Boop

(Inspired by that @themountainmanvn ask about doing Miller’s nails.)

Pairing: Miller (Miller the Mountain Man) x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: >500

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The polish clinks softly as you set the little glass bottle down on the coffee table. Miller’s stretched out on the worn loveseat, long legs folded awkwardly to fit. He’s watching the fire like it might change shape if he stares long enough, until he hears the click of the cap twisting off behind him.

He turns. Brows lower. “What’s that?”

You grin. Wriggle your fingers at him. “Nail polish. I’m doing your nails.”

He snorts. Actually snorts. “No, you’re not.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause that’s ridiculous,” he mutters, already half-expecting you to drop it.

But you don’t. You crawl onto the rug in front of him, set your bottle down like it’s sacred, and reach for his hand. He stiffens for a half-second when your fingers brush his—just a flicker of hesitation—but he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t even protest when you take his palm in both hands and press it flat against your knee.

“You’ve got nice hands,” you murmur. “Big, but they’re steady. Reliable.”

Miller doesn’t say anything. He watches you dip the tiny brush into the bottle. Watches your brow crease in concentration. Watches how careful you are with each stroke, like you’re handling glass, not a man who’s probably broken more bones than he’s counted.

“You’re really doin’ it,” he mutters eventually, voice low. Not disapproving — just stunned. Like it didn’t feel real until the color touched his skin.

You hum, not looking up. “Told you.”

He swallows. The cabin is quiet — just the crackling of firewood and the soft sound of your breath as you work. Miller’s heartbeat slows. Not from comfort, necessarily—from focus. Like if he lets his mind wander for even a second, this will all disappear.

After a while, you look up at him. “You okay?”

“Mhm.” He clears his throat. “Just… not used to this.”

“What, being pampered?”

“Being touched like I won’t ruin it.”

(In which a slightly drunk Miller lets a bit of truth slip out in a way he normally wouldn’t dare.)

Pairing: Miller (Miller the Mountain Man) x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Romance

Word Count: >500

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You weren’t sure what kind of miracle had led to Miller actually joining you for a drink. He wasn’t much of a social drinker—or a social anything, really—but tonight, after a long day spent fortifying the cabin and scaring off a handful of scavengers who’d wandered too close, he’d finally said: “I could use somethin’ strong.”

And now here he was. Flushed. Warm. Slouched on the threadbare couch with a half-empty bottle of whiskey resting loosely in his hand. You’d never seen him like this. Relaxed. Soft-edged. Dangerously honest.

He nudges your knee with his boot. “Y’know,” he slurs, just a little, “I don’t tell ya enough.”

You blink. “Tell me what?”

He squints at you like you should already know. Then huffs a quiet laugh. “That I like ya.” He gestures vaguely with the bottle, almost spilling it. “A lot. Like… stupid lot.” Your brows lift, heart catching in your throat. “You’re always runnin’ around—gettin’ into shit, makin’ me worry myself into an early fuckin’ grave—but I still like you.”

He looks at you, dead serious. Sloppy, but sincere. “Even when yer stubborn. Or loud. Or doin’ that little thing where you wrinkle your nose when you’re thinkin’ too hard.”

You feel your face heat. “You notice that?”

“I notice everything about you.” He sets the bottle down, more gently than you expected, then leans forward—arms braced on his knees, head tilted. “I act like I don’t care. Like I’m just… this big, grumpy asshole who’d rather be alone.” He shrugs. Looks down at his hands. “But I ain’t.”

Another beat. “Not when it comes to you.” You sit beside him quietly, heart pounding. He turns his head slowly, blinking at you. “Yer it for me, y’know that?” A pause. “It’s you.”

Your breath catches. You nod slowly. “I know.”

He gives you a lazy, lopsided grin. It’s rare—like catching sunlight in winter. “Good.” Then he leans his head on your shoulder, letting out a deep, satisfied sigh. “You smell nice,” he mumbles.

You laugh softly, threading your fingers through his thick, messy hair. “You’re drunk.”

“M’not.” He is. “Jus’ honest.”

(Inspired by that one @themountainmanvn apocalypse AU ask).

Pairing: Miller (Miller the Mountain Man) x Reader

Genre: ?

Word Count: >500

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The only sound was the wind. Not birds. Not footsteps. Not even breath. You crept through the ruined store like your life depended on it—because it did. Canned goods. That was the goal. Just a few. Enough to get through the week. But this place had already been picked clean months ago. What was left was broken, moldy, or worse—bait.

You gripped your weapon tighter. A crowbar. Not ideal, but it worked when it had to. Your fingers were numb with cold and nerves. Then you heard it.

A groan. Not human. You spun. Too late.

One of them had been hiding behind the register. Dead eyes. Rotting flesh. It lurched for you with a wet snarl, fingers clawing at your coat. You screamed—once, sharp. Swung the crowbar. Missed.

It slammed into you, sending you crashing onto the cracked tile. You fought, kicking, yelling, adrenaline surging through your veins like fire. Its face was inches from yours, mouth open, yellow teeth gnashing. And then—

Bang. The top of its skull blew open in a spray of gore. The weight collapsed off of you. Panting, heart in your throat, you looked up.He was standing in the doorway, shotgun still raised. Miller.

“Goddamn idiot,” he growled, stalking over. He hauled the corpse off you like it weighed nothing, tossing it aside. “You go out alone? In this?”

You winced as he pulled you to your feet, his grip rough but steady. “I didn’t know anyone was nearby.”

“I was. You just didn’t wait long enough to find out.” His voice was clipped, jaw tight, but there was something else there—fear, maybe. Worry.

You tried to catch your breath. “Thanks. I—It was just one. I didn’t think—”

“They’re never just one.” You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already looking you over, checking your limbs, your throat. “Bit?”

You shook your head. “No. Just bruised.”

He exhaled, low and shaky. Then, without another word, he pulled you into his arms. It was like being hugged by a wall. A warm, scarred, slightly trembling wall. His flannel smelled like woodsmoke and blood. “You scared the hell outta me,” he muttered into your hair. You froze for a second. Then leaned into him, letting your body melt into the safety of his. “Thought I was gonna get there too late. That I’d walk in and you’d be…”

He didn’t finish. You didn’t need him to. “I’m okay,” you whispered.

“Damn right you are,” he murmured. “Because I ain’t lettin’ you die. Not now. Not ever.” He pulled back, just enough to cup your cheek. His eyes—sharp blue, worn down by too many long nights—softened as they met yours. “Next time you get the urge to play hero,” he said, “you wait for me. You hear?”

(Inspired by that one @themountainmanvn ask where he says this line.)

Pairing: Miller (Miller the Mountain Man) x F!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: >500

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The silence between them wasn’t tense, exactly. Just… full. Miller sat across the room in the worn old armchair, elbows resting on his knees, gaze fixed on the fire but not really watching it.

She stood a few feet away, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. She’d worked up the courage to ask but now that the moment had come, the words sat sharp and awkward behind her teeth.

She tried to keep her tone casual. Like it didn’t matter “Hey, uh… would it be weird if I asked you to hug me?”

Miller’s head turned slowly, blue eyes blinking once, twice. His brows knit together. Not in confusion, but something closer to surprise. Worry. Like he was afraid he misheard her.

She swallowed and smiled faintly. “I mean, it’s fine if not. I just… I don’t know. You’ve got those big arms and… they look comfortable. And I’ve had kind of a day.”

A beat of silence. Then another. And then, quietly: “Come here.”

It wasn’t a command. Not quite an invitation either. Just something in between — something that said he wanted it too, but didn’t know how to say it. She crossed the room slowly, heart loud in her chest, and when she reached him, he stood and opened his arms without fanfare. No flourish. Just a safe place to fall.

When she stepped into him, he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours.

His arms wrapped around her like they were made for it, one around her back, the other cradling the back of her head, fingers buried gently in her hair. His body was warm, solid. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. She let herself melt into his chest, eyes fluttering closed.

(Alternate ending to “The Door Was Never Meant For You” in which Miller doesn’t let you leave after all.)

Pairing: Miller (Miller the Mountain Man) x Reader

Genre: Smut, Yandere, Angst

Warnings: Non-Con(?)

Word Count: ~1500

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The door doesn’t slam. You half-expected it to. But Miller just stands in the frame, watching. Letting you go. Letting you think you’ve won. You don’t stop moving. Not down the steps, not past the truck, not when the cold bites at your skin through your coat. The forest yawns open in front of you—silent, white, endless.

You run. The first few minutes are nothing but instinct: crunching snow, shallow breaths, frantic glances back over your shoulder. You don’t hear footsteps. Not yet. Maybe he really let you go. Maybe—

A crack. Behind you. A branch, somewhere deep. Or close. You can’t tell. You keep running. The woods are familiar now, but only barely. You’d followed Miller down these same trails not long ago, his hand warm in yours, pointing out animal tracks and fallen trees. Back then, the silence felt peaceful. Now it swallows you whole. Your lungs burn. Your boots slip in a patch of ice. You barely catch yourself before your knees hit the ground. You’re panting so loud you can’t hear anything else—until the wind shifts.

And you do hear something. Breathing. Not yours. Low. Measured. Too calm. You turn. Nothing. But you know he’s here. Of course he is. Miller knows these woods. He lives in them. And now, he’s using them against you. A flicker of movement to your left—gone before you can track it. You veer off the path, deeper into the trees. Your legs ache. Every muscle in your body screams at you to hide, but you can’t—not yet. Not while he’s still behind you.

“Yer fast.” His voice is everywhere. You whip around, heart in your throat. “But not faster than me.”

You bolt again. Branches whip your face, scratch your hands. You trip over a root buried under the snow and tumble hard, the impact jarring through your knees and wrists. You scramble to your feet, dizzy.

“Y’know, I wasn’t gonna do this.” He sounds closer. You keep moving. “Was just gonna let you go. Let ya walk away.” A shadow moves between the trees—massive, broad-shouldered, steady. “But then you ran.”

You stumble down a small hill, nearly falling again, sliding sideways in the packed snow. You don’t know where you’re going. You don’t care. All you need is distance “And that told me everythin’ I needed to know.”

Your breath clouds the air. You double back. Loop left. You cross over a frozen stream, hoping the ice won’t give beneath your weight. You glance behind you. Nothing. Then—

A crack on the ice ahead. You freeze. And there he is. Standing in the middle of the stream, not twenty feet from you. Unmoving. Watching. His eyes burn in the shadows.

“Do you really think I’d let you leave after all this?” You run. Again. Blind. Branches slice your skin. Your lungs feel raw. You shove your way through a thicket and find yourself in a clearing. The sky opens up above you—grey and cold and endless. You turn a full circle, spinning like a trapped animal. There’s nowhere to go. You press your back to a tree, trying to still your breathing. You reach into your pocket—phone. Dead.

You want to cry, but you’re too afraid. Tears would only cloud your vision. And you need to see. Because you know he’s coming. You hear the first footstep before you feel him.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Slow. Deliberate.

He steps into the clearing like he’s emerging from a dream. Like he’s been here the whole time, just waiting for you to stop. His jacket is open. No gloves. No hat. Like the cold doesn’t touch him.

“Why’d you make me do this?” You say nothing. You can’t. “We were good, weren’t we?” He takes a step forward. You step back. “I gave you everythin’. Let you into my home. Let you touch parts of me no one ever has. I was tryin’ to be better for you.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “And all that time, you were lookin’ for a way out.”

You turn to run. He’s on you in seconds. A blur of movement. His arms lock around your middle, dragging you to the ground like you weigh nothing. The impact knocks the air from your lungs. You kick, scream, thrash, but he’s stronger. So much stronger.

“Easy,” he growls, pinning your wrists. You squirm under him, desperate, furious, terrified. Your chest heaves. You’re crying now. You can’t help it. “I told you,” he says softly, forehead pressed to yours, “I wasn’t gonna hurt you.”

“But,” something in his face snaps. He gets so close that you can feel his breath on your cheek. Your mouth gapes in shock as he licks a stripe from your jaw up your cheek. “Sometimes there’s only one thing needed to placate somethin’ like ya.”

He spreads his legs, kneeling into you to further keep you from moving. Not that you are anymore. You’re motionless. So fearful you couldn’t even move if you tried. With the swipe of a hand, your bottoms are down at your knees. Then, he pulls his own pants down. And now you’re staring at his rock hard cock. You’re not sure how he can be turned on in this moment. Maybe he likes watching you struggle against him. Likes watching the fear in your face. Something that only someone deeply twisted could feel.

He grabs a fistful of the snow you’re lying in, clenching his hand until water begins to drip from one side. Then he uses the water that was once snow to coat his dick. A makeshift lube.

Your thought is confirmed when he positions himself at your hole. And pushes in. It feels hot compared to the cool winter air. Compared to the freezing snow you lay on. Like you’re being sheathed by fire itself. You whimper and whine the deeper it goes, and the tears streaming from your eyes run rampant.

“If ya wanted to play a game o’ chase ya could’ve just said so. Knew ya wanted me to come after ya the second I saw ya look back after ya started runnin’,” he breathes on your neck. The thrusting starts. Slow and steady at first. Then gradually faster as he works his way into your hole comfortably. You want to refute his suggestions about your behavior but no words leave your mouth.

Miller’s too lost in the moment to hear anything you could say, anyway. His eyes are lidded, focussed on your fear-filled face. His hand has come up to grip your jaw tightly. And by now, the movements of his hips are lightning fast as he chases his peak.

“Coulda given ya this before if ya just asked for it,” he smirks, voice gravelly and strained. His thrusts become more erratic. You can tell he’s close. “Gonna give ya my cum, but I want’cha to come with me, darlin’.”

You can feel the coil in your lower belly waiting to unravel. Not that you want to admit it, but Miller knows exactly how to please you. Knows how to angle his cock just right so he’s hitting the spot that you love. Knows exactly what pace makes you come undone. And despite the less-than-ideal circumstances, it still feels good. The frigid air, the hard ground, the fear. It could never be enough to stop Miller from knowing how to pleasure you. You nod your head, trying to tell him you’re close.

After a few more thrusts, his movements slow. You can feel the way his cock pulses inside you, and your hole quivers around him to match. Your mouth is stuck in an ‘O’ as you come around him as he fills you up. For a few seconds, the two of you stay like that. His forehead is on yours. His hand is still on your jaw. Some small strands of his hair fall around his face and tickle your skin.

And then he pulls out of you. In a single movement, he pulls your bottoms up. The next thing you know, you’re being picked up and thrown over his shoulder, with him heading towards the familiar cabin of his.

Pairing: Miller (Miller the Mountain Man) x Reader

Genre: Angst, Yandere

Word Count: ~500

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Your hand is on the doorknob. You don’t remember walking there. You just remember the look on his face—that blend of betrayal and something darker. Something rooted so deep it couldn’t be reasoned with. He watches you from behind. Silent. Still.

You grip the knob tighter. Turn it slowly. The door creaks open with a cold groan, the winter air bleeding into the cabin like a warning. You take one step. Just one. And that’s as far as you get.

A hand slams against the door above your head, hard, and it shuts with a bang that rattles the hinges. You flinch violently, breath caught in your throat. He’s behind you now—chest to your back, the heat of him searing into your skin. You try to turn, but his other arm wraps around your waist, pinning you in place.

“You weren’t gonna say goodbye?” His voice is low. Not angry. Not yet. But there’s something terrifying about how calm it is. Like the surface of a frozen lake, with something violent just underneath. “After everything I’ve done for you, you were just gonna slip out?”

You swallow hard. “Miller—please.”

“Please what?” He tightens his grip. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind you how strong he is. How helpless you are if he wants you to be. “I told you not to leave me.”

You whisper, “You can’t keep me here.”

He leans in. Mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “Watch me.” His voice is soft. Deadly. You shiver, and it has nothing to do with the cold.

“You think I don’t know how this works? You leave, and I’m just some chapter in your story. A mistake you made on a trip you shouldn’t’ve taken. Someone you used.” His fingers dig just slightly into your hip. “But I don’t forget. I don’t move on.”

You finally twist in his grip, just enough to look him in the eye. There’s something wild behind them. Hurt. Fear. Possession. And love. The kind of love that looks a lot like obsession.

“You’re scaring me,” you say softly. His face crumples for just a second. It’s the first crack in the mask.

“I don’t wanna scare you,” he breathes. “I just—I don’t wanna lose you. Not like this. Not to them.”

You realize then: this isn’t just about betrayal. This is about control. About the idea that someone could take you away from him. That you’d choose to leave him.

“I can’t let you go.” Your fingers inch toward the doorknob again. And that’s when something shifts. He lets go. Takes a step back. His voice is cold now. Distant.

“Go on, then.” You hesitate. “You got ten seconds before I change my mind.”

You turn. Open the door again. Step into the snow.

He doesn’t follow. But you feel him watching you the whole way down the path. Like the woods themselves are holding their breath. And just before you cross the treeline, you hear his voice—quiet and heavy, carried on the wind: “You’ll come back.”

Not a plea.