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joelsdagger · 4 months

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all the things i would do

read on ao3 | resources on how to help Palestine here <3

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: porn no plot. joel finds an article of clothing that belongs to you and there’s nothing holding him back once he gets his hands on them.

rating: explicit, 18+ MDNI

content warnings: [Post Outbreak], jackson era, established relationship, implied age gap (25+ years), joel is canon age, slightly domestic joel (blink and it’s gone), joel has a panty kink, panty sniffing, masturbation (m), soft dom!joel, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, pet names (use of baby, sweet baby, sweetheart, love), smidgen of fluff (these two are so in love it’s sickening), an inkling of a size kink (but in my head joel’s at least 6’5, he’s a BIG big man in my brain), joel’s filthy mouth, praise kink, hint of sub!joel, nipple play, one use of the word ‘Daddy’ (moots don’t look at me I couldn’t help it), slight tummy kink/tummy worship, cum eating. Joel’s POV. No use of Y/N. No physical descriptions of reader other than having hair long enough that it’s past her shoulders.

word count: 3.1k

A/N: so, a few things before we get started. i’m new to writing fics and this is my first time publicly putting out a fic that wasn’t just for shits and giggles for my friends and i and i’m so fucking nervous like the amount of times i’ve panicked over this is a little embarrassing to admit but we ball. that being said, i love and welcome constructive criticism as long as you’re nice about it. shout out to @skrunkly-scrimblo for encouraging me to actually write this all those months ago and for all your brilliant ideas and encouragement and practically holding my hand through it since day one, @aurasjournal for being such a gem and helping me with the cover for this fic and hyping me up, and thank you to @papurgaatika and @nevergoingbacknowshine for being so kind and encouraging and listening to my 3am rants when i was anxious. another big thank you to kat, aura, and naya for beta reading and helping me during the editing process. all four of you have been absolute sweethearts despite me being a pussy about posting this. okay i’m done rambling, enjoy some of the filth that constantly plagues my brain <3

Joel’s eyes blink open slowly, the sun peeks into the bedroom through the curtains across the room. For a moment he searches for you beside him, but remembers you’ve already left for the day out on patrol duty. Joel harrumphs, still bothered over letting you and Ellie bully him out of his patrol duties. “You’ve been hurting yourself too much baby,” You had told him a few weeks ago over breakfast. “Yeah, you’re an old man now. You fall over one more time and you’re done.” Ellie snickers from her seat in the kitchen. Joel just rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to the dishes, but you had caught the small grin on his face when he turned his head back to the sink. Against the two of you, Joel never stood a chance.

Joel drags himself out of bed towards his dresser to grab a new set of clothes. He throws on a blue shirt that fits a little snug on his well built form, the thin material stretches over his broad shoulders, across his strong back, and pulls taut over his biceps and he grunts as he pulls a pair of dark wash jeans over his strong, thick thighs, securing them in place with a distressed leather belt that he’s had for years. Once he’s dressed, he takes in the mess in the room. He notices both of your clothes from the night before are still scattered around the room. He bends down to pick them up, he grunts as his knees pop when he stands back up. He starts gathering them up to toss them into the hamper already overflowing with clothes. The last article of clothing out of place is yours. Your black lace panties on the armchair in the corner. He grabs them and his eyes widen when he feels it, the center still wet from him making you come earlier. His cock instantly hardened in his jeans.

Joel turns on his heel and in just a few long strides he’s in your shared bathroom. He deliberately avoids the mirror, knowing that if he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror he’ll disgust himself even more. Briskly, he sets the laundry hamper on the tile near the bathtub. Joel brings the thin black lace up to his face, closes his eyes and he sniffs them, breathing you in completely. He groans at the scent of you. His cock painfully hard now. He knows he shouldn't but he can't help it. He’s addicted to you and he knows he can’t wait til you get home. He knows he can’t wait to have his way with you, dig into you any way that you will let him. So, without another second of hesitation, Joel unbuckles his belt, a clink from the metal hitting the edge of the counter, unzips his jeans and takes his thick, heavy cock out, and then brings your soaked panties to his angry, leaking tip. His precum meets the wetness of your panties and he hisses at the feeling. With the wetness of the gusset of your panties acting as a lubricant, Joel begins to slowly stroke himself, wanting to take his time, savoring every feeling, relishing in it. Joel soon becomes too desperate for release, he quickly loses control, his hips moving faster to fuck his hand, his hand tightening around his cock, the grip almost painful now. His eyes are screwed shut, as he throws his head back, the night before instantly replaying in his head.

He had just gotten out of the shower to find you sprawled out on your stomach on your side of the bed, ankles crossed in the air. He rakes his eyes over your form until his eyes land on your ass. You were wearing the panties he was currently fucking his hand with. You didn’t notice him stepping out of the bathroom, too busy looking at the photo album you had just put together. It’s relatively new, most of the pages empty, yet you were looking at the photos you had taken earlier that week at the Tipsy Bison. The one that had your attention was a photo of you and Joel that Ellie had taken. Neither of you looked at the camera, the photo had captured you mid-laugh, head tilting back, eyes shut, it was a full belly laugh at something Joel had said. Joel’s arm was around your shoulder tucking you into his side, smiling down at you, a rare type of smile, one reserved only for you.

Leaning on the entryway, his arms crossed over his broad, tanned chest, he smiles at the view. You’re in nothing but your panties in his bed, in his home. His feet move without thinking, walking over to you. He brushes your hair over your shoulder, tracing his fingers over your soft supple skin down your back and over the lace of your panties, and lightly pinches your ass. “So pretty sweet baby,” he says shyly, almost like he’s speaking to himself. You turn your head to look up at him, smiling. Wordlessly, he took the photo album from your hands, placing it on your nightstand. He gets in the bed, carefully sitting on his knees while attempting to avoid loosening the off-white towel around his waist. You roll onto your back to face him, his silver curls still damp from the shower as water still drips onto his strong shoulders. He combs his hair back after a shower and the ends tend to curl up around his ears. It’s been months since you last cut his hair but you like his hair longer, you had whispered to him in the darkness of your bedroom, your naked, sweaty limbs tangled up together between his sheets. From that night on he hasn’t asked you to cut it for him. He likes it because you like it.

While you’re busy ogling him, Joel’s hands immediately reach to trace the floral lace pattern before toying with the little satin black bow at the center front. His rough, calloused hands slide up your bare thighs, wrapping his large hands around your thighs and he pries open your legs, his hazel eyes locked in on your center like a bullseye and you notice the cocky smirk he’s got plastered on his face, pleased with himself that he’s already got you wet for him.

He brings two thick fingers to slide over your covered cunt. He feels the wetness on the material and he pulls back to look up at you and finds your attention on his fingers. “What a mess you made, pretty girl,” he murmurs. You’re watching the movement of his fingers, entranced by his fingers teasing your pussy as he glides them up and down your slit. He clicks his tongue at you, “so wet for me huh baby? Always so wet for me. So perfect,” he smirks to himself as he gently pulls your panties to the side, revealing your aching, needy cunt. He lowers his head placing gentle kisses on the soft skin of your inner thigh, his lips tracing and peppering your skin all the way towards your center, his mouth hovering over the place you need him most and you shiver beneath him.

“Joel,” you whisper, he chuckles seeing you all worked up for him. “Baby please,” you whimper.

“What is it baby?” he tuts, “use your words, sweet girl,” he tilts his head slightly with a smug grin on his face. His fingers move up and down your folds.

“N-need them inside me, p-please,” you whimper as you claw at his forearms, clutching them for stability.

“Alright baby, lemme taste her first,” He lays flat on his stomach, moves his arms under your legs, and hoists them up over his broad shoulders. He lowers his mouth onto your cunt and the tip of his tongue licks through your folds. He hums at the sweet taste of you on his tongue. He flattens his tongue and licks a long thick stripe and he groans lowly, the vibrations making you squirm under him.

“Fuck, more baby,” you beg. You gasp at the hook of his nose bumping your clit. Your hands fly to his hair, eyes closing swiftly, brows furrowed as you let out a loud moan.

“There she is,” he smirks. He flicks his tongue over your clit. His eyes slip closed as he relishes in the noises leaving your mouth, like music to his ears. Your hips buck up into his face, selfishly grinding your cunt for more. Joel’s eyes flicker back up your face, “eyes on me sweetheart,” he murmurs. Your eyes snap open to watch him as he brings his fingers back up to your cunt, two thick fingers dip into you and you can hear the wet squelch as he eases his fingers in, simultaneously, he circles his tongue around your clit. He pumps his fingers slowly in and out of you, his tongue lapping at your cunt. You feel the pressure building up more intensely inside of your belly and then you’re chanting his name as he curls his fingers inside you, petting at the spongy spot he knows will break you. He closes his mouth around your clit and he sucks hard.

“Fuck, Joel, yes yes,” Your hips bucking up into his face, your legs start to shake as you come on his face and your cunt tightening around his fingers, a loud strangled moan filling the air.

“That’s my girl,” he says as he watches you gasp above him, pressing a quick kiss to your clit. Your eyes flutter open just in time to see him removing his fingers, all wet and shiny, and putting them in his slick covered mouth, sucking them clean.

Softly, he grabs your ankles, pulling you down towards the edge of the bed eliciting a giggle. His favorite sound…well one of his favorites. His favorite being the next sound that comes out of your mouth when he quickly pulls your panties down. He sees the wet shine of your cum in the center and his face lights up with glee. “You made such a mess ‘a your panties, baby,” he tuts before tossing them across the room. He unties the towel from his waist and lets it fall and it pools around his legs, revealing his thick, heavy cock, the tip angry and beads of precum seeping out of the slit. You place your hands around your thighs, slowly pulling them apart, presenting your already spent pussy to him once again and he groans roughly.

He leans forward, his fingers running through your folds once more, and you quiver at his touch. He gathers your cum on his fingers and strokes himself twice before he dips the wide tip of his cock inside of you. A whine leaves your lips. That. That was his favorite sound. He doesn’t push in further… he doesn’t move an inch. He’s teasing you…wants you to ask nicely for it. Like clockwork his voice laced with honey he says “Ask for it baby, ask for my cock.”

Desperate, you whine again “please joel… I need your cock.” Your needy fingers trail lightly over his soft belly, sitting up slightly, you place soft kisses from his belly button down to the dark patch of hair above his cock, his body trembles at the feeling of your lips ghosting over his belly and a breathy moan escapes his lips. He laces his fingers with yours, bringing your hands near your head, his large form encompassing your smaller frame, he lowers himself down over you, his lips brushing against yours. “Baby, please. Please fuck my pussy” you mewl. He pushes his cock deeper, deeper, and deeper til the head of his cock kisses your cervix, provoking a loud groan from him against your ear as he nestles himself into you, where he belongs.

“See baby all you had to do was ask politely” Joel cooes. He drags his hips back, leaving only his tip inside you once again and you clench around him. “Fuck, goddamn you’re fucking tight,” he grits. Slowly he starts thrusting his tip in and out.

You whine again, “Baby don’t be mean. I want all of it.”

“Shh..I know baby, I know,” he soothes. Then in one long single thrust, he wedges his cock back inside of you to the hilt, bottoming out into your cunt, hitting the spot that only he knows with a loud ragged groan into the crook of your neck. His cock is stretching you out, feeling every twitch, he’s everywhere and it’s overwhelming. He hitches your legs up towards your chest, opening you up more, your chest pressed tightly against his, he drags the weight of his cock languidly between your slick, moaning at the wet sound of his balls slapping against your ass fills the room.

When you look up at him it’s like you can see a lightbulb go off in his head and before you know it, Joel’s large hands grab the swell of your ass, he picks you up, and repositions you both so he’s on his back and has you sitting on his thick cock. He wants you to ride him. In this position you can feel him in the deepest parts of your belly and it hurts just a little bit but you find pleasure in it, you always have.

Leaning forward, you place your hands on the headboard and arching your back a bit more, Joel's head falls back down onto the pillows. At the sudden change of the angle, his eyes shut for just a second before he’s snapping them right back open. He doesn’t want to miss a single thing. He wants to see it all. He watches how your breasts bounce as you move and quickly, he leans up to catch a nipple in his mouth. He’s licking and sucking all over your pebbled nipple and then his teeth graze along the hardened peak before swiftly pulling it between his teeth. He moves onto the other and he flicks his tongue over your nipple, he sucks and nips at it lightly before he lets your tit fall from his mouth, admiring the slight bounce of your breast before his eyes lock in on your face, watching your face contort and your mouth open while you seek your high. It's his favorite thing, watching you like this.

“Jesus Christ, look at you, you’re takin’ me so well,” he groans.

The grip of his hands on your hips tightens but doesn’t guide you, just seeks some ounce of control. You lean forward more so your clit brushes ever so slightly against the dark patch of curls at his base. The friction makes you approach your orgasm quickly. Joel’s eyes flicker down to where you two are connected, taking pleasure in seeing his cock splitting you open, watching as it disappears deep inside of you.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck….use me. Fuck yourself on daddy’s cock, atta girl,” You roll your hips faster, grinding harder on his cock, greedy and desperate to come again. “C’mon baby, come all over my cock.”

His words and your clit repeatedly pressing against him make your hips stutter and you clench around him as your orgasm finally washes over you, harder than before. Your body goes limp on his chest. Joel doesn’t let up, he grabs your thighs and lifts his hips, relentlessly fucking his cock up into you. His cock slams into you so hard the wet slapping sound of your bodies fills the room.

You turn your head and press your lips to his ear, nipping at his earlobe, you spur him on “c’mon Joel, come for me baby,” you softly rasp. “C’mon baby, for me, do it for me love,” you whisper and he whimpers, his thrusts becoming faster, more erratic. You bite down on his shoulder to muffle the whines that leave your mouth as he fucks into you harder, your walls tighten around him, his cock twitches inside you before he hastily pulls out with a long pained groan and with his cock between your bodies, his cum spurts out, thick and warm, coating his stomach. A moment passes and you lower your lips down his chest, feeling the rough edges of his skin underneath your lips as you pepper open mouthed kisses along his strong torso, the soft skin of his belly, over the jagged scar on his lower abdomen, all the way down his happy trail, you feel him shiver beneath you.

You sit up on his thighs, locking your eyes with his, you bring your fingers down to his cum on his stomach. You look back up at him, your gaze meeting his as you swirl your fingers twice in his spend and bring your shiny, sticky coated fingers up to your mouth, closing your lips around your fingers, sucking them clean. His mouth agape, he’s staring back at you while you use your fingers to lick up his cum, “dirty girl, one’a these days you’re gonna gimme a heart attack woman,” he groans.

The memory of it all…you riding him, your naked breasts bouncing, his cock impaling you, watching it disappear inside you over and over, your cunt clamping down around his cock and the echo of your moans as you came last night playing in his head sends him hurtling over the edge.

His cock twitches in his hand, his other hand slamming down on the counter, he groans your name raggedly and his thighs quiver as he comes hard into his fist, harder than he ever has when jerking himself off. He pumps his release into your panties, hot, thick ropes of his cum painting the gusset. His cum spurting out seemingly endless for a man his age.

If you were here in front of him he would pull the fabric up over your thighs, making you wear your cum filled panties before going about the rest of your day.

But you’re not here so instead he brings the cum soaked panties up to his face, eyeing his spend and your wetness for a moment. He stops himself and contemplates the idea in his head as he eyes the glistening sheen over the center. Just as quickly as the thought infiltrated his head, he decides against it and bunches up the thin material and tosses them in the old laundry basket sat in the corner of your shared bathroom. Joel tucks himself back into his jeans, washes his hands, limping slightly as he walks out of your bedroom and closes the door behind him leaving your laundry for another day.

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller one shot #tlou fanfiction #tlou one shot #the last of us fanfiction #jackson!joel x f!reader #jackson!joel x reader #noelle's workshop #my writing

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hellishjoel · 27 days

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reborn

1.4k / pairing: jackson!joel miller x f!reader

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summary: Joel’s long hair is a testament to a long life in Jackson, Wyoming. He hasn’t had time to get it cut since the birth of his daughter.

warnings/information: joel’s long hair appreciation post!!!!!, fluff, established relationship, a little swearing, soft!joel, girl dad!joel, jackson!joel, mother f!reader, ellie and joel are just fine okay!!, obvious maria appreciation, reader doesn’t have a physical appearance but has given birth

A/N: this is super short and I wrote it in 24 hours - you all know why we’re here, we saw that new picture of long haired joel miller and yadayadayada now we’re here! graphics by @saradika-graphics

There’s a new baby in Jackson.

One more teeny tiny resident. The population sign must be repainted to acknowledge its three hundred and fifth resident.

And she’s your little girl.

She’s not just perfect, she’s the center of your universe. Wrapped in a freshly hand-washed baby pink blanket, a testament to the hours of labor in Jackson’s makeshift delivery room. Joel held your hand throughout.

This was his second child, but his first with you. The flood of emotions was overwhelming, and you promised to stand by him, even if you could never truly understand the pain tangled with newfound joy.

But you should have seen the way his eyes softened at the first sight of her. Everything changed, for the both of you. His once-buried fatherly instincts took over, walking with the delivery nurse from your bed to the small cleaning station. He couldn’t let her out of his sight.

Already so protective and wound around her little finger from the moment she took her first breath and wailed her first cry.

Scream it, little one, tell the world you’re here and that you’re ours. You are already so loved with your big glowing eyes and round cheeks, your small hands curled into your chest, and you kick your tiny little feet. Stomp, roar, live.

You’re born into the most dangerous time in history, but your parents are here to protect you. The moment your baby girl was born, you and Joel were reborn.

One month old, and nothing has changed. Except for your and Joel’s sleep schedules. Tommy gave Joel temporary leave from patrol duties, which Joel did not protest. He found it impossible some days to leave the house for food and supplies.

Ellie was helpful. Despite no blood relation, she and Joel shared many qualities. She didn’t let you lift a finger if she could help it. She had moved into the garage a few months back. After all, she was a teenager who loved having space.

“You sure you don’t just wanna move back inside the house, Ellie?” She was here more often than not, and her company and help were dearly appreciated.

“And wake up to a crying baby twelve times in the middle of the night? I love you guys, but no thanks,” she teased as you playfully rolled your eyes.

“That’s fair. But the offer still stands.”

Ellie shrugs nonchalantly and lands beside you on the couch, laying her head on your shoulder as you both stare lovingly down at the baby sleeping soundly in your arms.

“I know, but you should make my old room the baby’s new one. Besides, Joel just set up my stereo, and I blast that thing non-stop. No baby is gonna like that.”

“Oh, trust me, we know.” You whisper as you kiss the top of her head, your cheek nudging against her brunette tresses tied back into a ponytail.

Ellie cooks some sort of monstrosity in the kitchen upon Joel’s return from Tommy and Maria’s. He holds piles of Maria’s hand-sewn diapers and onesies. She was a God send, a woman you consider a Jill of all trades.

Oh, Maria. She always desired that Jackson would not fall into turmoil like most of the country had surely found its way to. In her eyes, Jackson would remain a thriving and welcoming community to those who were good of heart.

That woman worked to the bone to ensure that Jackson’s residents were safe and happy. Living here was like living in a snow globe, safe from the outside world and protected from danger.

As the de facto leader of the Jackson settlement, she wore many hats. From trading and supplies to security and community welfare, Maria made it her mission to ensure that all new families found their new home in Jackson to be an inviting one—a safe haven from their old lives and here to start anew.

“Maria bartered for new cotton,” Joel whispers as he enters the living room, quiet so as not to stir the baby.

“She did?” You ask softly, sitting up slightly as you feel his hand cup your cheek from above, tilting your head back so he can give you a proper kiss.

“Yeah, she was gonna try and find somethin’ alternative to cotton for the diapers, but they set her up with some scavenged materials and clothing to make lots of diapers out of. Plus, gave her some stuff to cultivate it here. Y’know, be self-sufficient.”

“Wow,” you mutter tiredly, rubbing at your eyes as your daughter begins to twitch in your arms. “I think she hears her daddy’s voice.”

Joel cooes softly, quick to drop the items off on the kitchen counter with haphazard abandon. He grunts quietly as his knees scream for rest until he sits beside you on the couch with open palms. You delicately hand him the baby, and his eyes twinkle at the sight of her. He was adorably cute when he baby-babbled, though he swears he never does.

“Hi sweet wittle girl, pretty pwincess, did you have a good day with mommy?”

It takes you this long to realize how much his hair has grown out. Your fingers softly weave into the greying curls, twirling one around your finger before you let it fall into its natural waves.

“It’s so long, baby,” you whisper like honey.

He lets out a quiet chuckle and absentmindedly leans into your touch. “I’know. Haven’t had time to get it cut,” he turns his attention back to the little girl swaddled in his arms, “and I think I know who’s been keepin’ me so damn busy.”

You hum and gently clutch the curls at the nape of his neck, truly in awe of how long they were. You’ve never seen him let it get this long. As Joel would say, this is Tommy long. But was there really a look he couldn’t pull off?

“I, uh, I don’t want you to cut it.” Your words come off shy and sweet, making him melt as he slowly turns to look at you with a raised brow.

“Is that so?” His southern twang rolls freely off his tongue.

“Mhm, you look so handsome. I think I would cry if you got rid of that thick mane of yours.”

He chuckles again, a low and sultry one. “Alright. I’ll keep puttin’ up with it.”

“Mmm, please do. It’s sorta doin’ somethin’ for me.”

Joel pauses and watches as the aging sunlight shines over your face. He takes your hand in his large calloused one and squeezes, circling his thumb along your wrist. “You’ve given me a life I sometimes don’t feel like I deserve. A happy one. I don’t think there’s a way I can ever say thank you or I love you enough for how my life has turned out. Without you, I might be dead.”

“Oh, Joel,” you whisper as you rest your forehead against his own, both of your eyes falling closed. “You are deserving of every moment of happiness in this life. You make my life worth living. You saved us.”

Joel lets out a wet chuckle, kissing the tip of your nose before meeting your lips delicately.

In this light, the amber glow of the sun setting just beyond the walls outside, he’s so handsome. It truly makes your heart skip a beat. After all these years of pain, loss, and suffering, Joel is happy. It’s all you’ve ever wanted to make him.

During the first few weeks in this new and unfamiliar settlement, Joel would shoot up in the middle of the night, upset that he had fallen asleep. He hadn’t slept in a home with four solid walls in so long, none of you had. You remember the first night he slept soundly, snoring like a madman and nuzzling into his pillow. He was safe. There were no clickers in waiting, no scavengers to fend off. His people were protected. He could breathe.

Never did you once think that at the ends of the world, there would be room for you to feel like this. Reborn. It led you to Joel and Ellie and continued with your baby girl. Your lives are getting a second chance.

You didn’t know how long it would stay like this because nothing was forever. But you would wake up tomorrow morning and run a hand through Joel’s hair, through the pretty curls that tickled his neck, and the opportunity for it to keep growing would be another sign that your lives weren’t ending. They were only just beginning.

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#joel miller #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal the last of us #pedro pascal joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #tlou #tlou fic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #hellishjoel #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #jackson joel miller #tlou2 #ellie tlou2

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sinsofsummers · 1 year

Text

sensational

6.9k | joel miller & f!innocent!reader part two

this comes from this request. a few liberties were taken with the details (the reader knows that sex exists, but not much else), just fyi!

summary: thanks to becoming an orphan at age 13, you've lived the rest of your life oblivious to all the world can offer. now that you're in jackson, joel miller ignites something in you that only he can give answers to. warnings: slight angst (mentions of parent loss), innocent!fem!reader, age gap (joel is 56, reader is 25), kind of pervy!joel, smut (18+, mdni!!!), fingering, grinding, reader watches old pornos with joel, slight praise kink, no use of y/n. note: i planned originally to have this be just one part, but even though it ends in a way that i like, i could maybe be convinced to write a second part teehee (part two coming soon!)

You used to love the rain. The way it cascaded down your skin in little droplets, cleansing your body from a hard day's work, and the way it made your hair look so perfectly disheveled.

You craved the rain, until it became nothing but a reminder of the night your parents died.

It had been years at this point, but you would never quite forget how young, and small, and unsuspecting you'd been when they told you to run. How cruel, that time might pass, you might change, but with one smattering of rain, you returned so swiftly to the worst night of your life.

The three of you had been living alone, making your way...somewhere, but they never told you where. Your parents' only wish was to keep you safe, that much was clear. So it shouldn't have been a surprise that upon an ambush by at least ten clickers, after both your parents had been infected, that they'd insist that you run.

"Please, darling," your mother had pleaded, a lump in her throat as she formed the words. "Don't make me beg. I need you to run. Promise?"

Your father was somewhere else, but you could hear him yelling in the distance, in a fight for his life. You were too young, even at thirteen, to understand that those were the sounds of a dying man.

"I'll be right behind you," she'd choked on the last phrase, and in hindsight, you knew she was lying. But in the moment, you'd believed her. You couldn't see the bite she was hiding on her arm, her fate already sealed. "I'll come for you, my love," she insisted, "but I need you to go. Head for the woods."

It was the last time you saw her. You'd turned tail and had run as fast as you could for the woods.

The last thing you heard was a gunshot. A single shot, echoing around you in the trees. It may have been impossible to know, but you didn't need to turn back. Your parents were dead.

If you hadn't found Jackson, who knows how long you might have lasted. Nearing your twenty-first year, you'd proven valuable to the community, and they'd welcomed you in. Jackson was the first home you'd had since you were five.

It hadn't occurred to you that you were years behind your peers in terms of...well, everything, until you met Joel.

Rugged, tan, and sporting a perpetual frown paired with an ever-present crease between his brows, Joel Miller was your patrol partner. You weren't exactly sure why, and he didn't seem particularly pleased about it, but then again—he never seemed particularly pleased about anything.

It hadn't struck you as anything to be proud of, or to boast about to the other young women in Jackson, but they certainly loved coming up to you and expressing their jealousy when they felt so inclined.

"What's he like on patrol?" they'd ask, their eyes wide and lips curled in smirks as they waited for any insight you could give them on his mysterious personality.

All you could ever say over the next four years was a quick, "He's quiet."

Maybe that was why the two of you worked well. He wasn't much of a talker, and after you'd lost your parents, you hadn't been one to waste any breath on conversation, especially when you had survived alone with your own thoughts for almost eight years.

Silence was your mutual understanding. No talking meant no questions, and no questions meant no problems.

And this worked. Until it didn't.

-- -- --

It started like anything started. Quietly, hardly a bother, until it sank into the marrow of your bones and demanded that you address it.

More literally, it started in your shoulders. You'd been on patrol with Joel, a quiet, "Let's go," his only words to you that morning. They were his only words to you every morning, and that day was no different.

Patrolling with him was easy. Like you'd said—no talking, so no problems. You rode next to each other on your respective horses, and there was nothing more than a glance or two toward each other when necessary. It was the only form of communication that the two of you shared.

His big brown eyes had always startled you, looking so inviting in the contrast of the white snow during the winter, but they never showed you more than he allowed you to see. And all you saw of Joel was his dedication to sleep, patrol, eat, and repeat.

You hadn't felt the desire to look that closely at him until some of the girls in Jackson asked you how big his hands were, or what he looked like up close.

"You know," one of them had crooned, not realizing you were unsure of their intentions, "what does he look like without that big old coat on?"

You'd shrugged. "Why should I know?"

Another one wiggled her eyebrows. "Doesn't it get...lonely out there? Nothing but you, the snow, and a big man like Joel to keep you company?"

The faces of those girls, the glint in their eyes, it was something you couldn't quite decipher, as much as you wished you could. So one day, you'd asked the man himself what it all meant.

When you said it for the first time, it was so quiet that you could hardly even hear yourself.

Joel grunted, the only indication that he'd heard you.

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn't find a reason why. This was just Joel. He seemed to know everything there was to know about life; surely he could help you understand this. "Why do the girls in town keep asking me what it's like to patrol with you?"

He didn't answer for a second, but then shrugged. "They botherin' you?"

"No." You weren't quite sure that was true, and knowing him, he could probably hear the lie in your voice. "They're just kind of...belligerent."

His eyebrow cocked. "S'a big word," he mused. "Sure you know what it means?"

Your cheeks grew hot. "Yes," you insisted sharply. "I do read, you know."

He murmured a response, but the wind carried it away from you. You rode in silence for a bit longer before he said, "Don't let those girls get in your head. I think they just wanna get a rise outta you."

"A rise?"

Joel nodded and brought his horse to a routine stop. This was where the two of you always stretched your legs. He reached up to help you down your own mount and set you on the ground gingerly. "You know," he said, as if you should know, but with no regard for the fact that you didn't. "You're still kinda new here. Seems they're still pretty dead-set on embarrassin' you."

"I'm not embarrassed," you insisted again. "I just...is there a joke I'm not getting?"

"Any reason you chose to talk so much today?" was his only answer, which made your stomach clench.

There was no reason for you to be offended, as it was your typical routine to remain quiet unless absolutely necessary, but you couldn't help the way your lips curved downward. "Sorry," you mumbled, "forget I asked."

He was quiet again as the two of you walked at least two hundred paces, stretching out your sore muscles in the snow. It used to be comforting, the silence. It wasn't maddening, it didn't ever bother you if Joel was in his thoughts. You weren't even sure at times if he had any. But all that had changed now; his brow creased more than it usually did, and you wanted nothing more than to ask him what he was thinking.

Joel was the one constant in your life now. Maybe it was a—well, probably it was a trauma response from losing your parents, but you couldn't help it. You didn't need much from anyone, just someone to stay. Joel was strong enough to take care of himself and was smart enough not to make any rash decisions. As far as you could tell, he'd stay.

So how could you be so embarrassed by asking these questions?

"I forgot how long you said you were...alone out there," his grunting voice filled the space between you once more. It was quiet, and he sounded hesitant, as if he wasn't sure how to speak.

"Since I was thirteen," you said mechanically, so familiar with others in Jackson asking the same question.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath. "And you're how old?"

"Twenty-five," you said, feeling oddly small in his presence.

He shook his head. "That's a long time to be alone," he muttered, blowing out a breath.

You huffed. "Yeah, well, I survived. And besides, I've been here for four years now, you know."

"I know."

Again, the silence. Infuriating.

Then, you couldn't help it. "What's...'spooning,' and why do those girls ask me if we've done it?"

Joel stumbled, reaching out for balance. His hand found purchase on your shoulder, and you caught him awkwardly. "You don't even know what spooning is?" He sounded incredulous, as if you'd asked a juvenile question.

The warmth from his hand was astonishing, and distracted you from your embarrassment, if only for a moment. It sank through his glove into your coat, and down toward your skin. Something about the weight of his hand on your shoulder, even for a second as he removed it quickly, was enough to send you spiraling.

Your face burned. "Never mind," you said quietly and mounted your horse again. How stupid could you get? You scolded yourself. You'd ventured too far into this conversation, and now you didn't know how to get yourself out of it. "I was just...never mind. We should get back."

He nodded, but his face still looked somewhat pinched. "Yeah. S'getting dark."

The sun was still up. No intention of sinking beneath the horizon for at least a few hours. You rode again in uncomfortable silence, this time letting it fill the space. You foolishly thought that maybe if you were quiet long enough, he'd forget that you'd made a fool of yourself, that you'd exposed yourself to the truth: that you knew hardly anything about...anything except for survival instincts.

When Joel spoke again, it surprised you. "I didn't mean to tease ya," he said. "It's just kind of a surprise that you're not...that you don't..." he looked over at you, and there was some type of pleading in his eyes, as if he were begging you not to make him say it.

"That I don't what?" you said dumbly, hoping you didn't sound as childish as you felt.

He pondered his next words carefully, and then he hummed, "If you want, I could...teach you some stuff."

"Like spooning?" You felt a warmth in your face as you watched his shoulders hunch with a soft laughter. Your own shoulder burned where he'd touched it, and something bloomed in your gut.

He chuckled. "I don't know about all that," he said, "but I'll help you get...back on track. Would hate for someone to take advantage of your...innocence." It sounded sinful, the way he said it, and the something in your gut pulsed.

"You don't have to," you shook your head, but you didn't even believe the words as they came out of your mouth. "I'll just ask someone else."

"Darlin', don't trust anyone else to give you straight answers. I'm older'n half of everyone in Jackson, anyway." He flashed you a look. "I'll help. Whatever you want to know."

You bit the insides of your cheeks, your stomach turning strangely. "Anything?"

He nodded dutifully, but his eyes had already left yours. Joel Miller, ever the professional. "Whatever you want."

-- -- --

Joel liked to consider himself someone who would never again suffer the shock of surprises. After having lived through and seen more shit than any normal person could, he thought he'd experienced it all.

That is, until her pretty lips had opened and asked him to teach her about all she'd missed. Until she asked him to teach her.

He hadn't really seen her as the picture of innocence until he'd heard how long she'd been alone, surviving with no one and nothing besides her own thoughts and the clothes on her back.

The least her parents could do was teach her how to shoot, he'd thought when he first met her. It was a curiosity that was quickly resolved, as she'd proven herself valuable to Jackson.

Tommy had wasted no time putting them on patrol together. "It'll be good for you," his brother had reasoned when he brought up concerns. "You know, to talk to someone out there. I know she's on the young side, but you don't gotta fall in love with her." He'd flashed an apologetic smile when Joel had scowled. "You're scarin' everyone, Joel. Bein' all quiet and shit...it's—"

"It's what?" he'd asked gruffly. "I don't do it on purpose. I'm a grown man."

This was all true, and he very much didn't do it on purpose. With no one around whom he deemed worthy of his conversation, Joel Miller had become the quiet, introspective version of himself that everyone decided to become scared of all of a sudden.

The way he saw things? It wasn't his fault everyone in Jackson was boring. Or childish.

But her. With her unmistakable will to survive and those eyes that could burn fierce with ire one moment, and soften with curiosity the next...it was only a matter of time before he agreed to do whatever she asked.

He should have seen it coming, especially considering her past. Every time he thought of just how...unsuspecting she was about...everything, he had to shake his head, clearing it of any thoughts that threatened to take advantage of her.

But being ignorant of spooning. He had to clear his throat every time he thought of what that might mean for himself in this particular arrangement. If she knew nothing of something so...palatable, he could hardly help himself when thinking of what else she might be unaware of.

He tried to be patient, and he tried to be respectful, but at the end of the day, he was Joel Miller. From the moment she looked at him with those wide eyes, he was lost.

-- -- --

"What I would give to give that man the ride of his life," one of the girls next to you hummed at breakfast the next morning, her eyes presumably glued to Joel, who'd just come into the cafeteria. You didn't look up at him, instead casting a confused glance toward the girl who'd spoken.

"Ride where?" You cursed your quick instinct to ask questions, as the girls erupted into a fit of giggles. Face burning, you looked down again at your plate. "Never mind," came your almost instantaneous response. You were getting used to having to apologize for your ignorance, and people rarely—especially not these girls—offered their kindness.

One of the other girls snickered. "Why don't you ask him? I'm sure there's nothing much to talk about out there anyway," she said, smiling widely. Her next words were nothing short of a drawl, the complete essence of mockery. "'Joel, what's it mean to ride?'" she pinched her face in what you assumed was an impression of you, and it only made your eyebrows furrow despite your stomach sinking in utter horror.

And then there he was. He'd called your name, and now he was standing behind your left shoulder, hand outstretched to save you.

You were sure his hand had never looked quite as appealing as it did now. The calluses on his palm were raised and visibly rough. For a moment, you stared at his fingers and wondered what they might feel like against your cheek.

Swallowing a lump in your throat, that something arose in your gut once more before you heard him murmur your name again.

"Come on," he grunted, but there was a gentleness to it that made the hair on the nape of your neck stand on end. "Time to go."

The girls at your table were silent when you took his hand gingerly and let him lead you from the cafeteria. You noted the swift wave of cold that hit your hand as soon as he dropped it, just a second later. Clasping your hands together, you hoped in a fit of desperation that you might preserve some of the weight and warmth of his touch on your skin. It failed.

"Thanks," you said later, when the two of you were outside the community's borders. Jackson felt a bit too stuffy for any real admissions of gratitude, you'd decided. It turned out to be a good conclusion when you felt the delicious churn of your stomach at the idea of being alone with him once more.

I'm sure there's nothing much to talk about out there anyway, one of the girls had said. Doesn't it get lonely out there? You were reminded of another's teasing, and this time your cheeks burned at the memory. Nothing but you, the snow, and a big man like Joel to keep you company.

He was big, you considered. When he stood next to you, his frame was almost larger than life, and his shoulders were sinfully broad when you watched him walk in front of you on previous patrols. The sheer size of him was enough to send you into a heady descent.

As usual, Joel didn't answer for what felt like ages, and you'd begun to wonder if he could see where your train of thought had led you. Then:

"You could have told me they were bein' that outrageous," he grunted, keeping his eyes forward. "I woulda helped you out sooner. S'no fun feelin' left outta everything."

It was...odd to hear such words come from a man like Joel. Although, you reminded yourself, you'd hardly spoken to him in the four years that you'd been in Jackson; who was to say he wasn't normally like this? A quiet, brooding older man, yes; but maybe he was naturally like this. One to offer his help.

"If you wanted to help, you would have made an effort four years ago." You let your words hang in the air. You didn't mean for them to come off sharp; it was simply the truth. "I don't need your help," you added, tightening your hands on the reins of your horse and swallowing roughly. "It was fine. I am fine."

He flashed you a look as if to say, is that so? You couldn't help but notice the way the corners of his eyes creased, the only sign of amusement. It was all you could do to keep your eyes on him, although you weren't sure how you were going to explain the way your mouth went dry at the sight of his big brown eyes.

"Besides," you insisted quietly, "you're not my dad."

Joel cleared his throat. Looked down, shoulders tense. Inhaled. "No," he said decidedly. "No, I'm not."

Emboldened by this clarification, you inquired, "So what did those girls mean earlier? Riding, I mean?"

If you could have guaranteed the image of Joel's eyes going wide in surprise to remain in your head for the rest of your days, you would have done it instantly. His forehead was creased as his eyebrows lifted, and despite his position facing away from you, you could see it all.

The way he seemed to wrestle with himself before answering, the way his hands seemed to clench in his gloves. "So, uh..." he started, and then paused again. Mustering up whatever courage he needed, Joel finished, "Well, ya see, when a man and woman love each other very much—"

"Joel." Oh. You couldn't help it when a breathless chuckle left your lips.

He was silent, and when he finally answered, it wasn't a question. "What."

"I'm not fucking stupid. I know how reproduction works."

Joel's chest rose and fell in a deep sigh, and you couldn't ignore the look of complete relief that washed over his rough features. "Thank fuckin' Christ. Didn't know if I had it in me for another sex talk. I'm too old to be doin' this."

"Believe it or not, my parents did leave me with the basic information." Swallowing roughly, you continued. "And I know...I know that men usually...take. It's an assertion of power, from what I've...seen."

He shook his head. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised that you've run into your fair share of dirtbags, even in the middle of the world goin' to shit." He ran a gloved hand through his hair, and you secretly enjoyed the way it stood up. "Anyone ever, you know...take...from you?"

Hearing your own words regurgitated back to you left you feeling fluttery. Shaking your head, you got down from your horse; you'd reached your typical resting spot. "No," you said firmly. "They never wanted me."

Joel nodded. "S'good," he said, and it bothered you to no end that you couldn't understand the emotion in his voice. "So..."

By now he was standing next to you, closer than you were used to, judging by the way his coat sleeve bumped yours as the two of you walked, stretching your legs. "So," you said, thinking up a way to make this conversation less awkward. "I just hate feeling like a kid again. I'm twenty-five, for fuck's sake. There's more than just survival when it comes to living. I just want to know what I'm missing out on," you confessed with a hand on your stomach.

When Joel brushed by your side again your stomach flipped. And what the fuck is that about, and why do I keep feeling it? You asked inwardly, but you were too nervous to ask. Bombarding Joel with questions, especially after you'd just started talking to him on patrol after four years, seeming to be the wrong path to take.

He shrugged, eyebrows still furrowed in thought. "There's nothing to miss if you don't know what you're missin'."

"Yes," you admitted, "but that doesn't stop any of those girls from making me feel like I'm..."

"Innocent?" he murmured, and you thought you weren't meant to hear it until he turned to look at you.

Those big brown eyes, they just won't quit, a voice nudged you in your head.

"I don't want to be innocent," you groaned, throwing your head back. "God, not in the sense that they see me in. Sounds like a damn curse."

The sound of his rumbling laughter, however quiet, sent a shock down your spine and you nearly tripped in the snow. "There's pros and cons, I s'pose," he offered. "It's like I said: I'll help you get back on track. If that's what you really want."

"It is." You stopped walking, took a look around at the landscape, otherwise empty with the scattering of trees. You swallowed, pressed one. "So...riding. It's a part of reproducing, then?"

He chuckled again, but this time it didn't come off as demeaning. It was like he was teasing you, but good-naturedly. "Let's not jump too far ahead of ourselves, yeah? Start with somethin' smaller. Then we'll work our way up."

Joel's eyes were piercing when he held yours in his gaze. If someone watched this conversation, you were sure they'd be able to see the blush blooming on your cheeks.

"Learnin' takes time, ya know," he mused, his growling voice nearly a hum that could have warmed you from the inside out.

You'd made it to the edge of the woods now. This was normally where you turned back, heading for home. But neither of you moved. The bubble of something pulsed again, and you swallowed roughly before whispering hoarsely, "So where should we start?"

-- -- --

If Joel were a better man, he might have warned her what the curse of innocence in a young woman could be. He might have shook his head, stepped back, and told her to ask someone else. He might have taken the reins and turned the two of them back toward Jackson.

If he were better, he wouldn't have stepped closer to her. If he were a better man, he wouldn't have looked into her sparkling eyes and let the question slip. Fuck it all.

"You ever been kissed, darlin'?"

-- -- --

You swallowed. Don't make a fool of yourself, you begged yourself before answering with a quiet shake of your head. "Not many contenders out there. Not any good ones, anyway."

He'd leaned closer to you with his question, and now you could practically see each line of age in his face. Joel's expression was unclear; he could have been pleased with this information or...or maybe there was pity in his eyes. "No," he said with an understanding nod. "No, I suppose there wouldn't have been."

He lifted a gloved hand to his mouth and you watched as he traced it along his lips. The gray strands in his hair glinted off the sunlight, blinking pleasantly in your eyes. That something pulsed once more in your stomach, and there was a sort of realization that came with it.

Joel, you thought. Joel is making me feel like this.

"Will you kiss me?" The words were out of your mouth before you could reel them in.

But instead of laughing, or scoffing, or giving any sign of mockery, Joel Miller inhaled quietly. "You know how much older I am than you?" he asked.

You nodded. "We're both adults, Joel. Besides," you felt a ghost of a smirk come to grace your lips, a feigned confidence coming to save you in this moment of truth. "I thought you told me to ask you these questions."

He sighed. "You're right."

"So? Will you?" you asked, with a small, "please?" coming out afterward.

He moved slowly, something you were equally thankful for as you were frustrated with, but his forehead met yours soon enough. His eyelashes brushed against your cheek, and he let out a shaky breath, letting it fan deliciously across your face. The knowledge that he was just as nervous as you were was not only a comfort; it was perhaps the most attractive thing you'd ever known.

And when you lifted your chin, just a hairsbreadth from his lips, your eyes fluttered closed, waiting for him to meet you in the middle. It only took a moment before he was closing his mouth over yours, and Joel Miller was kissing you.

He was gentle, of course, but there was something restrained about his kiss, the way he slowly slotted his lips over yours as if you might crack under any more pressure. It only made you want more, more, more...

You pressed your hands to his chest and curled them into fists, tugging his jacket to lessen the distance between your bodies even more. You didn't know how you were doing this, how you'd managed to find confidence in what could have easily been a humiliating experience. Your first kiss at twenty-five? With anyone else, it might have been a nightmare.

With Joel, it was turning out to be the most delightful dream.

"So soft, baby," he pulled back to whisper against your mouth. "These lips are so soft for me."

You hummed your response and pulled him back to you, letting him see that you wanted more. That incessant pressure was building, and it wasn't until he had his arms sliding around your waist that you forced yourself to pull back, head spinning. "Joel."

He blinked. "What? Too fast?" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, darlin', you're just so—"

"No, that's not it." You managed a weak smile, but the look in his eye, the question and the undeniable desire—is that what it looks like?—quivering in his brown irises, nearly made you collapse. He waited for you to continue, his hands never leaving you, a courtesy you were grateful for. "I feel...hot." Your cheeks warmed. "Um, there's this...pressure."

His lips closed in a tight smirk, and he squeezed your hips. "Where, baby?" he murmured, and you could have sworn you saw stars outlining his head at the sound of the pet name. "Show me," he cooed.

"Um." You paused, unsure of just how. But with his hands on your waist, his heavy, warm touch melting you on the spot, you took one of his gloved hands in yours and guided him to your stomach. "Here. Kind of."

"Yeah?" he said, and you forgot about the cold. About your horses waiting to be mounted, about your other responsibilities in Jackson. All you could see were his dark eyes that had somehow grown darker as you pushed his hand down, down, down...

"Fuck, babygirl," he cursed, and let his hand rest on the crux of your thighs, just barely pressing on the source of the tingling sensation. If anything, it made it worse, and you let a breathy whine fall from your lips. "You're gonna be the death of me, huh?" he groaned.

You couldn't form words. Just one kiss (a very good kiss, mind you) and a heavy hand on your core was all it took, apparently. You could hardly look anywhere but his face, your mouth dropping open as your hips moved of their own accord, grinding into his hand before you realized you were doing it. "Joel—" you whimpered, and he pulled his hand away.

There wasn't enough time for you to feel jilted, as he tugged you back to your horse and practically launched you onto it himself. "We're goin' back," he said firmly, "now."

Swallowing, your throat dry and rough, you pressed a hand to your cheek, feeling the heat swimming under your skin. "Did I do something wrong?"

You could hardly see him shake his head as he mounted his own horse, looking back at you to make sure you were following him. "'Course not," he called over his shoulder. When you caught up with him, the two of you shoulder-to-shoulder, he continued. "Look, darlin', f'I'm gonna be givin' you your first kiss and makin' you feel that good..." he sighed, his dark eyes finding yours. "I'm not doin' it in a fuckin' snowbank."

-- -- --

The entire ride back to Jackson was painfully long, silent but for Joel's mumbled directions, despite the fact that the two of you had taken this same route countless times in the four years that you patrolled together.

Your eyes were trained forward, and you knew his were as well, but it took everything in you not to glance at him even for a second. If you did, you were afraid that the pressure building in the crux of your thighs would never go away.

It would be unfair to say that you were completely unaware of what might happen when you got back to Jackson, but you still didn't know much, which left a nervous bubble rising in your gut. It wasn't like there were any books left in Jackson that you could read about it, or any movies that Maria would allow to remain in the community's borders.

Again, you got a wave of feeling like this should have concerned you, or at least made you a little anxious. But with Joel pulling ahead, his strong back the only thing you could look at, you felt the knot of tension release in your stomach. This was Joel. After four years—even four mostly silent years—of working together, you felt like you...knew him, somehow. That he couldn't possibly lead you astray.

Sure enough, when you were both within the borders, horses returned safely to their stables, the tension returned. Or had it ever really dissipated?

Joel hovered close to you as you left the stables. "Let's go, darlin'," he breathed, a gloved hand on your lower back as he guided you.

"Where?" you said, and you hoped it didn't sound as desperate as it did to you, the pressure getting worse. "I need—"

"I know, baby, I know," he cooed gently, his head on a swivel as if looking for anyone who might stop you. "We're goin' to mine. I've got the perfect lesson planned for ya, alright?"

It was all you could do to nod and let him push you forward through the snowy streets. If only those girls could see you now.

Once inside, you took a breath. There was no one around, and once the door closed behind you, the silence felt all the more heavy. "Ellie?" you asked, if only in courtesy.

He shook his head, and you bit your lip when you saw him smirk. "Just us, doll."

Joel shed his outer layers, and when he stood in front of you, you realized that this was the first time you'd seen him without his coat. Without his gloves, aside from that morning.

Your eyes snagged on his fingers, and you swallowed roughly when you saw the way they twitched, as if in anticipation for something. Or maybe he was holding himself back, you considered. His jaw did seem to have an impatient clench to it. Hands rough like you knew they would be, it didn't take long for your mind to wander into thinking of what it might be like to feel those hands on your skin.

With any luck, he'd give you the sweet release you craved, however it would unfold.

"See anything you like?" he teased, and your cheeks warmed.

"Sorry," you fumbled for a response, your eyes dropping. You'd meant to clear your head, but then your eyes were caught on his thighs. Specifically how hard the seams on his jeans were fighting to remain unripped. "Um, a lesson, you said?"

He nodded, reaching out a hand to take your own coat off, leaving you in the sweater and pants you'd had on all day. You were sure your hair was knotted and would be for days, but he only smoothed a hand down your face, letting you lean into his touch. His fingers were still cold, but your face was hot and it offered a dizzying sense of relief.

"I could never teach you all this," he murmured, his thumb rubbing back and forth in an absentminded swipe across your cheek. "Not without getting...distracted," he finished, pressing his other hand to your waist. Underneath the thick layer of your coat, his hand felt like a hot iron scorching your skin, despite there still being a few layers of clothes between your bodies.

"Distraction is okay," you breathed, lifting a hand to cup his on your waist. "Right?"

He shook his head, a chuckle lifting from deep in his chest. "Not tonight," he whispered. "Tonight, I want to stick to the plan."

"Which is?"

Wordlessly, he removed the hand on your waist and entwined it with your own, tugging you toward the living room where an old television had been placed on a rickety-looking shelf. "Sit," he directed, and you did so without hesitation. He paused, biting back a smile at your eager cooperation, and adjusted himself.

It occurred to you that as much as you were affected by him, he was experiencing a similar effect from you. His pants, already tighter than sin, seemed to have become even tighter, as a bulge began to grow while he stood just a few feet from your face.

"Joel—"

"No, no," he waved a dismissive hand and went to the television to grab something. He came back with something you recognized: a VHS tape. "Don't worry 'bout me, sweets. Tonight's just for you."

"We're gonna watch a movie?" you asked, trying to ignore the way your heart sank a little. You had been hoping that the two of you would kiss some more, and maybe even...you didn't even know the name for it.

"Not just any movie," he grinned, putting it in to watch. The video started. "A special one."

When the scene opened on a man and a woman in the throes of passion, you gasped. "No way," you whispered. "I thought Maria—"

He shrugged, sinking down on the couch beside you, his knee bumping yours. "She must've missed this one," was all he said.

The woman looked to be enjoying herself, as her scene partner kissed her neck, dragging his tongue from the dip in her clavicle to the curve of skin where her neck met her ear. A cartoon-ish moan left her lips, but you didn't pay it any mind. The sight of it made your thighs clench together subconsciously, the lick of pressure rising again in your center.

"Joel—"

"Shh," he said gently. "C'mere, darlin'." With no more than a heavy hand on your waist, he tugged you closer to him, situating you over his lap. "Comfortable?"

You almost said no; you knew that this wouldn't be an acceptable seating arrangement in the cafeteria (or anywhere public, for that matter), but when his hands landed on your thighs, you nodded swiftly. His fingers curled around your skin, and you could feel every pulse of his heartbeat through his fingertips, poised as if he might spread your legs from where they were squeezed together between his own thighs.

Something hard and solid nudged at your core, and you couldn't help it when you leaned back into his chest, head tilting back to rest on his shoulder. A breathy moan tumbled from your lips, and your stomach fluttered when you felt his chest rumble with a chuckle.

"That quick, baby?" he whispered, his breath fanning over your neck. "You really are a sweet young thing, aren't ya," he teased, pressing his nose to the joint between your jaw and your neck, "fallin' apart for me already?" He rocked his hips forward, his bulge pressing harder against you, and it nearly sent you into a spiral.

You swallowed, your throat dry. The sounds of the movie seemed far away as you opened your eyes and looked at his beard, peppered with gray and scratching at your chin when he leaned over you. "Joel," you whispered, bringing your hands to cover his own on your thighs, "I-I want to know everything." You'd never meant anything more fervently, more desperately, than this.

If you'd known how addicting this could feel, being so close to him, feeling his hands on you, perhaps you would have been embarrassed at the way your hips began rubbing yourself on his lap, hoping for—you didn't even know what could be after this. You just knew that the way you felt was the most intense thing you'd felt in your entire life, and you wanted to keep feeling this way, as long as you could.

Joel tutted, squeezing his hands on your thighs. "Oh, look at you," he groaned, a deep, carnal noise that made your chest constrict, "you're a natural, doll." His lips brushed your shoulder, and he darted his tongue out to lick a small strip up your neck.

Your heart swelled with the praise, and it was all you could do not to squeeze your eyes shut. "Please," you begged quietly, as if someone might hear you.

"I know, baby, I know," he crooned, dark eyes locked onto your own as his hand crept closer—to your waistband—closer—unzipping your pants—closer...there.

Your hips lifted from his lap with the heady sensation of his fingers pressed to a bundle of nerves between your legs. "Joel—!" you squeaked.

You felt him smile against your cheek. "So wet," he murmured, "so slick for my fingers, baby." He began rubbing that spot in tight circles, a slow, torturous pace. "Let me know when you're gonna come, yeah?"

"When I..." you trailed off. You'd never...how would you know? "I don't..."

Joel hummed in your ear, rocking his hips again and releasing a guttural groan. "S'okay, pretty girl," he reassured you, "I'll be gentle. Lemme know when it feels like it's too much. "I've gotcha."

You were too far gone to doubt him. This was Joel. He wouldn't let you fall, as much as you felt like you were going to slide to the floor at the feeling of his hand coming up from your leg to caress your breast, rolling a nipple between his fingertips. A strangled mix between a cry and a moan left your lips, and with one more kiss to your brow paired with a quick swipe of his finger over your ever-sensitive bud—

Something gave way and you jerked your head back, digging into his shoulder. Your legs spasmed and you squeezed your hand over Joel's, holding his hand in place underneath your panties.

"Fuck, doll, just like that," he encouraged you. "Look at you, eyes rollin' back for me. Shakin' like a good girl." His hips tensed beneath you and you felt his chest shudder as he released a punishing moan. "Got me feelin' like a damn teenager, comin' in my jeans."

His fingers stilled, but his hand didn't move. Your legs slowly stopped shaking, and the solid mass beneath you was softening. You let out a sigh, your eyelids fluttering closed. Your cheeks were flushed, you could tell; but this time, it wasn't embarrassment that brought the warmth to your face.

"You okay?" he murmured, carefully removing his hands from their places on you. "Feel alright, darlin'?"

Your head turned, nestling into the crook of his neck. Nodding quietly, you shifted in his lap. "I...I didn't know it could be like that," you shivered.

Joel paused the video, the living room falling quiet around you. Swinging a hand under your legs and tugging you to a more comfortable position over his lap, he raised his fingers to his lips, glistening with the remnants of your desire. Your jaw slackened when you watched him open his mouth, lapping at the tips of his fingers.

"Trust me, doll," he said with a glint in his eye. You whimpered in anticipation as he reached to brush a strand of hair from your face. "I've got so much more to teach you."

tysm for reading! you made it to the end! part two is in the works posted!

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milla-frenchy · 1 month

Text

Joel, Jackson

6k2 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 Summary: after years of wandering, you joined the Jackson community. Once back on your feet, you started patrolling regularly with Joel. Over the months, you ended up getting closer to that bruised man. Warnings: 18+ mdni. strangers to friends to lovers, oral (f/m), alt pov, piv, cum eating, cnc (safe word, knife play, rough sex, dirty talk, aftercare). No age specified

a/n: this is a contribution to the Jett’s Flora & Fauna challenge 🌷🪻🌻 Thank you for this beautiful event @morallyinept ❤️ Also, thank you to @cavillscurls, who kindly agreed to let me work on this anon she received, with Jackson!Joel and a cnc idea. Thank you very much, Mya 🙏❤️ Dividers @saradika-graphics 🙏❤️ @aurorawritestoescape thank you for beta reading, and for your daily support ily 💕💕💕🫶

Masterlist

************

You and Joel met in Jackson, when you joined the community, exhausted by months, years of wandering from camps to camps, where you lost everything over time. Your friends, your family, your boyfriend.

Tommy and Maria took you in and you rebuilt yourself, never thinking that you would find love again. That you would find it with that gruff, not very verbose man, about whom some people warned you. They told you about his violence, his ruthlessness. About things “other people” told them, and repeated without knowing him. That he only cared about Ellie and Tommy, that his family was the only thing that mattered to him. They were the only people worth fighting for. Even Maria had been resentful towards him for a long time, holding him responsible for what Tommy had done to survive.

Once you were back on your feet physically, and more or less mentally, you started taking part in the patrols. You needed to get out into wide open spaces. More and more, you were assigned to do them with Joel. He impressed you countless times in encounters against infected. Against a few people, even. Raiders, hunters. You always felt safe patrolling with him.

For several months, he didn’t speak much. Just the bare minimum. He wasn't exactly unpleasant, just a little gruff. As if everything that did not relate to basic principles seemed superficial to him. You enjoyed his company, not feeling like you had to talk. Your own reconstruction required a lot of energy, and you were grateful that he didn't draw on your resources. So you patrolled, each on your horse, sharing meals and surveillance. Even if you suspected him of not really sleeping during your watch. He probably didn’t fully trust your abilities, and you couldn’t blame him.

Often, during the breaks to let horses rest, you picked flowers, keeping a bouquet against your horse's rein. Sometimes he asked you what flower it was. Ultimately, it was the flowers that got you two talking about something not related to patrols, and helped you learn how to tame each other.

One day a patrol almost went wrong. You have been overwhelmed by the infected in a building. Until one of them jumped on Joel, throwing him on the ground. He was trying to use his rifle to keep the clicker away from him and his knife was out of reach. You rushed to pick it up before plunging it into the infected’s temple. Joel nodded, thanking you, then you cleared the entire building, making your way through each closed door, each room, each floor. Hiding in every nook and cranny to progress. You just killed two more and were squeezed between a wall and a piece of furniture, careful not to make any noise they could hear. Your body was against his, he made the “shh” sign with his finger, as he did so often. But that time, you saw him differently. It wasn’t Joel anymore, it was Joel, for a minute. You were so close, your eyes fixed on his beard and neck. You looked at his hairs, mixed with browns and grays. The veins in his neck throbbing and the muscles tensing under his shirt. Arousal overtook you. A strong, sudden desire for him, a physical wave, while it had been at least months, since you had wanted someone. Only your fingers had slipped between your thighs.

And you were there, in the middle of patrol, you both had almost died an hour before, and your only thoughts were absolutely not suitable for the situation. Your brain was a mess and your core even worse. When you finally looked up, you saw Joel's gaze lowered to you and his eyebrows furrowed. Asking you with hand signals why you weren't responding to his gestures. You pulled yourself together, and finished securing the building.

You went to the outpost. Joel was tense, restrained, and you asked him what was going on.

"What’s going on? What the hell happened to you in that building? Totally unfocused and inattentive. I’ve never seen you act so stupid.”

His anger disconcerted you, even though you knew he was right, that your behavior had been totally irresponsible.

“I’m sorry”, you answered sadly.

“You’re sorry? Well I’m glad to know that.”

“Damn Joel, what more do you want me to say? Ok, I screwed up. But a few minutes before I saved your ass. So excuse me, Mr. Perfect.”

“Fuck…”

He leaned back in the chair he was sitting on, rubbing his beard with his thumb, and sighed.

“I shouldn't have reacted like that, I’m sorry. I've never seen you distracted before, and I was probably still under the effect of that clicker that almost got me. Thank you. Just…please stay focused, okay? I can’t leave Ellie without me.”

“Yeah, of course.”

You went to bed. As soon as he mentioned Ellie you had put it into perspective. Of course he didn't want to leave her alone. You fell asleep, driving away your other thoughts. The feeling of his body against yours.

Other patrols followed, and seasons passed. You discovered other flowers that you had not seen in the states you had crossed before.

You only patrolled with Joel now. Tommy and Maria preferred to send pairs on patrol who knew each other well, their reflexes and instincts worked better. You had caught him snoring softly a few nights, which made you think that, finally, his confidence in you had greatly grown. You also slept when it was his shift. You absolutely trusted him. You knew he would slaughter anyone who came near. He was reliable, strong. He was Joel. You talked more and more, too, confiding in personal things. You learnt a lot from his life, as he had from yours.

He taught you everything he knew about survival and hunting. How to patrol effectively and secure a location. Many times, you told yourself that Jackson was lucky to have him in its community, despite what some people were still saying about him. But the negativity towards him had largely diminished. Maybe people realized you were close and didn’t want to tell you those things. Or maybe they had finally learned to think for themselves, and stop listening to gossip.

As for you...you never forgot the feeling you felt against him. And at night in your bed, your hand would often slide between your thighs, thinking about Joel. Imagining how you would feel if he was between your legs, his fingers in you instead of yours. His cock inside you.

He didn’t seem to have an affair or a friend with benefits. Sometimes you secretly watched him on patrol, when he was washing in a river, or when he was undressing thinking you were asleep. He had always behaved like a gentleman, without ever looking at you inappropriately. So at night, you dreamt. Making your imagination work, telling yourself that even if he wasn't interested in you, he was in your fantasies.

Joel enjoyed patrolling with you. You were attentive, calm and thoughtful. He hadn't forgotten the time he got angry with you. What you didn't know was that he knew why you had been distracted. He had felt your eyes on him. Felt the change in your stare. So yes, it pissed him off that you lost focus, but mainly because he didn't know how to react. Some women in Jackson showed their interest and made direct advances towards him, several times. He hadn't had anyone serious since Tess, and forgot about the emptiness in his love life by taking care of Ellie. The losses he had suffered hurt him too much. Sarah, Tess. Shortly after his arrival in Jackson, he had some fun here and there, but then stopped any rapprochement. This had undoubtedly contributed to his bad reputation, some women had taken it badly. It didn't matter to him. Getting emotionally invested with someone he could lose, like the others, was out of the question.

And then you arrived. You were wounded when you came to Jackson, physically and mentally. Then you rebuilt yourself, slowly, patiently. He liked your strength. The patrols were going well, you were a bit like him, not talking a lot, serious. He liked it.

And then there was that day, the patrol that had gone wrong. You saved him. Without you, Ellie would be alone now.

And then your body against his. He felt the way you froze. Felt your breathing stop, then start racing. Felt your nipples harden against his chest. When he got angry with you he blamed himself for his disproportionate reaction. You were on patrol, but he had gone too far, unable to react otherwise. He knew only too well why. He got attached to you, over the weeks, months, patrols. He was enjoying your company more and more, and not just as a patrol partner. He considered you a friend, and he’d had few friends in his life. Actually, since the world had been in ruins, he didn't think he had any. Didn't trust anyone enough for that. Tess was…family.

He liked seeing you smile, laughing out loud sometimes. He loved seeing your eyes light up and sparkle. He liked your passion for flowers, what you taught him about them. He liked seeing your smile when you found something notable while on patrol. He loved knowing that you wanted to do your part in the community. Because that meant bringing things to Ellie. He loved that you got along well with her, that you laughed every time Ellie gave him a hard time. He used to answer gruffly on purpose, because Ellie would always bite back, and you were laughing, laughing, laughing. And he loved hearing your laugh. And he realized that he liked maybe too many things about you.

Many nights, his fist clenched around his shaft thinking of you. Desperately, he had tried to think of something else, tried to not see you that way. He felt your gaze on him when he took off his jacket, when he washed himself in a river. You did it discreetly, but he was so used to being on guard and scanning his surroundings all those decades post-outbreak, that of course he noticed.

He trusted you, like he hadn’t trusted anyone since Tess. He knew he was letting his guard down, that he crossed a line that he had set for himself: not getting emotionally invested with someone he could lose.

One night during his shift he heard you moaning in your sleep, then crying. He placed his hand on your shoulder, gently shaking you awake, saying “shh, shh, sweetheart. It's ok. Wake up, you’re ok.” You opened your eyes and didn't understand where you were for a few minutes, before hugging him, your head nestled in his neck. For two seconds, his arms remained suspended, not knowing what to do, denying contact. And then he broke down and hugged you too, until your gasps stopped and you stammered an apology. “It’s ok, sweetheart”, he replied. Then he got up and resumed his post near the window, scratching his beard. You went back to bed, your back turned to the wall, and fell asleep again. He knew you mourned the people you had lost. Like so many people, like him.

You woke up the next morning, well after the start of your supposed shift. He let you sleep, and you told him he should have woken you up.

“No, it’s ok. You needed to sleep.”

“You need to sleep too. You won’t be much use if you fall asleep on your horse.”

He laughed, and your heart soared.

"OK, let's go. We have two days of patrol left, and no outpost until Jackson. We’ll have to sleep in our sleeping bags tonight.”

“The first quarter will be mine. I don’t want to get bitten because Mr. Miller had fallen asleep with the rifle in his arms.”

He laughed again. Your heart was beating so loudly you were afraid he would hear it.

You roamed around all day, inspecting a few buildings. The day was calm, just two infected. Finally, Joel asked you to choose the resting point, and you followed all the conditions which, for him, made a place safe and that he taught you about; visibility of any possible intrusion and a possibility of escape, first of all.

“This place looks good,” you said.

“Yeah, fine. Let’s go check out the surroundings.”

You tied up the horses, and looked around. No buildings nearby, enough to shelter you from the wind, excellent visibility.

“Yeah, it’s perfect,” he confirmed. You ate the dried meat you had left. You had prepared the quantities accordingly before departure. With a safety margin in case of unforeseen circumstances. He was always considerate, and taught you to be too.

You took the first shift to let him rest. Making rounds, attentive to noises. At the supposed end of your shift, he was sleeping so well that you let him rest. When he woke up, grumpy, he grumbled “damn, you should have woken me up. It’s risky to stay up longer, you could have fallen asleep.”

“Mmmm….risky like when you let me sleep yesterday?”

He frowned, before his face lit up. “You’re a little brat.”

“Yeah, I know”, you replied, smiling.

You took the road back to Jackson. It was spring and nature was waking up. Flowers were growing again, you loved them so much. You took a few breaks, to let the horses rest after such a long patrol. At the last one, you saw Jackson from the top of the hill where you were.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yeah. We’re so lucky to have this place.”

When you walked through the doors, he offered to look after your horse as well as his but you refused. You wanted to spend a little more time with him before his daily life took him away from you. He devoted himself to Ellie, even if she grew up and spent more and more time with her friends. You finally went your separate ways, after he gave you one last nod. You sighed as you got home, already missing him. Although there would be a patrol soon. In your shower, your tears flowed. You felt alone.

After your meal, you made yourself some tea. It was steaming on your knees, as you were sitting on the couch, your legs folded. Someone knocked on the door and you got up to open it.

“Joel? Everything’s fine? Is Ellie ok?”

“She’s ok. She’s having a sleepover at her friend's house. Growing up way too fast.”

You smiled and nodded.

"Can I help you? Do you need anything?" you asked him, stepping aside to let him in. He stood in the hall, his mid-season jacket on his shoulders. He took out a bouquet of wildflowers from behind his back. You hadn't seen him pick them up, and your heart was coming back to life again, as a smile lit up your face.

“Here. I know you love them. I thought you would like to have some flowers in your home, their smell in your house.” You took them and thanked him, and you put them in a vase. He was holding his hands in front of him, rubbing them gently. He seemed embarrassed and you frowned.

“Are you ok?”, you asked.

“I…just wanted to thank you. For saving my life that day. I didn’t do it properly.”

“Oh. Well, you’re welcome. But you already thanked me, really. And you saved mine a thousand times, so…” You smiled at him, but it faded when you saw the way he was looking at you. As if he was about to tell you something difficult.

Time stopped. The only movement in the room was the vapor of your tea dancing above the cup.

“I know you’re looking at me. And I know why you didn’t react in that building.”

You froze. You expected that he wouldn’t want to go on patrol with you again, that the flowers were a way to say goodbye. That you were about to lose him, having crossed a line that had never been mentioned but that you had visualized deep down for a long time. You felt like you were on the edge of an abyss and about to fall. So you tried to get out of it, to do what you could not to lose him.

“I don’t know wh-”

“Please. Don’t do that. Don’t tell me I misinterpreted, that I’m wrong.”

You lowered your head and closed your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. Tears pricked your eyes.

“No. Don’t be. Or I would have to be sorry too, and I’m tired of being sorry.”

You opened your eyes but kept staring at the floor for a few seconds. Then you looked up at him and read his stare. A multitude of emotions jostled there. The waiting, the despair. Desire? He was lost, too. A thousand thoughts were racing through your head. Did you hear that correctly? Was he suddenly going to walk to the front door and leave? Your gaze was lost in a blur and you didn't realize it. When you came to your senses, his eyes were still fixed on you.

And suddenly you both took a step forward. At the same time, as if everything was choreographed. But it wasn't. As if your bodies were running the dance, not your minds. Only your hearts. His hands found your cheeks, and yours his waist, as your lips met. Your heart was beating wildly but you couldn't hear it. His warmth surrounded yours, and his lips, his tongue were even softer than you had imagined. His mouth left yours, as he brushed your cheek with his beard and his hands left your cheeks and slid down your back, holding you against him. Your nose rubbed against his neck, and you loved his smell. You hugged him close, your arms still around his waist, tighter.

And then you pulled away, looked at him, grabbed one of his hands and led him to your bedroom. Later, when you thought about that moment, you didn't even remember your walk down the hallway. Just finding yourself in front of him, next to your bed. Joel removing your t-shirt, pulling it over your head. His hands on your breasts, his palms surrounding them with his warmth as you unbuttoned his plaid shirt. Your hands on his chest, following the line of his torso, along his happy trail, to his jeans that you unzipped. Kneeling in front of him, just wearing your sleep shorts.

You widened your eyes when you saw his cock. It was…big. And you…you hadn’t fucked in a long time. Your tongue tasted his precum. You were afraid of being clumsy after all this time. Your lips rounded around his tip, and you sucked gently, taking your time. The feeling, his taste were driving you crazy. Your head started to move up and down, taking more and more of him in your mouth, and you heard him moan softly. Until his hand gently rested on your head, and he said “sweetheart…I ain’t gonna last. It’s been too damn long since the last time.”

He took your arm to help you get up and you kissed.

You went to lie down on the bed, and he knelt on the floor. He gently pulled you towards him and took off your shorts.

He nearly came, just by seeing your folds through the fabric.

His shoulders slipped between your knees. He was so broad that you had to lean your folded legs against the bed. He caressed your thighs, his skin on yours giving you shivers. He placed his hand flat on your pussy hidden under your panties, then slid his middle finger along your folds, making you whine. He smiled and leaned down, licking through your panties, from the bottom of your folds to your clit.

“God, Joel”, you whimpered.

He grabbed the sides of your panties, slid them down your thighs and removed them. You looked at him, he was so handsome. So caring. So…yours, right now. Then he leaned down again, brushing your clit with his nose, and you shivered.

“You’re ok?” he asked.

“Yeah…yes. It’s just…It’s been a long time for me too.”

“I know, baby”, he whispered. The tip of his tongue delicately brushed your folds, from bottom to top. You moaned, clenching the sheets in your fists. His hands were placed on your inner thighs. He ran his tongue again, deeper, and you rested your hands on his head.

“You taste so good”, he murmured.

He spread your folds with his thumbs, and lapped, drinking your wetness. Sucking, licking your pussy like a thirsty man. His nose sometimes brushed against your clit, and you were already seeing stars. Your fists clenched his brown curls. Then he moved back up to your clit, wrapping his lips around it, the tip of his tongue swirling over it. When he brushed the entrance to your pussy with a finger, you thought you’d faint. He pushed it in gently, eased by your wetness soaking the sheets. Your hips rolled into him and your moans filled the room. He added a second finger, and you whispered “oh god...”

He focused on your clit, pumping your pussy gently with his two fingers, just where you needed it. You felt the heat rising in your lower abdomen. “Joel…I’m gonna come”, you whined. He didn't stop, didn't slow down. He kept the same rhythm, until you exploded in his mouth and on his fingers. Clenching them within your walls. You came so hard that you were trembling. He left his tongue resting on your clit until you stopped shaking. Then he sat up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and crawled on top of you, helping you move up on the bed. He lay on you, careful not to crush you and said, “we don’t have to do more if you don’t want to”, but you wished to feel him as much as possible. “Wanna feel you”, you said. “Just…go slow, please. You’re…big.”

He smiled in the cutest way possible. Could this man be even more perfect than right at that moment? His body between your thighs, he took his cock in his hand, slid it between your folds to cover it with your wetness. Every time he brushed against your clit, you had goosebumps. Then he nestled it in your entrance, and you wondered how he would fit, but you didn't say anything. He placed his other hand on your cheek and looked at you, to check if you were okay. You nodded, and he pushed. “Oh, fuck”, you thought.

He pulled back, and thrust in again, just as gently. Your walls were accommodating his cock and you felt him slow down.

“Don’t stop Joel, please. I’m ok.”

“Fuck. Ok.”

He kept sinking, slowly. Then you felt his balls against your pussy.

“Yeah, oh god. Fuck. You’re fucking huge!”

He smiled again, and started to fuck you, thrusting back and forth. Slowly but deeply. Buried himself fully with each thrust, brushing against your g-spot.

“You feel so good around me”, he whispered. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and held him close, your face hidden in his neck, moaning continuously.

“It’s so good…god, that’s perfect”, he said in your ear. Your pelvis accompanied his. His body brushing against the perfect spot of yours. He felt your walls clenching around him, just before you came, your pussy squeezing his shaft. He stopped buried in your core, his hand still resting on your cheek. His other hand under your head and his forehead against yours. Until you stopped moving, your thighs falling back against the mattress. Catching your breath.

“Where do you want me?” he asked.

“Wanna taste you, please.”

He nodded, and stood next to the bed, his fist pumping his shaft in short strokes as you got on your knees, mouth open. He groaned, and within seconds his hot cum started hitting the back of your throat while he was whimpering.

He helped you up, hugged you and kissed you, the sweat on his skin mixing with yours.

You both showered, your hands brushing against each other's skin, mouths kissing cheeks, necks, shoulders, hands.

“Can you stay and sleep here tonight?” you asked him once you were dried.

“I hoped you’d ask me,” he replied, smiling.

You fell asleep, snuggled up against him, his arms around you. It was the first time you slept together, and it had been perfect.

The next morning he told you his fears of losing you, as he had lost the other people he had cared about. You said he couldn't live like this. That he still had many years ahead of him, and so did you, and that refusing to be together by fear was a sacrifice not worth it. That life was worth living. He finally nodded. Almost reluctantly, as if a part of him was still struggling against this idea.

After several weeks you told Ellie about your relationship.

“Shit, do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into with that old grump?” she laughed. Joel rolled his eyes. You smiled, and replied, “yes, I do.”

You had to struggle to make him accept the idea that you would still go on patrol.

One day, when he watched the schedule, he saw your name next to another man for an incoming patrol. He stormed into Tommy and Maria's house, saying “absolutely not!”, hands on his hips and a dark, disapproving glare at his brother. You were at their house, having coffee, and you and Tommy were laughing two seconds after his loud entrance. “What’s so funny?”, he asked gruffly.

“Just wanted to prank you, big brother. You really thought I would put her on patrol with someone else? I don’t want you to beat the shit outta me.” Tommy looked at you and said, "damn that was too easy.” “Told ya”, you replied.

Joel rolled his eyes and poured himself a coffee, before sitting down across from you in the kitchen.

“You knew?” he asked.

“Yeah, and I definitely didn’t want to miss that.”

“Jesus”, he growled.

You got to know each other even more. You talked about your lives before and your losses. He told you about his pre-outbreak life, Sarah. The years that followed, what he did with Tommy and Tess to survive. The people they had robbed, killed. Boston, the smuggling. His deals with FEDRA. His journey with Ellie. The hospital.

You got to know each other sexually too. He was both tender and rough. His praise and dirty talk were perfect, he always knew what to say, and when to say it.

You fucked a lot, and pretty much everywhere. Your place, where you didn’t live anymore but you would use when Ellie was at home. His place. Against the wall of the Tipsy bison’s bathroom or on the sink.

The first time you knelt in front of him in an outpost during a patrol, while he was surveilling through the window, he told you "no, no way. Absolutely not”, shaking his head.

“Lemme suck your cock”, you replied. “Keep watching, it’s hot”, you added, unzipping his jeans. After he shot his load on your tongue, with his hand resting on the window and the other clenching your hair, he said "jesus, you're gonna kill me." And he ate you against that window 30 seconds later, after you swore to him that yes, you would watch the outside even with his tongue buried between your folds.

You established a safe word. “Patrol”. You smirked when he proposed that one. He never missed an opportunity to remind you he didn't like that you were still patrolling.

You played and you discovered each other. More kinks and more desires. Testing limits that opened new horizons of pleasure. You asked him a thousand questions about his past as a raider, and his contained violence during your patrols were making you terribly horny. So one day you told him about something you wanted to try. You wanted to see his dark side. What he was capable of. You wanted to play with your fear, doing it with someone you fully trusted. Someone who could lead you where you wanted to go, but would stop the second you asked. You didn't know where your limits were, but having a safe word was making everything easier.

So you told him precisely what you wanted. A pseudo kidnapping, where he would blindfold you and do knife play. Where he would be rough. Really rough. He listened, half amused, half surprised.

“You really want that? Wanna see this side of me?”

“Yes, Joel. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, and I really want it.”

“And you’ll use the safe word the second you want me to stop?”

“Yes.”

“Promise me”, he insisted. “That you will not keep going with something that makes you uncomfortable, thinking that it will annoy me if you tell me to stop.”

"I promise. I know you’ll stop immediately, I trust you 100%.”

He looked at you for a long time before nodding.

"One last thing Joel." He smiled, and asked, “do you have any limits, woman?” You giggled and kissed him, saying “I’m not sure, actually.” Then you looked at him seriously and said, “I don’t want to know when it’s gonna happen. And if I say no, we agree that it's a part of the game. The only thing that should make you stop is the safe word. Or if you are uncomfortable. Do you agree with that?”

“It’s a deal, baby.”

You talked about it several weeks ago, and had done several patrols since then. You thought he would do it during one of them. You knew he hadn't forgotten. He didn't forget anything.

Joel had been preparing everything for weeks. He checked the place carefully during other patrols, every corner, anticipating every moment so that everything happened safely. He thought about how he would do it, how he would act, what you would love. And he couldn't wait.

You were packing your things for another two-day patrol. A moderately long one, which you knew well, but during which infected were regularly encountered, that time of the year.

You killed a few on the first day. Nothing particularly difficult, and you reached the outpost. You had your meal. You were getting ready to go to bed, and Joel, as usual, inspected the building again, then left to check the surroundings. You watched him leave through the window, with his brown leather jacket and a backpack, gun in hand. You went to bed, waiting for him to come back but sleep overtook you. You were dozing, without having fallen into a heavy sleep.

Darkness invaded the room and the sound of the floor creaking suddenly brought you out of this state, just before you were seized. You’ve been grabbed, felt a body against yours on the bed, and a hand covered your mouth. A fabric covered your face and your heart pounded. Part of you thought about the game you discussed with Joel, and another part thought that maybe someone had caught him, maybe killed him. Panic filled you and you struggled, but soon you heard “it’s really stupid to be alone in this abandoned place.” Joel's voice. Your heart rate calmed down and your body relaxed instantly, as the arousal hit you. You relaxed into the arms that were holding you. Damn, he gave you the scare of your life. He manhandled you, flipping you onto your back and straddled you, his thighs surrounding your chest.

“Ain’t that a pretty thing?” he said calmly, before grabbing your breasts with both hands, over your t-shirt. You heard a blade brush against his jeans, and he placed the tip of his knife against your neck. Your chest rose and fell with the excitement you were feeling. He grabbed your t-shirt in his fist and slid the blade through the fabric, pulling sharply. Revealing your breasts through the torn garment. He pushed it aside, the cloth just held by your arms and slid the blade along your chest.

“Your nipples are hard, sweetheart. Does bein’ scared fucking turns you on?”

“Please, let me go”, you begged.

He sneered. “Oh no. Got a pretty damn thing, with, I’m sure, a pretty damn cunt that I’m gonna stuff really soon. Ain’t gonna let you go.”

“Please”, you begged again.

“Maybe that’s what you wanted, being alone in this place. To get caught by a raider? Mmm, sweet thing?”

He never called you ‘sweet thing’. ‘Baby’, ‘darling’, or ‘sweetheart’. You knew he did it to accentuate the game, to turn you on. And god, he was good at it.

“Let’s use this mouth for something better than whining.”

You heard the zipper of his jeans, the rustling of clothes. You heard him jerk off. Then he lifted the fabric covering your face slightly, just to free your mouth. He pressed his tip against your lips, and ordered, “suck my cock.”

You shook your head to keep him away from you and he grabbed your throat. “You know, I like it when they fight. Turns me on even more.” He squeezed your chin between his fingers, forcing you to open your mouth. You licked his tip shyly. “Don’t be a fucking tease. Suck it”, he growled. You opened your mouth wider, letting him slide in, and you blew him. Letting him impose his rhythm. Fucking your mouth until you gasped for air on his shaft. “That’s better, sweetheart. You could almost make me cum down this throat. But I wanna fuck this pussy and make you feel my cock in your stomach.”

He moved back, remaining straddling you, but this time he sat on your thighs, before tearing your panties in two with his blade and you blenched. He released his grip and you tried to pull away but he quickly lay down between your thighs, pinning your body with his.

“You really think you can escape? You won’t feel better if I fuck you after making you bleed a little, believe me. Stop this bullshit.”

“Don’t do this, please. Please, sir…”

“Sir? Fuck I like it”, he said, forcing his knee on your thigh to spread it. Your pussy was dripping, you felt your arousal flowing. He was fully clothed, pressed against your body. He grabbed his cock in his hand, sliding it against your folds.

“Shit, you’re soaked. You really want that cock,” he said, his mouth against your ear, his beard brushing against your skin and his blade against your neck. “Yeah it really turns you on. I’m gonna give you what ya want.” His voice was cold as ice.

He slipped the tip at your entrance and you begged again, “no! Please, stop it!”

“Don’t think so, sweetheart”, he said in a low voice, and sank in your core, putting his hand over your mouth just as he bottomed out. Without covering it completely, in case you wanted to use the safe word. He pulled back, and slammed into you, taking your breath away. “Fuck…suckin’ me right in.” Then he pounded your pussy with his cock, so hard that you could barely breathe.

“Yeah, found a really good cunt. You're gonna come for me sweetheart. Gonna cum on this cock.” He pulled back to cover his thumb with your wetness before thrusting in again, with deep but slow strokes now, and twirled his finger over your clit, making you moan.

“Yeah, you’re a pretty thing, for sure”, he said. He felt his orgasm building, and was just waiting for you to come, and then he would remove the fabric from your face.

“Fucking perfect cunt”, he growled. “Takin’ me so good.”

Your walls were clenching his shaft more and more, until you came hard, whimpering, grabbing his biceps.

“That’s it, come on my cock.” He pulled back and got on his knees, removing the garment from your face, just in time to shoot his cum all over your stomach and breasts, one hand pressed against the mattress. "Oh god...Fuck...Fuck, baby..." he said, panting.

Then he leaned towards you, took your face in his hands and asked “are you okay, sweetheart?”

You leaned him in and kissed him, and said "never better. Fuck, you scared me at first and it was so hot and perfect!!”

You couldn't contain your joy and you saw the relief on his face. “Damn...you didn't use the safe word so I didn't stop, but fuck, you've got nerves, baby!”

“Yeah, well…that means that next time we can go a little further”, you added with a big smile.

He grabbed a wildflower, he had picked before joining you, from the bedside table. He had put it there while he had been holding you, and you hadn't noticed anything. He handed it to you and smiled. “For my girl”, he said. This man was perfect, and he was yours.

You got back to Jackson. You were behind him when you came through the gates on your horses, looking at him. His slightly graying curls. His mid-season brown jacket and his broad shoulders. His ass on the saddle. And you smiled.

Joel, Jackson.

You loved him, and you loved that place.

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

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@littlemisspascal @pascalsanctuary @survivingandenduring

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moodstabilizr · 28 days

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i love jackson joel. i want to make tea in our kitchen and read books together on the couch. is that too much to ask.

#jackson!joel #joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller x f!reader #i want to domesticate #that man

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trulybetty · 2 days

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warm bread & honey

pairing: jackson!joel x reader word count: 3,325 warnings: a little sprinkling of angst if you squint hard enough, briefest mentions of past injuries, no descriptions of reader, use of a nickname, no y/n, just soft and cozy post tlou season one joel deserves estimated reading time: 17 minutes summary: joel returns home to you from patrol ao3: linked

a/n: it's been a while, eh? had to take an unplanned hiatus but trying to figure out how to jump back in - figured a good place to start was by clearing out my wip's. this had been semi-finished for a while, but I wasn't sure it'd fit, then I figured I should just post it - a reminder of writing for yourself first, right?

“The teapot is hot!” You warned when you heard the familiar drag of one of the kitchen chairs being pulled out against the worn wooden floor. The ceramic pot, not long filled with hot water and tea, was made in anticipation of the completion of your morning's baking you had started in the early hours, unable to sleep for tossing and turning.

You had both hands gloved and inside the oven pulling out a loaf of bread, but your forewarning hadn’t been enough to prevent the hissed curse that sounded from behind you.

Carefully placing the fresh loaf atop the stove, its smell filled the kitchen and enveloped you in a comforting embrace, though it could be easily argued that feeling had more to do with the house's new arrival than anything else.

“I told you it was hot,” you admonished as you pulled off the oven gloves turning around to find a sheepish Joel sitting at the kitchen table, you gave him a warm smile, “Hi.”

Joel, his jacket already shrugged off and in the process of rolling up his sleeves gave you an equally comforting smile, one that said he was pleased to see you after days apart, “Hi,” he replied.

Throwing the gloves to the counter you took the three wide steps to close the distance between the two of you. Just the knowledge of him being home, seeing him in one piece, was enough to release the tension that sunk into your bones every time he went on patrol or for anything that required leaving the safety of Jackson’s confines.

As you took that final step, watching him turn in his seat to throw his jacket over the back of the chair beside him, the early morning light filtered through the window, casting a soft glow over the kitchen and highlighting the subtle signs of weariness on his face. Despite the tired weathered lines and the shadows beneath his eyes, his smile when he looked back up at you was genuine, a silent testament to the comfort he found in simply being back home, back with you.

“You look like you’ve been through it,” you observed, your voice a gentle blend of concern and welcome.

Joel shrugged, a low chuckle escaping him as he subconsciously ran his fingers down to his side, the subtle movement betraying the discomfort he tried to dismiss, “It’s nothin’ darlin’. Just the cold reminding me I’m not as young as I used to be,” he said, attempting to downplay the lingering pain from the old jagged scar at his side.

His attempt to brush off his discomfort didn't fool you; you knew him too well to deny the nuance of his movements as something else, his attempts to hide the silent hiss under his breath. You reached out, your fingers tracing the air just shy of the old wound, a silent acknowledgment of the battles he'd weathered, both external and internal.

Joel's gaze held yours, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes before he masked it with a lopsided smile.

The morning light, now brighter, spilled into the kitchen, casting long shadows and highlighting the fine dust particles dancing in the air. It was serene, a quiet moment shared between the two of you. Your hip propped against the heavy farmhouse table your hand reached out instinctively to touch his arm, feeling the cold that he’d carried in through the front door seeping from his skin through his now rolled-up sleeves.

“How about,” your fingers toyed with the buttons that did up the front of his shirt, “you let me run you a warm shower,” you suggested, knowing all too well he wouldn’t admit to the true discomfort of the aches the cold weather brought to his old wounds.

Joel’s eyes, a mix of fatigue and the warmth of finally being home met yours. For a moment he seemed to weigh the offer, the stubborn part of him that disliked admitting any form of weakness at war with his need to sink into you. Finally, his resolve melted away, a soft smile escaping him as he gave into the warmth of your proposition.

A smirk appeared on his lips, “Only if you’re joining me.”

You laughed, it was light and genuine with the heaviness of Joel’s absence lifted, his return sweeping out the heavy air that always settled in with each departure.

“I suppose, that can be arranged,” you teased, a knowing look passing between the two of you.

Joel’s smile widened as he leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking as if welcoming back an old friend, “Is that right darlin’?”

“Fresh sheets on the bed too.”

He raised an eyebrow, a silent question lingering in that simple gesture. You’d been together for quite some time and yet still he was touched with disbelief that this was life, that anticipation of the domesticity you brought him, something he had believed he’d ever get to indulge in again.

“Well, don’t you know how to welcome a man home,” his smirk deepening into an expression of gratitude.

He stood from the chair, his movements still carrying evidence of his fatigue and the hollow ache in his bones. The faintest grimace crossed his face, quickly replaced by a lazy grin as he caught your disapproving look. He shooed you through the kitchen door to avoid any potential fussing, a light touch to your lower back, guiding you to the stairs.

The house was still, the only sound was the soft creak of the floorboards underfoot and the distant whistle of the wind outside, a stark contrast to the warmth inside.

The shower’s sound filled the bathroom, echoing off the tiled walls within the shower stall. Steam filled the room as you helped Joel out of his clothes, finally resigned to giving in to your care and attention. With each piece of clothing shed, dropped to the floor, revealed more of the toll the patrol had taken on his body.

He let out a hiss as your fingers grazed over new dark bruises, shadows under his skin in a mottled watercolour display in purple and blue. Despite his attempts to downplay it, the patrol had clearly been a tough one.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said gruffly, catching the concern on your face, swiftly replaced with a roll of your eyes in response.

Joel stepped into the shower, and let out a soft groan as the hot water cascaded over his sore body. He bowed his head under the stream as he braced one hand against the shower wall. Stripped of your own clothes, you stepped in behind him, hands coming to rest on his hips. Slowly, your fingers began to knead the tense muscles along his back, feeling him quickly relax into your touch.

“Rough one out there this time,” he muttered, a tinge of bitterness in his tone as his eyes closed at your touch.

In the safety of the intimate space of the shower, the water releasing the tension from his shoulders, there was a vulnerability that Joel seldom showed.

You reached for the soap, lathering it between your hands before gently applying it to his shoulders. Carefully you worked the soap over his body in a meticulous order, paying extra attention to the areas marred by bruises. When you reached the back of his head you massaged your fingers into his hair with a gentleness that was born out of years of shared moments just like that one.

Joel tilted his head back into your touch, a deep moan escaped his throat as your nails scratched at his scalp, fingers tangling in the curls that had grown longer with the winter weather and his reluctance to stay on top of trimming it. After a moment or two, begrudgingly, you took your fingers from his hair. He bowed his head under the shower head once again to allow the hot water to rinse out the suds.

Your eyes traced the scars that adorned his back and shoulders like constellations. You could shut your eyes and still map out each one without any hesitation. Many a night, you had traced the lines of his back as he lay on his stomach with you lying next to him. Your fingers brushed strokes over its curves as you talked, sometimes of life before Jackson, life before everything stopped. You would talk about those you missed, who didn’t make it, left behind in a world that was no longer recognizable. Other times, silence was enough, a gentle shroud draped over the two of you.

With the suds long rinsed out, he turned to face you. His eyes softened as he took in the sight of you. There was a time when this look made you feel vulnerable and far too exposed, with your own scars, those both visible and not, on full display. But now it brought you comfort, that familiarity between the two of you had grown into something precious.

“You look after me too well, darlin’,” Joel’s voice was a low rumble, barely audible over the shower’s spray.

“Who else is going to?” you replied, a hint of amusement to your tone as you pushed back an errant curl from his forehead.

Leaning in, he captured your lips in a slow, tender kiss. The familiar scratch of his beard against your skin felt like home. His breath hitched as you moved your hands around his hips and up the curve of his back, your nails a light scratch against his skin. A sigh of contentment passed between you both, carried away by the steam rising around you.

Pulling back for a moment, his need to pause in the moment, to take it all in, his eyes met yours and you couldn’t help but notice the affection they held, a far contrast from when you’d first laid eyes on Joel Miller. The man you had first met was skittish, kept quiet in his new arrival in Jackson. You’d met him that night at the Tipsy Bison, Eugene regaling the room with a story of your day's misfortune and you’d made your way to the bar to avoid the heckles.

What started as casual conversations at the bar on more than one occasion turned into shared meals in the main hall, Joel too polite to leave when you joined him, then the odd patrols together, and eventually late nights spent in each other's company neither wanting the night to end.

His thumbs gently caressed your cheeks, and you leaned into his touch, your eyes closed at the sweet gesture. He pressed his lips to yours once more. The hot water continued to cascade over you both, creating a warm cocoon you didn’t ever want to leave. Your hands returned to his hips, taking their time as they moved from the curve of his broad shoulders down to his narrow waist.

“Feels good,” Joel murmured against your lips, his voice husky and thick with gratitude, his eyes half closed as he rocked into the movement of your fingers as they pressed into the tight muscle once again. “But if you keep that up honey, I fear one of us is going to put their back out tryin’ something in this shower we have no business trying. Anyway,” he continued, “didn’t you say something about clean sheets?”

You laughed, as you continued to knead his hips, “I might have mentioned it,” you replied as you gave him a playful pinch.

Joel’s laughter joined yours, a deep, comforting sound that resonated against the tiled walls. Amidst the steam and cascading water it felt precious, a rare moment of lightness that felt almost sacred in its intimacy.

The two of you finished your shower with a comfortable efficiency in a silent communication that spoke of the years and experiences you’d shared.

Once dried and wrapped in freshly laundered towels you led Joel by the hand to the bedroom where the promise of fresh sheets awaited, The morning sun had begun to fill the room with a soft golden light that made everything feel a lot more peaceful than the days gone by in Joel’s absence. The bed, freshly made in the early hours when you’d given up on any attempts of sleep, beckoned the two of you to rest and to find solace in each other now both its inhabitants were home.

Joel sat on the edge, his movements slow, a mixture of exhaustion and lingering discomfort. You watched him for a moment, his face bathed in the winter’s sun the lines of his face were softened and for a moment you felt like you were getting a small glimpse of a younger Joel as he closed his eyes and lifted his head to soak in the scant warmth it brought. You felt a surge of gratitude for his safe return, to the quiet life the two of you had managed to carve out together in a world that offered no guarantees.

Joel cracked open an eye to look at you at the end of the bed, “You can come on over honey, don’t have to watch from the cheap seats.”

You shook your head as you laughed, no hesitation in following his invitation. You positioned yourself in front of him as he spread his knees to make room for you to nestle between them, bringing your chest flush with his. Carefully he began to peel the towel from around you, his fingers grazing your skin with a gentleness that belied the strength within them.

As the towel dropped to the floor at your feet, you reached up to touch his face, tracing the lines that time had etched into his skin, each one a testament to the life he had lived. He caught your hand in his, pressing a kiss to the palm before guiding you down to follow him as he lay on the bed.

The sheets, cool and inviting, contrasted with the warmth that radiated from Joel as he pulled you closer. The world outside the window seemed to hold its breath, the light that fell across the room created a haven from the chaos that lay beyond. There with him beside you, for the briefest of moments you could just pretend that it was a regular Saturday morning, just like the ones before the world had changed, where the two of you could have simply been another regular couple.

You closed the space between you, your fingers tangling in his damp locks while his lips met yours. The kiss was soft but held an air of a fight of urgency against the need to savour the moment. Your fingers tangled in his hair, his teeth nipped at your bottom lip, swollen in response to both his kisses and his three-day beard.

A soft moan escaped your mouth, causing a growl to rumble in Joel’s chest in response. His arms wrapped tighter around you. It was always the way when he returned, he never rushed, took every moment in slowly, savouring every touch, every sound that he pulled from you. His lips found your neck, his beard scraping the sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine as his lips continued to graze a path from your earlobe to your collarbone.

He nuzzled at your jaw, his kisses light and teasing causing you to squirm in delight as you tried to pull his mouth to yours. His laughter was low and husky in your ear as instead he pulled back to look at you. His eyes were alight despite the tiredness that framed them and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as your hand found his cheek and he leaned into your embrace.

The tiny bit of warmth of the morning sun framed the two of you, amplified by the heat that had built between you both, wrapped around you like a blanket, comfortable and familiar. His lips found yours again, unable to be parted for too long. His hand cupped your hip, his fingers pressing into you as if testing if you were really there, if the moment was real between the two of you. Confident he had a hold of you, he rolled over onto this back, bringing you with him so that you were straddling him.

Both hands now at your waist his thumbs stroked absent-minded circles against your skin. You glanced down at him, taking in the sight of his now closed eyes and relaxed features. His exhaustion was apparent more than ever. But the sight of pure contentment on his face made your heart flutter.

The air between you was charged with static, which only seemed to grow in intensity with each breath, each touch, and each whispered word. The worries you’d had during his absence, tied up alongside the knot in your stomach were now coming undone with the soothing balm of his presence.

You leant forward again, this time your lips met his in a simple chaste kiss that had him humming appreciatively beneath you as he moved his hands to the small of your back. Just as you were about to deepen the kiss, a sudden slam of what sounded like the back kitchen door punctuated the serene atmosphere, startling the two of you and Joel to grip onto you a little tighter. The muffled sounds of footsteps and voices drifted up the stairs bursting what was left of the bubble of intimacy you and Joel had carefully cultivated.

“Ah, sweet! Honey made bread!” Ellie’s voice, unmistakable and filled with loud delight echoed up through the house, followed by another voice that you had to strain to hear, Dina, a lot more soft-spoken than Ellie.

“Looks like they left in a rush,” Dina said as you heard cupboards being opened and closed with such ferocity that it could only be Ellie. Joel shook his head beneath you as the two of you waited to hear more of what was happening downstairs, “Ellie, didn’t Joel just get home from patrol?”

A brief silence passed, you could’ve sworn you could have heard a pin drop as the whole house seemed to hold its breath. Then came a flurry of whispered curses from Ellie, her realization finally dawning on her.

“Oh shit,” she exclaimed, before raising her voice, a mixture of haste and apology in one, “Welcome home Joel! Sorry Honey! You two, keep doing your thing—ouch!” you could only assume Dina had stopped Ellie in her tracks before she said something she shouldn’t, “Anyway, we’re leaving! But we’re taking the bread!”

Joel rolled his eyes as Ellie and Dina continued to bicker as they left the kitchen. It wasn’t until you both heard the satisfying click of the kitchen lock that you both let out a laugh. The interruption had shattered the tension between the two of you, leaving you both in a fit of laughter.

As the laughter subsided, you brushed a thumb over his rough cheek as he stifled a yawn, closing his eyes and leaning into your touch once more. Another kiss to his lips before you rolled yourself off of him to lay down beside him, but still just as close. He pulled you in against his chest, your head finding a home in the crook of his neck, his arms holding you tight, his fingers tracing imagined patterns on your bare skin.

He was home, you could hear the steady sound of his heartbeat in your ear. Outside the wind picked up in spite of the early peaceful sun that rose over Jackson. A reminder that despite the peace Joel’s return had brought, there still was a looming threat outside its boundaries, its frozen breath seeping through wooden walls. You held onto him a little tighter, knowing that despite wishing that you both could be a normal couple in a life full of normalities, the time you had together was tenuous at best.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #jackson!joel #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x gn!reader #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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loliwrites · 12 days

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I. Tenacity | Edelweiss

pairing: joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni warnings/tags: jackson era!joel, sharpshooter!reader, age difference [joel is mid 50s, reader is early 30s], joel lives forever fight me, canon compliant violence, no infected here just terrible humans, mention of death, blood, and murder, mentions of hunger, diva cup appearance, talk of irregular menstrual cycles [trauma-induced menopause][epigenetics], DUBCON/NONCON [tagging ‘cause reader allows it but true enthusiastic consent is absent], brief SMUT, unprotected p in v sex, female reader, no physical description other than a height difference, slow burn-ish, protective!joel, no use of y/n. word count: 5.6k series masterlist a/n: my first go at writing something tlou-related. be gentle pls.

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The steady rhythm. You could count the number of times your hip would be shoved into the wooden table with a high degree of certainty of when it would be over. Michael never lasted too long. Somewhere between thirty-four and thirty-seven thrusts. He was never particularly rough, and though he was never chasing to make you feel good, he was at least better than George and James – both of whom would probably be lining up after Michael was done. George seemed to last forever. Some old fart who’d gained his stamina before the world came to a screeching halt. He usually landed somewhere between sixty-two and sixty-six thrusts. The bruises he left behind always lasted the longest because of the sheer amount of times he slammed your body into whatever you were up against. A table, a railing, an old pool table with torn, dirty felt. And the worst of all was James. He may not last the longest, but he had the uncanny ability of making you feel like some depraved wild animal he was trying to break. He never took his time to make sure it wouldn’t be absolutely painful like Michael did. Nor did he have a pencil dick to make it somewhat manageable like George. He took it how he wanted it – fast, unceremonious, and always left you in a mess you’d have to clean up.

Part of you wondered if this was worth it. If the wolf was only as strong as the pack, then having a pack was supremely necessary. And though, these guys… and the group they led… weren’t the people you would’ve gone with by choice. A pack was a pack. Alone, you were an easy target for almost anything and anyone. Being together afforded you safety in numbers. Relative safety in numbers. Safe enough to have stayed alive with them for the past six years. Years that you likely wouldn’t have gotten if you’d fought them tooth and nail and went off on your own. Solitude could only get you so far. No matter how proficient you were with your rifle.

The one that lay in front of you on the table. Clean, well-oiled, with a scope affixed to the top. As Michael started to moan recklessly behind you, you thought about the meals you’d forfeited in trade for the supplies needed to keep the weapon in the best of shape. Times were tough – had been tough for a couple decades now – and a gun was a gun. It didn’t need to be clean, it just had to work. But this was no ordinary gun.

Michael came inside you with a strangled grunt and pulled out a second later. That was a relatively new twist in the routine. For years the men were careful to never finish inside you… or any of the other women in the group. Food and resources were scarce enough as it was, let alone adding little mouths to feed and take care of. But a few months back, you’d confided in some of the women that your period hadn’t been coming when you expected it to. And when time had passed and neither a baby nor your period came, you came to the conclusion you were suffering from the same fate as some of the other women. A hard life compounded. Trauma induced menopause. You weren’t sure which of the women had ratted you out. But soon enough the men had become aware of your new biological situation, and they stopped the frantic pulling out as they came. Perhaps that was for the best. Who’d want to bring a child into a world like this?

“Was that alright?” Michael asked, buckling his belt back up. His back was turned toward you as he reached for his own rifle, which he’d propped up against the wall.

You glanced over at him and pulled your pants back up your legs. Over the lofted railing, you could hear George and James mumbling to each other. “Fine,”

“Did you…?”

He finally met your eyes. Anxiety-ridden. None of the other men ever asked, but you didn’t have it in you to lie to him. At some point maybe it’d sink in that he should stop partaking in the act just to fit in with the boys. “No,”

His gaze averted to the floor sheepishly and he shouldered his rifle. “Guess we should get back downstairs,”

“I’ll be down in a couple minutes,”

Now you were the one to turn your back on him. Though you hoped he’d come to his senses and start to become a better man. You knew he wouldn’t. He was initiated into the system. The one George and James, and all the other men in the settlement formed. The one that meant they brought girls along on patrols so they could get their kicks and save face with the others that they were doing their due diligence in protecting the group. And you joining the group… well you turned out to be the little guardian angel for the women in the pack. Good with a gun, able to pick off infected and humans alike from a mile out. It only seemed natural that the men going out on patrols would take you with them. For that you inadvertently protected the other women from your fate.

Michael cleared his throat and started down the stairs from the loft. You bit the inside of your cheek to show yourself you could still feel something, and – BANG!

Your head flicked around toward the noise. What was left of Michael was splattered against the wall leading up the stairs. You grabbed your gun and held it poised. Looked over the lofted banister and down at the room below. George had backed up into the far corner; his arms raised in non-threatening compliance. Someone must’ve been pointing a weapon at him, but you couldn’t tell from the angle. And James, well… if it didn’t warm your heart a little bit to see him being restrained in a chokehold with a handgun to his temple. The man you could see, holding James, was tall, muscular… he had black, curly, jaw-length hair. A thick mustache. He was in all denim. And it was clean, which was the thing that caught you the most off-guard.

You lifted your gun, disregarding the scope, and looked down the barrel. James may’ve been part of your pack, but you’d thought about putting a bullet in him on a daily basis for the last eight years. And while these guys might kill you afterward, at least you’d have the brief satisfaction of knowing that you’d taken one terrible human off the face of the planet.

So there was no hesitancy when you squeezed the trigger. The round flew by the denim-clad man’s head and went straight into James’. He crumpled to the floor and the man who’d been holding him looked up in your direction, though you’d backed away enough to ensure you weren’t seen.

Your pulse was pounding in your ears. Despite two thirds of your life having been in a post-Cordyceps world, the sound and reverberation of your rifle going off right by your ear didn’t keep it from ringing. An almost concussion-like haziness emphasized by the adrenaline coursing in your veins. From down below, you could just barely hear George pleading for his life. Something about how he had a woman he loved and wanted to go home to. Strange considering he had his dick in you on most days out.

The ringing in your ears started to quiet, just in time for you to hear a footstep behind you. A heavy one. Definitely belonged to a man. But not in time for you to spin around with your rifle before finding the man already pointing his rifle at you.

“Drop it,” he commanded gruffly. A deep, gravelly voice. He was sure of himself. Confident. His tattered jacket bunched up around his shoulders. He wasn’t as clean-looking as his partner currently detaining George. Graying, brown hair, a prominent scar over his nose, a scruffiness… and yet, he still looked too put together to have been living off the land for any amount of time. You should know. God knows what you looked like had you ever taken any time in front of a mirror. If the dirtiness of your hands were any indication, you were a little worse for wear. “I said, drop it,”

Your eyes flicked back up to his face and you slowly bent over and placed your rifle on the floor. No sooner than you’d completed the action, he had another order for you. Kick it here and get on your knees. So you did. Nudged your most prized possession away with your foot when another BANG! rang through the old hunting lodge. Your eyes flinched shut; the nanosecond of thought that this was it. You’re dead. But then… you still felt alive. And you squinted your eyes open to evaluate. Yep, definitely still alive. No bleeding holes coming from your body, and the man still in front of you waiting for you to comply with his last order. Which you did… awkwardly. A grimace stretched over your face when you knelt down and felt your pants sticking to your thighs; Michael’s spend dripping out of you.

The muzzle of the man’s rifle never left you, “got anything else on you?”

“Knife in my front pocket,”

“Slide it over,”

You did. Quickly. Hoping that your quickness and willingness to obey him would mean he’d let you go with your tail tucked between your legs.

“You infected?”

You glared at him, “do I look infected?”

He cocked his gun and held it up in line with your head. You trained your eyes on his index finger around the trigger. Just one twitch. That’s all it’d take.

“Joel,” both you and the man… Joel… looked away from each other, and fixed your eyes on the stairs where the second one – the one you’d disregarded in order to kill James – entered the loft. “Look at her gun,” both men looked at your rifle. “I don’t think she misses very often. If she was gonna kill us, we’d already be dead.”

He went to approach you, and this time Joel spoke up. A cautious step forward, “Tommy.”

But this Tommy… he took another couple steps in your direction and handed off his rifle to Joel when he went to stand in front of you. You kept your eyes on his face, tilting your head back to keep him in your line of vision. Even if he tried something, you weren’t sure what you’d do to stop him, but at least you’d see it coming.

“I don’t think you missed me. I don’t even think you were aiming at me,”

“I wasn’t,”

A victorious smile spread across his face and he twisted around to look back at Joel, “see.” Tommy looked back down at you and set his hands on his hips. “What’s your name?”

You flicked your eyes at Joel quickly before returning them to Tommy to answer his question.

“You’re with the other settlement?”

“I wouldn’t call them a settlement,” your eyes flicked over to Joel when he clicked his tongue on his teeth and rolled his eyes. “Nomads, at best,”

“And at worst?” Joel barked.

Your eyebrows lifted quickly in contemplation before… “a bunch’a assholes,”

Another wide grin broke out over Tommy’s face. “You got a family or a partner in that bunch of assholes?” He waited for a verbal response but you only shook your head. “We’ll take her back with us. She might be able to give us some answers about our friends we’ve been seeing on patrol.”

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

They made you walk while they sat easily atop their horses. Some kind of cruel twist of fate that your own gun was turned on you the whole time. Joel made sure of that. Based on the way the sun fell toward the horizon, you figured you’d all been an hour and a half walk south of their settlement. Which as you neared the large wooden gates, seemed to be more like a QZ than some random encampment. And judging by the way the two men bickered, you assumed they were brothers. Only siblings could piss each other off like that and not take it personally. How lucky, you thought, that after all this time, they still had each other.

When you did near the enormous gates, Tommy left you behind with Joel. A precarious position. His face remained stoic the entire time, muzzle of the gun pointed at you… didn’t even answer when you asked if his horse had a name. You thought about goading him into an argument for the fun of it. Maybe he named his horse Princess. Or Spike. But Tommy interrupted again, riding up with a handful of others and even a dog. It growled and snarled in your direction, and you weren’t sure why, but you glanced back up at Joel to see if his expression had changed. Maybe you wouldn’t be so scared if he didn’t look like there was something you should be nervous about.

To your surprise, he was already staring at you. Upon meeting your gaze, he nodded once and jut his chin in the direction of the dog. “S’gonna sniff you. See if you’re infected. If not, like you say, nothin’ll happen.”

“If I am?” You cocked your head back toward the snarling animal.

“It’ll probably just take your leg off or somethin’,”

“Any chance this dog fucks up?”

“Probably not,”

And it didn’t. Thankfully. Hopefully this meant they’d trust explicitly that you indeed weren’t infected. They seemed to trust their trained animal enough to let you inside their settlement. Jackson, they called it. You’d never heard of it. Never heard of any rumblings of a massive commune. And yet…. It was gorgeous. Nice buildings, string lights, stables, a bar, dining hall, and in the distance, what seemed to look like a large, sweeping neighborhood.

Tommy had joined up with a woman: Maria. They kissed and spoke fondly to each other, so you assumed they were partners. Both walked ahead of you, while Joel remained at your rear. You figured with your rifle still pointed at you. Everyone stopped what they were doing when you passed by. All staring to get a glimpse of the newcomer. Would you be joining them permanently? Would they kill you? You asked yourself the same questions.

Your feet had stopped moving but you didn’t notice until you felt the muzzle of your rifle press against your upper back. Joel jabbed the metal against your back again, growing antsier with the fact that your gaze had settled on a teenager in the distance. She was staring at you, too. A fact that seemed to make Joel even more aggravated. He mumbled his annoyance to you and you got moving again, walking up the boarded steps into the dining hall.

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

They treated you better than you expected. Hell, better than your group would’ve treated someone they didn’t know. They set a big glass of water in front of you with a heaping plate of vegetables, chicken, and fresh bread. The water was one of the biggest surprises. You couldn’t remember the last time you didn’t have to boil water before drinking it. Maybe when you were still with your parents. That felt like a lifetime ago.

Tommy and Maria shared glances like they weren’t sure what you were going to tell them. Considering no one else joined you, you figured these three (or a combination) held a great deal of power in the settlement. Joel, however, looked pissed that this was even happening at all. That he hadn’t just shot you on sight back at the hunting lodge. It was pretty easy to ignore him. You’d spent the better half of your time on earth ignoring men just like him. But then the questions started coming and you figured all this kindness came at a price. They wanted to know everything. So you didn’t hold back. Maybe if you were open and frank with them, they’d let you stay here. They wouldn’t make you go back to those awful people.

Told them that you’d been with that group for the last eight years. And in those eight years, they hadn’t really expanded their numbers by any considerable amount. That they hovered somewhere between forty-four and sixty-two people -- including the three that had been killed today – and that about two thirds of them were men. You even told them about how you’d become a sort of fun novelty for the men. That they brought you along on their scouts because you were better than anyone with a rifle. Once they got their rocks off by watching you down game a mile off, they got their rocks off again, fucking you up against anything sturdy enough to withstand the weight and pressure.

Joel looked down at his lap at that. Avoided your eyes. You took it to mean that he knew what that was like. Maybe he did the same.

You shrugged and pushed the remnants of food around on your plate. Eight years was a long time to endure that type of treatment. You told them as much.

“You don’t have loyalty to anyone in the other group?” Maria asked, probing.

“She shot one of her own guys today. Doesn’t have loyalty to anyone,”

Everyone’s heads turned to Joel. He’d since leaned back in his chair, almost nonchalantly. The gun that had been pointed at you now lay on the opposite end of the table. You thought you saw indignance in his eyes. Disdain for you and the plight he perceived you to be on. Scorched earth. Loyal to no one but yourself. Maybe that was true. Maybe you’d evolved to become highly selective in where to lay your loyalty.

“He wasn’t my guy,” you spat in Joel’s direction. It might as well have been just the two of you in the room. “He was the guy that killed my parents. So fuck him,”

It was hard to tell what they thought of you. Tommy was the only one who smiled freely. Maria saved hers for Tommy. And Joel didn’t smile at all. There was no talk of a plan or a future. No conversation about what was to become of you. All they told you as you wandered from the main street and down one cul-de-sac road lined with houses was that they didn’t allow anyone to have weapons in town. All firearms stayed at the armory.

That conversation ended as they stopped in front of a small one story cottage. It was dark and rickety, and for the life of you, you couldn’t fathom who you were to be put into the arms of. If the house was any indication, probably some horribly untidy mess of a man. Maybe it’d be the type of man you’d wished you’d have your gun around for.

Maria, Tommy, and Joel led you inside that dark, rickety cottage. Unlocked the door and flicked the lights on as they entered the living room. You kept your eyes and ears alert. Your awareness might be the only upperhand you had in sensing danger here. But you heard nothing. You saw nothing. There wasn’t another soul in this house waiting to attack. It was just you and the three who’d brought you here. They didn’t offer an explanation. Joel just stood back and eyed your every move carefully while Maria handed you a little stack of clean clothes, a toothbrush and a tube toothpaste, and a small cardboard box that held something you’d never heard of before: a diva cup.

You looked up to give her an apprehensive glance but found that she was already giving you one. It was a look you’d seen before. When you’d talked yourself into joining that other group all those years ago. It was the look the women had given you before they realized you were about to become their saving grace. She turned away from you and gave Tommy a peck on her way out; not even bothering to acknowledge Joel.

There was a part of you that admired her. For the amount of power she clearly wielded over not only these two men, but seemingly the entire commune. And the other part of you was scared of her. She reminded you of your mother. A strong, domineering type who knew how to control the men around her. You figured if the outbreak hadn’t happened and humans didn’t devolve before your very eyes, you might’ve become the same type of woman. The type who could keep her men in line with a look. The type whose men would’ve quivered at the look you’d shot them.

The front door shut behind Maria in the same moment Tommy was handing you a key. You took it in your hand and ran your thumb over the cold, smooth metal. It had been decades since you held one like it. Surely even before the outbreak, people just didn’t hand over keys to houses for nothing.

“You can stay in Jackson for a month on a little trial run–”

“Probation,” Joel interrupted.

Both you and Tommy flicked your eyes at him. While Tommy looked annoyed, you actually smiled. Somehow Joel’s bluntness was growing to be comforting.

“Jesus, Joel,”

He shrugged, “S’call it what it is. Probation to see if she’s a problem and we gotta send ‘er packin’,”

“Appreciate you both not shootin’ me,” you said, you voice sounding hoarse. You cleared your throat and shook your head absently; a small smile passing over your lips, “would’ve put a damper on my day.”

Tommy grinned though his brother looked unamused at your effort of levity. “Someone’ll come ‘round tomorrow morning around seven-thirty to bring you to the greenhouse. Teach you the workflow down there.” Then off your confused look, he smiled again, heading for the door, “if you’re gonna live in the community, you gotta help out.”

Joel turned his back on you to follow his brother, and you were quick on their heels, “what about my gun? I mean, does everyone have their own gun at the armory, or…”

“It’s a commune. We share,” Tommy said over his shoulder as he tugged the front door back open. He and Joel stepped through the threshold, but your voice stopped them.

“It’s just that… I’d rather not be here and have my gun, than be here and have someone else usin’ it. I appreciate what you’re doin’, and your helping me out, but… to me, staying in Jackson isn’t worth havin’ someone else use my weapon,”

“It’ll be safe,”

Tommy’s voice rang clear and sure, trying to reassure you of something. What, you weren’t certain. But he continued on his way, and only once he stepped off the small porch, did you realize that Joel had momentarily kept himself frozen in place. By your front door, staring you down. You started to shrink back beneath his gaze, unable to discern what it was trying to convey to you. Anger. Resentment. Disappointment. The door nearly concealed you entirely before Joel got his bearings again and descended the porch steps and jogged to keep pace with Tommy again.

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

The whole thing was weird. All of it. Jackson was an anomaly and the more you tried to make yourself at home, the weirder it got. The house they’d just given you was definitely a pre-outbreak build. It was obvious. Some of the other houses on the block looked new. You imagined they’d smell new. Not your cottage. Scuffed up wood floors. Cracks in the paint and drywall. Even the wood-burning stove. And when you looked out the front window, out at the street, you saw children. Walking by themselves. Joking around. Not nearly on edge or high alert. In fact, you dared to say that they looked like they were having fun.

You’d only been ten when the world came crashing down around you. Fun ripped out from right under your feet. The homestead you’d grown up on – climbing trees, playing hide and seek, shooting down Coke cans – once a safe place to be a kid, had quickly become something to be defended. As you found out many moons later, to the death.

At ten, there wasn’t anything to rebuild in the new world. You hadn’t had any worldly possessions to hang onto. When money became obsolete, it didn’t matter because you’d never had any. Perhaps in a bank somewhere, stuffed away in a savings account that no longer held any weight. Nor did you need the money to get by in life these days. You’d heard tales of the QZ’s from people who’d come from them. Escaped from them. They had a new type of currency. Not the kind you used to have. The green paper money with a bunch of old dudes on the front. The kind your family burned sometime in the winter of 2006 when the first freeze took over and you were sure you’d never get back to the old normal.

And that was what made Jackson the weirdest. It was the closest to ‘old normal’ you’d seen in over two decades. A whole town. Village. Commune, they’d called it. A formal education had stopped young, so the only awareness of anything commune related came from a book your father had about the Bolshevik’s October Revolution. And if you were being honest, it didn’t sound too good. But on top of that, how were you supposed to rebuild now? Maria had been kind enough to give you a few things, but there wasn’t wood for the wood-burning stove. And the electricity might’ve been working, but there wasn’t any food in the fridge. No sides of deer cut up and stored in a chest freezer. How were you supposed to get that in a commune? Did they have money? Did they barter? And either way, you had no money to give and nothing to barter. So how exactly were you supposed to get on in life?

Face up, staring at the ceiling, you laid in bed willing yourself to go to sleep. You’d gone to bed hungry before. More times than you could count. But usually those nights were accompanied by a dirt floor, extreme cold, the threat of being hunted. A million other things to keep your mind off of the fact that your stomach was growling. There wasn’t any of that in Jackson. Everything was quiet, almost eerily so. You were warm. And even though the mattress wasn’t the comfiest of things, it sure as hell beat the floor. With all these little luxuries, it was hard to ignore the hunger.

But even if you had been asleep, you’re sure you would’ve been woken by the footsteps on your old, rickety porch. None of the wood planks laid exactly right. All creaking with age and rot. Much like the world, you thought. Plus you couldn’t remember a night’s sleep that wasn’t disturbed by panic or anxiety, or just plain fear. Probably hadn’t had a peaceful night like that since before the outbreak. Now that creaking on your porch made you jump up and scurry into the corner of your bedroom. Into the shadows. Praying you’d had your rifle. Cursing the idea that you’d stay here without it.

The creaking came and went in a steady procession. Four footsteps. A pause. Another four footsteps. On and on for a few minutes. Long enough for you to have gained your courage again. Long enough for you to have crawled to the front room and peek through the window. Long enough for you to see Joel Miller ambling back and forth on the porch, stacking pieces of wood, conveniently chopped to fit the size of your wood burning stove. What a stark difference from the Joel Miller who’d been pointing a gun at your head this morning. You went to the door and unlatched it, slowly pulling it open so as to not startle him. He came to an abrupt stop. An armful of wood. Staring at you.

He blinked a couple times in quick procession, gaining the wherewithal to move again. “M’sorry if I woke ya’,”

You shook your head, “I don’t sleep much.”

Joel nodded and set the armful of wood on top of the rest. He wiped his hands on the back of his jeans, almost sheepishly. “Winter comes up on us pretty quick here. Insulation in this place is for the birds. Figured you’d need some wood for the stove.”

“Oh,”

“I cleaned out the flue a couple months back so you shouldn’t smoke yourself out,”

Lips pursed together, you pondered the stack of wood nestled up against the cottage. “I don’t think I’m gonna stay. Doesn’t seem like this is the right place for me,”

Joel didn’t have a response for you, just looked down at his feet and kicked at a nonexistent something on the porch.

“That gun–my gun. My dad gave it to me in 2003. September 26th,”

Joel’s eyes flicked back to yours. Pain riddled in his gaze as if he remembered that date all too well. And when it vanished, the coldness you’d first noticed in the hunting cabin returned.

“It’s all I have left. And as ridiculous as it sounds to be so attached to a rifle, I am. And I–”

“It doesn’t sound ridiculous,” he interrupted. Just when you thought he’d continue on and show a little more softness, kindness… he kept speaking, “Look, I don’t care if you stay or go. Don’t need stragglers hangin’ ‘round. So I’d love to give you your gun back and dump ya’ out past the gate. But Tommy’s always been a little stupid. Takes chances on people,”

“What an idiot,” you smirked.

A smile flashed over Joel’s face. It was gone in a second. And he turned away from you, descending the porch steps. “He’ll bring you to the greenhouse. Teach’ya how things operate, and…” he took a deep breath. Something almost like fondness erupted in his tone, “you might not wanna stay, but don’t fuck things up there for the rest of us. We got families here. And we’ll need the resources to get through the winter.”

“You think I’d fuck things up on purpose?”

Joel looked over his shoulder and nodded, “yeah. ‘Cause I’ve been in your spot before and I did.”

He continued on and you stayed put on your porch, watching him until he was out of sight. Wondering where the house he was given was. If he was alone, or if he had some sort of partner living with him. But also figured you’d never get the chance to know.

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

“We get most of our roughage and root vegetables in the colder months. There’s a constant harvest to keep up with the community’s needs, but some of these aren’t hearty enough to withstand the winter. Even inside the greenhouse,”

You nodded dutifully behind Wendy. At least you think that was the name Tommy mumbled as he was being dragged out of the greenhouse by Joel. Something about being late for patrol and not wanting to spend all day on some godforsaken cliffside. She’d just got done showing you the strawberry vines. The lifeless things that she assured you would spring to life when the warmer weather came back.

The work was easy enough. Boring. Nothing you hadn’t already done on your family’s land as a teenager. Only this was on a much smaller scale. Maybe most of these people had come from QZs. And maybe before that they came from big cities. Places where they never knew where their food came from. That it just somehow appeared in their groceries. Yet, by current standards… of canned things from yesteryear, the greenhouse was a bit of a spectacle. Something beautiful.

Wendy continued on her well-practiced lecture about potatoes as you got lost roaming the rows of plants. Up and down each long, leafed path. Fingers gliding over them, not taking the time to stop and acknowledge any plant in particular. Until, in the absence of your thought, your fingers brushed over something woolly. Pulling your hand back, you focused in. There, just beyond your fingertips, a tray of small white flowers. The petals, less like blossoms, but more like leaves. And woolly. Fuzzy. Unlike anything you’d ever seen.

“What’re these?” Eyes still locked onto your discovery, you hadn’t fully comprehended that you’d interrupted Wendy’s spiel.

And yet when she came upon you, there was no ill will or annoyance from her. Just her gentle hand on your shoulder. “It’s edelweiss,” she smiled and shrugged her shoulders when her answer had you giving her a questioning glance. “It’s usually up in the Alps. In the middle of nowhere. Jesse came back from patrol one day ‘bout a year ago with a handful of these plucked up from the root. No idea how they ended up in Wyoming.” Wendy brushed her fingers over the fuzzy leaves.

“How’d you know what they were?”

“Call it coincidence or divine intervention, my grandfather had an oil painting of them above his fireplace in the eighties. When he was stationed in Germany during the war, he’d heard all these stories about this little star-shaped flower. Soldiers would climb high up into the mountains to find them. They grow in the harshest places, sometimes even right on rocks. The journey to get them was hard. A lot of guys didn’t finish the trip, but if they did, they got to pin one of these to their uniforms. A symbol of true bravery,”

You admired the flowers again. Now even a smile crossed your face.

Wendy let out an exasperated sigh, “and I figured, hell… if they can survive on the top of the Alps and in this nightmare of an apocalypse, Jesse finding ‘em wasn’t no mistake. Maybe we’re lucky here in Jackson.”

#joel miller x reader #jackson!joel #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fluff #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #ppcu fanfiction #edelweiss fic

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alltheirdamn · 29 days

Text

Crush | Jackson Joel x f!reader

Song inspo: Crush by Ethel Cain

Summary: After sharing a late-night smoke with a stranger, you let him take you home to his place... Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Word Count: 3.6k Warnings: pure filth, porn with not a whole lot of plot, cigarettes/smoking, alcohol, flirting, light banter, oral (m & f receiving), deepthroat, rimming, anal play, spanking, rough unprotected piv sex, filthy talk, pet names (sweetheart, good girl), language, creampie, joel is a filthy bitch per usual A/N: If Joel isn't the most Ethel Cain coded man ever written I dont know what else to tell you.

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

“Got any t’spare?”

The deep, timbre voice jolted you from your peace and quiet. Footsteps crunched on the snow toward you, a tall older man dissolving from the shadows. The gray streaks in his hair shimmered under the twinkling lights that hung over the bar's roof, and you tracked his long, languid steps as they neared your shivering body. As he got closer, you could finally make out the unkempt beard growing on his jaw and neck. It was short and manageable but still messy as if he had no care about his appearance. What struck you silent, though, were his darkened brown eyes. The creases around them softened him in places, but there was a pain that lingered behind his irises that paralyzed you.

Biting your half-smoked cigarette between your teeth, you reached between your jeans and silken underwear to retrieve the hidden carton. Cigarettes were hard to come by in Jackson, and you knew how to keep your share of them a secret. But something about this man made the idea of lying seem dangerous, so you complied.

“Here,” you muttered, inhaling another drag.

He took the cigarette carefully, his thick fingers barely brushing over yours. Despite the snowfall above you, his hands were warm against your skin. You shuddered as you pulled away to dig your lighter from your back pocket.

You held the flickering flame to the butt of his cigarette, igniting the tobacco until a plume of smoke billowed into the air.

“I ain’t seen you ‘round Jackson ‘fore,” he said, his Southern accent thick and distorted from an inhale of smoke.

You dipped your head, fitting your fingers around the cigarette as you pulled it from your lips.

“Just got here this weekend,” you huffed.

“Who y’come here with?” He asked.

“Do you tend to go nosing around someone’s business before introducing yourself?” You smirked.

“Shit,” he muttered, extending a free hand. “Joel.”

You gave him your name as you wrapped your hand around his. Joel’s fingers squeezed your hand softly before he abandoned your grip and returned to his cigarette.

“I came by myself,” you finally answered.

He nodded slowly, and you both silently inhaled another pull, the smell of smoke swirling around you. You had gotten used to the tinged smell that followed a drag, the bittersweet ambiance that tended to linger on your clothes and hair. You let your eyes wander over Joel as he squinted up into the sky, the pout of his lips wrapped around the cigarette filter.

“S’not an easy trip gettin’ here,” he commented. “You’re a lucky lil’ thing.”

His eyes fell to yours as he said the final two words and something about the drop in his voice made you squirm. The tug of his lips told you he knew it, too. You hollowed your cheeks as you sucked in a lung full of smoke, the cherry burning bright as it lit up Joel’s shadowed face.

“Lucky, huh?” You quipped. “I don’t think it’s luck.”

“Whadaya think it is then?” He asked, tilting his head.

You pinched the cig between your fingers, studying the thin filter as it dwindled closer to the butt. You were already craving another; the stress of traveling had really gotten to you, but you knew you’d need to ration your contraband if you planned on staying in Jackson for a while. You’d already sacrificed one to Joel, which was stupid, but you enjoyed the company of someone who needed it as badly as you did.

“I think I fought tooth and nail to get here. I learned to survive out there alone, and I did it all without luck.”

“Y’saw some scary shit out there,” he nodded, reading between the lines. “I know it ain’t easy. Did the same thing myself ‘few months ago.”

“You’re here alone, too?” You wondered.

“Came here alone, but I got family here,” he shrugged. “My brother, Tommy, he’s the one runnin’ the town.”

Your eyes widened, taking in the area around you. All the houses, the people walking by, the little bar nestled behind you… it was all because of his brother.

“Well, when you see him next, you better tell him thank you for me. I’m really grateful to have somewhere to stay.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he grinned.

A comfortable silence settled over you, and you both alternated between puffs of smoke. Joel glanced at you ever so often, his dark eyes staring intently at your mouth each time. After a while, your cigarette burned less, and you tossed it beneath your feet to extinguish it, the heat of it melting a hole into the snow.

“Y’know what tastes good with a cigarette?” Joel asked.

“What?”

He dropped the butt of his cigarette to the ground, following your lead and squashing it into the snow.

“Whiskey,” he said matter of fact. “Got some up at my place if y’wanna come over.”

“I won’t say no to that,” you smiled. “You owe me for the cig anyway.”

Joel’s home was nestled far into the woods at the end of town, its cozy space welcoming and warm. The steps up to the front door were covered in snow, and the front porch was adorned with a wooden rocking chair and table. He opened the door and ushered you inside, the bite of the night chill finally relenting once the door shut.

“Lemme take this,” Joel offered, his hands guiding your winter jacket off and hanging it on a hook by the door.

You were left standing in just a thermal and jeans, your body shivering as the cocoon of warmth disappeared. He shrugged off his heavy jacket, placing it beside yours. His green flannel stretched against the muscles of his body, and you ogled at him. You would have never guessed that he looked like this under the cover of his jacket.

“It ain’t polite to stare,” he joked.

You blinked at him, heat crawling up your neck and coloring your face red.

“Well, you’re not hard on the eyes,” you tossed back, giving him a playful grin.

Now he was blushing, the soft pink tint blooming under the scruff on his cheeks. With a subtle tilt of his head, Joel guided you to his kitchen, and you watched as he searched for a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. It was hard not to fixate on his thick fingers as they dwarfed his mug, nor was it easy to avoid watching the muscles in his neck flex as he swallowed a long sip of the liquor.

“So, do you make a habit of inviting strangers to your home?” You asked, sipping the whiskey slowly.

“Only the pretty ones with tobacco,” he smirked.

The burn of the liquor down your throat coursed down your chest, warmth spreading into your limbs. Joel’s heavy stare was enough to make warmth bloom in other areas, too, the friction in your jeans becoming a problem that needed fixing. You had spent months all alone on the road trying to make it here, never once giving in to your desperate needs. You barely had the energy to fantasize about a man touching you, and now you were feet away from an opportunity to fulfill your needs.

“Ah, so you’re only interested in what I have to offer.”

You were gunning for a reaction, hoping he’d take the bait. Joel was a stranger; maybe that sentiment was part of the attraction. No strings, no emotions…just someone to fuck and blow off some steam with.

Joel finished the rest of his drink before stalking toward you, his fingers dancing up your arm. You squirmed at his touch, stepping into his space and letting your chest brush against his. His fingers squeezed your chin, tipping your head back so that you met your eyes.

“Y’got other things to offer?” He smirked.

“Depends on what you want.”

You grinned at him playfully, grinding your hips against the erection tenting in his pants. Joel exhaled a strangled groan, his fingers tightening around your jaw before traveling down your throat. You gave him a defiant look, arching your neck to allow his large hand to cover the entirety of your neck.

“Think I wanna see ya’ on your knees, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Wanna see those pretty eyes full of tears when y’try to take my cock down this pretty lil’ throat.”

You moaned helplessly, squeezing your thighs together to try and relieve the pressure building inside your core. Joel used his hand around your neck to guide you to your knees, your eyes still obediently staring up at him.

“God damn, you’re even more beautiful like that,” Joel exhaled.

He worked at his belt, letting go of your throat so that he could use both hands to free his cock. And the moment your eyes caught sight of his thick cock, you understood why he needed both hands. You wet your lips involuntarily, the aspect of trying to fit the girth of him in your mouth igniting a newfound excitement inside you.

“Stick out your tongue,” he ordered.

You quickly obliged, your jaw dropping open. You could hardly contain the grin tugging at the corners of your open mouth, arousal buzzing through your veins. Joel shoved his pants halfway down his thighs and bent over to meet you at eye level. With a brief grin of mischief, he spit into your open mouth, humming in satisfaction as he eyed the saliva coating your tongue.

“Mhmm,” he smiled. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

Joel pumped his cock a few times before sliding it over your tongue, the stretch of your mouth around it forcing your jaw sore. You hollowed your cheeks around him, the salty taste of his precum dripping down your throat as you took him deeper. You swirled your tongue around the tip of his cock as it glided further into your mouth, your eyes twinkling as you watched Joel’s head tip back in ecstasy.

“Yeah, just like that, sweetheart.”

You reached a hand up to caress his balls, stroking them in tandem with each bob of your head. Joel nearly buckled over at your soft touch, his hips snapping forward until your nose collided with the wiry hair surrounding his cock. You sputtered violently around him, saliva dripping down your chin while tears sprung from your eyes.

“There we go,” he grunted. “Lookin’ so pretty chokin’ on my cock. Y’like that?”

He shoved down your throat again, suffocating you with his musky scent and salty taste. You nodded vigorously, your mouth still full of him. Snaking a hand down your pants, you tried to squeeze your fingers between the fabric of your underwear, desperately seeking relief from the ache throbbing harder inside your core.

Joel tutted at you, ripping his cock from your mouth. You wailed in protest, a string of saliva still webbing from the tip to your mouth. A strong hand gripped your hair, and you stared up at him with swollen lips and lust-blown eyes.

“Y’gonna offer me a taste of that sweet lil’ pussy now?” Joel asked, quirking a grin.

“Take what you want,” you panted, grinning at him.

Joel didn’t need to be told twice. He hauled you up and walked you toward the empty dining table, slamming your chest down into it hard enough to make you gasp for air. With your nails digging into the wood, Joel worked at ripping your jeans and underwear down your legs, the half-empty carton of cigarettes falling to the ground.

“That’s a cute hidin’ spot,” Joel chuckled.

“I like to keep them safe from strangers.”

“Ain’t done a good job of that tonight.”

Joel’s hand came down with a resounding thwack against your ass, a cry erupting from your lips. The sting of his palm on your skin radiated down your legs, the slick pooling further down your thighs. Jesus Christ, if he didn’t fuck you soon, you might go crazy.

“God, damn, sweetheart,” Joel exhaled, swiping a finger over your entrance. You jerked at his touch, chasing the pleasure coursing through your body. “Just drippin’ for me, ain’t she? Y’need my cock stretchin’ this tight pussy out?”

“Fuck,” you groaned. “Please, Joel.”

“Got you beggin’ for it already,” Joel laughed. “I think I like you.”

You ached for his cock, but you felt him shift behind you and gasped as his tongue licked a thick stripe up your center. You squirmed as his beard tickled your shivering skin, and your cunt fluttered around his tongue, each flick against your aching clit sending a ripple of tremors down your limbs. The bridge of his nose brushed through the crease between your entrance and tight ring of muscles, and you instinctively flinched away.

“Y’ever had someone fuck you here?” Joel muttered.

You wagged your head in protest, and he hummed in approval before his tongue traced around the tight ring. The sensation was so foreign to you, but his mouth on you felt too good to oppose. Back and forth, his tongue lapped up your juices and returned upwards, a consistent rhythm that had you gasping for more.

“Might have to stretch out this virgin hole if y’let me,” Joel mumbled, his fingers prodding up your inner thighs.

“Maybe,” you exhaled shakily.

Joel took your lack of words as an invitation to start annihilating you with his mouth, his lips suctioning over your clit, his tongue pulsating over your sensitive bud. It didn’t take much longer until your orgasm was cresting to the surface, a wail escaping your mouth as your body seized.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Joel groaned. “Think this sweet lil’ pussy’s ready for me now?”

You were too blissed out to formulate words correctly, so you only responded with a desperate whine and a slight shimmy of your ass. Joel straightened behind you, lining up with your leaking entrance. The thick head of his cock brushed against your wet folds, pushing in slowly, and you held back a whimper as your body adjusted to the stretch of him bottoming out inside you.

“Shit,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “Just suckin’ me right in, ain’t you?”

“Feels so fucking good, Joel,” you moaned.

He drew back his hips, his cock nearly slipping out of you before he drove right back in. The table beneath you creaked, and your core fluttered around the girth of his cock, splitting you open. Joel’s hands groped at the plush skin of your ass, spreading you open for his pleasure. Any other man and you’d be embarrassed by how exposed you were, but for some reason… Joel was driving you insane.

“Takin’ my cock so well, sweetheart,” Joel praised.

You keened at his words, each thrust of his cock blinding your vision. Calloused fingers dug into your hips, and the smoky fragrance of his skin evaded your senses as he dipped over your spine, drawing his mouth close to your ear.

“Wish y’could see the way your pussy wraps around my cock,” Joel teased. “Gonna wreck you ‘til you’re a fucked out mess, sweetheart.”

“Use me,” you panted.

The pent-up desperation from months spent alone was clawing out of your throat; the harder he fucked you, the more you craved it. Joel’s hand wound around your hair, tightening it around his fist until he could pull your neck back. That’s when he really started ramping up the speed. His body slammed against yours, thrust after thrust, turning you into a blubbering mess of jumbled words.

“Desperate.” Thrust. “Lil.” Thrust. “Thing.” Thrust.

“Wanna—wanna cum for you, Joel,” you gasped.

Pain radiated up your neck the tighter he gripped your hair, but you couldn’t give a damn as the orgasm surged through your core. Joel kicked your legs out wider, the angle of his cock spearing into you the deeper he pushed.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Joel urged. “Lemme feel this pussy squeeze my cock.”

Hypnotized by his words, your body reacted on cue, a white-hot explosion detonating inside your core. You screamed out his name, your cunt turning into a vice around his cock. Joel choked on his breath, his movements choppy and off-beat as he pounded through your climax. The wet sound of your cunt around his cock was loud enough to echo through the empty house, and Joel exhaled in satisfaction as he reached down to pull one of your legs onto the edge of the table.

The new position sparked another fury of warmth inside your veins, his rough hand squeezing the underside of your kneecap as he broke you open wider.

“Gonna fill this tight lil’ hole with my cum,” Joel rasped. “Y’want that, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you pleaded.

Wedging your leg higher onto the table, Joel snapped his hips in repetition, carnal groans falling off his lips each time he sunk deeper. You tossed a glance over your shoulder, seeing his face scrunched up in concentration; his eyes were so fixated on his cock slipping in and out of your drenched hole that he didn’t realize you were watching. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and you could feel the sudden surge of tension paralyzing his body. Joel ground out your name as he emptied himself into you, white-hot ropes of release painting your insides.

“Jesus,” you exhaled, watching his features soften as his eyes fluttered shut.

Joel’s eyes snapped open, connecting with yours. A grin teased one corner of his mouth, beads of sweat coating the thick mustache covering his upper lip. Gingerly lowering your leg to the floor, Joel bent over your body, brushing a hand under your chin to guide your lips to his. He coaxed your mouth open, the sweet taste of whiskey and cigarettes still dancing on his tongue. You nipped at his plush bottom lip, drawing it between your teeth until he groaned.

“Want another smoke?” You asked, pushing your nose against his.

“Just gotta do somethin’ first,” he whispered.

Joel slipped out of you, the immediate trickle of liquid gushing down your thighs at his absence. He crouched behind you, pressing gentle kisses into the supple flesh of your thighs as he traveled higher. Two thick fingers plunged inside your gaping entrance, the stretch not nearly as shocking as it was with his cock. You chewed your lip to hold back another wanton moan, his fingers curling against the spongy spot inside your core.

“I need you to relax for me, okay, sweetheart?” Joel insisted. “Y’trust me?”

“I barely even know you,” you laughed. But you obliged, regardless, nodding your head eagerly.

Joel’s fingers worked their way out of you, trailing higher up the seam of your entrance until they prodded at your virgin hole. You buck your hips at his feather-like touch, the pads of his fingers pushing against the tight muscle gently.

“Relax,” he crooned.

You inhale sharply, letting your body sag onto the table. The initial stretch of his finger was uncomfortable, your body tensing as Joel worked you open. You whimpered quietly, shifting your body slightly as he slid another finger in alongside the first, your body sucking him in knuckle-deep.

“Attagirl,” Joel murmured. “Got both your holes stretched and filled now. Feels good, don’t it?”

You gave him a pathetic nod, your body on the cusp of overstimulation. Joel gently pulled his fingers from you, and you looked back to see him draw them between his lips, sucking them clean. Those dark brown eyes flicked up to meet your watchful gaze, a dangerous smile splitting across his face.

Oh, hell.

You and Joel spent the rest of the night on his porch, watching the snow blanket the ground between dancing puffs of smoke. There was minimal chatter after he cleaned you up, your clothes pieced back together, and the cigarette carton stashed away in its usual spot under your jeans. Ever so often, you’d eye Joel between drags, watching his jaw flex as he hollowed his cheeks. Under the pale light of the moon and flickering bulb over his porch, you made out the streaks of grey in his hair, familiarizing yourself with each curl that stuck to his sweat-dampened skin.

“You’re starin’ again,” he stated, his eyes locked on the snow swirling in the air.

You blushed, ashing the butt of the cig over the porch rails. The heat of his gaze on you was impossible to ignore, so you cooled yourself and turned to him with a shy grin.

“Guess there’s just something about you,” you muttered.

Joel’s brown eyes twinkled, and he smiled right back.

“You just sayin’ that ‘cause y’got my cum leakin’ out of you, sweetheart?” He teased.

“Christ,” you exhaled, rolling your eyes. “That’s definitely not why.”

“Y’gonna tell me then?” He pressed his shoulder into yours.

You returned the playful shove, letting your arm brush against his. Flicking the end of your cigarette into the yard, you straightened your body.

“You owe me a pack of Reds,” you laughed. “Then, maybe I’ll tell you.”

“Just tell me when y’wanna come and get ‘em,” Joel smirked.

He drew you in for a soft kiss before urging you to head home, both of you reluctant to leave the porch. As you walked through the gate in his fence, you glanced back one last time to capture his attention with a small wave of your hand. Hidden in the shadows, you saw Joel’s hand lift to his mouth, blowing you a kiss that drifted past the lingering haze of smoke and falling snow.

#jackson joel #jackson joel x f!reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel x f!reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #tlou fanfic #post outbreak joel #smut smut smut

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mermaidgirl30 · 2 months

Text

✨Stay in the Light✨

A/N: I’ve been wanting to do a one shot based off the song “The Night We Met” by Lord Huron for a while, and I finally got some inspiration yesterday to write this little piece. Hope you like it 🩵 Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for being my beta reader before I decided to release this out to the world 💕

Summary: Joel gets injured after a raider attack, and he’s wishing he could’ve told you all the feelings he held back from you for so long

Word Count: 2.2k

Pairing: Joel x fem! reader

Rating: 18+ Only

Tags: Outbreak! Joel, Jackson! Joel, blood, angst, comfort, feelings, regrets, in both reader and Joel’s POV, no deaths, fluff (I am bad at tags, so let me know if I should add anything)

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

“When the night was full of terrors, and your eyes were filled with tears. When you had not touched me yet. Oh, take me back to the night we met”

- “The Night We Met” by Lord Huron

The ground is cold, wet, unwelcoming with a thick puddle of crimson blood pooling beneath his worn green flannel. Large flecks of powdered snow lace through his grey threaded curls that stick to his sweaty forehead. His vision blurs, going in and out in waves as pain takes hold of his insides. He can hear Tommy screaming in the near distance, his deep voice sounding like it’s washed out beneath a wave of deep water. He can barely register it, barely hear anything, but what he does see is a bright light, an angel in disguise. He sees you.

You. The girl he should’ve been more careful with. Your feelings, your heart, your everything. He was such an asshole ever since the first day you came walking through the front gates of Jackson. He should’ve been nicer, shouldn’t have yelled at you over petty things that were his doing and shouldn’t have thrown insults your way when you were just trying to help on every patrol you were assigned to with him.

Maybe if he would’ve been fucking nicer then maybe this wouldn’t have happened. A clean gunshot to the abdomen, now bleeding out on the thick white snow beneath him. Raiders. He wasn’t being careful, wasn’t paying attention. No, he was fucking fixed on arguing with you. Maybe he deserves it, maybe if he wasn’t such a grouch all the time then maybe none of this would’ve fucking happened. He sure as hell doesn’t deserve you. Warm, bright, gentle, kind. He was none of those things, so why the fuck were you still sitting here with him, keeping him from slipping into the thick fog of darkness?

“Joel! Stay with me, okay? Stay with me.” Your voice is so adamant, so terrified, so hurt. And it fucking kills him, destroys him. “Tommy! Help him!”

Joel sees the gathering tears that burn through your beautiful eyes, sees the absolute horror that’s coated through your knit together eyebrows, sees the pain of holding it all together just like you always do. Always so brave. His brave girl…. NO. You’re not his to keep, not his to hold, not his to tell everything’s going to be alright. You weren’t his and never would be. Not after the way he’s treated you.

He wishes you were his, but you’re not, and it’s his own damn fault for being so reckless. He should’ve been softer, more kind, like you. He should’ve done so many things, should’ve told you just how he felt. How much he likes you, how much he…

He winces in pain as Tommy presses down on the open wound, barely holding himself together to even keep his eyes open, but he fights. He fights for you. The girl he so desperately fell in love with over the last year, the girl he wished he treated differently. He should’ve fucking told you, but now it’s too late. It’s all too late.

“Hey, hey. Joel, look at me. Look at me!” You grab the sides of his face, sink your delicate fingers into the scruff of his greying beard, and cling to him just enough to where maybe he won’t slip through your fingers. You can’t lose him, you can’t.

“Joel, open your eyes. Please, keep them open for me.” You shake his head lightly, kneel over him and let your hair fall in a heap at your side as you pray for one more day with him. “Joel…”

Your voice is so sad, so desperate as you call out for him. He sees your face blur in his spotty vision, sees the glistening tears start to spill down your face. So he reaches up, musters up enough strength to wipe away the falling tears that stain your beautiful face. He thinks you’re so gorgeous, always has. Ever since you walked into his life, he knew. He knew he’d fall, and that’s why he pushed away so strongly. He didn’t want to lose you, he never wanted to. But now you were the one losing him…

He holds the side of your face for just a few more seconds, just enough to finally know he got you, some part of you, if only for a minute. And that was enough for him. At least he knew what it was like to feel your soft skin slipping under the weight of his calloused fingers. That moment alone was all he wanted.

He starts to close his eyes, starts to fade away into the midst of darkness and silence, but he hears you plead to stay in the light. “Stay in the light, Joel. Stay with me. Stay,” you beg. And he carries those words into the darkness with him. And then there’s nothing but the fading words of a promise he never could keep.

Stay in the light.

He awakes slowly, hearing the buzzing sound of some medical machine he doesn’t know the name of. Slowly but surely his eyes open as the harsh light from the blinding window slips against the warm sheets of the sterile bed. It takes him a second to come to himself, to know he’s not dead.

He looks cautiously down at his exposed torso, finding the tight bandage wrapped around his wound. It’s clean, mended to, but the pain burns through his body. Every breath he breathes feels like fire in his lungs, but at least he knows he’s alive.

He feels warmth sliding through his fingertips, feels comfort bubble over his entirety. He wonders what it is, wonders what thing could ever bring him comfort until he slowly turns his head and sees you sitting there on the edge of the bed, fingers laced through his while your thumb gently glides side to side in slow circles on the back of his rough hand.

His eyes go wide, eyebrows knit together as he stares wondrously at the girl he’s been pining over since the day he locked eyes on you. You look so goddamn beautiful there with your fingers threaded through his. He can feel it deep in his gut, that fluttering feeling he’s always tried so hard to push back down, but this time he can’t. He won’t. He can’t ignore the voices anymore that scream your name every single night he’s in between his sheets, wishing he could just have a chance to hold you, to feel you pressed against his firm chest. And maybe he would. One day. Maybe he still had time to make you his.

You hear a faint rustling sound in the sheets and turn your face slightly to the left, expecting it to only be your vivid imagination. Your jaw drops suddenly and your eyes go wide the moment you see Joel awake, breathing, alive.

“Joel!” You turn frantically and crowd his body, locking your arms tight around the back of his neck as you inhale his deep mahogany and pine cone scent.

“Ouch, take it easy!” Joel pants out as you jump back, realizing you might’ve hurt him with your body weight.

“I’m sorry, are you alright?” you ask as you assess his wound, running your fingers lightly over the bandaged area. He winces a little as you smooth out the edges, but he just hums in response.

“I’m fine. Jus’ calm down, will ya?”

You gently smile at him and brace your hands on the fitted sheets, just barely grazing your skin over his warm, sweaty body. Your eyes scan over his bare chest as you take in the coarse hair that covers his broad chest, watching the way the cool sweat glazes over tanned skin. You think he looks so beautiful, even after a gunshot wound. You’ve never seen him bare chested, and it surprises you what it makes you feel inside. Warmth.

“You came back to the light,” you whisper out, grazing your fingertips across the back of his hand as he stares wide-eyed at you, honey eyes so intense that you swear they’re about to split you in half. “I was so scared, Joel. You scared me half to death!”

He just watches you, eyes wading into yours like a violent tidepool about to drag you into the crashing waves, but there’s a fondness to them, a slight gleam in his eyes as he assesses you. Slow, curious, eyes that look like they might shed a tear.

“You… you saved my life today.” His tone is somber, his honey eyes wild as you see tears lick the surface, but he won’t dare shed them. Not in front of you. That’d be too vulnerable.

“Mhm. If Tommy wasn’t there, I don’t know how I would’ve ever gotten you up on that saddle alone. But we did it. We made it in time. I was so scared we were too late. You weren’t… you weren’t really breathing. Even the doctor was worried you wouldn’t make it. You’re a… well, a miracle.”

His face turns pale, lips parted solemnly as he breathes and lets oxygen back into his tired lungs. “Why did you save me?”

His words surprise you as you furrow your eyebrows and shift your weight slightly on the bed so you’re facing him. “What do you mean?” Your words come out shaky, appalled. What did he mean why did you save him?

“Why did you save me?” His honey eyes bore into yours, fingers flexing around the white sheets as he just stares with flared nostrils.

You place a hand gently on top of his warm hand as he tries to pull away, but you don’t let him. “Because I think you’re worth saving.”

His plush lips tremble, his eyes blowing wide as he takes in your quiet words. He looks like he wants to say something, looks like he’s fighting with himself in his mind, but he just stares unblinking, taking in the soft way you look at him.

Finally, he clears his deep voice and rasps out a response. “I’m not worth saving.” His eyes look so sad, defeated, and you wish you could take away all his pain. Physical and emotional, you’d take it all on if it meant he could have one single day where he didn’t wear the weight of the entire world on his tired back.

You lean forward as you hear the creak of the old bed and place your hand gently on his bare chest, feeling the bristles of coarse dark hair running down his tanned skin. “I think you are, Joel.”

He gulps, arms fidgeting beneath you as you see him fight with himself, battling the demons of reaching out or letting you slip through his grasp. He finally finds the courage to slowly, steadily crawl his hand up the side of his chest, then ever so softly places it on top of yours.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for bein’ a jerk to you the past year. I was a real asshole, and there’s no excuse for the way I treated you. I think about it every single night, think about how I should’ve done better, how I should’ve tried harder because I… I…” Joel winces in pain as he tries to sit up, but you push him back down easily and try to get him to stay still.

“Hey, careful there. It’s okay, Joel. It’s…”

“No, please let me finish.” You nod your head and he continues with a low grunt through gritted teeth. “I should’ve been nicer to you. And I want to apologize for everything I’ve ever done, every hurtful thing I’ve ever said to you. I didn’t mean it, not really. I’ve jus’… I’ve been goin’ through a lot, but that’s no excuse. Because I should’ve told you how I felt about you, not pushed you away. You see, the thing is… well, thing is I like you, darlin’. A lot. You’re so fuckin’ beautiful and those eyes, that smile. I…”

You cut him off as you lean forward and crash your lips into his, letting his warmth overwhelm you as you slip into him. His tongue tastes like coffee, his skin smells of freshly cut firewood, and he feels so good in the palm of your hand. He surrounds you in something like warmth, ecstasy, something you’ve wanted to feel for so long. He glides his thick fingers through your hair and pulls you closer as he gets lost in you, overwhelming your senses until all you can smell, hear, feel is him. It feels so right, this feels right. You almost forget he’s injured until he grunts and shifts his weight to the right.

You quickly let go of the kiss and lean back, assessing if he’s alright, but he’s smiling. Warm, bright, glowing. You’ve never seen him like this, like he’s the happiest man in the world. It’s that twinkle in his chocolate irises that gets you, and you finally know that this is where you belong. In Jackson, with him.

He guides a strand of hair behind your ear and cups the side of your face as his warm, calloused thumb grazes gently across your cheekbone. “You kept me in the light, sweetheart. You’re exactly what I needed all along, I jus’ wish I didn’t wait so long to find the light.”

You sigh and smile. “It’s okay, Joel. You found it. You found me.”

“You gonna keep the light on for me, sweetheart?”

“Forever, if you want me to.”

He pulls you back in and grazes lightly over your lips as he whispers out, “Forever it is.”

Tagging some friends who might be interested 💛 @sawymredfox @burntheedges @littlevenicebitch69 @keylimebeag @vivian-pascal @rav3n-pascal22 @princesatracionera @bbyanarchist @amyispxnk @pedrostories @syd-djarin @msjarvis @untamedheart81 @survivingandenduring

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel x female reader #joel miller pedro pascal #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel x f!reader #post outbreak joel #outbreak!joel #jackson!joel

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motherofagony · 9 months

Text

A HEART FOR EATING // vol. 1

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: post outbreak!joel x f!reader setting: jackson, wy (think tlou pt. 2 minus the golfing) rating: mature, 18+, minors dni word count: 5.6k series summary: a vicious raider attack robs you of human connection and lights a fire of destruction in your life in jackson. joel's fixated on you, and your lives tangle. revenge becomes a needful thing. chapter summary: life goes on after raiders infiltrate a routine patrol. you're a shut-in, and jackson residents tiptoe around your trauma. joel found you after the accident, but you don't know what to make of it. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), protective!joel, mentions of trauma (no s/a, i promise), blood, bodily injuries, death, shitty men, dissociation/triggers, alcohol, angst, sexual tension if you close one eye, the softest enemies to lovers you've ever seen vol. 1 // vol. 2 series playlist a/n: longtime listener, first time caller. yes, there will be smut — in due time. probably a slower burn than you're used to on tumblr dot com, but there will be porn galore, i promise. heavy on the hurt + comfort trope in this one. thank you for reading, i hope you enjoy.

“Get the fuck up!”

The boot connects with your side again, the rounded toe slamming into ribs you’re sure are already broken. You’re trying to play dead, but it doesn’t exactly work when yelps are being kicked out of you. Old Yeller, of all fucking things, comes to mind.

But you’re not sick, not infected. Just wrong time, wrong place.

Blood pools sticky under your head. Voices are filtering in like an untuned radio, gathering static and making you nauseous. Like it’s all one bad hangover or a lucid dream in a realm too far.

“Where are the others?”

Someone else asks the question that you’ve been concentrating on. The knob turns, clearing the radio fuzz just so. You strain to hear, but you don’t dare open your eyes.

“Dead. Not shit on ‘em that was worth stealin’. We gotta fuckin’ go — just leave her.”

A vague twang of Boston wraps around his words. You’d forgotten what it sounded like, how the rs get caught in the back of the tongue and dropped. How the voweled aws are spit at you, the shell of your ear growing numb against the icy concrete.

Yes, you think. Fucking leave me.

The raider that’s been torturing you for what feels like hours groans as if it’s an inconvenience, an interruption to something he was thoroughly enjoying. Whatever he would’ve done, continued doing, taunts the crevices of your mind. He digs through your bag one last time, and you don’t know what he’s looking for or if there would have been anything at all that would have satisfied him the first time.

You remember a sliver of skin where his sleeve had bunched, revealing a shitty coupling of star tattoos on his wrist. You can feel your icepick heartbeat behind your eyes, and you wonder if it was a dare over a few beers. A matching tattoo with a lover. The thought lifts you up and out of the crushing burden of pushing air into clenched lungs, only for a moment. It’s no name to grab hold of, but it’s an identifier if you can make it out alive.

He’d crept up behind you while you were clearing a warehouse that you swore you’d be fine doing by yourself, pushing the cold barrel of something painfully familiar into the back of your head. He was tall, unflinching, unworried, too practiced. He helped you slip the straps of your backpack off your shoulders but staggeringly violent and unkind. Feeling you up for weapons with a disgusting leisure. As if you’d be hiding something gun-sized in your small back pocket.

You’d heard panic and screams outside, and you already knew. Voices outnumbered your friends, and it was almost – almost – funny to think that Tommy said the three of you would be one too many for patrol.

So, when exactly two gunshots hit their targets, it only took you seconds to figure out the score.

Something significant cracked in you then. Started in your chest and splintered to your heart, head, down to the tips of your toes. There was no fighting back, and you were next.

Now — fractured ribs, a dislocated shoulder, bloodied face, broken wrist, and one concussion later, here you find yourself. The tall one has a thick mustache, something sinister and villainous that seems too stereotypical even for this. At some point there had been a shift, and what started as a robbery now felt like killing for sport.

“Fine. Think she’s dead anyway.”

He kicks you one more time for the cinematic pleasure of it all.

This time you don’t wince, don’t feel a jerk or twitch betray you. The muscle in your jaw is so tense, the teeth grinding so hard into one another that you expect to open your mouth to a cloud of dust.

An agony you’ve only ever seen in movies is wringing every cell dry. It’s seizing, unrelenting, almost an exorcism in the tensing and writhing of it all. But you keep it beneath the surface, barely clinging to the little control you have.

You try to count the footsteps that are finally retreating, to breathe around the blood in your nose both dried and fresh. It feels like measuring the closeness of thunder and lightning, some kind of correlation with the distance of a storm.

The group trails outside, and heavier footsteps of your stolen horses lead them away. Onto the next. Breath idles in your chest, and the clarity that you think will come when you finally unstick your eyelids doesn’t. Everything feels swollen, scorched, raw. Nerve endings clipped and lapped up by the unrelenting lick of wind. A scream climbs up your throat, but the pain isn’t worth the exhale. And you don’t want them to come back for round two.

You drag the dead weight of your limbs out to inspect what you know to be true, and it’s nothing but bloody snow angels and twisted, awkward angles of your friends. You can’t even look at them, turning your head and squeezing your swollen eyes shut when you check for pulses that aren’t there.

Snowflakes collect on your lashes and drip pink down your face.

—

Daylight wanes, languid and impatient. It’s been hours trying to retrace your steps back to Jackson, the blood loss slowing you to a stop every five dizzying minutes. Your feet trick you into standing, only for your knees to buckle and bring you down into the snow. Teetering on the cliff of willfully alive and mercifully dead. There isn’t pain anymore, not really, and you’re grateful for the numbing cold, but you can feel your body threatening to cave in on itself.

Tears don’t come as much as you beg for them, for any type of release that’ll ground you. Enough time has ticked by that someone has to notice an absence of three, but you can’t be sure that you’re even on the right path anymore to meet them in the middle.

When they find you, if they ever find you, at least they’ll know you tried.

There’s a comfort in that, a warmth that reaches out and grabs you and folds you in like a blanket. It’s safe here, it says. Just lie down for a minute. And you don’t fight it.

Someone’s calling your name now, and it’s a gentle tug back into consciousness. There are frantic hands on your face, delicate and urgent when they take inventory of your wounds. When they say death greets you, maybe it’s this.

But there’s a Texas drawl that’s murmuring you’re okay, I’ve got you and I know, I know it hurts and shouting instructions to someone else that’s lifting you up, up, up.

Your fingertips scrape a stubbled jaw when you’re pulled away. The light dims like a blown-out candle. And you’re falling, grasping at anything, everything, nothing.

You forget the rest.

—

Ten months pass, dripping into spring, then summer, and meeting autumn at its doorstep.

Everything has healed, down to the last scratch. That day feels hazy, and you’d assume it was a hallucination if not for the two friends that didn’t come back with you. The recovery was just as strange, trauma shielding you from the gory parts but not the guilt. Never the guilt.

Sometimes, you test the memory, prod at it, but nothing new comes to the surface. No recollection of who they were, where they were going, if they were anything more than nameless thieves. It’s probably better this way, but there’s no way of knowing if that’s true.

Fistfuls of flowers collected on your porch, and they seemed to appear out of thin air because no one ever came with them. Anonymous condolences that didn’t want to be seen, and it was an easy guess as to why. You heard rumors, retellings of what happened without much accuracy, but there was nothing to say to correct them. Some of them were angry, and you let them be. Call it penance, undeserved or not.

Ellie would visit occasionally, sometimes Tommy. You let her play guitar without saying a word, let him bring you books to keep you occupied. Everyone else dodged you, and you didn’t know if it was discomfort or because you were the only one left alive to blame. Probably both.

Since then, they’d kept you busy elsewhere. Projects that hadn’t been projects before suddenly popped up. More hands in the stables for getting horses ready for patrol. Planting vegetables and flowers for food and morale. Playing doctor when the patrols would come back with minor injuries from staving off infected. Being underfoot at the Tipsy Bison, picking up shifts when there was a movie night or some string-lit illuminated get-together.

Slinking into the shadows and being the ambient background noise in everyone else’s conversations.

You didn’t have the heart to tell them that you had the farthest thing from a green thumb, that you couldn’t bartend for shit, that the most nurse-like thing you’d ever done was slap a band-aid on a skinned knee.

An otherness that weighed so heavy you thought it would be better to crush you. Poison that bloomed in the belly of a tight-knit community that didn’t know what shelf to put you on. Who felt like collective trauma was part of the deal, and this was just yours.

But it softened the blow of your abrupt uselessness. You let it happen. Becoming competent was better than peeking out from drawn curtains. Better than sleeping with your eyes open, watching everyone around you move on while you couldn’t.

While nightmares claw their way up your chest at night and leave you in a cold sweat, flicking on every light that’ll burn to make sure you’re really, truly alone.

The roar of laughter snaps you out of the trance, breaks the eye contact you were making with your fireplace. You wonder absently if you’d tuned out the rest or if everyone had finally huddled together in front of the projector down the road for tonight’s showing of whatever DVD was looted during this week’s patrol. You didn’t usually mind — sometimes even joined when Ellie had enough of your sulking and all but kicked your door in — but tonight feels like an organized, cruel punishment.

You pry yourself from your couch, knocking over the stack of books on your way to the coat rack. Anaïs Nin pierces you with a glare, rotting where you left her. You slip each arm into a heavy coat, tucking one of the books into your bag with a lone cigarette as a makeshift bookmark. It’s cold as fuck tonight, but maybe you’ll linger a little longer after closing down the bar. Maybe you’ll wait until the crowd outside dies down to sneak back into your house, light another fire, and count down the hours until your shift at the stables.

Bartending tonight should be quiet, hopefully only encountering a few regulars that usually kept to themselves and tipped you for doing the same.

You steal one more warm moment before opening the door and stepping into the flinching cold, taking note of the way words stutter and lose traction when your face registers with the nearby crowd. There always seems to be a vacancy of pleasantries. And you don’t exactly invite them.

Tommy gives you a sympathetic look, tipping his chin up in a half-nod. Ellie lifts a few fingers in a wave, knowing you don’t want the pity but hate the suffocation of nothing at all. You will the corners of your mouth to quirk in a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes and force your legs into a normal pace, almost locking your knees so you don’t break into a run. The debt of an overdue visit with them burrows in your chest.

The Jaws theme song hums ominously, and you think it’s only fitting.

A few people litter the bar when you meet the cozy blanket of peanut-shelled air of the Tipsy Bison. A pool cue cracks against a ball and sends it clattering into a group of others, a low crackle of some country something crooning out of the jukebox. You shed your coat and your bag in the back, washing your hands under scorching water to shake some feeling back into your bones.

“Just a few tonight. Been slow – you’ll probably be out early. What’s playin’?”

You smile at the thick, syrupy Southern mama accent by your side. Cheryl is no-nonsense, usually slips you a little extra at the end of your shifts, and feigns ignorance of anything about the ugly parts of your past. All she cares about is that you’re eating. There is an undying gratitude for Cheryl.

“Ah. Jaws, I think.”

She seems to read your mind with a laugh, patting your shoulder affectionately like only a mother can.

“Maybe I’ll go join the sharks. Joel just got here, wants a whiskey ‘fore I head out. You know him,” Cheryl tuts, almost rolling her eyes but you know she likes the caretaker role if you’re any indication.

And you do. You do know him.

Joel keeps to himself almost as much as you do, maybe a little less when it comes to Ellie and Tommy. He’s sort of your catty-cornered neighbor, but not the sugar-asking kind. More like the kind that glances in your direction, holds your stare for a beat too long, and abruptly looks away before anything discernible can appear.

The closest you ever come to saying anything of substance to each other is when you ready his horse for patrols and intercept it when he’s back safe and sound. You try not to let him catch your gaze shifting to that shiny scar on his head, and you stifle down the question that’s none of your business.

Maybe he does the same for you.

And maybe he was there and saved you that day, but neither one of you has ever mentioned it since. You don’t know how, and there’s a brick wall around the subject that won’t let you. Enough time has passed that you figure he’d have said something if he gave a shit.

Yet, there’s a deep yearning for his approval, his attention. It’s a mystery even to you, when you think about how savagely indifferent you are to anyone else’s. But you think it’s the magnetism of having him as a witness. The way he could vindicate you and give you an alibi, a heroic complex, but he doesn’t.

So, the idea that he’s one of the patrons that you can count on one hand tonight… you can’t put a name to what it’s doing to you.

Cheryl makes sure that you’re okay, but she doesn’t linger. She packs up her things with haste, jogging through the cold to join her wife in front of the bonfire.

No one really pays you any mind as you start your closing duties early, and it’s doubtful that the seats will fill any more than they are as the party picks up outside.

Joel sits at the corner of the bar that faces you, and he’s down to a knuckle’s length of whiskey. If he were anyone else, you might wonder why he’s not at the bonfire — but it’s Joel. Social anythings are like a second plague to him.

The thought of having to refill his drink vibrates in the back of your mind, and lead fills your stomach. Small talk that you never quite have with him. It dissipates just as quickly, when you see the way he’s fixed on the sweat gathering on his glass instead of anything else, and when a gust of wind comes in as the door opens.

Max. Anxiety snaps in your rib cage like a rubber band. Something acrid hits the back of your throat and you think it might be blood the way your teeth connect with the soft tissue of your cheek.

Max had been a recurring character in your bed once. Before. It was never more than convenience, and the way you fucked wasn’t love, not even close. Liberating to think that you never neared the edge of feeling anything except his hand pressing your face into a pillow, performing orgasms that never came.

There’s no carcass of affection left, so devoid of emotion for him that it feels like a severed limb.

He’s all ego and athletic strength, sauntering up to the bar with a gait that reeks of hours of pregaming. There’s a permanent sneer when he addresses you, a coldness that has nothing to do with the weather.

“Tequila. Two doubles.”

He’s the type to twist the knife of your tragedy in even deeper, making sure to hit all vital organs. The first to question what more you could have done to save his friends, blaming you for leaving them there to die as if they weren’t dead the moment raiders showed up. As if you weren’t almost dead. Anything you’ve said in defense is inconceivable, an excuse, an admission of guilt. He mourns at your expense and often.

Jackson trudges forward, but Max forces you to stay in grief and remember.

“I think you’ve had your fill this week. Drank through your ration on Tuesday, remember?” you say coolly, but a twinge of fatigue colors your tone, giving you away. You aren’t in the mood, and Max finds it easy to light flame to your resolve as-is.

Maria spends hours of careful inventory, and there’s been more than one occasion where you’ve been instructed to cut off a greedy drunk. The vice, the urge to drink in an apocalypse doesn’t really align with the limited stock, unfortunately.

“Yeah, I don’t exactly see Maria around, do you?” A jeer at face value, but you decide in the beat of silence that follows that rule enforcement isn’t worth it tonight. “Sounds like you’ll think of something. And you fuckin’ owe me one, don’t you? Or would you prefer I collect on that another time?”

It’s not worth it. You’re dropping your glare, squaring your jaw, lining up two glasses so that the rims clink. But the way your skin prickles, there’s an unwelcome visitor in his stare, an x-ray vision that you wished Max didn’t have.

Somewhere down the bar, glass slams against wood and something you know to be amber-colored sloshes.

You try to steady the angry tremble that overcomes your hands as you upturn the liquor bottle. One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four.

He holds the ration card to you, taunting you by pulling back when you reach for it, only to smirk and flick it toward you, uncaring of where it lands. You shove it into the mouth of the register with the violence you wish you were brave enough for.

“You can leave now.”

“That so? Mouthy now that you have an audience?” Max gestures cruelly to the grand total of four patrons, five if you counted Johnny Cash.

It stings, but dully. You’ve heard worse – even if not to your face – and it’s all kind of anti-climatic if you considered the low-budget production they always try to make out of you. The words eventually all sound the same, nothing punches quite the way they intend. Still, your cheeks burn as if on cue, and —

“She told you to get the fuck out.”

A low timbre erupts, easily mistaken as pure venom. There’s a sway in the way your senses glitch and then still, and reality swirls at the edge of your periphery. Pool balls stop their roll, murmured chatter ceases, and even the fucking jukebox settles on an instrumental to lean in and listen.

You dare to look over at Joel, whose demeanor looks more akin to statuesque and threatening than his curved slouch when you first clocked in. He’s standing, flexing his fists so hard that you think they might shatter.

Max backs off but subtly – you can see the way his puffed chest deflates even though his glare doesn’t. He finishes off one tequila before backing up with the other dangling in his fingers, both hands turned palm-out in mock surrender.

A deep annoyance plucks at his brow, but he knows he’s flirting with a black eye.

Max flashes a middle finger, lets his grip relax after downing the glass in his hand, and it crashes to the floor with a wincing shatter. He’s gone before you can string together any curses, and would it have mattered anyway?

Then, there’s scattering, the bar flies wordlessly agreeing that anywhere is better than the awkwardness of being here. Cards thrown down, beers drained, and there’s an uneasiness with the way they shuffle outside towards the rest of the group. A dance around the broken glass that isn’t their problem. You pretend not to notice, though you try to hide the redness that stains your cheeks as you bring a dust pan over to the mess.

You feel eyes on you and, all too suddenly, you realize that Joel didn’t follow them.

“Careful. Here, lemme do that.”

He’s kneeling, taking the pan from you. Knuckles brush yours a little too long and electrify, zapping you. You mutter something like thanks and it’s too ungrateful, too tired. A woodsy scent fills your nose, and you’re hard-pressed not to lean into his collar and bookmark it.

Glass slips into the trash with a tinkling, shimmering sound. You’re already back behind the bar, hands busying with something else, tidying up the already-tidy. Letting him slip outside with the crowd, heavy with satisfaction that he came to your rescue yet again.

But he’s sat back down, watching you with an odd intensity. He’s never assessed you like this, at least not that you’ve seen. A different sort of undressing than what Max gives you. You meet his eyeline warily. Vulnerable, waiting for your predator’s jaw to unhinge and devour you whole.

“He always talk to you that way?”

A quiet, lethal question hangs in the air, so quiet that you could’ve chalked it up to your imagination. But evidenced by the white-knuckled grip Joel has on his glass, the measured way he brings it to his lips, it was real. Controlled, scary even. But real.

Your mouth opens to answer, then closes. You consider in a beat’s time how it would sound to laugh it off, then stop yourself. It would be too forced, too desperate of a sound to be convincing. You’ve never been the unfeeling, unaffected type.

It’s clear that he knows the answer, has probably seen it with his own eyes, but it’s like he wants a green light to set his sights on some other more sinister and deserving prey.

“Doesn’t matter. He’s been through a lot,” you say, half to yourself. It’s easier this way.

“Does matter. So’ve you,” Joel says, even quieter, like he’s trying to contain an angry edge that threatens to bleed out. The calm is almost worse. In a way, you wish he would loosen the leash on his rage. Or break something to satisfy the urge in you that wants to do the same – you’d give him permission to do that. This is too unreadable and ambiguous, too much room left for agonizing interpretation in how he grits his teeth and pulses that muscle in his taut jaw. You want to yell, let out what’s long pent-up. Yes! Yes, it does fucking matter!

But you don’t. You keep the rag tight on the lip of the pint glass in your hand, rotating it past the point of needing to be cleaned. The rub of the microfiber cloth makes you itch, and your teeth scrape again at the inside of your cheek.

It leaves your mouth before you can catch it and shove it back down.

“Why do you care?”

Joel looks up at you now and you think that you’ve already overstepped during your first, real fucking conversation. He finishes off the whiskey and puts it back down carefully. He stands up, each slow step over to you spiking your blood pressure, your breath shifting into neutral.

It’s the way he’s fixated on you, a litmus test for any sarcasm. The way a chill creeps into the base of your spine and slithers up each vertebrae despite the warmth you feel below your waist. And when he comes behind the bar, reaches for the glass in your hand and puts it down gently, you wonder if that tug has always been there.

Fuck.

“You think I don’t care?”

Tiny hairs at your nape stand at attention in a near-salute. The web of intrusive thoughts tangles between you, and you’re acutely aware that this is the closest you’ve ever been to Joel Miller – that you’ve been conscious for. That feeling rushes back and bursts in your chest, the comforting honey in his voice that’s been haunting you since he found you crumpled in the snow.

The omnipresent, sharp tang of whiskey sticks to the slightly graying stubble that you want to reach out and touch. That you want to feel the scrape of in places that makes heat pool deep in your belly. His flannel is unbuttoned at the top, the column of his throat ridged and tense.

Focus.

“Why are you saying this now?” you say, and you want to hold your ground but his admission is akin to mesmerizing.

He thinks for a minute, his eyes smoothing over every angle in your face. They look past you, just over your shoulder, like he’s asking himself the same thing.

“Knew you could handle it. ‘Til you couldn’t anymore.”

There it is. You let it sink in, clicking that last piece into place. Always observing you from a safe distance, the buzz of something unsaid ringing in your ears when he’s around. How he listens to your interactions, but never too closely. Watching for weak spots. And tonight was the weakest of them all, letting yourself be humiliated by the only person that knew where to bite just right.

You feel laid bare, too seen. Pissed that he can witness your struggling, thrashing, drowning with outstretched arms and kicking feet and decide when and if he’ll pity you.

And this time, a laugh does slip out – humorless and breathy.

“The same way you can handle whatever’s making you drink alone on a Friday night? Don’t act so holier than thou, Joel. I’m the wrong one.”

“Watch it.”

You don’t mean it. Not really. But you’re so angry, a wasps’ nest that’s been taunted and poked at after being left to its own devices for too long. Sometimes violence feels more intimate. Safer.

And he’s using that gravelly, terse tone with you of all people, and you want to fucking lose your mind.

When he doesn’t say anything else, just looks at you and waits, they leave their home in a wave. Burying stingers where you know they’ll hurt. Once more, with feeling.

“Are you looking for a ‘thank you’?”

Joel’s mouth quirks, but it isn’t a smile. It only stokes the fire, and you know what he’s doing. Letting you win, begrudgingly because you’re being an ass. But you haven’t had a win in the last ten months, only loss after devastating loss. He’s throwing you a raft.

“No. Just tryin’ to help, ‘s all.”

Your nostrils are flaring in sharp inhales that you can’t control, and you physically jab at him, your own tightly wound chest dragging in the hive for a final, practiced nosedive. “I don’t fucking need your help, Joel.”

He’s snatching your wrist, holding it in a vise, but there’s a flinch in his expression. Joel hardens, sliding that cool armor back into place. Sizing you up one more time, committing you to memory. A curt nod, plucking that chord of roughness in his tone that makes you ache.

There’s a glare you’ve never seen from him, like disappointment and disdain wrapped up neatly in one package. Delivered with a dagger straight to your heart.

“We’ll see. Not s’good at that, are you?”

And it’s a KO you allow, one you’ll lay with. But he’s leaning in, invading your space. You move to retreat and cower, the way you’re accustomed to, but Joel’s grabbing a fistful of your shirt and fastening you in place. His mouth’s at your ear as if he’s telling you a secret.

“Good luck bein’ a fuckin’ martyr.”

The pressure loosens, as does his grip, dissipating like some ghostly presence. He leaves without another word, and something inside you snags and unspools.

—

You don’t see Joel for days.

Three days to be exact, torturous and fluid days that feel like trickling sand, but blend together in an indistinguishable slideshow when you zoom out. You time your breaks perfectly at the stables so you don’t run into him, and you ask Cheryl to cover for you on Tuesday, ignoring the strange look she gives you – the resident workaholic.

It’s a sort of avoidance that you don’t want to acknowledge or look directly in the eye. If you did, it would mean that Joel affected you more than you want to admit. Or that he’d sized you up in an expert way that a categorical stranger shouldn’t be able to.

You should be livid, and you are… in a way. But mainly you want to shrug your skin off, your unease for being so dissected by him. Just unzip it all and let it pool at your feet, stepping out of the pile one leg at a time. The pinch, the untethering of you and the man that could read you without translation.

And when it’s 9 o’clock and you’re making tea as you trudge through a book without really reading anything, you glance outside at the house across the street and it’s so dark that you think it may have swallowed him whole.

Or he’s hiding from you, too.

—

It’s finally Thursday, and you can’t put it off any longer. You’re running out of food, you promised Tommy you’d lend a hand with feeding the horses – and there’s a dull itch to see Joel again. You don’t even know what you’d say, if he even wants to bother with you after the other night. Part of you hopes that you fall backwards into the acquaintance of saying nothing, that you have permission to rewind past whatever this nagging feeling is.

It’s quiet outside – a lazy day. The snow on the ground is melting, patchy in spots where sunlight or kid-feet caught it at just the right angle. The greenhouses are so fogged and frosted over that you’re grateful you can’t see the death-rot inside. It’s not quite growing season yet, but close, and you long for the added distraction in your day if this is the alternative.

Anything to pass the time and not think about Joel and his hands touching yours. The fabric of your shirt oozing between his knuckles when he forced you chest-to-chest.

When you make it over to the barn, his horse is gone and there’s almost – almost – a twinge of relief. You’ll be done before he gets back from patrol. You won’t have a chance to swallow the apology that will rise in your throat like bile, but maybe it’s for the best.

You’re elbow deep in feed when there’s a yelling that cracks in the air. You freeze, waiting to hear a suffix of children’s laughter, but it doesn’t come. There’s a confused sort of shouting, and the gate at the border of Jackson slams and rattles like you’ve never heard before.

Shaky hands wipe at your pants, and you step out, a hand shielding your eyes from the glare of the sun.

Joel is slumped atop his horse, upright but hardly. There’s a cut somewhere on his head that streams a blurry red, and the horse whines when Tommy sprints to meet it.

“It’s Joel! I need some fuckin’ help here!”

And without fully connecting the dots or measuring the severity, you just run. Colliding with the crowd that’s formed, shoving elbows and shoulders as if in a trance. Like something’s pressing you from behind, throwing all its weight into pushing you forward.

You blink and you’re helping Joel down, Ellie’s tattooed forearm somewhere in the jumble of limbs. Tommy’s jean jacket stiff from the cold.

You don’t have to look in a mirror to know that you’re pale as a ghost. The moisture strips from your mouth, joints moving as if by marionette. Blood is already drying and caking in the creases of your hands. Knowing it isn’t yours makes you feel sick.

“‘M fine, Jesus Christ,” Joel coughs, a jagged edge in his throat that sounds anything but. There’s something underneath his coat that’s soaking through, blossoming a dark stain on the front.

Images keep shifting every time you blink, like you’re losing time in between and someone’s slamming the fast-forward button until it jams. Joel groaning on a makeshift stretcher. Ellie’s frenzied feet following as they take him to his house.

The tall one on top of you, squeezing your windpipe.

Your head cracking against the pavement.

Two gunshots firing.

Snow in your bloodied, matted hair.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you. I know, I know it hurts.”

Ringing grows loud and shrill in your ears. Tommy’s in front of you, calling your name. Shaking your shoulders.

“– need you to go fix him up –”

And you’re falling back into the present, vision shifting back into focus. You’re nodding, clinical now. You’ve seen worse, and strangely, that’s comforting.

“– whatever supplies you need, I trust you –”

The weight of Tommy’s confidence steadies you, tying up the loose ends that have untwined deep inside. You run through the mental checklist of what’s in your medical bag at home – stashed in your closet on the very top shelf. Bandages, antibiotics, sutures. But if you’re dealing with a bite…

“I got it. Promise. Keep everyone out, alright? I’ll let you know.”

He pauses, catching up with the subliminal thing that waits in the air between you. Wariness paints his gaze, and you know he knows what you’re afraid to say.

Tommy nods, but you’re already running.

#my writing #a heart for eating #ahfe #outbreak!joel #jackson!joel #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #tlou fanfiction #motherofagony

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joelsdagger · 2 months

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talking body | joel miller x f!reader

read on ao3 | tlou is created by a zionist and tlou2 is based on the Israeli occupation on Palestine, this article expands on that info. pls visit these links to help.

pairing: joel miller x curvy f!reader

rating: 18+ MDNI

word count: 7.5k (dear god)

summary: joel doesn’t hesitate to show you just how crazy he is about you. content warnings: jackson era, canon divergent, established relationship, unspecified age gap, (joel is late 50’s/pushing 60 & reader is whatever age you like her to be), fatphobic/misogynistic comments from a male oc, mentions of body insecurities, a little bit of jealousy (from reader), [internal] angst (feelings of guilt & shame), reader wears a form–fitting dress, joel gets handsy, body worship, pet names (sweetheart, darlin’, baby, pretty girl), brief vaginal fingering, biting, body marking, praise kink, sprinkle of degradation, 1 pussy slap, dirty talk (or as kat put it; joel miller and that FUCKING MOUTH), oral sex (f receiving), mild ass play, unprotected piv, rough sex, spanking, multiple orgasms, possessive!joel, pussy pronouns, creampie, fluff, joel just being such a sweetheart but also an absolute menace UGH, game!joel or show!joel, reader is curvy and can be interpreted as being mid/plus sized, but other than that no other physical descriptions of reader and no use of y/n.

a/n: this is completely self indulgent and i love doing shit out of spite so naturally i wrote this cuz of all the shit i’ve been seeing these past few weeks. also, this is me pushing the agenda that game!joel is a hips guy and show!joel is an ass guy, so i mixed a little bit of both in here bc i can. to everyone with thick thighs, squishy bellies, big tits, hip dips, and every thing in between i see you, i love you (so does joel), and he would fuck your brains out, he told me himself :3 thank you to my loves @skrunkly-scrimblo & @phoeberidgers for being my second and third eyes & helping my indecisive ass with the visuals (and for always putting up with me) ily both sm <3 | dividers by @saradika-graphics

oh! masterlist is coming in a few days (i’m sorry, i’ve been putting it off)

Joel’s still sitting at the table with Tommy and Maria when Dina cuts into your path as you approach the bar, you were getting refills for your table. Dina drags you along behind her to the open space where a few other Jackson residents are dancing, she points out that you still haven’t delivered on your promise to dance with her. You playfully roll your eyes as she tugs you along, you don’t really mind, you’re the type to drink and dance the night away whenever you and Joel joined your fellow Jackson residents at The Tipsy Bison, letting out all the stress and worries that had built up from days prior and tonight was one of those nights, you endured a long, shitty, fucking week.

One dance had turned into two which turned into three and very quickly you felt the overwhelming sense of heat from the lights and the alcohol running through your system warming up your body an ungodly amount. It didn’t help that the short, tight dress you were wearing was beginning to ride up your thighs and the thin fabric on your stomach clinging to your sticky skin as sweat started to pool in places you didn’t quite like.

You take advantage of the song coming to an end and spin out of the dance before someone ropes you back in, tugging the hemline of your dress down while you make your way to the bar to finally order refills for your table. As you wait for the bartender to come out from the back, you turn around to watch the rest of Jackson’s residents while they drink, dance, and laugh through the night, a smile tugs on your lips as you briefly spot Dina now dragging Ellie to the small open space. You continue glancing over the room, it was busier than usual though still expected, gatherings during the fall and winter months tended to occur more often, the cold weather gives people a reason to spend more time indoors, alcohol and loud music helps keep bodies warm and memories faded away. Nights like these are needed in Jackson.

Your gaze eventually lands on your table, seeing a tall, beautiful, dark-haired woman standing in front of Joel, you know exactly who it is…Esther. You’re not surprised, she’s been after Joel for years, completely disregarding your relationship with him. You don’t blame her, Joel’s one hell of a man but you can’t help but feel a pit in your stomach when you see a smile on his face as he cracks a laugh at her joke, she playfully smacks his arm in return and you avert your eyes to scan the crowd once again.

You know he doesn’t mean anything by it, Joel’s a gentleman, always polite and charming, he plays along as to not embarrass her.

So why does it bother you?

You feel stupid, again you can’t blame her, but then your eyes trail down her body, she’s got a few years on you but she doesn’t look it. From what you can tell, her body has remained the same since the day you met her.

Yours, on the other hand, has slightly changed to a noticeable degree, as you settled into Jackson as well as your relationship with Joel. Your breasts spill over the cups of a few older bras, you have a softer tummy that protrudes out in form–fitting clothes like right now and your thighs and ass fill your jeans out a bit more. It’s a dull feeling now, not really paying it any mind anymore, you were more aware of it at first, but occasionally, moments like this remind you of the changes in your body.

His body has deliciously changed with age; his hair now suitably silver, though the gray patches of hair spanning across his chest and down his belly don’t quite match the hair on his scalp. When he lifts his arms just enough his soft belly peeks out, perfectly protruding just above the waistband of his jeans. He’s insecure about it, his age more apparent when you’re beside him, not that he’d ever really admit that to you, but you picked up on it pretty quickly when he started opting for loose fitting button downs and jeans, but he clearly still has an effect on women.

With you it’s just….different.

Feeling the heat of a stare on you and knowing who it’s from, you glance back at Joel, your gaze landing on his face again, you can see his face more clearly now, Esther’s still talking to him, yet his attention isn’t on her, his eyes are trained on you and you’re met with an expression of hunger on his face. His eyes steadily rake down your body, feasting on the tight material clinging to your sticky skin, they pause and for a fleeting moment he fixates on your exposed thighs, his eyes trail back up to your chest, and as he lifts up the glass of whiskey he’s been nursing to his mouth, you catch his tongue poke out to lick his bottom lip, his eyes never leaving yours as he takes a long sip of his whiskey.

The faint buzz from the alcohol emboldens you and you wink back at him.

No longer giving those feelings a second thought you turn back around and try to wave down the bartender.

“Another round, please.”

“Sure thing, sweets.”

He turns away to grab your drinks, your ears perk up when you hear someone say your name, you turn your head towards the voice, noticing a few men sitting at the edge of the bar. You recognize one of them, a younger man, who happened to be your old patrol partner and your last fling.

Naturally, you eavesdrop on their conversation. Matt’s back is to you when you hear it.

“She’s not in her prime, you should’ve seen her a few years ago,” he sneers.

His words pierce through you, you know exactly what he’s getting at, it stings even when you know it shouldn’t, it festers.

A man you’re not familiar with, probably the newbie, stands further away, he opens his mouth to speak but you can’t hear what he’s saying, the music is too loud and you have to fight the urge to look directly at him so you can read his lips, but he says something that earns a few snickers out of the men surrounding him.

The shame coils and pulls taut in your stomach, twisting, pulling, scraping so tight it makes you dizzy and nauseous.

You don’t even realize your drinks had been placed on the bartop in front of you, Matt’s irritating voice cuts in and holds your attention, “Can’t believe a man like Joel is still with her. No real man can fuck women who look like that and enjoy it,” he says simply.

The shame turns to rage and your blood boils, you feel your cheeks heating up as anger bubbles in the pit of your stomach, the blinding rage looms over you and your feet move without thinking. You begin to step forward but for the second time that night your movements are interrupted, you hear her voice before she’s in front of you.

“You ditched us to grab drinks and yet we never got them,” Maria teases.

“Sorry, I got carried away,” you look away from the group of men and back at Maria, flashing her a smile, a little forced.

“Figured. Joel’s been eyeing you while you were dancing, I told him to join you but we both know he prefers admiring you,” she says, redrawing your attention by tilting her head into your line of sight.

She beckons you with a jerk of her head, “C’mon, your man gets grumpy when you’re away,” she says with a comforting smile. As the two of you grab the whiskey filled glasses, she hooks her arm through yours and walks you back to the table.

Joel pulls open your chair next to him, you sit down and silently hand him his whiskey, the anger fizzling out as soon as you’re beside him though the knot of shame still tight in the pit of your stomach. He senses something is off immediately, your behavior wildly different than twenty or so minutes before.

“Thanks, baby,” he says as he watches you intently.

“Mhm.”

You nod, shooting him a glance before averting your eyes back to a small group of residents dancing.

Tommy turns his head to ask Maria about the new patrol schedules for the upcoming week, Joel sees it as a window of opportunity, a distraction, so he throws his arm around you and tucks you into his side, just enough for you to smell the whiskey on him, he settles his palm on your stomach, his thumb starts rubbing small circles on your belly through your tight dress, “You okay, darlin’?” he whispers, his whiskey–warm breath against your ear.

“Yup. Just tired,” you say dismissively, trying to keep your voice light, hoping it doesn’t sound as pinched as your throat feels. You press a chaste kiss to the flecks of silver on his temple, attempting to sooth his worries, while internally trying to convince yourself that you’re not giving those assholes too much power over their words, even though you have, it gnaws at you so much it makes your bones itch beneath your skin.

He catches the deceit in your voice but he drops the subject, knowing not to pry in this moment, “Alright, we'll finish these and head home,” he kisses your forehead before he turns his attention back towards the conversation.

—

Joel kept on his word, the two of you leaving the gathering once you knocked back the rest of your drinks. However, finishing off your drinks meant the two of you were in a tipsy state and Joel’s insatiable when he’s got alcohol buzzing in his system. As soon as he closes the bedroom door behind him, he instantly pins you up against the door and presses his lips to yours, his mouth swallowing yours while his hands run greedily all over your body, grabbing and squeezing every part of you.

“God, you’re fuckin’ beautiful,” he says while he nuzzles his head in the deep groove of your cleavage, he nips lightly before leaving open–mouthed kisses to the exposed skin, his big hands come up to cup your breasts, your nipples peaked and hard beneath the thin fabrics of your dress and your bra.

“Fuck–” your whimper is cut off when Joel drags his lips back up to connect with yours, you hum as you taste his flavour, all oak and masculine and campfire like with a hint of spice from the whiskey. He moans as he licks his tongue into your mouth, one hand squeezes the weight of your breast while the other glides around to your back, pulling you closer. Joel always gets like this after a few drinks; it’s always heady, needy, sloppy like it is now. He kisses you with so much want and desire it makes your brain all foggy and your skin flare, forgetting the moment that threw off your mood.

That is until Joel’s hands make their way down your front, palming your tummy softly, one hand reaches under the hem of your short dress to cup your mound and the memory claws its way back to the surface, Matt’s words echo in your mind.

You tear your lips away from his and plaster on a tight smile, knowing your eyes will give you away, you stare at the scar across his nose, “Not tonight, baby,” you whisper, pressing a swift kiss to his cheek and tucking a silver curl behind his ear.

Though Joel Miller, as always, is on high alert, always studying the people around him, it’s all he’s ever known in his role of a protector. He learnt and memorized all your tells within weeks of knowing you, he doesn’t need to see your eyes to catch on, he senses the hint of sadness in the hushed tone of your voice, the same one he clocked earlier at The Tipsy Bison, he knows you’re holding back.

“Alright, sweetheart, what’s on your mind?”

You brush past him, walking away and sitting on the bed, “Nothing, I’m fine, I’m just tired,” you say a little too hurriedly, your voice too syrupy-sweet. That’s the third thing that’s tipped him off tonight. He follows you tentatively, sitting beside you placing his hands on your knees and guiding you to face him.

He assesses your face and sighs, “We’re not gonna do that. You’ve been real quiet and distant most of the night. Darlin’, talk to me,” he hooks a finger underneath your chin and gently tilts your face upwards, forcing you to look at him.

You shrug heavily, feeling stupid for letting their words sour your mood, but worse for thinking the same about yourself, when you should be grateful. Living, breathing, existing is a privilege, one that not everyone gets, something you and Joel are too familiar with, yet here you are letting dumb comments from even dumber men upset you. The same knot in your stomach from earlier pulls taut once again.

You rip your eyes away from Joel’s, not able to bring yourself to face the troubled look in his eyes. “It's just embarrassing, and I’m ashamed that I let things still get to me,” you admit defeatedly, your voice barely audible.

“Baby,” he tugs gently on your chin again, “Look at me,” he murmured.

You blink up at him, forcing yourself to look at him, tears pricking in your eyes when you see the worry line appearing in between his brows and the hues of concern in his eyes once again. He reaches up to gently cradle your face, the contact sends you over the edge and a tear cascades down your cheek, his calloused thumb swipes it away, the turmoil clear as day in his eyes, you hate that you’re the reason for the pained expression on his face.

“Tell me,” he implored, his voice pinched as he spoke.

You can feel the walls of your throat constricting and the rapid thump of your pulse right below your jaw as you swallow tightly. Just hearing the hurt in his voice should stop you, should make you drop the whole thing. You think about leaving Matt’s name out of it, just by mentioning that Matt was the one reaffirming your deep-seated insecurities will upset him alone, Joel’s hated the guy since the day he found out you fucked him but leaving his name out of it feels like you're protecting him.

That coupled with the look of worry on his face, knowing his compulsive need to do right by you but he can’t if you don’t let him, coaxes you to tell him everything.

Biting the bullet and bracing yourself for impact, you take a deep breath.

“You know that guy, Matt, that I used to….” you trail off quietly, biting your lip.

His lips downturn into a soft frown and yet he doesn’t respond, just gives you a firm nod.

You avoid his gaze, picking at the loose skin around your nail, Joel notices and grabs your hands in his. Your eyes stay transfixed on your lap, you sigh deeply, “He said, a man like you shouldn’t be with someone like me, said he doesn’t know how you can fuck me and enjoy it,” another tear spills down your cheek, recounting each of his words feels like hard punches to the gut. “And then seeing Esther hitting on you again, even though everyone knows we’re together–I know I shouldn’t let it get to me but I can’t help how I feel sometimes,” your voice quavering as you ramble admittedly.

You peer up at him under watery lashes and for a second you can practically see him fighting the urge of storming out of the house and heading back to The Tipsy Bison to find the bastard, you can see it in the flash of anger that spreads across his features, in the twitch of his jaw and the flare of his nostrils as he takes in a sharp breath.

Instead, he exhales, “Darlin’, there ain’t nothing wrong with you,” he dips his head down so his eyes meet yours, you shrug again.

“Stop that. You’re perfect honey,” you can hear the sincerity in his voice as he runs his hand along your upper thighs, now exposed as your dress rolled up from your position on the bed.

“I get it darlin’, hell one good look in the mirror n’ I wonder how a pretty thing like yourself could want an old man like me,” he huffs a quiet chuckle.

You shake your head immediately, “Joel–”

“Sweetheart, it’s okay if you need remindin’,” he interjects you, “I have no problem remindin’ you,” he asserts softly, his fingers still tracing up and down your thigh.

You frown, “I know you don’t Joel, it’s just,” you sigh a shuddering breath, feeling that familiar pang of guilt in your chest, now regretting opening up to him. The heavy stones of guilt and shame weighing you down, threatening to swallow you whole. The last thing he needed was you burdening him with your insecurities, you know him, he’ll dwell on this for days to come, checking in when he feels you pulling away.

“Lemme show you, baby,” he says while softly grabbing your hands, prying them away from your middle.

“No, Joel–” you began to protest.

“Need to see my beautiful girl,” he encourages you gently, his hands roam down and pause right below the hem of your dress but he awaits your permission.

You nod softly and lie back against the headboard, you watch his face as he carefully and slowly grabs at the skirt of your dress, shoving up the soft, red material over your waist, revealing your soft, pillowy silhouette.

He hovers over you as he takes his time palming the slopes of your curves, his big hands grab two handfuls of your breasts and squeezes them tightly, lifting the weight of them up and dropping his head down to nip at each breast, then letting them fall and marveling at the bounce of your tits. His hands find your hips, he’s sliding down the bed, just enough so his head is level with your middle, he dips his head down and presses his lips to the soft flesh, his teeth sink into your skin, sending a shiver down your spine, you involuntarily let out a soft moan.

He grips your hips more firmly, almost like you’ll disappear before him if he doesn’t, he moves his lips to your other hip and nips at your skin, “My sexy girl, fuckin’ can’t get enough of you,” he says lowly, his breath hot against your skin, you whimper softly as both of your hands find the nape of his neck. His mouth moves to the soft swell of your tummy and he nips at the supple skin right above your belly button, the coarse scruff tickles your skin and you can’t help the giggle it elicits from you.

He pulls away and peers up at you, eyes dark and full of lust, his mouth hovers over yours, “You drive me crazy, you know that, baby?” He whispers fervently against your lips, his fingers squeezing the meat of your thighs.

Your glassy eyes meet his as your hand comes up to cup his cheek, “I’m pretty crazy about you too, handsome,” you whisper, his cheeks flush pink at your words, still so bashful. He kisses the heel of your palm before patting the side of your thigh, “Turn around for me sweetheart, go on, all fours, need to see all of you,” he smirks, his eyes full of intensity as they drag down your body.

You do as he asks and move to the middle of the bed, flipping onto your knees and walking your hands out in front of you, arching your back slightly and hiking your up ass in front of him, he moans at the sight. “Good girl,” he praises softly behind you and your pussy throbs, a familiar sticky heat pools in your panties at his words. You playfully take a glance back at him, his eyes dark and half-lidded as he sits up and moves to his knees behind you, his hands run up the backs of your thighs all the way up until they meet the globe of your ass and he whistles lowly.

“Look at you, so fuckin’ perfect,” he murmurs, oggling the curve of your ass as his index finger sneaks under the lace trim of your panties, taking the material between his forefinger and his thumb and lightly skimming his fingers down the lace, “N’all for me.”

His fingers roam down to your covered slit and you let out a soft gasp, which only spurs him on, he runs his fingers along the wet spot on your panties, smirking when he feels the wetness staining your panties, the tips of his fingers dip below your clothed slit, “There's my girl. Always so fuckin’ wet for me, huh?” You hum softly in response.

The tip of his middle finger pushes past your outer lips and you bite down on your bottom lip, trying to suppress the whimper you let out. You’re already so wet, you’re always so wet and willing for him. It should embarrass you, how easy you are for him but it doesn't because it’s him and knowing how much he revels in this, in you makes that small pinch of embarrassment fade away instantly…every single time.

You risk a look at him over your shoulder as he pulls his finger back out and in one swift movement he puts his finger between his lips, quickly sucking your arousal off his finger, like it’s a mindless, habitual thing for him, like he’s sneaking a taste of his meal before he digs into it. His hands reach for the waistband sitting on your hips, pulling the lacy fabric down, marveling at the dark fabric against your skin as he slowly drags the material down your thighs, his eyes catch the opaque wetness soaking the lace while he pulls them down and he moans shamelessly.

Your eyes widen while you watch him bunch up the material and shove the lace in his back pocket and then his hand lands an affectionate smack to your ass, “Eyes forward, sweetheart.” You tear your eyes away as he brings a firm hand to the small of your back, pressing you down and deepening the arch to his liking, you instinctively drop to your forearms– so pliant and needy for him–he brings his mouth down and sinks his teeth into the lush of your ass in approval.

His hands grab your inner thighs, spreading your legs, now he has full sight of your glistening core, two thick fingers stroke through your folds, “Look at that, she’s so pretty baby. She’s droolin’ down your pretty legs,” his voice low and deep.

His words make your pussy throb, you can’t help the whine you let out, “Joel, please.”

“Please what, pretty girl, use your words,” he commands, his fingers still languidly messaging through your puffy lips, smearing your arousal all over his fingers.

“I need you, please do anything, please,” you mewl, not caring how pathetic you sound.

But still, not enough for Joel. A loud wet smack fills the room as he lays a firm slap to your cunt, your body flinches forward, the edges of your vision blurs and your aching, swollen cunt tingles and clenches at the harsh, yet welcomed contact.

He tuts, “You want my cock that bad, baby, I wanna hear you say it.”

Bastard.

“Joel please, I want your cock. I want it,” you whine and writhe beneath his firm palm.

“Okay, alright, baby, s’all I wanted to hear,” he cooes, his slick-coated fingers now soothing your folds. “I just need to taste her first,” he shifts behind you, sliding down off the bed, his knees creaking as he kneels on the floor, he pulls you back towards the edge of the bed by your thighs. He tilts his head up just enough to dig his teeth into the meat of your upper thigh, just below the curve of your ass cheek and soothes the sting with a wet kiss.

You shiver, you’re aching for him and his mouth is everywhere except for where you need him to be.

Joel’s hands come up to grab the meat of your ass, spreading you open and gently pushing you forward for better access, he brings his mouth to hungrily kiss your inner thighs, tasting the sweet, sticky slick coating your skin and a pitiful moan slips from your lips.

Joel seems to have heard it and that’s all it takes for his lips to make contact with your pussy, your breath hitches in your throat as he flattens his tongue and licks a long, slow swipe through your slicked folds, the first one always drawn out and meticulous and just for him.

You push your hips back into his face causing the tip of his nose to nuzzle into your asshole, you feel him hum in approval at your entrance. Suddenly, nothing else matters; the thick fog of insecurity, the crippling shame and guilt sitting heavy in your chest; it all melts away as a fresh wave of sensation courses through you by the warmth of his mouth on your cunt.

This was always his favorite part, seeking pleasure in you because it brings you pleasure, always doing what makes you feel good. To spread you open before him, having a perfect view of your alluring holes in front of him, just begging for him to devour away (and fill you up). He can spend hours on his knees between your legs and he has, slipping further and further elsewhere as he indulges in you, his lips relishing away at the altar in your hips.

A pressure already begins to pull taut low in your belly, you’re squirming in his grasp but his hands move to firmly grip your outer thighs, keeping you open for him and pressed flush against his eager mouth. He doesn’t go easy on you like he usually does. He fucking laves at you, devouring and savouring you like he’d never get the chance again. The vibrations from occasional muffled moans and groans against your pussy make you chant his name over and over like a prayer, even though he’s the one on his knees.

You can feel him push his tongue into your hole, fucking you with it, then he moves to swirl the tip of his tongue tightly against your puffy clit, “Oh god, Joel, fuck,” you moan out, your eyes roll back into your head as the coil inside your belly wounds up so tight every muscle in your body tenses. You start grinding your hips back into his face, he groans in response and loosens his grip on your legs, letting you take what you need from him.

He flattens his tongue against your clit before he closes his lips around it, suckling it into his mouth and moaning around it, the vibrations from his mouth makes the coil in your belly snap, and you cry out, using the sheets beneath you to stifle the noises slipping through your lips.

With his mouth still latched onto your throbbing cunt, he keeps going.

“Fuck, Joel, I can’t–” it’s too much and you’re too weak, a trembling mess on the mattress, so you attempt to close your legs but the strong grip he has on your thighs doesn’t allow you to move, it only goads him further.

He licks a thick, languid stripe through your heat all the way up until his tongue prods at the tight ring of muscle, again, your legs threaten to close but the firm grip of his hands keeps you wide open for him, he swirls his tongue in a tight circle around your puckered rim, “Joel–” your gasp is cut off by his white, hot mouth taking its place right back on your clit, not giving you any time to recover.

The tip of his tongue works small, tight circles on your clit around and around, only this time with more pressure than before and within minutes or seconds–you don’t really know at this point–you feel the pressure building in your belly and it’s growing stronger by every lick and suck from his mouth. His tongue flicks over your clit before he licks it into his mouth once more, closing his lips tightly, he gives it one last tight circle of his tongue and suckle to your clit and you break, your second orgasm crashes over you.

A choked moan escapes you, your legs quiver as they threaten to close while your hands fist the sheets beside your head, the grip he has on your thighs holds you open for him while you come all over his mouth and he laps you up, savoring, slurping, and swallowing down everything you give him.

Milliseconds pass and he shifts behind you, lost in the haze of your orgasm, you can faintly hear the popping of his knees coupled with a grunt behind you as he stands up. He leans forward, kneading your ass in his palms before bending down to lay another bite on your other cheek, this time with more fervor, leaving a mark, your skin tingles.

Joel positions himself right against your ass and places his hands on your hips again and squeezes, “I love all of ya, baby, but this right here,” he grips more firmly at the flesh on your hips again, “Fuck– these kill me,” he mumbles, almost entirely to himself.

“Joel, please, I need you inside me,” you beg and shiver in his grasp.

He stays quiet behind you, too enticed by the sight of your weeping pussy in front of him. You think you can hear the metallic clink of his belt as it drops to the floor and the buzz of the zipper of his jeans coming undone, the sounds make you clench around emptiness, Joel catches sight of it, a lustful groan slips out of him, a guttural sound from deep within his chest. You’re always so needy, so eager to be full of him and he’ll never get enough of it.

He keeps one hand on your ass, the other wrapped around his cock as he swipes it once through your folds, wetting his dick with your arousal, earning a quiet whimper from you at the sudden contact. He draws his hips back slightly and finally notches the wide head of his cock into with your awaiting hole, groaning in unison as his tip stretches you open, “Christ, always so fuckin’ tight,” spitting through his teeth.

His other hand moves to your hip to hold you in place as he sinks into you with one languid, long thrust, sliding himself in as deep as he can, he feels his tip hit resistance and his breath hitches in his throat, he stills for a moment, enthralled at the sight of his cock nestled in at the very end of you, completely bottomed out in your dripping cunt, “Fuck–there you go, pussy’s suckin’ me right in, sweetheart. This perfect fuckin’ pussy,” he grits as the grip he has on your hips tightens, his fingertips digging into the soft tenderness of your hips.

One of his hands sneaks its way to your front and he grabs your breast beneath the neckline of your dress, he kneads it and pinches your nipple between his calloused fingers, then he pulls the neckline down along with your bra, freeing your breasts from the constricting cups, he palms them roughly before leaving them to sway, all bare and heavy, “Look so goddamn perfect bent over for me like this, I wanted to fuck you in this slutty dress all night, fuckin’ couldn’t get it outta my head,” he pants heavily, his hand returns to grip your hip as he begins rocking his hips forward, “Drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy, baby.”

You curse lowly as you shift to deepen the arch in your back–you need to feel him closer–you straighten your arms out in front of you, your hands latch on to the edge of the mattress, your chest now pressed to your thighs and hiking your ass higher in the air for him, changing the angle as your body folds in on itself and earning a low groan from Joel, a sound that rumbles deep in his throat, “Sweet Jesus, that’s good, just like that baby, always so good f’me,” he’s babbling under his breath. The palm of his other hand finds the small of your back, “Tell me how it feels,” Joel grits, his voice thick and breathy as his thrusts pick up the pace.

“F–feels so good, Joel,” you sob, and it’s true, every time feels like the first time even after all these years; he had bent you over, pressed his large hand between your shoulder blades, kicked apart your legs with his knees and when his hand found the base of your neck, he pressed your face into the wooden floorboards and stretched you open, fucking you with ruthless abandon, using your body to get himself off, dulling the agonizing memories and unspeakable horrors that had forced his hand. His unforgiving pace, your face scraping along the hardwood floor, his brutal thrusts that kept your cunt sore for days on end, none of that mattered to you, in a way you were using him too, your insides just desperate and aching to be filled and all you could do was take it, your body completely succumbing to him and accepting his girth, ‘s like you were made for me, his breath hot and heavy as the words buzzed in the shell of your ear.

His deep voice breaks through the loop of ecstasy, redrawing your attention to the moment, “Takin’ my cock so well, this pussy’s so fuckin’ good, she’s so good to me,” he grits, both of his hands now keeping a bruising grip on your hips as he drives your hips back to meet his, pulling you back onto his cock, the slapping of his hips against the plush of your ass echoes loudly in the room. You press your face into the sheets as your moans grow louder while he drives his cock in and out of you, “Those men…’f they had a woman like you…fuck–they don’t deserve that,” Joel rambles gruffly in between his harsh, unrelenting thrusts, “We’ll show ‘em how a real man fucks his girl, I’ll fuckin’ show ‘em, I’ll show ‘em.”

Oh god. Sparks ignite a fire that roils low in your belly, you’ll never get used to how talkative he is while he loses himself in you.

“Oh–fuck, Joel, don’t stop, don’t stop,” your words come out choked, the flow of air to your lungs suspended as he punches himself into you, your fingers dig into the mattress in attempt to anchor yourself.

“I know, baby, I know, just take it,” he hisses through his teeth. “This tight pussy only made to take my cock, ain’t that right?”

His words are swallowed up by the obscene squelches of your cunt as it grips his cock while he slams into you. When he doesn’t get a response from you he lands a firm slap to your ass, this time with more force, your skin tingles beneath his hand, “Yes, Joel—fuck—yes–yes,” you moan breathlessly, completely lost in a dizzying haze of pleasure.

“‘S’right, she’s mine, all fuckin’ mine,” Joel snarls, his thrusts grow more aggressive, you fist the sheets beneath you–the possessiveness in his words, the firm grip on your hips pulling you back to fuck you onto his cock–slowly, you can feel the fire in your belly making its way to curl around the base of your spine.

He tightens his grip on your hips once again, you can feel his fingernails digging into your soft skin, you crane your neck to peer behind you, spotting the small indents beneath his fingertips forming on your hips, leaving more evidence of himself on your body. You know they’ll be there in the morning. A low, breathy moan slips between your lips at the thought. Your hooded eyes flicker up to his face, he looks wrecked; his gray curls cling to his forehead as a sheen of sweat covers his skin, his cheeks flushed a shade of cherry red that extends down to his neck and tanned chest, his pupils are blown out so wide they’re almost black, locked in on his length going in and out of your drippy cunt. His eyes flicker up to watch the ripple of your ass as he pummels his cock into you and it drives him over the edge.

You didn’t think he could get more relentless, yet somehow he does.

He releases the firm grip he has on your hips and slides his hands to your ass cheeks, he glides his hands over the curve of your ass and again, he brings one palm down in a harsh slap, you make a muffled sound against the sheets. His fingers span over the globe of your ass, palming your ass cheeks and grabbing them tightly, squeezing the tender flesh, he groans loudly as he pulls them apart further, splitting you open even more for him, fucking you deeper, all you can do is whimper into the mattress.

“Goddamn, you’re perfect, so fuckin’ perfect,” he rasps, his chest heaves as ragged, throaty moans escape him. Unable to stop himself, he squeezes down on your ass cheeks with more vigor as he unravels and pounds into you relentlessly, his thrusts brutal against you and the tip of his cock now punching your cervix.

You clench around him, a sign that you're close, and he reaches around your front, he presses his fingers into your very sensitive, very swollen clit and starts rubbing tight circles over the bundle of nerves, bringing you to the edge of your release.

The lick of heat sneaks its way up your spine, dispersing itself along your nerves, setting your skin on fire, “Shit, Joel, m’gonna come,” you gasp, your voice all cracked and your breath ragged, unable to breathe as your lungs search desperately for respite, a low static buzz begins to ring in your ears.

Somewhere distant in the endless loop of euphoric haze you hear his voice, deep and rough, “Come for me, need to feel this slutty pussy come on my cock.” A high-pitched moan spills from your lips, your eyes slip closed as your walls flutter and gush around him, your clit sore and throbbing beneath his fingers, your body convulsing in aftershocks as your orgasm erupts and smothers you entirely.

“There you go, attagirl, my perfect girl, comin’ all over my cock,” he talks you through the trance of your pleasure. Your pussy clenches down around his length again, bringing him to his own release and he pants, “Baby, need you to turn over—shit, m’gonna–”

In an attempt to bring yourself up on your shaky arms, you push your hips back into his, Joel hisses through his teeth in response. His hands fly to your hips, steadying himself–shitshitshit–he loses his rhythm as his own orgasm rips right through him, his thick cock pulsing and spasming inside your messy, used cunt, his frame shuddering behind you as he spills inside you. You reach an arm back behind you, grasping onto a hand that’s glued to your hip, his fingers intertwine with yours without hesitation, desperately grounding himself as he groans painfully, long and drawn out while he fucks the last of his seed into the deepest parts of you, filling you to the brim.

His entire form gives out, falling forward over you, pressing his entire weight into yours, the two of you collapse onto the bed, he drops his forehead, damp with sweat, to your back as his body goes limp over you. He exhales heavily, his warm breath against your skin sends shivers down your spine, he presses a tender kiss to the nape of your neck while his hands find your hips again, quivering as he pulls his sensitive cock out of your wasted pussy with a loud grunt, earning a lewd, wet sound once he completely pulls his length out.

Joel sits up and leans back, his hands grab your legs keeping you spread open for him, he gawks at the flutter and clench of your leaking hole as his white milky spend drools out of you and he groans, “Oh fuck me, that’s a pretty sight right there, my girl’s fucked all full o’me.”

“Shut up,” you huff a quiet laugh and shut your legs, he lays a playful slap to your ass, eliciting a tiny squeal from you. Joel stands up and strides off to the bathroom while you crawl up the bed, laying your head against the pillows, the sound of running water in the background as your eyes slip closed, sinking into the blissful haze of the afterglow.

You feel his presence returning, he wraps his hands around your knees and pulls apart your legs, spreading you wide once more and he freezes, “Fuck,” you hear him groan above you. You open your eyes, hazy and hooded, to find him standing between your legs with nothing on but a pair of loose fitting sleep pants, no underwear, a wet rag in hand, mesmerized by the slow flow of his cum dribbling out of your hole.

He’s completely forgotten what the hell he’s supposed to be doing.

“Do you need me to do it,” you tease with a small smile, a devious glint in your eyes as you look up at him.

His eyes flicker back up to meet yours, “Keep bein’ smart with me n’ I’ll stuff that pretty mouth of yours,” he quips.

You grin at him while he drags the damp cloth through your swollen sex. He taps the side of your arm lightly and you sit up, his hands grab at the material bunched around your waistline, as you lift your arms up in the air, he pulls the fabric over your head and your body shimmies its way out of it. His eyes never leave yours as his large hands reach around your back to unhook your bra, pulling the straps from your shoulders, leaving you bare as he scrunches up your clothes and the messy rag soaked in your combined releases and returns to the bathroom. You lie back down again and slip beneath the covers, the back of your head resting on one of his pillows.

Joel saunters back into the room, “Scoot,” he motions with his hand and you do, he slides in beside you and pulls the blankets up to cover your middle. As expected, he tugs you closer to him, tucking you into his side, you instantly hoist one of your legs over the top of his strong thighs, one of your hands rests over his chest, feeling the strong thump of his heart beneath your hand.

As the thick haze fades, your lips part, your voice barely above a whisper, “Thank you,” your fingers gliding over the patch of gray hair spanning across his chest, following the trail down the soft swell of his belly while his fingers softly trace down the slope of your side, fingertips following the curve of your body beneath the blankets.

He presses his lips to the top of your head and he whispers, “I’ll fuck you like that every night f’it means showin’ you how fuckin’ perfect you are.”

Your lips twitch, a hint of a smirk on your face as you press your face into his chest and hum, “Just admit you’re a dirty old man, will you?”

Joel laughs lightly but doesn’t deny it, he peers down at you with nothing but adoration and a genuine smile, “Never said I wasn’t, baby, n’ don’t act like you don’t love it.”

‘I do, and I love you,” you bring your hand up to scratch his gray beard before tilting your head up to his and press an open mouthed kiss to his lips, tasting the flavor of your pussy on his tongue, you hum into his mouth, all dazed and content.

“I love you, honey,” his other hand drags gently along the crown of your head, his thumb resting on your cheek, stroking it as he brushes his nose along your cheek. You can feel his lips turn up into a smile against your skin, “Maybe, I need to get ourselves some rings, that oughta keep ‘em away.”

You smack him lightly on his chest, “You think you’re real funny don’t you?”

He laughs, loud and deep, his perfect soft, pudgy belly jiggling beneath your knee, his fingers grazing down your back, “M’just sayin’, s’an option.”

You chuckle. “Whatever you say, Miller.”

thanks for reading xx

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x plus size reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou one shot #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #tw: fatphobia #jackson!joel x reader #jackson!joel x f!reader #noelle does things out of spite!#noelle's workshop

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sinsofsummers · 1 year

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sensational; part ii

6.8k | joel miller x f!innocent!reader follow-up to sensational

summary: you've tasked joel with teaching you about all of the things you missed. he's back for more...teaching moments. warnings: smut (duh), 18+, mdni. softdom!joel vibes in this one, joel gives reader an anatomy lesson, pet names (lots of dollface) fingering, praise kink to the gods, masturbation (f and brief m), reader gives joel a hand(y), grinding, bit of a corruption kink toward the end, jesus there might need to be a part 3 note: well. look at what you guys did. you went and loved on sensational so much and asked for a part 2 so often that i just had to grant your wishes. i hope you’re fckn happy✌🏼🥹 (this is all jokes i’m so excited to write more of this dynamic teehee)

You'd never counted yourself as a dreamer of any sort; when sleep clouded your brain at night, every thought faded along with it. Aside from the occasional nightmare, reminding you of your parents' absence, you hadn't had an actual dream since you were a kid.

Of course, that night in Joel's house had changed everything, in every possible way. In just an hour or so he had taken your world into his hands, shaped it, flipped it, and returned it to you, unrecognizable. His name was carved into everything you saw and touched, and this included your dreams.

He was everywhere in your head when you slept. So much so that you'd begun to forget which was reality and which was a figment of your imagination, which made your patrols with him all the more humiliating.

Your hands were cold. It was all you could focus on as you followed Joel along your normal patrol route. Just twelve hours had passed since that night in his house, when he'd touched you with rough hands and what taught you what it meant to feel desired. His words still rang clear in your head days later:

Trust me, doll. I've got so much more to teach you.

It sent your head reeling just to think about it now. The memory of his fingertips grazing the side of your face as he'd said it, those brown eyes sparkling with desire for you—a vision of contentment.

You had leaned into his touch subconsciously, reaching a hand up to trace the line of his wrist. His eyes had darted to where your fingers pressed to his skin, a soft grin replacing his satisfied smirk. "I'd better get you home, then," he'd whispered.

It had taken everything in you to ignore the small pang of disappointment that had bloomed in your gut, but it was an easier task when he'd dropped his lips to your forehead.

"No one'll miss me at home," you'd protested quietly, trying not to relish too much in the feeling of his beard scratching at the space between your eyebrows.

This sentiment was true. You still didn't know how things had worked out so well, but after arriving in Jackson, Tommy (the fact that it was Joel's younger brother made this seem all the less coincidental) and Maria had been more than accommodating. They'd offered you your own space, a house to yourself. Granted, it was much smaller than Joel's, but it was your own. It had become home in the four short years you'd lived in Jackson.

No one was waiting for you at home. It was a fact that used to make your throat close up, memories taunting you every moment they could. Now it was a welcomed thought, if it meant that you could remain in the heady presence of Joel Miller.

But he'd only shaken his head, his brown eyes flitting down to your lips before returning to your gaze. "I'm sure they'll notice when you don't come strolling out of your own place in the mornin'," he'd insisted gently. His thumb traced your bottom lip when your shoulders slumped. You hoped you didn't look as pitiful as you felt, your lip threatening to push outward in a pout.

"Might not be able to keep my hands to myself tonight if I let you stay," he'd breathed. You didn't care if he said it as an apology, or if it was actually true.

Because who were you to disagree with him? It was Joel.

So without more than a lingering hand on your wrist, he'd walked you to your door. When you'd teased him for such a chivalrous act, he'd cocked an eyebrow, glancing sideways at you. "Can't just let you walk home alone after that," he'd scoffed, his voice rough again in the outdoors. A few people were still milling about despite it being darker than pitch after nightfall. "M'not a complete scoundrel," he said with a wry grin.

Your front door always looked so inviting, a place for you to take a breath and relax after a long day. In that moment, it was taking everything in you to put one foot in front of the other and return to your own place.

"Scoundrel," you'd mused, hoping the amusement in your voice covered the way you leaned back with every step, as if you could claim one more touch of his body—arm, chest, shoulder—to send you to bed with nothing but him on your mind. "Kind of a big word, wouldn't you say?" you'd teased him, just as he'd done to you. "Sure you know what it means?"

The twitch of his jaw was enough of a reward for your attempt at humor, but your satisfied smirk had been wiped clean off your face when he'd darted a glance around before leaning in, hovering just centimeters from your face.

It occurred to you in that moment that you'd truly only kissed him once. A shame, a voice in your head sighed. His lips were devastatingly plump, even in the darkness.

Joel had stayed there, his eyes tearing down to your mouth before warning you in that deliciously low baritone, "I know what it is. Best get inside," his jaw twitched once more and you caught him clenching and unclenching his fists, "'fore I show you what it means to be a scoundrel."

You'd gone inside with a shaky breath and the return of that familiar pulse that, it seemed, only he knew how to ignite.

—

Joel chose not to look in the mirror when he'd gone home that night. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stand the way his hair was undoubtedly wild, his eyes hard with desire, and his hands still aching with the memory of her squirming body in his lap.

After four years of near silence, this girl had unraveled him. After all those days on patrol with her, nothing to do except look at her when she wouldn't notice, Joel Miller had been undone.

The next day, waking up early with the stiffness in his boxers begging to be dealt with, Joel spit on his palm and wrapped it around his cock, releasing a sigh. Fuck's sake, he thought with a groan. Can't hardly get a full night's sleep anymore.

It should have annoyed him; it was certainly an inconvenience. But if it meant that he'd get to spend more time thinking about her body and her lips and her eyes when she asked those incessant questions, then so be it. He'd never sleep another wink and be glad for it.

It didn't take long for his release to come, not when the memories of her whines were so fresh in his mind. To think that he'd had her on his lap, hips squirming in that way that only she knew...it was enough to make him—"A grown fuckin' man," he reminded himself—spill into his hands and draw ragged breaths into his lungs to recover.

With an arm thrown across his face, he latched onto the image of her in the heat of ecstasy, her eyelids fluttering shut and her lips wet from constantly biting them.

For a moment, he tried to rein himself in. Can't be doin' this, he'd thought while getting ready for patrol that morning. Don't wanna take advantage of her, or fuck her up cause of my inability to control my own desires.

In reality, he'd considered, did she really know what she was getting herself into? With little more knowledge than the mechanics of reproduction, it had been evident with the events of the previous night that she knew nothing of what pleasure could be. Did he really want to be responsible for her discovery of such things?

But when he went to the stables an hour later and saw her standing in the snow with an extra twinge in her grin and her eyes sparkling despite the echoes of fatigue in her irises, every doubt dissipated immediately. He pretended not to notice the way her eyes lingered on his back when they saddled up, heading out of Jackson for the day.

Joel Miller was never one to deny a woman in need. Why should he have stopped now?

—

"How'd you sleep?"

When you looked over at him, almost shocked that he'd broken the silence, your eyebrow quirked up. "Fine," you answered.

It wasn't that this patrol had been disappointing, it was just...ever since you'd left Jackson that morning, you'd been waiting for him to look at you like he had the night before, or to even acknowledge you in the way that you could still remember him doing.

Maybe it was because Tommy was nearby at the time, or maybe he'd changed his mind after all. Maybe you'd overstepped, asking a man so much older than you to teach you all of this. Maybe it hadn't happened at all—your dreams were rather convincing these days.

If it hadn't been for those girls, hell-bent on making you feel ostracized, perhaps you wouldn't have landed yourself in this position. You probably wouldn't have had any reason to be curious about what it all meant, and you could have gone on in comfortable silence with him on your patrols.

With a heavy mind, you blew out a breath. If it hadn't been for those girls, though—you never would have known the creases that sank into the corners of his eyes when he grinned at you.

Beside you, having held back to come up shoulder-to-shoulder, Joel huffed. "Bullshit, darlin'," he scoffed, casting a sideways glance in your direction.

You tightened your hands on the reins. "Excuse me?" you said sharply.

His chuckle was a soft rumble in his chest, and you ached to feel it against your back. "I saw those sleepy eyes at the stables," he crooned, the corners of his eyes crinkling just like you remembered. "Looks like someone didn't get a good night's sleep."

"Oh, and I'm just supposed to believe you slept like a damn baby, then?" You couldn't help the incredulity in your tone, but you blushed when you noticed him smirking, his lips twitching as he fought a smile away.

"'Course not," he shook his head almost dismissively. "Couldn't tell my brain to stop conjurin' pictures of you shakin' in my lap." He adjusted the way he was seated on his horse, and you couldn't help but wonder if he was getting hard at the reminder of the memory.

You, in a similar vein, were trying to ignore the unmistakable feel of heat puddling between your legs. Keeping your eyes forward, you asked, "Is that a good thing?"

Joel nodded. "A very good thing, dollface. You were so good for me last night."

Any air that had been in your lungs left in a rush, and you put a hand to your cheek, warm despite the winter's wind. You thought you heard yourself whine at the sound of the pet name.

Thankfully, he didn't say or do anything to show that he'd noticed. Instead, he tugged his horse to a stop. "Let's get down here," he said. "Walk and talk, yeah?"

The thought of walking beside him after all that had happened the night before was enough to make you freeze in your saddle, suddenly unsure of how to get down. "Yeah," you mumbled, if only to fill the silence.

You could hear the crunch of snow under his boots as he came up beside you, thick gloved hands reaching for your waist. "C'mon, darlin'," he'd insisted, "I won't bite."

There was a note of irony in his tone, and you let him pull you from your saddle, landing in the snow in front of him. Your jacket snagged against his, and you stood there for a moment, letting your frosty wisps of breath coil and furl with his. "What do you mean?" you asked, cursing your ever-present confidence when it came to asking him questions. It seemed that you'd never learn to hold your tongue.

"Hmm?" he hummed in response. "What's what mean?" He stepped away from you to grab the reins in his hand and began to walk forward in the snow.

You shook your head and pushed on, stumbling after him. When did the snow get so deep? "You sounded rather..." you trailed off, searching for the word.

"Oh, here it comes," he mused in that serious tone, hardly covering the teasing lilt that rang clear in his eyes. "Bet you're coming up with a big word right about now, huh?"

You couldn't help it when you rolled your eyes and swatted a hand at the back of his arm. "I was going to say you sounded smug," you finished. "About how you won't bite?"

There it was again. That look of slight surprise at your questions. You waited for a few moments, the two of you trudging along in the snow, before he answered quietly. "We're jumpin' ahead of ourselves, but I s'pose it won't hurt." He shrugged. "Some people like it. Biting."

You furrowed your eyebrows. "Like it?" You looked down at your hands, covered in thick gloves. "Doesn't it hurt?"

Joel smirked. "It can," he considered, "if the person gettin' bitten wants it like that." He brushed your arm with his. "But some people don't like it at all. Just depends."

You braved a look up at his face and swallowed roughly, feeling your core pulse at the sight of his rosy cheeks. "Does it have to hurt?" You didn't mean to sound so desperate; you were just curious. "I mean, is it like...like a real bite?"

It happened so quickly that you hardly had a moment to process. Joel stopped in his tracks, pulled you near, and dipped his head down to your ear. "Don't have to," he murmured, and you were just starting to quiver at the feel of his voice next to your ear when he was brushing your hair from your neck and grazing his teeth against your skin. "Can feel good, if the person doin' the biting knows how."

You couldn't help the hand that shot out to grab his arm, as if it were the only thing that might hold you up. "I'm assuming you know how," you said thickly, eyes wandering on his weathered face. Funny, you thought at the sight of his grin, he looks quite young like this.

Joel shifted his arm so he could squeeze your hand once with his before letting it go. "Don't boost my ego too high, sweetcheeks," he warned, but you could hear the humor in his voice. "Might never let go if you do."

You knew he was kidding, but the prospect that he was being serious made your stomach flutter and forced you to clench your thighs together, bringing the forefront of your attention back to the frustration that was pooling between your legs. "Joel," you muttered in a whine, not quite realizing you'd said it until he was looking at you with a twinge of concern.

"What's up, doll?" he asked, slowing to a stop. "Somethin' wrong?"

A curly tendril of his graying hair was blown into his face with the winter wind, and you wished you could brush it away with your fingers like he'd done just moments ago. "I..." you inhaled deeply, and shifted your weight. "I'm..."

It took him a moment to understand, and when he did, his eyes sparkled. "Oh, doll," he cooed, reaching forward to tug you closer to him. "Need something', huh?"

You leaned your head forward until your forehead rested against him, breathing in the scene of pine and old leather and that heady musk that was utterly Joel. Nodding into his strong chest, you brought your hand up to his wrist and tugged it down, down, down...there.

Joel's large hand cupped the mound between your legs and you swallowed harshly as it pulsed again, begging for the sweet release he'd given you the night before. "Fuck," he breathed, the vibrations of his voice rolling against your skin. "Shoulda told me you were this bothered, baby," he hummed.

You lifted your head. "I've been trying," you said in a pitiful whine, although this wasn't entirely true, and he knew it. "Why does it...why do I ache so bad?"

His smirk quivered, and his pupils were suddenly huge as he withdrew his hand from where it covered your heat, exposing it to the frigid winter air once more. "I think we've gone far enough, don't you?" he winked. "Think we may as well head back."

The implications of what would happen when you got back to Jackson made your head spin. Nodding feverishly, you let go of the twinge of embarrassment at your eagerness. "Yes, please," you hiccuped.

His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. "Good," he murmured.

—

This was the worst possible outcome.

Just when you'd worked up to exactly where you wanted to be with Joel, with his hands on you and his intentions leading you back to his house (and hopefully his couch), Tommy stopped you at the stables.

Well, not you. Not you at all, actually. He stalked up to his older brother and said, Meeting at my place, Joel."

He'd just gotten down from his saddle to help you do the same and was letting his hands linger on your waist when the interruption happened. With his hungry eyes locked on yours, he'd been leaning into your touch and hovering his hands just inches from your heat.

You could have sworn he jumped out of his skin at the sound of Tommy's voice; you just hoped it was because of his infamous hearing loss on his ride side and decidedly not because he'd been caught standing so close to you.

"We just had a meeting last week," he said gruffly, his eyes still searching yours. For what, you weren't sure—but you were quickly growing addicted to finding those rare flecks of gold buried in the espresso brown seas reflected back at you. His hands clenched involuntarily, and given the fact that they were resting around your hips, you got a delicious lick of pleasure that shot through your pelvis at the sensation.

Tommy didn't seem to be in the mood for dawdling. "And now we're having one this week," he insisted. "My place. Maria and the others are waiting."

You lifted your chin to see him close his eyes in annoyance. His mouth opened once; he closed it. When he opened it again, his eyes flashed along with the movement. "Alright, I'll be there in a minute," he said tersely, and you pretended not to notice the way his gloved thumb rubbed a slow circle on your hip. An apology, perhaps.

When he didn't move, you blushed with smug satisfaction. It had never been more clear that he didn't want to move.

"Joel, it's important." Usually, you'd never had an issue with Tommy. Now, of course, the sound of his voice clawed at your every hope for tonight.

With a soft look at your lips, Joel jerked his head to look at his brother. "I said give me a fuckin' minute," he said, his words clipped. "Fuck's sake," he muttered as he turned around. "Just answerin' a goddamn question," he finished, soft enough that you were sure his brother couldn't hear.

Tommy grumbled his fair share of disapproving words, but you couldn't help the grateful bubble that bloomed in your gut when you heard the shuffle of his boots as he left you alone in the stables with Joel.

He waited a moment or two before letting out a soft sigh. You couldn't have known how disappointed he was, but the way he lifted a hand to your cheek was clue enough. "New lesson, dollface," he said.

A pang of regret hit your stomach and you found yourself shaking your head. "Please?" you asked in a quiet voice. "I don't want a new lesson."

Joel grinned and sucked in a sharp breath. "I know, baby, I know." The familiar phrase threw you back to the night before, when he'd had his hands all over you, reassuring you with those exact words. But now, it wasn't a comfort. "But if I'm not around and you need to feel good..." His hand trailed down your cheek, brushed against your chest and returned to its previous spot between your legs. "I want you to practice touchin' yourself, yeah?"

His voice had become a near-painful whisper, just loud enough for you to feel rather than hear his words caress your skin. "This of me all you want, darlin'. God knows I'll be thinkin' of you at this damn...meeting," he practically spat the last word, but it didn't take away from the pressure that was building and causing you to blink rapidly. "Think about me," he repeated, "but I want you to explore this pretty body for me so you can tell me all about it when I get back."

The sound of his voice enveloped you, that heady sensation nearly making your knees give out. With a slow nod, you couldn't see yourself ever disobeying him. Not when he asked such sinful things of you.

"Okay," you whispered. "I'll try."

His mouth was in a hard line, his irritation at Tommy's interruption still prevalent. But it softened for a moment when he slid a gloved thumb over your bottom lip, letting it get pulled from its place before bouncing back. You darted your tongue out, wetting your lip in a desperate attempt to taste his leather on your skin; to taste him.

"Good," he said softly. Something new pulsed at the sound of his praise, but you fought it down. "I'll see you soon, doll."

—

Despite everything you tried when you got home—despite squeezing your eyes shut and picturing that dimple in Joel's cheek when he smirked, or the way his arms felt when wrapped around you—nothing helped. The pressure remained, the ache between your legs was ever-present, and yet...

You couldn't give yourself the release you craved. Not like Joel could.

There was no telling how long you tried, hand shoved down your pants in a sour attempt to replicate the feeling he'd given you. Your fingers were clumsy, untrained, and entirely new to the task, leaving you desperate and unsatisfied. A strangled whine left your throat when your mind flashed with the memory of his face near yours, his lips on your own, and his rough hands rubbing that small bud at your center. It was maddening.

He'd asked you to do this one thing, and you couldn't deliver. Of course, you'd never even realized this was a possibility; you'd only ever heard of men bringing themselves to the plummeting precipice of pleasure. You never considered that you could do the same.

But you didn't want to make yourself feel good. You wanted Joel to do it.

After what felt like hours, stuck in your house alone, Joel nowhere to be found, and with your hopes slipping into despair, you gave up. Your fingers would never be as rough or as thick as his. You didn't know how to explore your body when you couldn't tip yourself over the edge to ecstasy; it was impossible.

Weary and defeated, you went to bed with a groan. Joel still hadn't shown up. Either it was a long meeting, or...you didn't want to entertain the thought that he'd possibly forgotten about you. About your task to be completed.

You actually did drop off into a dreamless sleep, but when you woke to the sound of a knock at your door, you were almost positive the dreams had begun again. Swinging your legs out of bed, you trudged to the door with sleep oozing in every movement. The door opened with a click, and you blinked.

"Sorry I'm late, sweetcheeks," Joel breathed. A distant streetlamp, the only one in Jackson, was the sole source of light that illuminated the edges of his broad body on your porch. He looked near-angelic.

You didn't say anything for a moment, only crossed your arms to keep yourself warm in the face of the wintry outdoors. The relief and anticipation at seeing him here paired with the disappointment and fatigue that it had taken so long warred with each other, creating a dangerous mix as you managed to say, "Are you...hungry? Or something?"

He swallowed, and your head swam with the desire to lay your tongue flat on his neck where his Adam's apple bobbed. "Starving," he groaned, and in one step he was not only in your house but he was all over you, and you were wearing nothing but your thin pajamas.

He'd apparently already taken off his gloves, and when his hand came up to cup your cheek your body registered the chill of his fingers with a shock, despite leaning into his touch all the same. He took a moment to look at you before touching his forehead to yours, pressing his lips to yours gently. You could practically taste the restraint on his mouth, and you wanted nothing more than to beg him for everything.

Something about your face must have given it away when he pulled back because he tapped a finger against your cheek. "You look like you need somethin'." He darted a look down to your legs. "Did you do what I asked?"

You weren't sure what made you lie, but you nodded nonetheless. "Uh-huh."

Even in the dark, he was so close to you that you could see his eyebrow lift in question. You didn't know how he knew, but why wouldn't he? This was Joel. "You didn't come," he concluded, and you ducked your head. "Why not, dollface? I thought I told you to."

The implication that his request was, in fact, a command, didn't slip your mind. Your cheeks burned when you forced yourself to look at him. "I couldn't. I don't know how."

"Sure you do," he whispered. "You did real good last night for me, remember?" His lips ghosted your jaw.

You shook your head. "I don't know how. I've never...made myself come."

When Joel looked at you, you could have sworn his lips twitched, betraying the desire in his movements. "I'm sorry, babydoll," he cooed, bringing his other hand to your cheek. He slotted his lips over yours once more, and it was all you could do not to sink to the floor right there. "We'll have to fix that, won't we?"

You nodded. "Show me? Please?"

Without another word he bent to brush his lips across your hairline—you could have sworn you felt him inhale with his nose in your hair—and murmured, "In the morning, yeah?"

You pulled away to complain but he only gave you a soft smile. It was then that you could see the exhaustion in his face, eyes downturned despite those creases winking at you in the darkness. "But—"

"Told Tommy you need a day off," he clarified. "'Cause you're...sore..." he splayed his hand on your back and tugged you near, voice low. "Ya know, from all that horseback ridin'."

An anticipatory chuckle bubbled from your chest. "No way he bought that," you said breathlessly as he nipped your jawline with his teeth (you were almost sure it was supposed to be a kiss). "I've been patrolling on horseback for years."

Joel shrugged and looked down at you with a smirk. "Who knows? Maybe I should have told him you were waiting for me to come home and make you fall apart on my fingers," he said dismissively, but his tone did nothing to stop your stomach from flipping.

"Oh," you said dumbly, cursing yourself inwardly for how easily you were rendered speechless in his presence. "He'll...he'll really let us take the day off?" Your mind swam with the possibilities of what you could do with an entire day.

He shook his head. "Not us, darlin'. Just you." Tracing the line of your jaw, his lips twisted into a dry smirk. "I'll have to go tomorrow. But," he whispered, squeezing a hand on your hip and cocking an eyebrow at the way your legs wobbled," I'd gladly go every morning all by myself if it meant you were in your bed all day, daydreamin' about me."

It was a heavier confession that you'd expected out of him, and you let out a breathy sigh. "In the morning then," you asked. You swallowed roughly in an attempt to push down the lump of pure need that had risen in your chest, but to no avail.

Joel nodded firmly. "Trust me," he hummed, "in the morning."

So you'd led him to your bed with no more discussion. It hadn't occurred to you that he might not stay the night; he'd come to your place after the meeting like he'd said, and it was the middle of the night. Why wouldn't he have stayed the night?

Despite everything in you fighting to stay awake, the second you returned to your mattress and pulled the covers up, your eyelids drooped. Joel stood at the end of the bed and shed his jacket slowly. "Sleep, doll," he said, his voice echoing in the otherwise silent room as he bent to kick off his boots. "I'll be here when you wake up."

—

Was he getting too close? Was he pushing the boundaries too far, too soon? Probably.

Selfishly, Joel didn't much care.

—

Sure enough—when morning came, when the dull winter sunlight crept into your house and draped the floor in soft yellow, you felt the dip of your mattress beside you and betrayed Joel's presence. He'd stayed. Like he said.

Quite the dedicated teacher, you thought to yourself with a satisfied warmth. You'd felt him climb into bed last night, but despite your every wish for him to press himself to your back and hold you tightly the whole night, he'd kept at least a foot of space between your bodies. Always close enough to touch, but never giving in.

You rolled over and swiped a hand over your face, a few stray strands falling into your eyes. The breath left your chest when you saw him there, eyes open and waiting for you. "Hi," you said, your voice rough with sleep. Again with the monosyllabic responses, you scolded yourself.

Joel hummed, the deep rumble of his voice reverberating through the mattress and into your body. "Looked so sweet like that, darlin'," he mused, his rough hands tucked under his head. He reached one of them toward you and tapped your bottom lip, plump with sheep, with two of his fingertips. "Didn't wanna wake you up."

"You didn't." You weren't sure what made you do it, but you moved closer, shifting your entire body until your nose almost brushed his. Your eyes flitted up to look at the way his graying hair laid messily around the crown of his head, haircuts neglected for who knew how long. "Can we...I want to start now," you mumbled.

His jaw ticked, and he looked like he was swallowing down a grin. "Look at you," he cooed, "so eager. Aren't you hungry, doll?"

You bit your lip and you could have sworn you saw his eyes widen. "Starving," you fumbled over the word, imitating his response to you the night before on your porch.

Joel let go of a chuckle and his eyes danced with mirth. "Always turnin' my words back on me, aren't ya?" When you nodded sheepishly, he slid his hand around to cup the back of your head and he pulled you in, connecting his lips with yours. "Okay, pretty girl," he said. "We'll start. Since you asked so nicely."

His lips were chapped from the cold weather but they were still soft as he pressed them to yours, moving lazily as the two of you blinked away the last clutches of sleep. "Always so soft, these lips," he murmured, and then his hand was moving from your neck to your chest. "Everyone's different, yeah? There's these spots on everyone's body," he said, absentmindedly drawing swirls along the expanse of your chest, making you shiver. "Let's call them...pleasure points."

"Pleasure points," you repeated breathlessly, your stomach fluttering as he rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. "Is that—"

He grinned with a nod. "Think I just found one of 'em, doll." He rolled you onto your back and bent his head down, his breath fanning over your chest and warming you through your thin pajama shirt. "This is how we get you all ready for me, when the time comes."

You nodded quietly and let out a shaky sigh as his hands wandered. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and you practically preened at the feeling of his lips against your skin while his hands squeezed and caressed your breasts, moving over your stomach. "Joel—"

He paused, hand hovering over the hem of your shirt. "What, babygirl?"

You couldn't help the whine that fought its way out of your throat. "Please," you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut at the pressure that writhed in your core.

Joel's fingers lifted the hem of your shirt, his mouth widening in a grin at the way that your stomach rose and fell in spattered pants. "Come on, darlin'," he crooned, "open those pretty eyes for me. Gotta see you, doll."

It was all you could do not to take his hand in your own and shove it to your core where you needed him desperately, but you did as he asked.

"That's it, baby," he breathed, good girl."

You'd become familiar with the way your stomach clenched at his use of pet names, but this was new. You had done well for him. You wanted to stay that way. "Will you touch me please? I need—"

"So eager," he murmured, leaning in with his lips to your earlobe. "Lemme take my time with you, dollface." And then his lips were wrapping to the soft part of your ear, his teeth grazing at your skin. Paired with this sensation and the heady feeling of his hand on your waistband, fumbling to push his hand beneath it, you arched your back and released a series of high-pitched whines.

"JoelJoelJoelpleasepleaseplease," you were overcome with the pure, unbridled need that was speeding through your body like a tidal wave on a summer day.

"Alright, darlin', alright," he acquiesced, pushing his hand into your waistband and pulling it down over your hips. You didn't even have the mind to be shy about being laid bare to him this way; you just needed him to touch you.

Before you could beg him again, he had his fingertip on your core, sliding it gently through your slick heat. "Oh, baby," he groaned, rutting his hips against your side. His bulge pressed into your hip and you flexed your fingers to reach for it. "M'never gettin' used to how wet you are for me," his voice shook.

One finger became two, and then his fingertips were rubbing sweet circles to your sensitive bud, drawing near pornographic moans to tumble past your lips. "Can I touch you, please?" you begged, your hand fisting your bedsheets. "Wanna touch you, Joel, please."

He hummed against your ear as he swiped another finger against your bud and lifted your hand to his lips. "Sure thing, doll," he said, and placed it in his hair. Your fingers instinctually carded through the coarse strands, and you blushed when his eyes fluttered closed. "Hold on tight if you need to, pretty girl," he grinned, and lemme know if it's too much."

You were going to ask if what was too much, but then he dipped his finger further down your core, notching it at the small opening. You hadn't even thought this far ahead, that things would eventually lead here. Something pulsed and you whined, tugging his hair in your hand.

"Look at you, so ready for me," he murmured against your neck. His tongue swept out to lick a small stripe along the sensitive skin there and when you let out a stuttering breath he chuckled. "You are ready for me, aren't ya, pretty girl?"

You couldn't nod fast enough. "Please," you choked out, and then he was pressing his finger inside you.

It was a small intrusion, but overwhelming all the same. In all your years, you'd never had the thought that it could feel this good to have him close to you like this. He was only as far as the first knuckle, but with the way that his bulge was nudging your hips, he wanted much more. "Good girl," he breathed, "such a good girl, openin' your legs like this."

"Wanna touch you," you whimpered again, vision blurring with the desperation that coursed through your veins. "Please, Joel, let me touch you."

He kissed you, but you could hardly focus enough to move your lips against his. "Already touchin' me," he said. "You want more?"

"Yes," you nodded feverishly, releasing your hand from his hair. "I wanna..." you looked down at his bulge and licked your lips.

Joel's eyes were wide as he whispered, "For fuck's sake, darlin', when you're cryin' about it..." he swiped a thumb across your cheeks, collecting a teardrop you hadn't even known was there. "How could I say no?"

Thankyouthankyouthankyou were the only words in your mind, a jumbled mess as you reached for him. Your finger traced his length and before you knew it, you were reaching inside his boxers to release it from its constraints. "Holy fuck," you whined, bucking your hips into his hand as you saw just how big he was, long and thick and heavy in your hand. "Need it," you found yourself whispering. "Need you."

It was all you could do before he pushed his finger further, then out, and then in, just enough to throw you closer to that addicting edge of ecstasy. Once again, you found yourself enveloped in the thick pressure of pure desire in his arms.

He pressed the pad of his thumb to your bud and swirled circles in your heat, his lips connecting to your ear once more. "Alright, baby. Alright, baby," he practically chanted in a low tone, nibbling on your lobe just hard enough to pinch the skin. "C'mon now, squeeze my finger like that, that's it," he groaned, drawing out the final two syllables, "good girl."

With his hand in the crux of your legs and his mouth connected to your ear, whispering the filthiest things you'd ever heard in your sheltered life, you threw your head back into the pillow and curled your legs toward him, your hand squeezing his cock tightly as you continued your strokes.

The sounds that erupted from your throat as you burst in a state of pure pleasure were the most pitiful (and yet electrifying) noises you'd ever heard yourself make, and you couldn't help but continue rolling your hips into his hands, chasing the feeling until it became more intense and your legs began to twitch again. "Joel," you mewled, voice breaking, "I need you."

A teasing chuckle sounded, and your cheeks warmed as he removed his hand from your slick. "So much you don't know, dollface," he crooned, tracing his index down the line of your nose. He pushed another, shining with your release, into your mouth. The sweetness nearly made you fall apart again. "Don't know if you're ready for that."

Your body was on fire, nearly throbbing with the insatiable need to be wrapped in his arms, with his hands everywhere, his lips anywhere. Your hand had been moving on his shaft, but his hips stuttered with your next words. "I am," you insisted, "I need you, please. I wanna feel you everywhere."

Joel's pupils went wide and he shuddered out a breath, mumbling a string of curses with his eyes shut. He thrusted his hips into your hand and then your skin was sticky and warm with his own release, some of it landing on your stomach where you lay beside him.

"Shit," he groaned with a rueful smirk. "Maybe I'm not ready for that yet." His breath fanned deliciously over your skin as he continued. "Can't hardly last long enough with the thought of stretching you out like that, baby."

You grinned, and you didn't mind the fact that he could definitely see the flush in your cheeks. "No?"

He shook his head. "Fuck no. I don't wanna think about how quickly I'll come if I were to be inside that pretty pussy yet," he said with a short and gentle tap to your mound. When your hips arched off the mattress and you whined at the sensitivity, he cooed apologetically.

"Isn't that a good thing?" you frowned slightly. "I thought I was making you feel good."

"Makin' me feel too good," he mused, bringing his hand up to hold your face toward him once more. He winked. "Can't have me comin' before you do, sweet girl. Not very gentlemanly of me."

You couldn't help the pang of doubt that clouded your face, and it must have been obvious, because then he was cupping the back of your head and pulling you to his chest. Humming into your neck, he smirked. "Besides, I want to be able to take my sweet time with you. To see you squirmin' beneath me like you do, baby? S'enough to make the pope leave the goddamn church."

tysm for reading, i can't believe you guys convinced me to write MORE filth for these two. u made it to the end, lemme know what you thought!

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youwouldntdownloadapizza · 4 months

Text

The Gates of Jackson | Joel Miller x F!Reader | Chapter 1 - New Arrivals

masterlist | ao3 | follow @youwouldntdownloadapizza and turn on notifications for updates

You showed up at the gates of Jackson with hands covered in blood and no memory of how you got there. That was two years ago. Since then, you've become Maria's right-hand woman and the person in charge of Jackson's logistical backend. Patrol schedules, inventory—all your purview. When a patrol gone wrong forces you to get to know Joel, memories of your past begin resurfacing—along with their consequences.

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pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+, minors DNI

word count: 1.6k

tags: no use of y/n, eventual smut, no beta we die like sarah, jackson era, other additional tags to be added, slow burn, ellie needs a hug, joel lives, good parent joel, reader-insert, reader insert, forced proximity, only one bed trope, nightmares, childbirth, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, soft joel, cuddling & snuggling, fluff, masturbation, pining, joel falls first, possibly demisexual reader (tbd), ptsd, ptsd flashbacks, panic attacks, amnesia, sexual braiding

chapter warnings: childbirth (mentioned)

Chapter 1 - New Arrivals

The first time you met Joel, he stank like shit. Literally, he smelled like he had rolled in it. You issued him soap, and sent him on his way. That was a loss to Jackson’s ledgers you were more than willing to take.

The second time, he smelled better. Unremarkable mostly, more of a neutral scent tinged with man smell around the edges. Nothing to write home about. Still, you issued him deodorant. Couldn’t take any chances.

He requested bullets, a basic first aid kit, and warm clothing. With Maria’s approval, you made the relevant deductions and issued the items at hand. You even sprung for wool socks. With a winter like this, he could use all the help he could get.

“You’re headed south, right?” you asked him as he packed a worn duffel bag.

“Colorado,” he replied. You waited, but that’s all he gave you. Guess he didn’t feel like elaborating.

“What about the girl, she need anything?”

He considered the offer, then asked, “You got any pens, pencils or anything? Notebooks? She likes to keep track of things, take notes. Draw, mostly,” he trailed off, scrubbing a hand over his face, “And we’re almost out of paper.”

You smiled at that. A girl after your own heart . “I’ll see what I can scrounge up.”

* * *

You asked Tommy about him, once the two of them were gone. He didn’t have much to say.

“Barely talked to the girl. Probably know about as much about her as you do. Joel… Well, Joel’s an enigma.”

You rolled your eyes at that. “Come on, Tommy. I’m asking for the basics, not his social security number.”

Tommy sighed. “He’s brash, he’s protective, he’s opinionated… I don’t know what much else to tell you. He’s just Joel. One of those people you gotta get to know just by knowing ‘em, I guess.”

You blinked twice. “Supremely helpful, Tommy.”

* * *

The next time you met Joel, he smelled better but looked worse. You only half-remembered his eyes, but something in them last time had been warmer. The ones you saw now were… dead, almost. Like something within them had been destroyed. Whether he’d been the one to do the destroying or it had been done to him remained to be seen.

You’d seen him and the girl with Tommy and Maria in the dining hall that first time they’d come to town, wolfing down chili like they’d just discovered, well, chili. They ate slower now, both of them, not like they weren’t in a rush but like their heads were elsewhere. The girl seemed to stare into nowhere—not all the time, but it was distinct when she did it.

Joel didn’t zone out. No, if anything he was zoned in . On that poor girl who had been so full of life just months ago, now hollowed out like far too many others. You’d see about filling her back up later. But for now, he was the one that perplexed you. Why was he so focused on her? What had happened out there? Part of you never wanted to find out, but part of you really, really did.

Regardless, she needed new shoes. So you joined them. The man stopped mid-chew, looking up at you with trepidation.

“Hi,” you smiled, “glad you two made it back in one piece.”

“Me too,” he replied, turning his attention back to his cud. You couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be a joke or not. You turned your attention to the girl.

“You’re Ellie, right? I’m Doe. Or that’s what most folks around here call me, anyway.”

“Doe?” She cocked an eyebrow. “Like a deer?”

“A female deer,” you winked back at her. She stared at you blankly.

“It’s a song,” Joel muttered to her softly, “from before.”

“Oh,” Ellie nodded. The silence dragged, but thankfully you came prepared.

“Cobbler?” you offered bowls to each of them. It was fresh from the oven, still steaming and smelling of cinnamon.

“Yes, please!” Ellie yanked the bigger bowl towards herself, broccoli forgotten. She got a few bites in before Joel intervened, pulling the sugar aside and reinstating the vegetables. The girl frowned at that, but his pointed look said not to bother arguing. So she didn’t.

“Don’t worry, it’ll still be hot in a minute.” You tucked into your own cobbler, savoring the warm sweetness as it glided across your tongue. Even in Jackson, it was a delicacy. But it was spring, and the cherries were here. And you’d accounted for everything.

“Did you want something?” Joel asked, finishing his own plate and reaching for the cobbler.

“Ellie needs new shoes.”

“We’ve got it handled,” he said.

“Do you, though? You haven’t got much to trade with, and we’ve got plenty in inventory. That’s kind of what it’s there for. Why suffer blisters when communism’s got your back?”

“Can I?” Ellie’s face lit up. You liked seeing her eyes like that: brighter. They belonged that way.

Joel swallowed his cobbler, mulling over the idea. “After lunch,” he agreed, nodding to the eager teen. “Finish your cobbler first.”

* * *

Ellie’s new light-up sneakers lit the way as you exited the storeroom through your office. Joel had insisted on a sensible pair as well, but you couldn’t deny the kid a little whimsy.

“Maria give you your patrol schedule yet?” you asked him, nodding to the well-worn chalkboard in the corner. Routes on the left, days and times up top. Names filled in the boxes in between, a testament to your logistical wizardry.

“Not yet,” he said, crossing to examine it. “Guess she doesn’t need to, now.”

“I’ve got you paired up with Tommy. Seemed easiest, to get you started. You’ll be headed up to the lodge, it’s a pretty standard route. Get the occasional runner, but it’s wildlife more than anything.”

He nodded, heading toward where Ellie was already scampering out the door.

“See you Tuesday, I suppose. Guessing you’re the one to check-in with?” he asked.

You smiled at his correct assumption.

“Sure am.”

* * *

You didn’t know Joel well enough to make assumptions about his punctuality, but Tommy was never late. Even you were late from time to time, often getting swept up in tasks and losing track of things. But the man was annoyingly punctual. According to Maria, that’s part of why she fell for him.

Tommy was late today.

You crossed to the large observation window lining one wall of your office. It gave you a clear view of the front gates and surrounding guard stations, but there was no sign of Tommy anywhere. Or Joel, for that matter.

A knock on your door interrupted your analysis. It was Eugene. The grizzled old man acted anything but, a smile breaking out across his face at the sight of you.

“Hey, Doe! How’s things?” He asked.

“Fine. I’m looking for Tommy, actually–”

“Didn’t you hear?” He interrupted, “Maria’s gone into labor. He’s with her at the clinic.”

Your stomach dropped. Here you were preparing to chew Tommy out for his tardiness when the whole time he’d been busy becoming a father. A very valid excuse.

“And Joel?” you asked. “They were supposed to patrol together this afternoon, lodge route.”

“Not sure. He wasn’t with them. Listen, I gotta go grab the baby blanket I made and drop it off, but you and I need to have a drink one of these days. I worry your hair’s gonna start falling out in clumps if you don’t take a break eventually.”

“Yeah, but then what would you do, patrol out to the dam with Jesse? There’s a reason I don’t pair you two up anymore.”

“Because you don’t like blackberries?” he chided.

You frowned, “No, because you spent so long harvesting them your 8 hour patrol took 12. I was this close to sending out a search party. A little planning prevents a lot of headaches, Eugene.”

He turned to leave, looking back over his shoulder to get the last word. “You know what else is good for headaches? Whiskey.”

You sent Eugene on his way with instructions to give Maria your best. You’d visit her when the baby was here. For now, you had a community to protect.

With Tommy out of commission and Joel MIA, you’d have to find someone else to help you cover this patrol route. Dina was always a solid partner, if she was around. Devon the bartender could generally be counted on to have your back. Eugene would be ideal, but you didn’t want to make him work a double.

You headed to the stables to see who you could find. Upon entering, the warmth of the building and company of the animals soothed your unease, if only slightly.

You found your horse’s stall, the gray spotted mare whinnying at your arrival.

“Hey, Bailey,” you smiled, offering her a slightly bruised apple. She took it gratefully, big brown eyes closing in enjoyment.

“She’s beautiful,” a voice said from behind you, making you jump.

“Sorry,” the voice stepped into the light, “It’s just me.”

“Joel,” you took a deep breath in an attempt to slow your racing heartbeat.

“Sorry I’m late–”

You cut him off with a raised hand, looking him in the eye.

“You’re not with your brother,” you finally said, more of a statement than a question.

“You’re not with your best friend,” he replied, offering no further details.

You sighed, debating arguing with him about it before deciding the subject was better left untouched. You had your reasons for staying away from childbirth. If Joel had his own, he was entitled to that. You weren’t going to press him on it, so long as he didn’t press you.

“Come on,” you said, swinging your leg over Bailey’s back and settling into the saddle, “We’re making up for lost time.”

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller series #joel miller fic #the last of us #tlou #joel x reader #joel x you #no use of y/n #joel miller x f!reader #jackson era #joel lives #ao3 #fanfic #fanfiction

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corazondebeskar-reads · 4 months

Text

no quiet on this earth

Joel Miller x f!reader

originally for Febuwhump 2024 Day 10 - killing in self defense | Febuwhump masterlist

words: 2.8k

summary: You and Joel run into hunters on patrol.

-- I'm a fucking menace, and this is Joel & reader from "you know you never stood a chance" (spoiler warning). BUT this can be read as a standalone. I just can't seem to help myself/let them go.

warnings: established relationship, jackson, patrol partners, hunters, Joel and reader both kill hunters, canon-typical violence, graphic descriptions of violence, lots of blood, oral (m receiving), p in v unprotected, creampie, feelings, guilt/trauma, trauma response, a little hurt and a LOT of comfort, Joel takes care of you, one (1) ass slap, pussy/clit spanking

dividers by @saradika-graphics

They had been waiting for you. Not the biggest group of hunters that’s come ‘round, but there hadn’t been any signs. It was supposed to be an easy half-day route.

It was also your first patrol with Joel.

You’re already off to a rough morning. He’s settled back into Out There Joel, gruff and tense, and you’re already feeling useless again even though you know you can handle it now.

You’re on horseback, you with a gentle brown mare that you’re a little irritated about. Penny is notoriously slow and usually used to teach people to ride. Tommy taught you to ride ages ago, but Joel fucking insisted.

“Ain’t havin’ you have to deal with a spooked horse our first time out.”

“Our first time. I’ve been out loads of times,” you grumbled. He leveled you with a look so stern that you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t start with your smart mouth,” he said. “Only way this works is—“

“If I do what I’m told. I got it. Same shit, different place.”

To say you’re pissed would be an understatement. You thought after all the shit you’ve been through that he’d trust you now. And you’ve gotten quite good with your revolver and halfway decent with the rifle.

Now, out here on the trail to the safe house, neither of you has said a word. Just like the good old days. Y’know. If they had been good.

You’re nearly there when they make their move. They don’t have guns, thank fuckin’ god, but there are five of them and two of you.

It becomes quickly clear that they want the horses. Joel makes quick work of the first hunter that lunges for him.

One comes at him from each side, and you’re too worried to notice the other two do the same to you.

One grabs the reins and the other tries to yank you from the saddle. Your boots are stuck, and they don’t seem to particularly care if they break your legs during the extraction.

You free your feet, boots left behind, and let the brick house of a man pull you down. He doesn’t care much about your landing, so when you hit the ground, you grapple for your revolver.

His partner yells, and he spins back to you, a huge fist aiming for your face. But it doesn’t connect, because your bullet does first.

He was close enough that it would have been near impossible to miss, which also meant that his stupid body landed on you, turning your clothes into a sponge for his blood.

Joel’s rampaged through the others by now and turns to take down the one trying to abscond with your horse.

But he doesn’t make the shot, because he freezes up when he sees you.

“Get the fucking horse,” you yell.

He swears and loads the rifle, one neat bullet into the head of the escaping hunter. He hadn’t fully mounted your mare yet, and his corpse crumples into the soft spring soil.

Joel whistles and Penny takes her fucking time to come back, giving him a very unimpressed look and shaking her mane.

He heaves the dead man off you. “Where?” he says sharply, eyes darting all over your body.

“Nowhere, Joel, I’m fine,” you say.

He’s already dropping to his knees, hands gripping and patting every inch of you before cradling your face. “You’re sure?”

“I mean, I think so. Unless I’m in shock, but I guess we’ll find out in a little bit.”

“Not funny, sweetheart,” he mutters, doing another check, slower this time and more thorough.

You let him. You feel kind of funny, dizzy almost, but mostly just… muted. Like the world around you is muffled and you’re suddenly hyper aware of how blood is turning tacky and your jeans are stiffening as it dries.

“Hey,” he snaps.

You’re pretty sure that means he was already talking to you, and when you look up and meet his eyes, they abandon their irritation for concern beneath furrowed brows.

“Sweetheart, listen to me,” he says, voice low and slow. It draws out the Texan twang and loops you in. “You’re okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you. You did what you had to do, okay?”

“Okay,” you echo, but the word sticks in your throat, tasting of copper.

“Say it.”

“I did what I had to do.”

You’ve done as he said, but he looks more worried for it.

“Alright, c’mon. I’m gettin’ you home.”

“But—“

“Rethink that, baby. I ain’t in the mood to argue.”

“But we were supposed to—“

“Yeah, and plans fuckin’ change. We’re going back. Tommy and I can come out and deal with the bodies later.”

He stands and pulls you up, though you follow willingly. You hover where you stand as he pulls a rope from his bag and tethers it to Penny’s lead.

“What’re you doing?”

“Want you on Oakley with me.”

“I can ride,” you snap. “I’m not fucking hurt.”

“I know,” Joel says. “But you’re gonna ride with me.”

“Don’t start this shit,” you say, mortified when your voice and hands are trembling. “I can handle myself.”

He spins around, fury written in the curl of his lip. “I fuckin’ know that! I don’t give a shit. You’re riding with me, end of fuckin’ discussion.”

You open your mouth, ready to bite back, but he seizes you by the shoulders and shakes you a little.

“Don’t you fuckin’ get it? It’s not about you,” he snarls. You’re crushed against him before you realize it’s an embrace. “You’re gonna fuckin’ ride up here, so I know you’re okay.”

“Oh,” you whisper, leaning into him. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he says, but the fight is already leaving him. He presses a kiss to the top of your head before he lets go. “Now get on the damn horse before I put ya there myself.”

You think you deserve credit for only hesitating a little, tempted to see if he really would. But his jaw ticks and you heave yourself up onto Oakley. Joel swings himself behind you, caging you in as he takes the reins.

“You’re so fuckin’ stubborn,” he gripes.

“I learned it by watching you,” you say, voice pitched in mockery of the vague memory.

But instead of irritation, something akin to relief flashes across his face. “Yeah, s’that right?”

“Uh-huh.” Now that everything has calmed, you’re exhausted. He can tell because of course he can. He knows you too well.

“C’mon, lean back. I got ya. Not gonna let you fall.”

You don’t sleep, not really, but you fall into something between the light and dark. It’s blissfully absent of reality. You’re only aware of the soft sunshine, the sway of the horse, and Joel.

Joel, your Joel, is everything right now. All encompassing. You’re surrounded by his warmth and smoky musk, masking the chill and tang of the stains on your skin.

His heart seems to beat in time with Oakley’s hooves and the steady pace he encourages keeps you lulled in this safest place.

“Holy shit, what happened?” Carl asks at the gates, almost loud enough to knock you from your peace.

“Nothin’ too serious, she ain’t hurt,” Joel’s smooth tone settles you back down. “But do me a favor and get the horses back? Send Tommy my way in a while. I’m gonna take her home.”

Home. It sounds so nice. But you’re already there, you want to tell him. There’s nowhere you’d rather be than right here.

You must actually say it, because he chuckles. “Okay, sweetheart, but I can think of somewhere I’d rather be.”

It hurts a little before he leans in and murmurs in your ear.

“I’d rather be in a warm bath with ya. That sound better than stayin’ put?”

“Oh,” you say. “Yeah, you’re right. Way better idea.”

He makes good on his promise when you get home. While he draws the water, he peels your ruined clothes off and sits you on the bathroom counter to rinse the blood into the sink.

You sit very still with your eyes clenched shut as he cleans you.

“I know,” he murmurs. “First one’s the hardest.”

You can’t quite stopper the whimper.

“This is part of why I don’t like ya goin’ out there. I can’t protect you from this.” The admission costs him, but he seems to decide it’s worth it when you look up at him.

The tub isn’t really big enough for both of you, but he makes it work, long sprawling limbs propped up to make room for you against his chest. You lie on your side, both to make more room and to press your ear to his chest and listen to his strong, tender heart.

He holds you there, hand gentle on your head and the other around your shoulder until neither of you can pretend the water is comfortable still. More importantly, his cock’s been pressing against you for a little while now, and you’re unable to ignore it anymore.

You roll over on your stomach, legs bent a little funny to fit, but it’s the right angle to press a kiss to the fat mushroom head that you love so much.

“Sweetheart, you don’t need—”

But you just give him a look, because he knows better, he knows you’d never do anything you don’t want to. And he knows how often you crave it, how your throat aches for it.

He raises his hands in surrender. “I sure as hell ain’t gonna stop ya.”

With the convoluted seating arrangement, you’re able to swallow down his length, working your throat open in the way you’ve grown to know well. It’s a lot at once, but the way he groans is worth the effort.

You choke and gag a little, but neither of you are really bothered by it. Quite the opposite. And you’re grateful for the way the thoughts you don’t want to face are knocked from your brain each time he ruts deeper.

Too soon, though, he’s pulling you off, spit thick with precum stringing between him and your lips as you whine.

“C’mon, let’s get out. I gotta have more of you.”

You don’t dry off quite as much as you’d like, but you’re probably going to need to change the sheets anyway. He can’t be bothered to let you towel off properly, picking you up and setting you on the bed before crawling over your body.

He kisses you, ferocious but hesitant, and you trail your hands up his arms, basking in the way he encompasses you for the second time today. His soft, powerful body leaves no wiggle room, practically pinning you down with his bulk.

Except he’s holding himself up, tense. And the gentleness of his tongue and distinct lack of nipping teeth in his kiss is grating.

You turn your head to break apart. “Stop acting like I’m gonna fall apart.”

“I—”

“Oh, don’t even. It’s like you think I’m going to break if you touch me.”

“I didn’t want to make it feel like…”

“I know,” you say, softer. “But I want to feel you, Joel. I don’t want to feel the ghost of it… him. Please.”

“You wanna feel me, sweetheart? Want me to be a little rough with ya?”

“Unless you’re too tired. S’it past your bedtime, old man?”

He doesn’t fall for the taunt, but he pretends to, and you’re deeply grateful as he snarls and bites at your breast before licking and sucking at your nipple, taking it between his teeth and shaking a little.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, hand tangling into his hair. He wears it a little shaggier these days, and you find you like it long. A lot.

“Think you can take it just like this?” he says around your other nipple. The hand that isn’t holding him up has reached down to his cock, rubbing it against your clit until you squirm, and then dragging it down your slit. “You’re fuckin’ soaked. I think you can take it.”

He doesn’t wait any longer than the first little nod of your head before he flicks his hips, parting you, forcing your body to make room for him. It takes a second thrust to push all the way in, and you cry out as he stuffs you full.

It hurts so good. It’s just the edge you need to feel awake again. The world is no less fuzzy but the haze is pleasurable and electric instead of the numb fog that refused to dissipate.

“That’s my girl,” he says.

It floods you with warmth. You think maybe the sappiness is leaking through, that he can see how stupidly in love you feel.

Or, you know, it’s actually leaking, since you’re apparently fucking crying. You can’t really begrudge yourself for it. It’s been a hell of a day.

“There you go,” he murmurs, the gentleness of his voice playing second to the harsh slap of his hips and the tight pinch of his fingers on your breasts. “Let it out, sweetheart. Let me help you.”

His pace, somehow, intensifies, the brutal snap of his cock blunt against the softest parts of you. He pushes your legs to your chest so he can shove his way in deeper, and smacks a harsh hand against your ass from his new vantage point.

He grips your hip with one hand and lets up on your tits, only to show no mercy to your clit. He skips over the gentle circles and soft strokes, instead pinching and tugging. He wrenches two orgasms from you before he eases off.

“Hold your pussy open for me,” he grunts.

You look at him with wide eyes. How can he still be finding ways to shock you with depravity? The two of you have to have fucked every which way, and yet. You slide a hand down but he shakes his head.

“Both of ‘em, baby. Nice and wide.”

Your cheeks are burning as he lifts up onto his knees, pushing your legs apart to watch as you spread your lips wide. For a moment, he’s mesmerized by the push and pull of his cock splitting you apart and the way it comes out a little slicker each time.

“Look at that,” he says, a smug smirk spreading. “Fuckin’ creamin’ all over me, sweetheart. Now hold still.”

Before you really process the order, still dying from how hot his filthy words are, he slaps your clit. You jerk and let go, crying out more in surprise than pain.

“Put your fuckin’ hands back,” he says, and you obey.

Your whole body is on fire, maybe. He brings his hand down sharply again and again, making you hold yourself spread wide for him to use as he pleases.

It doesn’t really surprise either of you when you come. He finally knocks your hands away from your cunt and leans back down over you, hips stammering sloppily.

“Can I—” he chokes out, and you’re nodding so hard it shakes your brain around. He digs his fingers into your hips. “C’mon, sweetheart, one more. Gimmie one more while I fill you up.”

He goes to reach for your clit, but it doesn’t matter. As soon as he starts twitching and pulsing inside you, you come, eyes rolling back and fingernails digging into his biceps.

When you’ve both settled, there’s something bright in his eyes, something wild and dangerous. He sinks his teeth into your collarbone and doesn’t pull out. His softening cock isn’t much smaller than it is erect, and he stays buried deep in you, eyes trailing over your face.

“What?” you say softly.

“I thought… thought I fuckin’ lost you today.” His voice is gruff but tight.

“You didn’t, Joel. M’right here.”

He kisses you, and it’s not gentle exactly, not like earlier, but it’s tender and demanding. His hands grip you and roam, not pursuing pleasure but just to have his fill of you, to feel your body warm and alive beneath him.

When he breaks away from your swollen lips, he presses a kiss to your forehead. “You did good. I don’t like it, but you did good. I’m not gonna ask you not to go out again, but—”

“I’m gonna ask Tommy if I can have a break,” you say, pursing your lips. “I’m not a coward, but I don’t know if I can do that again.” You’re burning again, but this time with shame.

“No one expects you to. It doesn’t mean you’re a coward. You’re tough, sweetheart. But y’ain’t a killer.”

“I am, though,” you whisper.

“Stop. Yes, you killed that man today. But you had to. It was him or you. You’re a survivor. But I’m going to make damn sure you don’t have to be anymore, alright? We’re safe here, now.”

You let out a ragged sigh and try to relax back into the pillow. “Okay,” you agree. You can tell he needs it. How scared he was.

At least for now, you’ll let him protect you from this.

*title from "Death For My Birthday" by Say Anything

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #jackson!joel #joel miller fic #the last of us fic #joel miller smut #the last of us smut #fic: you know you never stood a chance #fuck it we'll call this a surprise deleted scene lmao #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday10

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auteurdelabre · 5 months

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So Much to Lose Chapter 3 Mean!Joel x f!Reader

So Much to Lose Chapter 3

Summary: Your second time on patrol with the recalcitrant Joel Miller proves... interesting.

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 6.0k

Pairings: Mean!Joel Miller x f!reader (no use of y/n, no physical descriptions) , Ellie x Dina (future chapters)

Warnings: Joel ain't nice. Hand job (m receiving), mentions of come, dirty talk.

A/N: I hope you like it and if you do please reblog and all that good shit. Thanks y'all!

masterlist

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Chapter 3: You make the rules, remember?

"It's a healthy baby boy!"

There's a large round of applause in the cafeteria the next morning. Tommy is standing at the end of the long tables. Your book is spine -up next to your coffee cup.

"Douglas Joel Miller," Tommy announces. "Just over eight pounds."

You clap along with the rest of them, happy for Tommy and Maria. You love babies, so what's not to be happy about?

Maria is at home resting with their son and some friends Tommy says beaming, eyes wet as he's congratulated on all sides.

You're still sick about yesterday. You'd had to throw away all those clothes. No amount of scrubbing had taken the dried blood out of it. You're convinced you can still smell it, the cloying, metallic scent lodged in your nostrils. It lingers even now, ruining the bites of egg that you push around your plate. The only thing saved was the red scarf, buried in the confines of your jacket. It hangs how it always has, on the hook by your front door.

You watch Tommy accept the congratulations from everyone, looking strangely detached as they continue.

You try to focus on the book in front of you, but the words slide over your eyes and your mind just back to yesterday. To the fear you felt at being exposed and vulnerable. How are you expected to do this week after week?

You glance over to see Tommy smiling weakly and chatting with a group from the kitchen and you wonder if you can approach him about patrols.

"Can I sit here?"

You glance up from your book to see the teenage girl from yesterday, Ellie, smirking down at you, holding a tray of food. A quick glance tells you there are a lot of empty seats left so she's chosen this one on purpose. You almost shake your head no, not desiring the company or the attention right now.

But she kept your secret didn't she? She didn't tell Joel or anyone else about the greenhouse as far as you know.

After a moment's pause you nod, shifting your tray towards you and going back to your book.

She sits abruptly, her tray clattering across from you. She doesn't have the usual breakfast food that others do. She has grilled cheese, a cup of milk and what looks like pudding. Strange girl.

You'd assumed that your lack of engagement, your eyes on your book, your head tilted away from her that Ellie would get the message. She could sit with you for breakfast but that was it. But from the moment she sits, she talks.

"I love grilled cheese."

"Mmm."

"Never had it til I got here. Now I eat it whenever I can." Ellie takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully.

"Mhmm."

"Before we got here it was Chef Boy-ar-dee ravioli every fucking night. You ever had it?"

"Can't say I have." You turn the page in your book.

"Joel introduced me to it," Ellie says, taking another bite and not noticing when you tense up at his name. "You know Joel?"

"Nope," you lie.

The last thing you want is to talk about Joel Miller when you don't have to. You don't push for more information so the two of you continue to eat in silence. You know that Ellie is watching your face, silently studying you.

"So do you always hide out in the greenhouse?"

"No."

"Were you supposed to be in there?"

You sigh. "Nope."

"Then why were you?"

You sigh again heavily, closing your book with a soft thwap. There will obviously be no more reading this morning. Not with your new guest sitting across from you with curious eyes.

"I just wanted some quiet," you explain patiently. "I have. . . There's a lot going on for me and I feel safe when I'm in there."

There's something about Ellie's eyes that coaxes that truth out of you, the part about feeling safe.

"S' how I feel in the garage."

"The garage?"

"Joel's garage. Well, I guess it's like my place. No cars or anything here obviously. I've ridden in one though." She tells you this with pride. You hide a grin, amused. "I have it decorated exactly how I want and the bed is really comfy. Joel says I can do whatever I want in there except smoke."

"S'a bad habit," you acknowledge.

"Yeah, but that's where I feel safest. When I'm in there but I know Joel's just on the other side of the door if I need him."

You don't know what to say in reply to that. You can't imagine a world in which Joel Miller's presence would make you feel calm.

Ellie chews thoughtfully a moment longer and you see the questions there in her dark eyes.

"What was your favorite thing about before?"

"Before what?"

Ellie makes a motion around the room and you understand. She means before the outbreak. Before things changed. You ponder this a moment before smiling at the first thing that pops into your mind.

"Pop Tarts."

"What the fuck is that?" Ellie asks wrinkling her nose. "Candy?"

"Breakfast pastry," you say with a fond look at the memory. "Strawberry filling. Delicious. Had one every day while I walked to school."

Ellie is fascinated by this and you realize she'll never know a world that's not ravaged by plague. She'll never understand the freedom of your lost youth.

"Have you had one since?"

"Nah," you shake your head. "But I like the memory of them. If I close my eyes and focus I can almost taste it."

You do so now, remembering the way your mom pulled them from the toaster warm and crispy. The way---

You stop, snapping your eyes open. You'd forgotten the inherent danger that came along with the lure of nostalgic memory.

"Anyway..."

Ellie sees something in your face and excuses herself, claiming she needs more milk. You just nod, about to open your book again when another shadow is cast.

Christ, when did you get so popular?

A woman, (Jennifer you think her name is?) is looking sweetly at you. She's just come over from a table of giggling young women. She's very beautiful. You often see her at the Tipsy Bison with whatever bachelor strikes her fancy.

"Hey, are you on C Patrol?"

"I am," you nod.

"The one with Joel Miller?" Jennifer says with a poorly concealed smirk. You give her a strained look, confused at the reaction.

"Uh yeah."

"What's he like?" Jennifer is blushing prettily, trying not to giggle.

"Serious."

Jennifer smiles again. A big, broad smile that makes her lovely face even lovelier. You hold in an eye roll. Oh, now you see where this is going.

"I tried to get put on patrols with him," she confides, her voice dropping. "I'm on Patrol B."

What?

Here you are fighting tooth and nail to get away from Joel Miller and there's someone who actually wants to be on patrols with him? This is your answer to prayer, you're sure of it.

"Why don't we switch then?" You ask, eyes bright. Jennifer looks beside herself with delight, her light eyes rounding.

"Are you serious?"

"You can ask Tommy right now," you enthuse pointing at him on the opposite side of the room. "I'm totally fine with the swap."

"Really?" She looks delighted.

"Really," you nod, trying not to look over eager. You’re worried she’ll grow suspicious of your exuberance but she just smiles and walks off quickly towards Tommy who looks deep in conversation with one of the women on perishables duty.

You go back to your book just in time for Ellie to come back. You immediately notice her contraband; an additional glass of milk.

"Gonna get in trouble."

"Only if you say something," Ellie drawls. "But if you do I might just have to say something about a certain greenhouse..."

You shoot her an amused look before going back at your book. She seems to sense that you need quiet, glancing around the bustling canteen as you fall back into the pages of your book.

You find yourself irritated when Jennifer saunters back to your table, interrupting the comfortable silence.

"He says that we have to stick with our original patrol partners," Jennifer says with a frown. "Says that they match partners up by skill."

Joel is well known as the most skilled aside from Tommy. You can only assume this means you are the worst. You try not to look as devastated as you feel as you force a shrug.

"Oh well, you tried."

You expect her to leave but Jennifer lingers looking torn.

"Maybe if you ask Joel directly?" She hedges, trying not to sound desperate and feeling miserably. "Maybe then he could talk to Tommy himself?"

From the corner of your gaze you catch Ellie giving you a wary look, the walls behind her eyes being rebuilt with every word Jennifer says.

"You're welcome to talk to Joel," you reply smoothly. "You can tell him I'm fine with the swap. Eager for it, actually."

You don't miss the hard look that's come into Ellie's eyes now. You regret lying to her before.

Jennifer looks thoughtful before nodding. "Okay, maybe I will. Thanks."

She gives a wave before sauntering off towards a group of her giggling friends. You hold in an eye roll and open your book.

Ellie is still staring at you. "I thought you said you didn't know Joel."

"Didn't want to hurt your feelings," you admit, not looking up from the page. "He and I don't exactly see eye to eye."

"Not a lotta people do with Joel," Ellie relents, tilting back in her seat to stare at you. "He's tough to get through to."

And yet she did. This tiny teenage girl who talks too much and asks so many questions.

How?

You consider asking before you realize you really don't care to know Joel Miller. So far you've seen nothing about him that seems worth getting to know.

"Yeah, well he seems to have a very specific distaste for me," you say poking at your eggs.

"Don't take it personally," Ellie tells you as if she is full of sage wisdom. "Joel's all bark no bite."

You don't believe that for a second. You think of the dead doe. You think of the blood soaking through your clothes. You think of how he said not one word to you the entire way home.

"Just a personality conflict," you end on. You want to go back to your book but feel Ellie's eyes still on you.

"You wanna know how to make Joel like you?"

Not particularly.

"Sure."

"Don't lie to him. Or me," Ellie says. "We can't stand liars."

You don't know me, you think curious that this girl has chosen to open up to you at all. What makes you think you can trust me at all?

A girl with a long, glossy black braid stops by the table ending your conversation. Her dark eyes immediately alight to Ellie's second milk helping.

"Is that your second one?" The girl asks, her face cloudy. "You know you're not supposed to take extra."

"Fuck off, Dina," Ellie snaps, her eyes flashing.

"I should tell Tommy," Dina says with a narrowing of her dark eyes.

"Go on then," Ellie dares her.

"She got it for me," you break in, plucking the milk from Ellie's tray. "I didn't get one yet."

Dina's eyes sail to you but her scowl remains. She gives your tray a once-over before rolling her eyes.

"She's so annoying," Ellie says rolling her eyes and digging back into her breakfast.

Yet her eyes linger on the girl as she strides past your table to join another group of teens at the far end of the cafeteria. There's a pink to Ellie's cheeks that doesn't go unnoticed by you. But just as she kept your secret, you will keep hers.

She sits with you a few minutes longer watching you read before she gives a quick goodbye and marches out into the day. You're relieved to be away from her scrutiny.

Tommy passes several groups before he notices you hunched over your breakfast. You look up in time to see him slide into the seat Ellie was just occupying. With a sharp sigh you slip your paperback into your coat pocket. Fuck reading today apparently.

"Hey there, how was your first patrol?"

Your initial reaction is to tell him everything in detail. How horrible Joel is, how you never want to do patrols again. That you need to get switched to another job because patrols aren't for you. Instead you give a timid shrug.

"I'm not very good at it."

Tommy is amused, the curve his cheek crinkling as he chuckles. "I'm sure that's not true."

"Go ahead and ask your brother," you mutter, frowning.

"I did. He didn't say anything about you being bad at it."

This is surprising. When you and Joel had arrived back at Jackson with the doe he hadn't said two words to you. Just grunted at you when you dropped your end of the carcass and told him you were leaving.

You squint at Tommy for a moment trying to decipher what game Joel is playing at. You decide that perhaps he didn't want to worry his brother. That he wanted Tommy to think that patrols went well because Tommy had enough to worry about with his son being born.

"So are you still gonna switch patrols with him then?" You ask lightly, trying not to sound eager. "Now that the baby's here safe?"

Tommy's normally playful eyes are soulful. You read concern there. You read fear. They drop to the knotted wood of the table.

"Not for a bit," Tommy says honestly. His voice drops to a quiet whisper, not wanting to be overheard. "Didn't want to tell everyone but Maria's not doing so good."

Concern gnaws at your lower belly. "She sick?"

Tommy's long fingers begin picking away at a chip in the table that doesn't exist. You wait for him to continue, holding the silence there.

"In a way, kinda. She uh, she doesn't really wanna see the baby. S'why her friends are over there now with him."

You recognize this, the sign of a whispered malady that has followed women of all races across centuries. You cannot imagine the impact of giving birth to a child who will live in captivity amongst an undead world. You cannot imagine the mental toll it would take.

You're not demonstrative by nature, especially with people you don't know well. But you see the welling of Tommy's dark eyes and something behind your ribs cracks.

You reach across the table and place your hand over his. "Tommy I get it. You don't have to say anything else. My aunt ... She uh, she had a hard time too after my cousin was born."

"Yeah?"

You nod, taking your hand back when you feel eyes on you from other tables. Tommy's expression has changed, the tears blinked back as he straightens.

"Yeah well. Hope its okay if Joel keeps bein' your partner for a little bit longer."

"Sure," you nod. You have no desire to concern him further with it. "Yeah, that's fine, Tommy. No problem."

Tommy hears his name being called and you wave him off. You watch his long legs scissor across the canteen as you feel your stomach drop.

///

A week goes by so quickly. A week of reading, of brisk morning walks, of tea with some of the girls that rise early like you.

But before long its back to patrol day and you wake with that same sickly sensation in your stomach. Breakfast is swallowed down with force.

You trudge towards the main gates of Jackson City with a new jacket pulled tight around you. This one is heavier and welcome as the chill increases daily. Snow is on its way to Wyoming.

You wave at the men who patrol the main gate today, Peter and Hank. The three of you chat politely even though your stomach is churning.

You turn when you hear the sound of hooves. Joel is approaching with two horses in tow, much to your confusion.

"Horses?" You ask when he nears. "We didn't-"

"First patrol is always on foot," Joel explains gruffly handing you the reigns if the light brown horse. "Helps you understand the land better."

You look over the animal at your shoulder, eyes fixed on the deep brown of its iris. You muse that it looks as nervous as you feel.

"Names Chestnut," Hank tells you. "He's one of the sweet ones."

"Hi there beautiful boy," you murmur gently, your hand going to the soft of the animals nose. "We'll take care of each other out there today, huh?"

You smile when he snuffles your palm before he tries to lick your fingers.

You glance over when you feel Joel's dark eyes fixed on you and the horse. He looks away promptly and you watch him mount his own horse, a mighty looking black creature with a serious countenance.

"What's that one’s name?"

"Get on."

Great, he's irritated with you already. It's going to be a long day. You sigh before pulling yourself up onto the already saddled horse with ease. Chestnut gives a small whinny before settling.

Joel looks momentarily surprised, brows raising a fraction and you know it's because he assumed you'd be useless at this too. But you're an experienced horseback rider, have been since you were a kid.

It secretly pleases you to surprise Joel. To show him there’s a lot you're good at.

"Black ones name is Midnight," Hank tells you with a friendly wink as he comes to unlatch the gate. "Asshole riding him is called Joel."

You hold in a bubble of laughter as Joel sidles alongside you, handing you a gun that you sling over your back. You don't shrink under the weight of it this time, in fact you straighten.

Atop the mighty Chestnut you feel braver. Safer. If something comes for you, you'll see it. This high up you feel so much better. You follow Joel out the gates on his horse, clicking your tongue and tugging gently at the reins.

Chestnut gives you extra confidence today. You follow Joel to do the perimeter check first, eyes scanning around you. You hear Joel gently click his tongue and then you're both off towards the village.

You ride in silence, buoyed by the knowledge that Joel can't critique about how you ride. Instead, you take your time to observe your surroundings. You take in the crisp air and the bent trees you pass.

"Good boy," you murmur every now and then to Chestnut, giving him soft pats as you ride.

You take in Joel's broad shoulders moving ahead of you on Midnight, looking like a modern cowboy in his brown leather jacket. He doesn't spare any kind words for his horse. You wonder how Ellie can stand him.

When you arrive at Teton village an few hours later you're almost in a good mood. It's been nice riding today. The thought that this will be a weekly thing for you no longer intimidates you. Yeah Joel will be there, but if interactions are kept to a minimum then there's no reason that you can't get through this.

You dismount outside the large house, the outpost, like last time. Joel scans the house, dark hand over dark eyes to shield from the sun. He murmurs something to himself.

He moves to tie the horses up, showing you how to tie off their reigns to the tree outside. You watch even though you already know how, nodding and then follow him to the door of the large old building.

"Remember the code?"

You'd written it down the second you got home last week, forcing yourself to commit it to memory. You nod again, quickly turning the numbers to the pattern Joel showed you last time. You hide your relieved grin when it unlocks on the first turn.

You glance at Joel from under your lashes, half expecting praise or even a smile. Of course you receive neither. He simply tugs the door open and enters.

In your haste to follow you trip over a fallen board at the threshold, crashing into his solid back. Joel shrugs you off irritably and you stumble back.

"Sorry was-"

"Shut up," Joel hisses, raising a finger to his lips. His voice drops to a whisper. "I hear somethin'."

All your previous bravado vanishes, left back outside with the horses.

You swallow a whimper, sticking close to him as he pulls the gun from its holster. You do the same, knowing it's more for show then anything.

You follow directly behind Joel as he wanders through the rooms, occasionally stepping on the back of his shoes when he stops abruptly. When you do that he elbows you harshly in the ribs to get you behind him at a good distance. You wince, your fear keeping you close by. Knowing that he's worse than a clicker but he's your only hope.

Finally you reach what he's been searching for. A broken window in the library, glass shattered inside along with what looks like a tree branch. The recent windstorm must have caused the branch to smash through the window. It makes a hollow whistling sound, likely what tipped Joel off.

Relief floods you when Joel re-holsters his gun, his fears allayed for the time being. He strides past you to the old storage room.

You follow after him, nodding when he points at the log book and pencil.

"You remember what to do."

You scrawl your name into the log as Joel watches on. You two take a seat as Joel brings out the sandwiches and Thermos of coffee to share. As you did last time you eat in silence, your eyes everywhere but his direction.

It makes you think of lunch with Ellie and your interaction with Jennifer. You think about bringing both up with Joel but decide against it.

Instead you dart a look at him from under your hair, hoping he doesn't notice. You watch him sip his black coffee, the lid dwarfed by his large hand. You watch the flex of his jaw when he chews. You wonder what kind of work he did before the outbreak. Judging by his frame and calloused fingers you imagine a mechanic or electrician.

He gives you a curious look when he catches you looking at him and you quickly clear your throat.

"I like riding the horses here better than walking." When Joel doesn't reply you feel compelled to keep talking. "Chestnut is especially nice. Do we always ride the same horses or-"

"Do you ever stop talkin'?"

You want to point out that you've barely talked to him at all this entire trip but you have no desire to start a fight. Instead you clamp your lips together, cheeks burning and anger and embarrassment.

After lunch you both stand and as you wipe the crumbs of your sandwich off on your jeans, you watch as Joel scrolls his name into the log. He hands you the solitary pencil.

"Make a note in the log about the cracked window in the southeast corner. S'what we do. Then we report back so the next week they give us supplies to repair it or send others out to do it."

"Okay."

You bend over the log book, clutching the pencil tightly between your fingers. You try to write neatly, attempting to make your normally pinched handwriting legible.

You're not expecting Joel to be so close to you when you finish and back up. It takes you by surprise. He's come over to check that you filled in the log correctly and when you back into his solid form you let out a yelp before the pencil is dropped, disappearing between the cracks of the old floorboard.

"For fucks sake-"

Joel rolls his eyes as you drop to the ground. You know that something like this will make him hate you more. And for some unknown reason this creates a wash of anxiety to cascade over you.

"Shit shit shit."

You're desperate to retrieve the pencil; you even think you could grab it if the floorboards were a bit more spaced apart. You pull at them, chipping one of your nails in process. You hiss pulling back sharply and swearing under your breath.

After several minutes of trying to retrieve it you give up, your face red from excursion and humiliation. You’re swallowing angry tears. It's not the end of the world. There are other pencils that exist but your actions just erased all the goodwill you thought you were building.

But maybe there was none to be built upon because Joel is staring down at you darkly, his hands stemmed at his waist.

"You've been a fucking thorn in my side every fucking moment of today," Joel grimaces.

He's so unfair. He's overlooking every good thing you've done today. Every silent test you've passed. Anger flares within you, a small flame that quickly builds to a towering inferno. You bring yourself to a stand, eyes flashing.

"Maybe if you weren't such a miserable assh-"

The word isn't even halfway out of your mouth when his hand is at the collar of your jacket, just as it had been that first patrol. But now he's using it to push instead of pull. Shoving you into the wall beside the table with its chipped paint and exposed brick. It bites into your back despite your thick jacket. Your toes scrape the floor and your hands go to his fist trying to pull it from your collar, but his grip is vice-like.

He lowers his face close to yours, his hot peanut butter and coffee-laced breath huffing over your cheeks.

"You watch how you speak to me."

"Those my orders for today then?" You scoff sarcastically, feet trying to find purchase on the floorboards below.

He pushes you harder against the wall, your spine flush with its crumbling interior and you wince.

"Fucking smart mouth," Joel rasps. "Should teach you a lesson."

He'd said it to be intimidating. To scare you into submission so he could continue patrols without having to worry about you doing something stupid.

But then the words hung between you both and your reaction wasn't to cower. In fact, even in the dim light of the flashlight he could see the way your pupils overtook your eyes, like tiny blackened moons.

"Are you going to?"

"Going to what?"

"Teach me a lesson?"

Joel is very still. So still you wonder if he's still breathing. His dark eyes scan your face, trying to read your intentions.

"You want me to?"

Joel's hand hasn't released you, hasn't softened at all. But he's curious, that much is clear.

"You give the orders, Joel, not me," you whisper with more confidence than you actually feel. "Remember?"

Joel stares at you for what feels like hours. As if time has lost all meaning, lengthening or shortening at his whim.

You wait for him to yell, to bark out something sinister or cruel. You wait for him to turn away, ignoring you. You receive neither. You instead watch as Joel tilts his frame back from you, gazing down at you through heavy lids.

His hand lowers from your collar and you slump slightly forward from the wall. Your feet gain purchase and you straighten. He's testing you, you think. Seeing if now that he's released you from his grip if you'll run.

But you don't. You continue to stand there, making it perfectly clear that you have no desire to flee. And this registers with him. He sways slightly, sucking his teeth quietly as his eyes drift down your body.

"Take me out of my pants," he rasps, looking at your mouth with no intention of kissing it.

You take a moment to look for any guile in his expression. When you see none, you drop your eyes to his middle and fumble at his belt, your hands trembling. He watches your face as you pop open the button of his jeans and lower his zipper. You swallow as your trembling hand slides between the band of his boxers and his taut abdomen.

He's so warm.

You feel his belly jerk at the sensation of your lowering hand and you bite back a gasp when you feel him already rock hard beneath your palm. You wish it wasn't so dark in this room because you'd like to see the gold of the skin there. To see if it matches the color of his hands or face.

You tug him free of his boxers, letting his heavy cock and balls hang over the band. Just the thought of it makes your mouth water.

He watches you carefully from under his dark lashes.

"Make me come."

Simple instructions. You like that.

You lick your lips nervously, shocked when Joel grips your wrist tightly, drawing your hand to his face and tilting it. There's a moment of true confusion on your part before Joel spits into it your hand. You watch with wide eyes as Joel begins rubbing his saliva into your palm with his wide thumb.

You're disgusted.

You're aroused.

You use the spit in your palm along Joel's shaft, watching his eyes shutter momentarily. Both of his hands are now palm flat against the wall next to your head, boxing you in on either side.

His hips thrust into your slick palm and you give a soft shuddering exhale as you begin to work over him, taking control.

"More around the head," Joel tells you grunting. Just like on patrols he leads and you follow.

You do as he says, slipping your palm along the head to feel sticky precum already beading there.

You use it as an aid, a natural lubricant, twisting your hand slightly as you go. You watch his face, trying to see what he likes. Right now his face is relaxed with his eyes shut lightly. Your left hand goes to his side, holding his jacket pocket as your other hand slides along his twitching member

"Like this?"

He makes a little humming noise to indicate you're doing it correctly. You smile to yourself tilting forward slightly to catch the noise. He's coming closer, his cock sliding quickly between your fingers.

"Your hand's soft."

You think Joel must have said this by accident, because it’s murmured so softly and his eyes crack open as soon as the words hit the air. You realize that it's the first positive thing Joel's ever said to you since you met him.

You smile up at him, rewarded with a gentle smirk at the right corner of his mouth from him before he catches himself and it vanishes.

"Don't," he tells you with a frown.

"What?"

"Don't look at me."

You're taken aback when one wide hand comes to cover your eyes. Its sudden blackness startles you into dropping his cock.

“What’re you-“

"I told you to make me come," Joel growls from behind gritted teeth. "So fucking do it."

Joel's free hand grips yours, thrusting his hard cock back into your palm. You take it, your eyes still in darkness. Without sight you're stuck with only your remaining senses. He smells like wood and sweat and leather from his jacket.

You focus on Joel's breathing now, noting it increase as your hand continues working on him, your fingers moving deftly around his shaft. He breathes through his nose, occasionally swallowing.

"Quick learner," Joel observes with a murmur as you swivel your wrist.

You nod, your face rasping against his palm. Your eyes are shut tightly, he doesn't need to cover them but you think that this must make him feel better. Must make him feel more in control.

"Much better at this than shooting," Joel says condescendingly in the darkness. You think you can almost feel the words being huffed against your mouth. "Turns out your hands were just made for handling cocks, not guns."

You scowl.

"Or maybe it's because you're not getting mad a-"

The rest of your sentence is cut off as two of Joel's large fingers come to either side of your mouth, pinching it shut. Your hand falls from his cock and you imagine it hangs there between his legs heavy and twitching.

His other hand is still covering your eyes so the result is no vision and no breathing through your mouth. It's rather disorienting.

"None a' that," Joel rasps from above you. "No smart mouth unless you want it fucked dumb."

You're body jerks at this quiet proclamation.

I do.

No. I don't.

I do,

No, I can't. I don't.

Stripes of light peek through parted fingers as his hand drops from your slowly opening eyes.

"You do," Joel concludes your internal debate as his eyes swim over your face. His voice, always low and graveled sounds measured, unsure.

"You want me to fuck that smart mouth?"

You don't say anything. You can't. He releases your lips. His heavy hand reaches for yours, twisting it back around the shaft in the way he likes. He holds your hand there, fucking himself into it.

"You want me to stuff your mouth full 'a my cock?" Joel grinds out as he thrusts forward into your waiting hand. His wider one surrounds yours, fingers practically lacing.

You can't help but let out a whimper. Joel's hands go back to the wall above your shoulders and his hips cant forward jerkily.

Your hand begins moving faster and faster over the length of his throbbing cock, your own erratic panting matching that of Joel's. He's looking down into your face now, something in it unlocked.

"Fuckin' that pretty mouth," Joel grunts, his cock pistining in your grip as he stares at your parted lips. "Coming down your throat."

You whimper. Why is this so arousing to you? Why do the things that Joel is saying turn you on so much? Because you dislike him so much that this feels taboo? Because for once Joel isn't critical of something you're doing?

Before you can question it further you feel him swell and pulse in your grip. He spills himself over your knuckles in warm spurts as he lets out a shuddering groan, the warmth of it buffering over your forehead.

You're so still as you stand there watching Joel. You watch him breathing heavily through his nose, the grim set of his mouth as he stares at his softening cock in your hand.

Reality sets in. What you've done and who with.

Without thinking you're moving, twisting and scrambling to get away from him. Needing to leave this crumbling room and Joel's haunted gaze.

Your feet make thudding noises over the warped floorboards, matching in tempo to your rapid heartbeat.

You burst out the front door into the cool afternoon and feel it chill your fevered cheeks. You take several deep breaths, trying to stop the gallop of your heartbeat.

What did you just do?

And with Joel?

You drag your hand through the snow, wiping the proof of your altercation from your skin. You move to Chestnut, resting your forehead against his side. You let the steady breathing of the animal soothe your frazzled nerves.

Joel comes out moments later, completely composed and dressed. He gives you a sharp look.

"Time to head back."

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joelsleftknee · 24 days

Text

the earth from a distance (see how it shines)

Part 1

Pairing: Joel Miller!Reader | Post-outbreak/Jackson Era

WC: 1.9k

Multiple part series: Series Masterlist

Content Warnings: Canon divergent obvi cause Joel doesn’t go golfing in this one, ANGST ANGST ANGST (literally wrote this cause there’s not enough agnst to read out there), age gap, reader has hair and is shorter than Joel but no physical descriptions other than that, cute winter romance, bookworm reader, eventual fluff, eventual hurt/comfort.

Joel turned over a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice in his hands before putting it back on the shelf. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, eyeing the cracked spines of the books flanking him, replaying Maria’s advice in his head telling him to go check out the new library and pick a good book to curl up with for the winter. Before the outbreak, he never was much of a reader, other than a few self-help books here and there—sort of second-nature for the entrepreneurial, single dad.

With the endless amounts of downtime and sudden luxury of boredom of small town life in Jackson, Maria chided him to find a new hobby. Granted, he was running out of ideas for figurines to carve and chord progressions to strum. But he knew that, more than anything, Maria felt bad for him. And if there was one thing his bruised heart could not handle was pity. So here he was, if only to convince his sister-in-law that he was perfectly capable of going out into town (read: the postal-shop-turned-library about, at most, 70 feet from his home).

“Hello! How can I help you?”

Joel turned on his heels, peering over the shelf that reached just past his chin.

You sat behind a small wooden desk—one he’d built a while back, he realized, and traded in exchange for a camera and a very much expired roll of film that he was yet to use, in fear that he would waste it. In Jackson’s bartering system, goods made their way around the small population fairly easy, so he was not surprised to see his desk had found a new home.

Joel blinked then, gaze catching on the bright smile stretched across your lips. You were leaning forward, forearms braced on the desk surface as though you were excited to see someone come in. Your face was not exactly familiar, so he wondered if you’d just moved into Jackson or if he had been as unsociable as Tommy argued he was. “Always holed up in your home, brother. Live a little,” the younger Miller would say every time Joel turned down an invitation to one of the many town events that the City Council—led by Maria—put on like, at this point, every single weekend.

“No,” he said finally, his pause so long and the sounds of his voice thick enough that he had to clear his throat in hopes to ease the awkwardness. “No, I’m all set, but thank you.” He gave you a nod, his eyes meeting your bright gaze before casting down to the floor

“All right, just let me know if anything comes up,” you said, your voice melodious in a way that reminded him of hot summers by the lake under the Texan sun. He glanced at you again, but your eyes were now trained on the book opened before you. So he took advantage of that moment to take you in.

You were young, he concluded at the sight of your vibrant skin and the faint seemingly evergreen smile that hadn’t been weathered off your face yet.

And—your lips. The shape of them was… enthralling. In the same way that a ripe fruit on the highest branch of a tree is. And these days, fruit was scarce. In the Apocalypse. And at the brink of winter.

“Actually,” Joel muttered before repeating the word again, slightly louder. “Yes.”

You looked up at him, unaware he had been eyeing you like a man stranded on a desert island coming across an oasis. Your head tilted to the side, as if in confusion.

“I do need help, I mean. With choosing a book,” he added quickly, realizing that perhaps he had been staring at you longer than he estimated. The thought didn’t sit well, embarrassment roiling in his stomach. He was acting like a lonely old man.

Which was accurate, he supposed. Though his pride refuses to admit it.

He resisted the urge to exit the room altogether in shame, only because you stood up with what had to be the loveliest smile he had seen in decades. Coming around the desk—his desk—you walked over to him.

Cradled between the two bookshelves flanking you, you stood before him, clad in a forest green cardigan that most definitely had been knitted from the wool of the sheep in Jackson.

“So,” you started, waving your hands to encompass the old tomes, “what kind of book are you looking for?” You looked up at him, and that was when he realized that you were short. Or at least shorter than him.

Joel shifted on his feet. “Well…” He scratched the back of his neck. “I’ll be honest with ya. I don’t know much ‘bout books.”

Goodness. Lame. He was embarrassing himself. He sounded like he learned how to speak yesterday. Like he learned what a book was today.

But you giggled, and the sound made something jump inside his chest. “No worries, I’ll be delighted to help you choose something good.” You turned to one of the shelves, adding, “As you can see, our collection is still rather small. It’s difficult to find books. Especially ones that haven’t been absolutely destroyed by the elements.”

He nodded, racking his brain for something to say but coming up blank.

Leave. He needed to leave. What was he doing?

He gulped, the words “Actually, I’m good—I’ll just head out” about to leave his lips when you said, “You’re Joel Miller.”

It wasn’t a question. In fact, it was a reminder. A reminder that though he did not know you, you knew him. And that meant you must know what type of person he was, too.

No one in Jackson dared crossed him, and no one actually expressed outright dislike for him. Instead, it was avoidance. People avoided him in the way one avoids the scary and cryptic next-door-neighbor who might or might not have spent the past twenty years in prison. Except he actually was the scary neighbor, he supposed. He carried the weight of the sins that had kept him alive for the past two decades like a stone around his neck.

He was sure you’d heard of those sins already.

“That I am,” he said, with a nod so solemn that it almost looked like he was confessing a crime.

Regardless, you still smiled. “It’s great to finally meet you.” Your index finger ran over the spines of the books as you scanned the titles, searching. “I’ve heard great things about you.”

Joel stiffened, jaw setting.

“I’m friends with Maria,” you continued. “She’s been so sweet, helping me set this place up. It’s like a dream.” Your eyes crinkled at the corners. “And she’s mentioned you a few times. She said you might stop by, looking for your next read. Something to curl up with when it’s cold outside, specifically.” Your eyebrows raised briefly, attention snagged by one of the titles, before resuming your search. “She also said you haven’t read much in a while. And that Ellie—your daughter. She’s been the only one to get you to read anything lately. And they’re, in Maria’s words, ““just silly books about space.””

He tilted his head. “Did she also tell you my blood type?”

He panicked for a second, thinking the joke might’ve come off the wrong way, but your shoulders shook in a delighted chuckle. He wasn’t able to stop the small smile that twitched the corner of his lips.

“She didn’t, but she did say you were an exceptionally skilled patrolman.” You peered at him from the corner of your eye. “And that perhaps we could strike a deal.”

You knelt down on the floor to search the lower levels of the shelf.

“A deal?” Joel’s gaze was transfixed on the top of your head, on the lovely color and texture of your hair.

“Yes,” you said, “you find books for me on patrol, and I help you repair some of your clothes.” Joel’s brow furrowed before you added, “Maria also mentioned you needed to sew some buttons back on some shirts, fix some rips, and do other modifications.” You chuckled nervously. “I promise I’m not a stalker. And neither is Maria. She’s just a great listener. And very fond of you.”

Joel found himself smiling at that. “Well, she ain’t wrong. I do need those things.” He watched your eyes and smile widen as your finger stopped on the spine of a book.

As you pulled it out of the shelf and rose on your feet, you extended him a hand. “Deal, then?”

He blinked.

You wanted to shake his hand. He couldn’t move for a second, but he managed to still his stupid nerves, wrapping his large, calloused fingers around your soft, delicate hand. His breath hitched in his throat at the brief soft touch, and he let go before making it worse.

“Deal,” he breathed.

You handed him the book, the dust jacket somehow decently persevered but now guarded in transparent plastic. You read the title.

The Fellowship of the Ring.

“The Lord of the Rings?” Joel asked, sounding a bit surprised.

You grimaced. “Have you already read it before?”

“No,” he clarified quickly. “I’ve heard of it. Never read it.” His lips curved upward, involuntarily. “Thank you for your help…” he said, and heat crept up his neck in that moment as he came up short and realized he never asked you for your name.

So he did, with a quick apology for not asking earlier, which you waved off under the pretense that “it’s not like I would ever mind being known as the girl who runs the library.”

When you said your name, it made sense. It sounded as bright as you. As though your name were the name of an unknown, most beautiful color, in the same way that an orange tastes just like the color orange.

He followed you to the front desk, where you sat again. Pushing the book you had been reading aside, you opened a notebook that was once ruled, but the blue ink was almost invisible by now.

You wrote down his name, next to today’s date, and asked him to sign it.

His fingers brushed yours when you handed him the pen, and he scolded himself for what felt like the hundredth time in the last ten minutes for the shudder that went down his spine.

His signature was just his name, in neat but surely not elegant handwriting. Archaic and unimpressive, much like him. And nothing like you. Young and like the sun.

“All right, Joel,” you said, snapping him from his self-deprecation. “You get the book for two weeks. So if Tommy’s forecast is right, we’re getting our first now before then. Hopefully you’ll find the story one worth curling up with when it’s all white and freezing outside.”

Joel met your eyes again, clutching the book against his abdomen. He couldn’t resist—his lips mimicked your smile, albeit more reserved.

With a nod, he said, “Thank your for your help.” Reluctantly, he took a step back, still facing you. “Stay warm, darlin’,” he said without meaning to.

“You as well,” you replied, shock briefly dancing across your eyes at what he called you. You offered him a delicate flutter of your fingers as a goodbye wave that made his heart lurch in his throat.

He finally turned to leave, eyes fixed ahead.

The doorbell mocked him as he exited the small building, his boots stepping into the dirt street as he inhaled a mouthful of cold air.

As he walked the few dozen steps to his house, mind addled by the sound of your voice, the shape of your lips, and the softness of your skin, he knew. In his old, weathered heart, he knew.

He was done for.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #joel miller hurt/comfort #jackson joel miller #joel x you #the last of us #joel miller tlou #tlou #pedro pascal characters

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