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musings-of-a-rose · 10 months

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It's Miller Time

Original ask from @boogerpresleyonthemeanguitar84: would you, could you, write some smut with benny and will ofc not incest i mean with a female reader (me lol)? I love your work and like i mentioned in the comment i just found your work! Impressive!

It’s Miller Time

Pairing: Benny Miller, Will Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 2400+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: Thanks to @mermaidxatxheart for reading this over!!

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Benny Masterlist

Will Masterlist

"I never do anything like this!" I'm nervous, excited energy rushing through my body, my fingers tingling and shaking slightly.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. We'll take good care of you."

I went out to the bar tonight, intending on having a quick drink at the end of a long work week. But instead I found myself the center of attention for not one but two incredibly hot men, Benny and Will, who happen to be brothers. And here I am, following them inside their shared home, giddy with the prospect of having these 2 touch me.

Will takes my coat and bag, hanging them on the coat rack by the door as Benny guides me to the living room, gesturing towards the couch for me to sit. I do, smoothing my dress down my thighs and he sits next to me, extending his arm behind me, settling it on the top of the couch. He cups my face with his other hand, his warmth burning my cheek as he turns me to face him, his bright blue eyes staring into me.

“Are you sure, sweetheart? Things can get a little rough. You can say no and there’s no hard feelings.”

“N-no, I’m sure. I just…I’ve never…” I gesture between the two of them. “...done this before?”

Benny smiles and it calms me. “Don’t worry about that. You just feel good. We can guide you.”

I nod, my nerves emboldening me as I kiss Benny. He responds immediately, the hand on my face sliding around the back of my head and holding me to him. His lips are soft and warm, inviting me to part mine and I do, moaning a little when he slides his tongue into my mouth. He kisses me for a few moments, my head feeling light when he slides his thumb under my chin and breaks the kiss, tipping my head back and gently sucking on my neck. I left out a gasp and his hand settles on my hip, gently sliding up to reach into my dress, grabbing my boob and squeezing a little, thumb brushing over my nipple. God does this feel good. So good, I nearly forget about Will, sitting somewhere behind me just watching.

I push him back slightly and straddle his hips, his concern vanishing from his face when I start to grind on him, fingers tangled in his hair as he buries his face in my chest, pulling down the top of my dress to suck a nipple in his mouth.

“Oh God that feels good,” I pant, rocking my hips a little faster.

“Arms up.”

I comply, my arms raising as he grips my dress, pulling it over my head and tossing it across the room. He quickly undoes my bra, tossing it in the same direction as my dress as I toss my panties somewhere in that same area. Benny’s eyes rake over me, drinking me in as I straddle his hips again, whimpering when his clothed erection rubs at me. I start to kiss Benny again when I feel a different set of hands on my hips, fingers digging into the skin to pull my hips up. I don’t stop kissing Benny until Will’s finger slides through me, groaning at how wet I am. He says nothing, swirling that same finger around my entrance and pushing it in.

“Fuck,” I whisper into Benny’s mouth as Will adds another finger, slowly fucking me with them. Will pulls his fingers from me and I whine, frustrated at the lack of contact. There’s some shuffling behind me, Benny shifting under me and then Will’s fingers grip my hips again, angling them a certain way. But before I can ask if he needs me to move, his tongue is there, licking at me like his life depends on it. I cry out, Benny’s hands finding my boobs and pinching my nipples as he watches my face, loving the way it changes expression when Will pushes his tongue inside of me for a moment. A particularly hard flick over my nipple pushes me over the edge, heat and pleasure rolling over me as I cum, Will moaning into my cunt, which makes my orgasm last longer.

“You taste amazing, darlin,” Will stands from behind me, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. I sit up, legs shaking slightly as I turn around to face him. “I wonder if you taste just as amazing.” I reach for his pants, undoing his button but he grips my chin and turns my head up to his. “Not yet, pretty girl. I'll watch you a bit first.”

Benny’s hands are on my hips, pulling me back on his lap, his hard dick pushing against the top of my ass, which is when I realize he had gotten undressed, clothes tossed somewhere in the room. And the fact that he’s long, or longer than I’ve ever had at least. He pulls my back against his chest, his hands hooking under my knees and spreading my legs wide. He shifts his hips, pushing himself through my wet folds and I whimper. He feels so fucking good like this. After a few moments of this, he sits me up, pushing himself slowly into me and I look down, watching him disappear inside of me.

“Fuck! You feel so..ugh!” Once he’s fully inside, he pulls my back down on his chest again, hoisting my legs up and wide, on full display for Will, who was seated in a chair across from us, stroking himself. Benny starts at a slower pace, gliding lazily against my g spot before he growls in my ear. “Hold your legs.” I do as he says, his fingers immediately moving between my legs, rubbing circles where I need him most, his other hand pinching a nipple as he quickens his pace, fucking me as fast and hard as he can from this angle, launching me over the edge, screaming his name as he continues to rail into me, chasing his own high. He cums, biting my shoulder as he fills me, still stroking me as my thighs twitch. We stay like that for a moment, heavy breathing, sweat sticking to our skin as Benny nibbles on my earlobe, his dick twitching slightly inside of me.

Will crosses the room and extends a hand to me, helping me up when I accept it, Benny grunting when he slides from me. What do I do now? Surely I have to clean up or something? But Will gives me no time to think about that as he bends me over the side of the chair he was sitting on, his pants hitting the floor as he brings a hand down to smack on my ass, watching it jiggle as I cry, a smile at the corner of my lips. I didn’t know I liked that but I also have no time to linger on it as Will thrusts into me fairly rough, fingers digging into my hips, pulling me back on him. My hands scramble for purchase as I cry his name, Will setting a rough pace as he winds his fingers into my hair, gripping it tight and holding me down. Damn he fucks so good, my toes slipping slightly on the floor from the height difference.

“Yeah you like that? You good little slut? Lettin’ me fuck you like this?” Will’s voice is strained, like he’s trying to last. His hand reaches around between my legs, gently rubbing me in stark contrast to the way he’s fucking me and I come without warning, crying his name into the chair as I squeeze him, my fingers digging into the fabric as Will snaps his hips impossibly harder, finally coming himself as he grunts into me, leaking down my legs. He pulls himself from me with a hiss, helping me up and turning me to look at him, all trace of the moment on pause.

“Are you ok, darlin’? I know I can be rough and I know you didn’t use the safe word-”

I have no words. Instead, I pull him to me, kissing him finally, his beard scratching at my skin. He holds me to him, fingers light on my skin, like he’s cherishing me. He cups my face and pulls back, looking into my eyes like he’s making sure I’m really ok. I smile. I know I have to look fucked out by this point, but somehow, I’m not done.

“Can I have a minute?” I ask. Will nods and points to the bathroom. I take a few moments to clean myself out, drying off before finally getting a good look in the mirror. I was right - I do look fucked out of my mind, a small smile playing on my lips. I return to the living room and they look at me, both of their eyes scanning my body, eyes darkening with every second.

“You doin’ ok, sweetheart?” Benny asks, his eyebrows pinching together and making him look like a damn puppy.

“So fucking good.”

They smile and Benny stands, already hard again as he takes my hand. “Good. Follow me.”

He guides me to his bedroom, spinning me around with a smile and motioning for me to lay down. I do, scooting up the bed, which is apparently not where he wanted me, as he grips my ankles and pulls me down to the edge fo the bed in one swift movement, my boobs bouncing as I giggle. He kneels between my legs, pushing them apart as he stares down at me, already wet for more.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous. I didn’t get to look before.” He lowers his head and darts his tongue out, a quick little tap at my clit and my legs jerk. He does this a few more times, chuckling darkly when my legs continue to twitch before he finally licks up the center of me, sucking lightly on my clit. My chest is heaving, my fingers fly to his hair, gripping his golden locks as he slides his nose through me, fucking me on his tongue.

“Oh God, Benny!” My thighs slam against his head as I cum, gripping his hair tightly, holding him to me as I chant his name. While I come down, he softly turns my body so my head is now at the edge. He moves back between my thighs, sliding his dick through me again, watching me twich and moan under him. He pushes in slowly, watching me for any sign of discomfort. My mouth flies open, breathing heavily as he bottoms out. He pulls one of my legs up onto his hip before gripping my wrists and pushing them into the bed on either side of my head. He slowly pulls out and pushes in, loving the way I contort under him.

I feel movement behind my head and that’s when I notice Will, standing off to the side of the room, watching Benny fuck me. On his next thrust, my head moves a little off the edge of the bed and suddenly Will is there, holding my head as he stands over me, his dick hard again. I know what he wants and I want to give it to him, immediately opening my mouth. He looks at my eyes, like he’s waiting for a final consent. “I want to taste you, Will.”

That’s all the permission he needs. He pushes in, much slower than he did before, making sure to stop when I can’t take anymore. I lick and suck as he guides me, his little moans and affirmations spurring me on, my own moans from Benny sliding in and out of me muffled by Will. Benny releases my wrists, taking a boob in each hand and squeezing them, pinching my nipples as Will leans over, rubbing circles into my clit. The overstimulation of everything, the idea that these 2 gorgeous men are not only turned on by me, but also doing everything they can to make sure I feel fucking orgasmically blissful. My thighs shake, my body tensing as I start to come, Benny’s voice muffled by the ringing in my ear, Will quickly pulling from my mouth to let me cry out their names, my eyes watering from all the stimulation. I can feel Benny holding back, trying to give me a moment.

“Fuck me, Benny!”

“Yes, ma’am.” His hips snap against mine, hitting deeper than he’s done so far. My mouth hangs open and I gesture at Will, who pushes himself into my mouth, holding onto my head as he fucks into me, matching Benny’s thrusts. Benny takes one of my hands, lacing his fingers with mine as I reach behind my head with the other, fingers digging into Will’s thigh. He pants my name, cumming down my throat as Benny grunts out my name, hips sputtering into mine. Will comes to first, quickly pulling himself out of my mouth, a trail of spit still connecting us. He dabs at my mouth, moving towards the bathroom, the sound of running water a few moments later. Benny is still inside of me, his head on my chest as his breath finally levels out, humming as I card my fingers through his hair.

Will comes back into the room and like teamwork, they take care of me, helping me into the bathtub, washing me up and making me feel clean and cared for. After, they offer me some soft boxers and a shirt, in case I didn’t feel like putting on my dress. They help me into it, bringing me a glass of water and finally listening when I turn down their offer of food for the 5th time. I sit on the bed for a moment, looking between them both.

“This…this was…well…fucking amazing. I’ve never…I’m not the one who…just… thank you. For a fucking good time.”

They smile at me. “It doesn’t have to end, darlin’.”

“I-what?”

Benny takes my hand, rubbing little circles into the back of it. “Do you wanna stay for the weekend?”

I have never agreed to anything so fast in my life.

—----

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pascalsbby · 9 months

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The Devil & His Brother

Joel x Tommy x You

Prologue / Part I : 6.4K / Part II

Summary: The Devil was begging you to forgive him, and you wanted to. You wanted to bring your palms together and whisper his name through the cracks, hoping he would hear your silent prayer. “Let me stay here, with you.” He would get down on his knees and pray to your altar. He would bless it first, kiss it clean, before he would send two fingers to spread open your love.

Warnings: 18+ mdni, eventual smut. enemies to lovers, slow-burn, angst/comfort/sex, age gap, power imbalance, possessive tendencies, drugs/pills/alcohol, major daddy issues (that’s why you need BOTH miller brother’s instead of 1). talk of death, shit-talking god & the devil himself.

This was a labor of love, please comment, reblog, & let me know what you think <3

I will take a crowbar and pry out the broken pieces of God in me.

- Anne Carson

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

Your soul was given to another man before you had even yearned for the rage to scratch it back yourself- have a choice in the matter of your own eternity. Two eyes looking down upon you, gazing into the depth of your skull. Where the fuck was he, when his children were screaming on their knees for his forgiveness, for whatever they had done to deserve this?

You couldn’t remember your own baptism- despite seeing countless bodies pushed underwater, coming back anew. Later in life, not coming back up at all. Drowning sinfully sin-less. You were thankful now, that the hard stuff was done when you weren’t old enough to know it- or deny it. You wouldn’t have washed yourself clean for him, drown for him, now.

You were angry at him- you had every right to be. You were utterly alone in a world that was trying to devour you whole by sinking one tooth into any part of your tender flesh. Your eternal soul was saved (given) to a hand in the sky before you even knew what a God was, what he was capable of, what he would allow, and you had suffered for it during life. But now, when it mattered most, you didn’t have to do a goddamn thing but lay here and die. Yet he wasn’t doing his part. What a fucking surprise.

He never came like all the people said he would, like the Bible said. There was no reckoning. Even he was too scared of what he created.

“I ain’t no God, sweetheart.” The sound reverberated through his throat in a sickly Southern accent. He might as well have been. His thick arms were the ones holding you, warming you against the soft flannel. You haven’t been touched by another human in a long time, and the veins running through his arms were suddenly whispering love stories into your own running blood. His hands were so big.

They refused your pleas. “Please, if you don’t do it just hand me the gun.” Always met with a thickly harsh, “don’t think so,” from the one who shot you. The younger one is somehow quieter than the first. You had been full of anger for years, but it didn't seem as heavy as it normally would, despite barking, “You already tried once and failed, let me do it myself then.” He looked at you, surprised that you wasted your breath in such a manner, it had barely come out of the back of your throat to begin with. He huffed a laugh as he turned his head back to his brother before looking straight into the dark night again, focusing on something that wasn't even there. Focusing on anything that wasn’t you.

You were used to men not following through. Your father was the ‘savior’ (born-again post-outbreak pastor)(liar) of a small group, all now a couple of feet underground, frozen in the decomposing water of themselves- and whoever was lucky enough to be thrown in the dug-up hole on top of them. Baptized over and over as the ground warmed in the spring and froze again in the winter. Perpetually drowning until they become what they were trying to escape all along- food for the earth to devour.

We didn’t burn them, because that would have given us away, invited anyone near to pluck the last of us out, but fire would have been easier. But we don’t do easy, not here. We gather whoever is responsible for your already rotting body and make them throw you into the ground, all in the name of God. You had written a lot into your leather-bound notebook, at first not wanting to fill the pages, because once the paper was gone, there was nowhere else to rip the thoughts out of your head, let them bleed through the pages. You read that specific entry over and over, having memorized it by now, making crinkles in the dusty pages from how many times you turned back to it and prayed to a God that wasn’t there to save them- you.

He was never planning on it.

Your journal was the same color as the Devil’s eyes, darkened honey-brown, alive. You didn’t have many places to look whenever you did have enough spite in you to open your own, body swaying from side to side on a horse that wasn’t yours, in a man's lap that you didn’t know. He looked pretty, even from below, even more so leaning his chin downwards towards your face and gazing up your body. I guess anything safe looks heavenly amidst fire.

Why would they do that? Kill you and then take you along for the ride. They hadn't spoken much for however many days you had been dying, watching as the sun kissed the sky goodnight and welcomed the moon, at least three times. Maybe you were bait for something even bigger- a young woman goes a long way these days. Always has, really.

You had always harbored a deep fear of death. It wasn't exactly the physical suffering that frightened you, but rather the haunting notion of losing loved ones. The consequences of deviating from the life path thrown on you by your parents. There was always this looming presence of the ‘evil’. The Devil… Lucifer, Satan, whatever moniker you choose. In the narrative your parents scripted for you, he was cast as the villain. It was all too funny now, his thighs warming your skin, setting you ablaze.

Lucifer was a beautiful, Southern gentleman- one who spoke quickly and stern. And God sat right next to him, mouth shut, waiting for command. You were so tired of following orders from men but suddenly it’s as if you’ve known all along that his gaze would be the one you melted under. Sludge. Burning flesh. Maybe there was no God. Sure, the other man who sat next to him looked like one, but so does this one. He was an idea, the fear instilled in you, your parents' guilt. But you knew evil more than you knew true good, and the Devil was below you, only cementing that truth further. He was keeping you right here, draped across his lap, and despite your dying, he still caught glimpses of your naked flesh. And you didn’t know if it was eyes burning into you, or the gunshot wound he had so nicely gifted you. You almost wanted to thank him, if that’s what it took for him to wrap himself around you.

Romans 6:4 hung on a carved board in your parent's room after the first wave of death. After your father decided that the group needed someone to lead them, and that your mother wasn’t it, she sat back happily and carved words into worn wood. You had felt safe there, sixteen and under the guise of whatever your parents told you. Young, naive, pure.

‘We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life. We’re now dead to the power of sin. Being raised from the water.’ It later hung in the main room of a run-down grocery store turned Church. The church itself was down the street, the rotten door holding in rotten bodies from whoever had come before. Maybe they had sat and awaited the way you all did at first, waiting for their savior. He never rang the doorbell, never knocked. He had just walked right on by, whistling his hymns and being grateful he was above it all.

A new life? If Jesus died for our sins, wouldn’t he be upset with you right now? Laying on your… death horse…. And still not bruising your knees for him? Why can’t he be angry enough to let you slip out of line and take the easier way? I guess suffering wasn’t his go-to, at least outwardly. Fear was more his thing, and fear would eat you alive and cement your veins before true sin ever could. Guilt is what gnaws at your ankles, whispering poetry into your hair. Fear had passed. Anger had too, momentarily. Rage was a common home.

He should have taken you by now, held your hand and kissed your forehead goodnight. But you knew that he wasn’t coming. He never came for your parents either, nor your brother. You waited each time by their bodies, but he never called, never even picked up the goddamn phone.

He promised resurrection to people who needed something to hang on to. Promises made to be broken. God was more comfortable than death. You repeated it over and over as a prayer to those who had lost someone. We all have. Your dads own voice booming through the quiet. Now, you are losing yourself.

But really, there was no more you, not really. Maybe the horse knew too, bucked you off, and laughed as you felt the thud of the ground under your shoulder blades, because suddenly there was no air left in the entire dwindling world. The snow that was kicked up into your face from the weight of your body wasn’t melting as it would have before. You were cold. There was no world. There was just endless pain before a bout of relief. Not even enough to fill your lungs in one breath in or out. Even the horse knew you were dead weight. Every animal fighting for its survival. That’s why you were shot, too.

You scared the Devil and he took it upon himself to punish you.

At least that’s what you convince yourself as you lay dying on the cold, unforgiving ground, the weight of your pain bore down on your frail body- words trying to come out in shallow gasps. He wasn’t coming.

“Please,” you begged.

You heard shuffling, and then a shadow covered the setting moon above you. The all-to-familiar sound of his boots gaining on your still body. You could still smell him, had been able to this entire time you had been on his horse, in his lap. You could feel the pressure of his fingers rapidly squeezing your cheeks, feeling for blood flow, then the burning of his fingers on your neck, looking for signs of life amidst the dark night. Finally, he was touching you again. Maybe now he would kill you, too. His final gift.

“Fuck,” he hissed. That muttered obscenity made you feel more alive. “Get the fuckin’ horse away from her Tommy.” You heard the reins of the animal you were sat upon being pulled, and the hooves cascading further into the night. He returned to you, the coolness of his rings stung against your face, the cool air keeping them cold despite the warmth of his body. The bullseye tattoo, the only indication of who was touching you besides his smell. You had seen it multiple times throughout the rising and falling of the sun. It had cupped your body against his. He holds your face, as he leans into you, bullseye sitting right beneath your chin.

Throw a dart and it would hit you right in the throat- where you wanted him. Where you wanted him to breathe life into you again.

“Please. Help me go home.” Home hasn’t existed in years. You’d been unconscious for days.

“Shhh. No point in talkin' baby. Hurts too much. We’re goin’ home.” You looked up at him and despite the hardness of his exterior, you saw the understanding in his eyes. Just as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared back into his skull.

Almost how a lighter ignites, flickers, warms, almost unbearable but not quite. The wind blows the fire to your fingers, stings, then disappears. As did his burning gaze. The feeling of putting out a cigarette as it shoves its last bit of self out into the world, smoke followed by nothing, simultaneously.

That was him, you would come to find out, as his silhouette and his own warmth flees from your touch. As the brown from his eyes turns to black as your own close. He sighs.

The snow crunches under his weight as he assesses how to pick you back up.

“And you ain’t goin’ anywhere but where I take you. Got it?” A half-attempted nod before a sigh of pain.

You didn’t know where you were going- why, you were still alive… or whatever this in-between was. All you know is that you prayed to the Devil. And he answered.

He was the only one who ever answered.

The return to Jackson was painful, the remnants of a long-ago shattered world marred the landscape. As they neared home, the journey became colder, perhaps another reason why it remained a well-hidden place- not many people made it there alive. Joel and Tommy, ever vigilant, guided the two horses with unwavering resolve, constantly scanning the horizon for any indications of danger. Meanwhile, they carried the injured girl, whose body was only partially present after being thrown from the horse three days ago, blankets thrown atop. It had been five days since she was shot. Since Joel shot her.

The way you looked up at him every once in a while was breathtaking- it was too much of a painful reminder that he’d lost (or will lose) everything he’s ever cared about. He could see it in your eyes, the confusion of who and where you were. Watching life move through someone's body and out of their eyes used to be a victorious occasion. It meant he succeeded, that he was still alive regardless of the mangled bodies he left behind. But this felt different to him. You were so godamn young and he plays the scream ripping through your throat over and over an- he swears he didn’t pull the trigger. Joel's gruff voice broke through the haze of silence that had fallen upon them days ago and never left. He broke through his own circling thoughts. As he spoke to Tommy a mixture of concern and guilt for your being broke through, he felt it in his throat, his chest. He didn't want to be responsible for this death, but he sure as hell didn’t want to know you either. Because knowing someone only meant more pain.

“We've been carryin’ her for days, Tommy. How much longer can she hold on like this? No point in bringin’ a dead girl home.”

Denial was a motherfucker, wasn’t it?

Joel knew of death- he didn’t believe in shit besides such. He used to be a God-fearing man but knew if he ever had the chance to stand in front of him he’d rip him in two and gnaw on the pieces of his holiness.

Tommy knew of death too, even before the outbreak, but the difference was that he also believed in life. He knew exactly why Joel had that scar, even though they’d never talked about it. It was a quiet understanding, one he never pushed or even poked and prodded.

Tommy's response was laced with a fear, for what Joel had done, but empathy for what he knows he sees every single time he looks down upon you. "We're almost there, Joel. She's tough, you know that. She should have died from that wound but she’s still breathin’, that counts f’something. We'll get her to Jackson, n’ she'll have a chance." He kept looking into his brother's eyes before pulling away and looking ahead into the blinding white. If he said what he really wanted, he wouldn’t stop. “You fuckin’ shot her but now you want to save her? Make up your fuckin’ mind.” The least he could do is help him save someone, even if it’s just for Joel’s sake, especially after he couldn't save Sarah. ‘Least he could do is keep his mouth shut.

Joel was the last person he had- the only person. Ellie didn’t even love him like she loved Joel. It’s always the broken, harsh ones that receive the most attention. People spend so much time trying to put broken people back together that they don’t realize the others are teetering with one foot over the edge.

They’d gone outside the walls because funny enough, they thought it would be more safe this time of year, the dead of winter. Ellie had begged for months for the boys to take her out with them and show her this and that. She was getting homesick for a place she never truly loved. She was tired of sitting still inside walls of safety when everyone she had ever loved was buried outside of them. Tess came along too, providing an extra line of safety, ‘just in case’.

Tommy remembers Joel whispering, “There's somethin’ coming.” More so someone, you. A moment later, a gunshot, a thudding body. Joel was normally calm on the trigger, rifle in hand, looking down the barrel of the gun, aimed at his prey. But Ellie was there, Tommy, and Tess. His people. There was no time to fuck around, so he didn’t. Tommy understood. But that didn’t make it right in his head. His brother was never patient in the moments that mattered the most.

One evening, about ten hours from wherever the fuck they were taking you, the sun began to set, setting ablaze a warm glow over the frozen landscape. You had been awake, more so than the past couple of days, looking up at the moving clouds in the sky, watching as his chest moved and released more air into the sky, breathing visible and dancing in the cold. The horse beneath you abruptly stopped and the two men descended their spots atop of them, stretching their legs and gaining more control of their tired bodies.

“You’re awake,” the younger one let out, moving his focus from the soft mumbles he was giving to the other man. “‘Bout time we clean your wound again, see how it’s doing.” You let out a faint, “mm” and attempted to sit up. “No. We’ll get ya off the horse. Be still,” the other said. The Devil grabbed the water and reached up to you, his fingers moved across your face as he gathered your wandering hair and moved it away from your lips. He turned the canister upwards, slowly, letting you drink from it. “Thank you,” you managed. It was the first time he heard your voice not mangled with absolute fear. He stared, eyes roaming the silence, looking ever-so surprised that you had said anything at all, and so clearly at that.

The angel moved closer and reached out his hand, thinking now was a good time to introduce himself to you. “Tommy, Miller. This is my brother, Joel.” he looked toward him. Joel forced an upside-down grin and nodded his head toward you. “You…” pointing towards the one called Joel, “you shot me.” Silence followed, it was heavy, thick. “I didn- Thought you were dangerous, came around that corner too fast.”

“I wasn’t even armed, I-“

“Don’t wanna talk bout’ it.” he huffed, almost angrily. You opened your mouth again, wanting to rattle off one of three hundred questions that you had, but he looked you over once more, and then turned around and walked off. Tommy, with gentle hands, tenderly lifted your body off of the saddle and carried you towards the fire Joel was nursing. The crackling of a campfire and the scent of cooked food filled the air as they set to work, tending to your wounds with diligence that spoke to Tommy's belief that you would be okay (You had to be. He couldn’t fail Joel again. Couldn’t watch as his face fell with the realization that you were completely dead).

His fingers were deft as he cleaned your wounds, his touch sending shivers down your spine. He saw the goosebumps rise, and felt them, as the fire lit your skin. You caught glimpses of concern in his eyes, a silent reassurance that he was determined to see you through this. Joel's presence was a constant anchor, as he spoke into the fire, keeping it lit. They laid out blankets, far too many for just two people to be carrying alone, and sat you atop and below them.

The rest of the night had been filled with your echoing screams, Joel’s palm across your mouth, “Stop screamin’ or someone is gonna find us.” Sure, stop screaming while dirty, whiskey-cleaned fingers are prodding at your open wound. Not even a sorry moved past his lips.

Joel laid down on one side of you, Tommy on the other. “M’ sorry,” he whispered towards you. They both smelled of sweat and whiskey. Their chests rolled and fell at different times, Joel murmuring in his sleep once he finally stopped looking around the parameter. You could tell they were brothers.

It was night when the three of you arrived ‘home’. You heard a young girl's voice above the gathering crowd.

“Joel!” She parted the gathering crowd as the patter of quickening footsteps approached. His head whipped quickly, finding her immediately.

“What the fuck?”

“Ellie,” he warned.

“You can’t fucking do that Joel, I thought you…We made it home three days ago. Tess dragged me by my hair but I-”

“Good,” he huffed back, “Where is she?” Ellie blustered but gave up arguing.

Multiple men gathered around and took the blankets off your body, the air hissing through your torn clothes. You whimpered as they moved your body off of Joel’s horse. He didn’t say anything to you, instead he turned and followed Ellie out of the crowd, carrying the reins with him.

You were carefully carried to a bigger two-story home on the outskirts of the city. As the night turned towards the morning sun, you found yourself gaining strength. The length of the night had been blurry, chattering voices and hands, everywhere. Needles, bliss, whispers. Stripping you from the blood-ridden clothes and water pouring over your lips. Fingers, hands touching you, always caught in a delicate dance between stoic tenderness and warmth

‘Gonna be jus’ fine, baby.” Tommy had assured you, multiple times.

Suddenly it had been a week. They took turns caring for you, someone sleeping in the same room as you at all times in case you needed something. Always talking about “patrol shifts” and how Tommy was expected to be a leader of some sort. You had overheard a lot of conversations booming through the thin walls of the house. One hurting more than the others.

“Shouldn’t have fuckin’ brought her here in the first place. You know the whole town is gossipin’ about it right now. The Miller brothers bringing in another mouth to feed.”

“Stop it. Sh’can hear you Joel. You know that’s not how anyone thinks of it. She could help this place. Give her a chance.”

“She’s been practically fuckin’ unconscious for a week now, Tommy. You think she’s just gonna get right up n’ run the town?”

“Why did you take her in if you don’t even want to be responsible for her survival?” Tommy threw back at him. He regretted saying it immediately, watching as it hit Joel in the face before he closed his eyes and looked away. Joel was more so there to watch you and make sure you didn’t bleed into his wooden floor, while Tommy tried to provide as much comfort as possible. After realizing that this was Joel’s home, it made sense in what little you knew about him. There were few things on the wall, but there were remnants of him everywhere.

Ellie would come home and sit with you, read to you and then tuck you in after Joel carried you up the stairs and into his bed. You missed Tommy’s gentleness when it wasn’t there, but you missed the warmth from Joel's body, his lap, when he wasn’t there. His breathing, his nervous habit of cracking his fingers. Even though you could tell that every nerve ending in his body wanted you anywhere else but wherever he was- there was still a silent curiosity.

About a week and a half after your arrival, someone knocked on the front door of the tattered house and Joel called for Tommy up the stairs. He walked down them quickly, walking out of the front door with Joel.

He returned a few minutes later, looking at you sitting in the seat you hadn’t left in since you’d been there. He gave you a look, slowly looking towards the ground as he spoke up so you could hear him. “Gotta go for a couple of days. Heard there’s a group who probably followed us close to here, saw their smoke, gonna take care of them before they can make it any further.” You hadn’t spoken much, if at all, the past couple of days. You didn’t think you would make it this far, and now you were sitting with two strangers and a teenager in their house, rotting away. They had poked and prodded, trying to get any information out of you that they could, but you didn’t give in.

You stared out the window and answered meekly whenever spoken to, if at all. You should be ecstatic at the thought of finally being housed somewhere ‘safe’, somewhere with electricity and running water. Somewhere where they gathered the children and let them watch movies in the mess hall (all information coming from Tommy, telling you stories as he changed your bandages)- but you weren’t. You felt like you were still teetering on the edge of death. You felt like a burden to Joel.

You didn’t answer Tommy, just nodded. He packed up a few things and promised to ‘be back in no time, then maybe you can tell me your name.’ And then he was gone out of the termite-ridden front door.

You had fallen asleep, and awoken to Joel in another room somewhere, those same goddamn boots thudding against the creaking wooden floors. His presence was constant, every once in a while getting up from a creaking chair to come look at you. You slept, mostly. Ate the dinner he got from the dining hall. Your rage had returned. But baring your teeth in anger took energy you didn’t have.

Joel couldn’t look at you without feeling like he was looking straight through the blood and guts of you(r)(side). Tommy wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone about it before he left. How pretty you were, how there ‘weren’t many pretty faces left n’ you’re tryin’ to kill one?’ He watched as Tommy cooked you with his stare, warming his next meal only to put on his best-dressed suit and bail on the date before he could even pick up the tab. He was glad he was gone for a while, letting him forget about the fact that he had put the bullet in you. He loved his brother, but he knew his games. He knew his inability to stay.

Joel had nursed you back to… alive. At least. He hadn’t really thought about what that entailed after you were stable. He was surprised you were still breathing. He didn’t think about the feeding, changing, and bathing of you. Of hands touching flesh and natural bodily reactions to such.

You could tell he was the older brother. He held the normal stereotypes, sternly telling you what to do. The older one was always more serious, and stoic. The younger, who probably got away with more, but was the loneliest from eyes diverting. But his big brother was always there, begrudgingly present. And he was in this instance too.

Tommy had washed you multiple times before he left, but never your hair or the rest of you. He was more concerned that your stitches didn’t get infected.

Joel probably thought giving you a rag bath was wasting water, but did it anyway, probably tired of your stench in his bed. It’s cold until he heats the towel after noticing you shiver. “Let me draw you an actual bath. Think you can take one now.” He was softer at that moment, more gently with the way he wiped the towel across your chest. Those moments happened least expectedly. But when they did happen, it hurt even deeper. You felt something for him. And that just wouldn’t do. Rather it be lust, loneliness, or your raging fucking daddy issues.

Tommy likes the water cold, and Joel likes it burning to the skin. Of course, he does. He is all or nothing. Hot or cold. Soft or hard. He’s solitude but brings the same warmth of a front door opening to a sea of snow, chimney warm, lights warmer, hot chocolate, and bourbon- he is. In any other world but this one, he would probably be a good man; one to settle down with. One to hold you against himself, despite of raging night.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

a/n: Phew do I have plans for these three…

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