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auteurdelabre · 2 months

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As long as you want - Part 2 - Joel!Miller x f!Reader

As long as you want - Part 2 - Joel!Miller x f!Reader

pairing: Joel!Miller x f!Reader

words: 4.5k

Rating: PG13 (some adult themes)

Summary: You try to ignore the growing attraction you feel for Joel Miller as he shows you his softer side.

Tags: Enemies to friends/lovers, Fluff, Mutual Pining, mentions of pain medication, stubborn reader, Joel POV in parts, Tooth-Rotting sweetness in parts, allusions of male masturbation/fantasy, sexual tension, NO y/n.

a/n: Originally gonna be a one-shot but y'all wanted more and I can't say no to ya!

Dedicated to @katiexpunk once more because there's a good chance if she didn't reach out to me the other day, I was about to quit tumblr altogether.

part ONE here

------------

You wake with a start hours later. The blanket over you feels heavy and the ache in your ribs is sharp. You squirm to relieve the pressure and pause when the sound of light breathing reaches your ears.

You're not alone in your bed.

Your eyes crack open to see a familiar face tilted towards you. Eyes shut languidly, mouth parted, face slack with sleep.

Joel Miller.

Up this close you can see the bits of grey in his beard and moustache, the lines at the corner of his closed eyes, the gold of his skin.

His jacket is slung over yours on the chair and a quick glance down tells you he's taken off his boots and is sleeping on top of the covers. As you take this in you also see that your hand is clasped in his, fingers laced.

How did Joel fucking Miller end up in your bed? And how did your hand end up wrapped up in his?

You want to mull on this further but the acute ache in your ribs has started to throb. You let out a small whimper at the pain and like he's been shot Joel jerks his head up from the pillow, awake like a broad-shouldered bear, bleary -eyed and blinking. You drag your hand back from his loosened grip.

"You in pain?" Joel murmurs voice thick and mind fuzzy with sleep. He licks his dry lips, clearing his throat. "Need me to grab you another pill?"

The way he speaks is so casual, as if the two of you were lovers waking from a dreamy night together. So opposite to what you really are: two people who can barely stand each other.

"What the fuck are you doing in my bed, Miller?" You snap sharply.

Miller.

No more Joel. No more soft eyes and softer smile for him. As Joel suspected the pill did a number on you and you can't remember much. You don't remember begging him for a kiss and asking Joel to lay with you. You don't remember your murmured acknowledgement that you felt better with him nearby.

It's back to how it's always been.

Joel manages to swallow his disappointment before clamoring off the bed, hearing the cheap springs creak in your mattress as he does.

"Sorry about that," he says gruffly as he pulls on his boots. "Was just tired I guess."

"I'm sure your own bed is perfectly adequate," you snap, the pain making you even more irritable than usual. You hiss, holding your side. Joel frowns.

"I'll head out, just lemme grab you a pill first."

"Just g-"

"Quit it," Joel insists roughly. "You're in pain and this'll only take a sec."

His head is woozy from waking so abruptly. He blinks again before he spots your jeans on the floor. You watch him crouch down, pulling the small white pill from the pocket before he comes back to you, the small pill balanced on one wide fingertip.

"Take it," he instructs.

But you're in too much pain to move, to take it from him. You're also too proud to admit it, hating that he's already seen you in such a vulnerable state. You want him to leave so he doesn't witness more of your wincing and the way your face is gone sickly pale with perspiration beading at your forehead.

"Just leave it on the table."

"You need it now. I can see you're hurtin'."

"Joel just-"

He takes advantage of your mouth open in complaint, slipping his finger between your parted lips and placing the pill onto your tongue as your mouth closes around his forefinger in surprise.

The sensation of Joel's wide finger on your tongue startles you into silencing, lips quickly circling his digit. Joel forces his focus to your eyes, knowing if he sees your lips around his finger he's going to lose it.

You feel his heavy gaze on you as he towers above you standing next to the bed. You watch the way his eyes seem to grow darker.

"Swallow."

Your own pupils blow wide at the rasped order. He feels the soft of your tongue dabbing against the pad of his finger.You stare up at him in shock before you feel the pill being pressed to your tongue and only then do you swallow.

Satisfied Joel slides his finger out of your mouth before letting it rest on the plump flesh of your lower lip.

His eyes never leave yours.

"Frustratin' woman," Joel murmurs, finger lingering on your lower lip as he stares at you. Your cheeks heat as your eyelids flutter briefly.

Then suddenly he's walking away from you, his hand stretching before turning into a fist. You watch his tall form lope out of your bedroom and then he's gone from sight.

///

Kiss me again, Miller.

The words haunt him. The memory of your lips snagged between his own. The way you'd sighed as you snuggled up against him.

How is he supposed to forget that? How is he supposed to pretend things haven't changed?

He throws the front door open, thankful it's empty. Ellie must be at school. He goes to pour himself a drink, even though it's a bit early for it.

He can still feel your tongue against his finger, the way your mouth was so warm and wet and fuck... He's so hard he can't stand it.

He moves to his bedroom, his breathing labored as he shucks off his jeans and shirt, collapsing onto the bed with a growl.

He takes himself in hand and tries to picture you and your soft mouth. The mattress squeaks under him as he starts fisting himself to the memory of your murmured confession, to the sensation of your mouth under his.

I've wanted to kiss you for so long, Miller.

But it doesn't work, he can't get there no matter how much he strokes and focuses. You weren't yourself when you told him that. You weren't in your right mind when you kissed him. It doesn't feel right.

He lets himself go with a frustrated growl. And even as he pulls his clothes on and goes about his day he can't get you out of his mind.

There's a softness to you that he's uncovered. Something you keep hidden. Something he desperately wants to unearth in you again without the aid of pain medication. But then he remembers the horror on your face as you found him in your bed and he feels the shame suffuse him.

"Stop it," he tells himself as he heads out into the cold. "Just stop it."

///

The night moves sluggishly with you attempting to nap for most of it, your pain pill thankfully knocking you out for most of it. You wake to the rap of your front door.

"Come in," you offer hoarsely.

You hear tentative footsteps and try to swallow down the pain blooming in your ribs. Gemma is at your door with a bowl of what smells like soup and smiling gently. You notice that her hair is flecked with fresh snow.

"Hi there," she says approaching you. "Thought I'd check in on my patient."

You try to bring yourself to a sitting position but end up crying out. Gemma places the soup on your bedside table, her hand flying to your forehead before she's gently moving up your shirt, eyeing your bruise.

"No fever, thankfully. Swelling is as expected." Her eyes flick to your agonized expression. "Pain bad?"

"I'll survive."

"Good thing Joel was in the stables with you yesterday morning."

"Mhmm."

That's all you'll offer. You have no desire to tell her about waking up to finding the man in your bed.

You feel your stomach gurgle as the scent of the soup wafts over to you. Gemma gives a sympathetic look before passing you the other pillow.

"Squeeze this. I'm gonna sit you up."

You do so; a yelp of pain is bitten back before you're propped up in your bed against the pillows. You're still at an angle but it's do-able. Gemma brings a chair to the side of your bed, eyes alighting to your face.

She does a few more examinations, fingers pressing against your side, her cold stethoscope pressing into your sternum.

She produces an ice pack wrapped in fabric that she presses to your bruised flesh. You yelp at the sensation despite her warning that it will be cold.

"Sorry," she says ducking her head. "I know it's chilly. Gotta wear this twenty minutes, two times a day. Keeps the bruising down."

"Fine."

"You been drinking fluids?"

"Yep," you lie. You have No desire to share with her that the reason you're not drinking is because then you'd have to get up to pee. And the thought of getting up out of this bed seems torturous.

"Looks like its just rest you need then," she tells you as she digs around in her pocket. "Now I brought some more pills-"

"I'm not taking any more pills," you interrupt her firmly, even as sweat beads at your temple.

She goes to reply when there's another knock sounds at the door.

Who is it now? The fucking Jackson City welcoming committee?

"Come in," you sigh.

You hear the scuffle of heavy boots and your heart jumps when Joel appears at the door. He's holding a bowl of soup, the same as Gemma. Almost immediately you feel the air change when your eyes land on his before they skitter away anxiously.

"Uh, thought you might be hungry." Joel glances over at Gemma. "How's the patient?"

"She's fine," you snap.

"Stubborn," Gemma sighs. "She won't take the pain pills."

"You barely have any," you say to her, ignoring Joel standing awkwardly in your bedroom doorframe.

"Well if you'd let me finish you'd know we learned about a shipment delivered in Teton Village," Gemma tells you patiently. "Gonna grab it when the snow clears."

Joel perks up when he hears that. He can see by the blanching of your face and the way you're gripping the bed sheets that you're in a lot of pain. But you're scowling at the news, not looking the least bit impressed with Gemma's news.

"That could be weeks with the snow," you inform her. "The snow is brutal this time of year, not to mention the freezing winds. No one is gonna wanna go out to get it."

"But the point is we have a supply on route," Gemma argues. “So you can take these.”

"And when that shipment is brought back to Jackson and we see how much is in it, I'll take some pills then."

"You're in pain," she tells you firmly. "A lot of it."

"I'd be in more pain if I knew I was taking everything from the community," you snap back.

The pain is not just in your ribs, it feels like it's everywhere. Your head is throbbing, your body aching and you want everyone to just fuck off.

"You need sleep to heal-"

"You really wanna help me?" You grunt out through waves of pain. "Send me over some booze so I can get shitfaced and pass out."

Gemma can tell there's no reasoning with you.

"I got whiskey at mine," Joel offers softly to Gemma. "I can bring it over if she needs it."

"She doesn't need whiskey," Gemma sighs. "She needs medication so she can get proper sleep and start to heal."

"I'm right here," you grumble, hating how they're talking about you as if you don't exist. You slam your eyes shut.

"If you're not getting me whiskey I'd like to politely ask you both to leave so I can sleep."

You hear the two of them pausing, likely exchanging exasperated looks before you hear their dual footsteps head out the door.

///

Hours later your side hurts so fucking much that you're almost tempted to crawl over to the Jackson clinic and beg for those pills but you stop yourself. You did this to yourself; you went into that fucking pen.

Taking all the community's painkillers would be so impossibly selfish a thing to do because of your own stupid actions. You can't do it. Maybe when the new shipment of medication comes by.

There's a gentle rap at the door and desperation is making you consider asking whomever is at the door to get you some dinner. You're starving and so thirsty. Your mouth is like a desert. It's so dry you can barely call out to whoever is standing outside your door.

There's another knock and you can only offer a mournful sound of pain in reply. You hear the door opening and those familiar heavy footsteps thud to your bedroom.

He's so broad, so tall, so serious looking. His shoulders nearly take up the frame of your door.

"What do you want Miller?" You croak.

"Nothin'," he replies in that familiar raspy tone of his, like dry leaves in autumn.

"You sure?" You sneer. "Thought you might be coming over for another slumber party."

Joel's cheeks go pink at that but he just swallows and comes to take the seat Gemma left beside the bed earlier in the day.

"Nah I'm all rested up," he tells you smirking. It's then that you notice the amber colored bottle in his left hand. Your brows rise.

"Is that whiskey?"

Joel nods. "You got clean glasses?"

"Glasses yes," you wince as you squirm and feel a stab of pain go through you. "Clean? Unsure."

Joel smiles before his attention is drawn to the two soups at your bedside table, still untouched because you can't move enough to get at them.

"You eat yet?"

"No."

Joel nods before he replaces the soup bowls with the whiskey bottle and strides from your room.

"What're you doing?"

"Gonna reheat it."

"Just hand me the whiskey bottle."

You know you sound petulant but you don't care. You want something that will help take the edge off.

"You're in no position to be givin' orders," Joel tells you over his shoulder as he approaches your small hotplate.

He looks around your space, finding his lips curling into an amused smile. He didn't really notice the other day but your kitchen is a disaster. Bowls, plates and forks are piled on top of each other in the sink. Your counters are littered with crumbs and pencils and odds and ends.

"Your place is a mess," he calls out to you.

"Yeah well I've been sort of busy the last twenty four hours," you snap back loudly. "Haven't exactly had much time for housekeeping."

Joel huffs a quiet laugh to himself before moving to look at your cooking surfaces.

Your hotplate is in decent shape, probably because you take most of your meals in the dining hall. He knows because he often finds you eating with Ellie there. The two of you get along well. You're one of the few people she seems to stand without too much trouble.

Joel catches sight of himself in the reflection of the kitchen window. He sees the gentle smile on his face before commanding it into a frown.

Why the fuck am I here? She can barely stand me.

But he hasn't been able to stop thinking about you. He needs to know you're okay, needs to know you're being taken care of. He knows you live alone, that you're more stubborn than he is and he's been anxious all day that you've needed help.

That you've needed him.

Back in your bedroom you hear Joel moving things in your kitchen, locating a pot, finding a mixing spoon (when he does you hear him mumbling to himself and then the tap running).

Eventually he comes back with the soup in one of your clean bowls and a spoon. He looks at you critically laying half wedged before he puts the bowl on the table.

"Hold the pillow to your stomach."

You want to argue that you can eat perfectly fine like that but the smell of the tomato soup has your mouth watering. You do as he says, holding the pillow tightly to your midsection.

Your eyes widen as Joel leans over the bed, wrapping his muscled arms around you by the middle, holding you tightly to him to keep you stabilized, the pillow between you.

"Gonna help you scoot up," he murmurs at your temple. "Ready?"

"'Kay."

You feel breathless as Joel slowly pulls you to a sitting position. And despite how gentle and slow he is with his motions, the pain still takes your breath away.

You let out a shattered cry before your forehead crashes into his shoulder. Your body is tensed, aching.

You're so angry, so frustrated, in so much pain you just want to cry and scream.

"S'okay," Joel soothes. You feel his hand cupping the back of your head. "Go on and let it out."

You don't even hesitate. You let out a small scream of exhausted pain against where his shoulder and neck meet, tears springing from your eyes as you do. All are muffled by the flannel he wears, coming out suppressed.

"I know, I know," he soothes as he feels your tears soak his shirt. "I know that pain. Makes you feel angry at the whole world, right?"

You give a whimpered reply of agreement.

He's right. You are. You're angry at the horse, you're angry at yourself, you're angry at the clicker is you're angry at Joel and Gemma and anyone who's ever talk to you. You're also mad at yourself for getting you into this position. You just so fucking angry and in pain.

Joel sees you gripping the sheets as he holds you.

"Just breathe," Joel tells you quietly.

"Can't," you mutter against his shoulder. "Ribs."

You hear a soft chuckle from him and it reverberates into your body, despite the pillow. It makes you almost want to smile. He releases you gently against the pillows, looking at your red-rimmed eyes and holding in a sigh at your exhausted countenance.

He takes a seat in the chair and you watch Joel spin the spoon in your soup, before placing the bowl under your chin and bringing the spoon to your mouth.

"I can feed myself," you tell him shortly, but there's no ire in your tone.

He nods and you take the spoon and bowl in hand. He sits back on the chair watching you eat hurriedly. He opens his mouth to tell you to slow down but clamps it shut again.

He leaves and returns with a glass of water that you take eagerly and finish with a gulp. Joel refills it three more times and you finish each with gusto.

He takes the empty bowl and spoon from you, taking your dishes to the kitchen and then returning.

"Better?"

"Yeah," you nod. "I don't think I realized how hungry I was."

Joel continues to look at you with a strange little smile on his face. You feel like you're being studied by him and it makes you frown. You're about to ask him if you have something on your face when a sharp pain goes through your ribs and you grasp at your side wincing.

"Alright you did good with eatin'," Joel reasons. "You kept your end of the bargain so I will too."

He pours you a small glass of whiskey in a clean glass before handing it over. You take it greedily, throwing it back. It burns all the way down, a delicious sensation that has you grinning into your glass.

"Was wonderin' if I'd ever see that again," Joel muses before pouring a first glass for himself and a second for you. You bring the glass back to your mouth, confused.

"See what again?"

"Your smile."

You don't know how to respond to that so you just look at the bottom of your refilled glass awkwardly. Joel takes a small sip of his whiskey, watching as you throw your second glass back as well.

"Slow down," he urges gently. "No point in doin' this if you're just gonna throw it back up."

He has a point. He pours you a third and gives you a stern look when you take the glass from him.

"Sipping only."

"Don't order me around, Miller," you say sharply. "This isn't patrols."

Joel rolls his eyes at you, amused and exasperated all at once. You're such a hard little shell, so impenetrable at times. Joel thought he was guarded, but you're something else.

The two of you sit in quiet, listening to the sound of the whistling wind against your home. You sip the whisky, wishing you weren't in so much pain when you breathed. You glance around your room, wishing it was tidier.

Joel watches you, sees the way your eyes flit around the room and wonders if he could ever bring up the other night without you being horrified.

"Why're you being so nice to me?' you ask suddenly, breaking the spell. "You're never nice."

"Sure I am,” Joel says looking affronted.

"Not to me."

"I brought you home didn't I? Brought you whiskey? Cooked you dinner? I ain't all bad."

"You didn't cook me dinner. You heated it up."

"My favorite kinda cookin'," Joel reasons with a smile. The whiskey has him feeling warm and relaxed.

You feel an amused smirk start at the corner of your mouth. You suppress it with a gentle sip of your drink. You let it coat your tongue slowly before you let it drip down your throat.

"How come you're so mean to me?" Joel offers, though his tone is light.

"I am not!"

He sees the flash of irritation in your eyes immediately and he can't help but be amused. It's very easy for him to rile you up.

"Are so."

"You started it!" You insist, wincing and the words come out louder than anticipated, the force of your irritation causing your ribs to ache. Joel is still leaning back insouciantly in his chair, regarding you with gentle amusement.

"How'd you figure that?"

"My first day on patrols, I was trying so hard to be nice and do you remember what you said the second you saw me?"

"Nope."

"You said; Don't know why they'd stick me with a newbie,” you say trying to imitate his raspy baritone.

"So?" Joel looks genuinely perplexed. "You were a newbie and I didn't know why they sent you to do patrols with me. Didn't know you were an experienced rider at the time."

You falter a moment. You hadn't been expecting that response.

"You were so rude," you insist, irritated that he's trying to pretend like he wasn't in the wrong. "Telling me I was holding my gun wrong, making fun of how I was riding."

Joel takes a moment, looking at the ceiling as he tries to recall your first meeting. He knows he thought you were attractive, he remembers that he was confused they'd paired the two of you up until he'd seen you ride. Your form was comical, but you were good on horseback, even better than him.

But he doesn't remember disliking you that first day.

That came later, after your snide comments and rolled eyes. When you shouldered past him in the dining hall and ignored him when he tried to greet you as you walked by him in town. He'd thought you were an uptight brat, a rude woman who put on airs. He'd had no clue he'd offended you that first day.

"From what I recall I suggested a different way to hold your gun because each time you shot it knocked your shoulder," Joel says remembering. "And as for the riding... Well, you do look funny when you ride. Even if you're good at it, you bounce too much."

"Better than that stupid way you roll your hips," you bite back.

You can picture it now, one hand on the reigns, tilted back, hips rolling with each step of the horse. Joel raises the glass to his mouth, eyes stuck on yours.

"Why're you watchin' my hips?"

His voice is a low purr and there it is again. That thread of teasing that borders on something else. Something... Enticing. It reminds you of the other day in the stables, before everything had gone pear shaped.

You think I'm handsome? You sure, darlin'? You’re gettin' mighty flustered

"Hard not to when you're always going first," you sneer into your glass, taking another sip and feeling your cheeks heat.

"Wait, so that's it?" Joel laughs. "That's your reason for bein' so prickly t'mer? 'Cuz I didn't know why you were assigned to me and because I tried to help you with the way you held your gun?"

"And the riding, thing," you comment lamely. It all sounds pretty pathetic out loud. Is that really why you've been so mean to him all this time? Because of a misunderstanding?

"That's why you hate me?" Joel chuckles as if reading your mind.

"I don't hate you," you mumble. "You just... Get under ... my... skin."

You feel like you want to talk more, but your third glass is drained and your eyelids feel heavy.

"I think...I..."

You feel Joel take the glass from your hand. He keeps you slightly tilted, your head rolling back drowsy against the pillows. You feel his whiskey tinged breath fan across your cheeks.

"How's the pain?"

"S'okay," you slur. "But I know it's gonna hurt real bad tomorrow."

Joel goes to rearrange your pillow slightly so that your head is better positioned on it. His hand hovers beside your face as he does this and you tilt to face it.

"Thanks for the whiskey, Miller."

Unthinking you nuzzle your cheek against his arm before slipping into a drowsy slumber.

Joel pulls back and sits on the chair, watching your placid face, your chest rising up and down under the sheets. You look at peace and he feels a rush of affection go through him at the sight.

But you're in pain. A whole lot of it and he wants to fix that. Even if you don't want him like he finds himself wanting you. He needs you to be okay. Wants you back to your normal self.

What would have happened if there had never been that misunderstanding that day? What if patrols had gone on casually, the two of you amiable?

Would he have asked you for a drink? Would you be in bed together right now? Would his mouth be between your thighs, your fingers gripping his hair? Or would he have you under him, arms held by him above your head moaning his name - his real name, not Miller - as you gazed up at him?

The thought sends a shiver directly up his spine.

He stands; pulling your sheets up, making sure you look comfortable and settled before he leaves your home.

He thinks about your conversation the entire walk back to his place. He thinks about how things could have gone differently.

If only you'd both made better first impressions.

If only that's how it had gone.

If only.

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