. upon posting this, i also realize i forgot to give her a tail. just imagine any tail you want on her. pin the tail on the shinigami. her cutie mark has the same dark void effect as nightmare moon's, although i can't remember if luna also has it as well. regardless, it's a visual tie-in to nightmare moon, who has a similar "princess banished to an inanimate object" thing going on. the actual cutie mark itself is two bones, representing death in a cutesy cartoony fashion. i was gonna do a skull and crossbones but then i realized. no one knows what a human skull looks like. there's no people. and i am NOT about to draw a fucking horse skull. so, bones it is.

yakou is probably the one i'm proudest of! i feel like i really captured the essence of the background pony in him. i feel like i could see him hanging out with lyra heartstrings and dr. whooves and i wouldn't bat an eyelash. his hair is a little longer than in the original design but i think it looks cute so it's fine. his cutie mark is an umbrella because his calling as a detective leads him to protect others like an umbrella protects you from the rain, plus kanai ward has its whole Thing. and he can be kind of a gloomy person at times, very pessimistic. he's an earth pony because he's just a normal guy, no forte in canon and stuff like that.

makoto was probably the trickiest to actually design. the element of mystery is super important in the original character design, but he was able to still have some skin exposed since almost all of the character designs in that game have a skintone of "homestuck white". in mlp, where coat colors can be any color of the rainbow (and the colors outside of the rainbow), makoto would lose that element of mystery. so, while i generally try to avoid putting the ponies in clothes, makoto kind of needed them. he's got his full suit and a set of gloves and white shoes for his hooves. instead of being a sort of "paper plate" mask, he's got a rubber halloween mask that extends past his neck instead. don't ask how the mane comes out of the mask. we don't ask how canon makoto's mask stays on with no straps, so don't ask about this one. the mask goes over his horn, so it blocks out most powerful magic, but basic spells like levitation are still possible with a bit of effort. the pants of his suit hide his cutie mark, and when asked about what it is, he gives a different answer each time.

kurumi isn't a super complicated or in-depth design. just a cute lil earth pony with a cutie mark of a speech bubble, since she does a lot of information gathering via talking to others. in hindsight, i should've given her freckles in the same color as her body outline. imagine she has freckles please. thank you.

fubuki is the design where i actually got the courage to attempt a braid. no idea if it looks good, i didn't use a reference and my hair is too short to braid it myself. i wanted an earth pony in the core group of nda members, and i was sort of torn between her and desuhiko. however, i'm a personal believer in the "all ponies can use magic on some level" theory, and that theory posits that earth ponies have a tendency to be able to use the intrinsic magic of their planet in subtle ways. applejack can enhance her physical strength without really doing anything consciously, and most importantly, pinkie pie can bend the laws of reality for The Bit. i think time travel is kinda like bending the laws of reality for The Bit. plus, desuhiko's disguise ability is kinda like an illusion, which feels like more of a unicorn ability. her cutie mark is a clock. because. uh. you know.

desuhiko is a unicorn for reasons i mentioned in fubuki's notes. his backpack is worn like a saddle, but he can still use it to disguise himself like in rain code canon. his cutie mark is the bag with a star on it, hinting that there's a superstar (him) in the bag. not much to say about him other than that.

vivia is a pegasus. since his forte allows him to fly, it makes sense for him to be able to fly in his base form as well - he'd get used to the flight powers inherent to his ability a lot quicker if he could already do it. he's definitely more of a fluttershy than a rainbow dash in terms of how he uses his ability to fly. he prefers to walk, but if his legs get tired, he'll switch to flying for a little bit. but then both his legs and his wings get tired and he takes a little nap. that's what the pose is meant to be, altho it does look a bit like he's flying. his cutie mark is a disappearing flash shape, as his spirit form is invisible and he tends to disappear into the background in general. someone in the rain coat server told me he looks like stoney pony and i haven't been able to get that out of my mind.

halara was the last pony i drew, because i love them and wanted to get as much pony-drawing experience as i could before turning them into an equine. can't have my pookie bear looking like shit! they are also a pegasus, but not for forte reasons like vivia. rather, they just do impressive feats of athleticism on the reg, and i feel like they would be a great flyer as a result. imagine the scene where yuma calls for help while being detained by seth and the peacekeepers. a blue and purple bursts onto the scene from the fucking clouds and halara is divebombing the peacekeepers. that'd be sick as fuck. their cutie mark is an eye, because postcognition is all about sight.

erm ok thats everyone!!! i'm bad at pony names so if anyone has any ideas leave them in the comments or the tags ☺️

#rain code #mdarc #yuma kokohead #halara nightmare #vivia twilight #desuhiko thunderbolt #yakou furio #fubuki clockford #kurumi wendy #makoto kagutsuchi #shinigami rain code #my little pony #mlp

[dustdeepsea]

WIP Whenever

Tagged by @luvwich

Gods and Monsters—my darling, my horrible little beastie—it's been thrashing on the ground and fighting me every step of the way, but chapter 2 is proceeding. Posting this here to shame myself into action.

Read chapter 1 here on AO3 then come back for the start of chapter 2 below:

Two to four were not favourable odds, but Tav had been in much worse fights. They hung back reluctantly as Rugan stepped out in front of them. He raised an arm in greeting as the riders approached. 

“Hello, there! Well met!” he called out.

For better or worse, he might know these people. It was better to wait and see, then. They took a half-step towards their mules, unwilling to move too far away.

“Drop the shovel, boy,” one of the riders called out. Rugan nodded at Tav, and they let their makeshift weapon fall to the ground with a clatter.

The horses slowed to a stop near them. The lead rider didn’t bother to dismount, but eyed them from a near distance. He was a young man, no older than Tav, with severely cropped hair and steel grey eyes. His face could have been described as handsome, but he wore what seemed to be a perpetual sneer on his thin lips.

Tav had some appreciation from stabling animals in the Gate and could see that his horse was a fine creature—sixteen hands high, with a glossy, dark coat and mane. The other three were decidedly smaller and more plain. Their riders fell behind and looked to him silently for instruction as their mounts pawed at the ground.

There was no recognition on any of their faces. Rugan lowered his arm.

“What do we have here? State your business.”

“We’re booksellers, on our way to Iriaebor,” Rugan replied, smoothly.

Take his lead. Tav schooled their expression into dull blandness.

The sneer deepened. “Booksellers out digging in the Fields?”

Rugan spread his hands out. “The lad’s a bit simple, to be honest. Heard too many stories about these parts and wanted to look around.” He shrugged. “He’s found nothing, and we’ll be on our way in a moment.”

“Well, let’s see some of those books you have on you, then,” their leader said.

Rugan turned to Tav calmly. “Lad, would you be so kind as to fetch them?”

Tav nodded, playing the part they were assigned. Five pairs of eyes watched as they walked over, untied their saddlebag, and carried it back to their audience. One of the riders in the back had a crossbow pointed at them, another at Rugan.

From the bag, they retrieved the books that they had packed for Halsin—a new treatise on natural philosophy; a leather bound copy of The Mirror of Simple Souls; a well-thumbed adventure novel in three volumes. Tav walked up to the wall of trembling horseflesh and offered up each without comment. 

Rugan seemed mildly surprised as the leader perused the titles on the covers and nodded at each one. The charade of shopping concluded, he handed the books back to Tav in a neat stack.

“It’s dangerous for two travellers by themselves out in these parts. We can accompany you back to the main road,” he declared. 

Tav stashed the books away again carefully, one by one, wondering if they had actually managed to pass unscathed. The bowman trained on Tav looked on nervously, his crossbow in a deathgrip in his hands. 

“That is very kind of you, but it won’t be necessary,” Rugan demurred.

“Oh, but we insist. Our rates are very reasonable. In fact, you can keep your books. All we’ll require as payment is your bag of holding. Along with whatever else you have inside.”

Rugan flashed a rueful smile. “That’s a steep price, my friend, but I understand. Business at the end of a blade is still business. Perhaps we could discuss the terms?” Thieves’ cant, Tav recognised.

The other three riders stirred uneasily at that, but the leader looked down his nose at Rugan. “Unfortunately, these terms are final,” he said, flatly.

Tav’s hand was still half inside their bag; with a focused thought they felt the hilt of their offhand dagger press against their fingers.

Rugan bowed low. “Aye, then we’d have to politely decline.”

#wip #tag game #wip wednesday #my writing

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Once Upon a Time on the Razor Crest

Summary: Din and Ann show vulnerability

A/N: Hello lovelies,

I hope everyone has a good start to their long weekend, if you have one, and if you don’t I hope you have a good weekend. Apologies for not posting yesterday, my sisters and I decided to last minute go away, there was a lot of packing, doing my nail, and dying my hair that needed to happen. Needless to say, I was learning to type again with nails, so it took me longer to edit, than usual.

Anyway, have a lovely weekend.

Love oo

Due to the past history of the OC there will be discussions alluding to past domestic abuse, please note that as it could be a trigger for some.

Warnings: tenderness, grooming horses, rope discussions (learning to tie a knot), mentions of past abusive behaviour, past captivity, and restraints. Apologizing, grief, animal in pain, if I miss any warnings, please let me know.

AO3 Link |   Words: 1,273 |   Previous -> Next

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THE CRESTWORLD

Chapter Seven

Chapter 7

I did my best not to stare, while he showed adoration for Misty.

Din pulled back from the gentle headbutt he was giving Misty. He lovingly stroked her mane, before directing his attention towards the knot he tied.

“Before you begin to groom, you want to make sure to use a quick-release knot, also known as a highwayman’s hitch. Make sure to tie the lead rope above the height of their wither.”

“Their what?”

“Their withers, their shoulders” he motioned. “Do you know how to tie a highwayman’s hitch?” 

I didn’t say anything, I just grabbed the rope from his hand and tied it to the barn, he simply nodded.

“Good. After dinner we’ll run through a bunch of different knots we use here on the ranch. I would recommend you spend at least 18 mins a day practising.”

I tilted my head at him, “18 minutes? That’s a specific number”

“Ever heard the 100 hour rule? 18 minutes a day for a year is all you need to be better than 95% of the world in any discipline.”

“Do I need to be better than 95% of the population in tying knots?”

“If you know how to tie them without looking, you’ll know how to untie them too.”

I shifted as I petted Misty, “Is there a reason I should know how to untie them?” 

I did my best not to look at Din, I didn’t want him to see that I already knew why it was important to learn how to untie a knot. 

After all, the only reason I knew how to tie a highwayman’s hitch was because of my ex. After the first time, I attempted to leave, he kept my hands and feet tied up and locked me up in that closet for three days. 

Of course, he made sure to check on me every couple of hours. Each time he opened that closet door, he reminded me, I needed him in my life. Without him in my life, I couldn’t and wouldn’t be able to do anything. After that incident, I made a point to learn what I could about knots. 

Misty moved her head, pulling me out of my past memories, phantom pains radiated through my wrists. My eyes closed as I shook out my hands focusing back on Din’s voice. 

“… and self-defence. You should know how to save yourself if you need to … never know when someone may … when you might run into someone who feels they have a right to dictate terms. Anyway, those are a few reasons.”

Din finished, his eyes focusing on mine. He tilted his head as though he was trying to determine if I had been paying attention to what he said; I simply nodded and cleared my throat, “Right that makes sense, emergency situations and for self defence.”

He noticed Ann’s vacant expression, it was the same expression she had when he commented about the lock on the door to her bedroom when she arrived, and when he raised his voice. Despite learning from the Marshall, she’d been one of his ‘special people’, he never inquired or asked Ann about her past, regardless he could tell she’d been in a rough spot. He regretted saying anything, it bothered him when her face turned into that vacant stare. 

It wasn’t her. 

Truthfully, he didn’t even know why it came out of his mouth. 

An odd sensation settled in his stomach, he wondered if he should apologize for saying something or just gloss over it like nothing happened. Even his reaction this morning was excessive, and although he apologized for that, he still didn’t feel it was enough.

He cleared his throat, “Ann, I … listen about this morning, I am really sorry. I was tired and cranky, barely got any sleep trying to find those damn lost sheep. Not that it excuses it, but as you know Aq Vetina can get pretty cold at night, sleeping outside wasn’t exactly comfortable … What I’m trying to say is that I apologize for taking your head off this morning. It was rude and thoughtless and you deserve better than that, so I am sorry.”

He let out an extended sigh, hoping he did the right thing.

My hands drifted from Misty and settled by my side, I wasn’t sure what to do or say. Somehow standing here listening to him apologize again made me feel odd. After all, he usually wasn’t a very talkative man, unless there was a point he needed to address. 

It was so odd hearing a man apologize and actually mean it. Her ex apologized all the time, but he never actually meant it. After every insult, every abuse, he would apologize, but he never changed his ways. 

I cleared my throat, nodding to his statement, “Thank you for apologizing. I can tell you’re sincere about it; and truthfully, after our talk this morning I realized I may have been pushing things a little.” I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the tension there, “I’m sorry too. This sort of arrangement is new for me, so if I do step over the line with your son, please let me know. Last thing I want to do is make you or Grogu uncomfortable. Even though we haven’t known each other for very long, I feel comfortable here. With you. Both of you. I’m not trying to be anything other than both of your friends.”

“I know” Din’s hand reached up and began petting Misty, “like I said, it was all my fault this morning. Truthfully, I was missing … Camilla after the incident with the teacher.” He shifted in his spot, clearing his throat. “Friends?”

I smiled and nodded, “Friends. If … if you ever need to talk … I’m here.” I offered hoping that would ease his concern. Din didn’t respond, he simply hummed in agreement. 

Silence settled between us for a few minutes, both of us feeling awkward and slightly exposed. My eyes drifted off to the field, focusing on Bessie, when I remembered I needed to tell Din about what I observed earlier.

“I have a question” doing my best to steady my voice and move on from this awkwardness. 

“Ask away”

“Is Bessie okay?”

Din peered from around Misty, focusing on Ann, his head tilted slightly as his brows furrowed, “Why wouldn’t she be?”

“This morning she was mooing a lot, even after I milked her, she didn’t seem comfortable. She was even trodding slowly”

“Hmm, I’ll check on her in a bit” He seemed contemplative as he shifted around Misty, “Alright, so once you have Misty tied up, we start with the hooves.” Din walked Ann through the steps, teaching her which way to stand to avoid being kicked in the face, then how to curry Misty.

“You want me to curry? What’s curry?”

“It’s when the horse is rubbed or ‘curried’ to loosen dirt, hair and other waste or debris, plus it stimulates the skin to produce natural oils.”

“Oh, okay so like brushing”

“In a way”

He couldn’t help laughing as he watched her begin brushing Misty like she was a cat, “Not like that” he stood behind her, placing his hand on top of hers. He was so busy talking her through the motions, he hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten, or how small, warm and soft her hand was in his, at least not until he looked down to see if she had any questions. 

The world fell silent as their eyes locked. Din’s heart thumped against his chest, wanting to break free. Ann’s stomach tightened, as a shiver ran through her body. 

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@littlemisspascal @sprout-fics @liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24 @spicymcnuggies @lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @tortor-mcgee @sarcasmismyonlydefense24 @chiyo13

#din djarin fanfiction #din x reader #din djarin #din djarin fanfic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female oc #din dijarin x reader #din darjin #western din #western au #the mandalorian x reader #The mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian x ofc #the mandalorian #cobb vanth #grogu #mandalorian and grogu #peli motto #fennec shand #boba fett #mando fanfiction #mando fic

[toothsdesignboutique]

Posted these on my main; but decided i'll be posting them here too!

Look out for more Wings of Fire and Pokemon designs soon too, by the way! They've been taking me a bit since they take me a lot of time and effort! (+ Owed art..) I have lots of concepts and ideas and I hope you're all excited to see them! But for now, here's some Overwatch designs i've done recently!

My designs are free to use WITH CREDIT! If you draw them/use them, please do show me!! I'd love to see! :D [Designs can be simplified if need be, as long as they're still recognisable]

Cassidy :: Coywolf Sombra :: Bat D.VA // Hana :: Weasel Brigitte :: Dog (Golden Retriever) Kiriko :: Fox Junker Queen // Odessa ''Dez'' :: Dingo Moira :: Fox Mercy // Angela :: Rabbit Ashe & Bob :: Pronghorn & Bear Widowmaker // Amélie :: Maned Wolf Pharah // Fareeha :: Jackal Lifeweaver // Niran :: Civet Symmetra // Satya :: Weasel

#Overwatch #OW #Overwatch 2 #OW2 #OW2 fanart #OW art #Animalified #Ovewatch designs #animalified art #animalified design #Not WOF // PKMN #OW designs #cassidy fanart #cassidy overwatch #Sombra #sombra overwatch #DVa #DVa overwatch #hana song #kiriko #kiriko ow #overwatch art #brigitte #brigitte overwatch #junker queen #odessa dez stone #moira #moira ow #angela ziegler #mercy