#Joel Miller x Ofc

[lokischocolatefountain]

Denial || Men Like Me

Part 2 of the Men Like Me series. Part 1

Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: girthy age gap, virgin!reader, eventual loss of virginity (not in this chapter), masturbation (male & female), cis fem reader, descriptions of reader's body, somewhat creepy!Joel, fetishization of youth, dom!Joel, Joel ignores you until he can't, slightly insecure reader, very insecure Joel, corruption kink, mild fem!dom, reader turns the tables a little, name calling, fetishization of virginity, face fucking (not the mouth, but cheek), kneeling, stripping, moneyshot, fingering, sexual discoveries. Word count: 10.4k Summary: After your steamy encounter, Joel ignores you out of guilt, leaving you feeling unworthy. But you make a discovery that makes you turn the tables on him. A/N: The reception that chapter 1 got gave me enough serotonin to keep me going, you guys. I hope everyone likes this chapter at least half as much if not as much as the first one. Even the half would give me a lot of joy. And do say hi in my inbox or my asks. I would loooove to talk about these two. As always, pleaaaaaase give me reblog and/or a comment to recharge my writing batteries. Most importantly, a big thanks to @tobuildahomeinthewoods because the smut part was from their idea in the last chapter's comments .

“Long day, huh?” 

“What?” you asked, your brain taking a second too long to process the words. “Yeah. Yeah, yeah,” you said, going back to your glass of whiskey. 

“I heard about the kids. They gotta be more careful,” Tommy said, looking to his brother for some kind of confirmation. Joel nodded hesitantly, his eyes looking everywhere but you as he traced the rim of his glass with his middle finger. So cavalier like he didn’t fuck you with that very finger. Asshole. 

“Yeah, yeah. Climbing trees is not wise,” you agreed, willing yourself to look away from his brother. You didn’t want to get caught staring, or worse glaring. The chatter of the dinner crowd at the Tipsy Bison drowned into the sound of you tapping your fingers on the wood counter of the bar. You got up abruptly, the bar stool going down from the force of your actions. You bent over to pick it up, a hand moving to your chest instinctively to keep from flashing everyone. With no such protection for your ass, you could feel familiar eyes on them. Eyes that you’d become accustomed to having on you no matter the distance. 

“You ok–” Tommy began, but you cut him off.

“You have a good one, Tommy,” you said, grabbing your bag from the bar counter and slinging it over your shoulder. “I gotta go. I’m really tired.” 

Like the fool that you were, you picked your glass up and downed the rest of the whiskey, your throat rejecting the choice with a cough that had you spit out half of the burning liquor. Great. Now you’d have to wash your scrubs before going to bed so it didn’t stain. Fucking great. 

There were some protests from the younger Miller brother, some words of concern. But you ignored him as you hurried out of the Tipsy Bison and into the night. At least one of the Millers had some manners. And it wasn’t the one that broke into your house and showed you what a clitoris was. It was fucking embarrassing that he was ignoring you after that. Even more embarrassing that you had to learn it from a random guy when you were the one poring over anatomy textbooks trying to become a doctor. You should know anatomy better than anyone else. Your mentor should’ve taught you. You’d learned how to conduct a safe childbirth. Even been allowed to close up the last c-section patient. But you didn’t fucking learn how the baby got in there. 

Alright well, you did. But you hadn’t been told about some of the especially sensitive parts of the body that would be involved in the process. 

You tossed your bag on your couch, got yourself some cookies that you traded for last week and climbed up the stairs to your bedroom. It wasn’t a nutritious dinner, but it filled your tummy. It came in handy when you didn’t want to spend time chopping vegetables and boiling pasta or whatever the hell you had to do to cook. 

Your bedroom had become your prison in the last two weeks. You felt trapped, unable to see beyond it. How could you, when it ironically was right here that you found freedom? 

Even as you did something as mundane as eating cookies on bed and spilled crumbs on your sheets like a child, the chair in front of your dressing table was in sight. From where you sat, you could see very clearly the scratch on the black paint that revealed the light wood underneath. Evidence of how you had to hold on to dear life as Joel worked your pussy expertly. Like he knew it as well as he knew the tools of his trade. Like weaving his fingers between your folds was as familiar to him as it was for you to weave through skin with your suture needle and thread.

You felt yourself dripping at the mere memory of his thick fingers pumping away inside you, unraveling the fibers of your being. The sight of him at the bar– his finger tracing the rim of the glass– it took you to the memory of that very finger teasing your pussy.

The pornographic magazines, the entertainment for men, no longer saw the light of day from their box under your bed. Pictures of nude women you wanted to model yourself after in order to be attractive to men no longer sufficed. All you strived for now was to be attractive to him. To be strung like a puppet in his hands while all he seemed to want was to get away from any place where you were. 

You felt a pang in your chest as you recalled the first time you went to the house of worship after your time with Joel to find that he’d been replaced with the younger Miller. Tears stung in your eyes as you felt rejected by his absence. Like he no longer wanted to be in the same room as you, hammer nails into wood as you spoke to your fellow townspeople about their wellbeing. You told yourself it was just a temporary thing. That the brothers just liked to alternate shifts and he would return soon to fix the windows that shattered during a storm in the winter. 

He never came. 

You’d never experienced such rejection before. You’d never wanted before. To want was to risk rejection, to feel the pit in your stomach as you felt now. You never wanted to feel less than, undesirable, unwanted. So you pulled away from all the men you dated. If you could even call that dating. Maybe it was your own fault for thinking it would be easier with Joel. What did you think? That he would fold immediately because you showed off your legs and touched his arm and pushed your breasts out to present your femininity? 

Naive, stupid girl. 

“Been experiencing longer than you’ve been alive, Ma’am.” 

Something twisted in your belly and you lied down, pulling your covers over you as though it would contain the shame coursing through you. 

You probably looked silly to him, like a little girl playing adult. Like a kitten picking a fight with a lion. Less than half his age, just a fucking preschooler on outbreak day when he would’ve been a fully grown man. Maybe already beginning to gray, the skin by his eyes crinkled from the years he spent smiling at and wooing women. Why would he want a girl? He’d want a real woman. Someone like Tommy’s wife, perhaps. Someone he wouldn’t have to teach.

“Don’t know your own fucking body but you want a man?” his taunt rang cold in your ear, sending chills down your spine like he was still behind you, fingers buried deep inside the most intimate part of you. You pressed your thighs together, heat pooling between them as it always happened when you thought of what he did to you. 

Shame didn’t deter you as you brought your fingers to your pussy, brushing one against your clit with curiosity. With fear. It felt so good, like its sole purpose went beyond the animal need to survive and propagate. You bypassed it to touch your weeping slit, more comfortable with what you were already used to for carnal pleasure.

Your own fingers had always been enough. Out in the wilderness when you needed to release pent up energy. After long days at the clinic and sharing notes with the other students. When you were tired to the point where you couldn’t sleep. Your fingers always took you to where you needed. You were always satisfied.  

Not anymore. 

You whined as the different angles you tried failed to work. The physical pleasure was the same. But not quite like how it felt with him. His hand was larger, his fingers longer and thicker. He showed you sports inside you that you’d never been able to touch yourself. Maybe this was what people meant when they said ignorance was bliss. Knowledge of pleasure you could have but couldn’t give yourself was torture.

As much as you resented Joel now, you couldn’t help but conjure images of him as you brought yourself closer to release. His deep brown eyes, his large hand that he wrapped around your throat, the way he carried you from your chair and deposited you on your bed. Like a human being weighed nothing to him. Like you were his toy that he could bury his fingers in, play with and set aside when he was done, when he was bored. Entertainment for Men came to your mind again and you cried like you never had at your own touch. 

Your thighs trembled as you imagined yourself as one of those women in the magazines, but only for him. Entertainment for Joel. Splayed out on the center page for him to look at and fuck his hand to. You wouldn’t mind being tangible entertainment. Laid out on his bed, limbs arranged in an attractive manner for him, so he could access whatever part of your body he wanted to play with. To be bent to his will and fucked, to be used, given an affectionate pat on your pussy and put away when you’d outlasted his needs only to be given attention when he wanted to get off the next time. 

You shook uncontrollably, your eyes squeezed shut and the world went blank as you reached your peak. You pulled your spare pillow to your chest, needing some physical comfort after experiencing such a high. You wished it were him instead of an inanimate object. That he would make you feel good and hold you and kiss you all over. That he would stay when you woke up the next day and do it all over again. 

Once the haze of your orgasm cleared up, you cringed at the feelings it had brought out of you. How stupid… Wanting a man who broke in, fucked you with his fingers, and began ignoring you like you did something horrible to him. Fuck Joel Miller and fucking his stupid fucking face. As he said, there were other men in the town. Men who wouldn’t ignore you.

⌘

“How are the windows lookin’?” 

“Fixed ‘em up in time for the cold winds. No thanks to you, fuckin’ asshole.” 

“Sorry. Y’know I ain’t the church going type.” It wasn’t a lie. He wasn’t the church kind before Sarah died and he certainly wasn’t anymore. That the young aspiring doctor he fingered in her bedroom was the real reason behind him swapping work would remain his secret.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tommy grumbled, playing with the now cold fries on his plate. “It ain’t a church, by the way. Maria keeps correctin’ me. It’s the house of worship.” 

Joel rolled his eyes at that. He got the reasoning behind it. The town had people who believed in different Gods and had different religions. Calling the place a Church would be as unfair as calling it a– whatever, he didn’t know any other kind of place for worship. But it still pissed him off when his little brother came to him and went on about something his wife said.

Go off and do whatever your wife tells you, motherfucker.

No matter how he tried, the snide voice in his head that hated Maria never went away. He never said anything to her or Tommy. Maria was decent to him too, unlike the time he first arrived with Ellie. She trusted him with Miles. Invited him and Ellie over to family dinners. But they kept their interactions to a minimum, as though there’d been a silent agreement that it was best they kept it civil so as to not sow discord in the family. 

“Whatever. No point in worshiping, be it Jesus or whatever stuff they got goin’ these days.”

A shudder went down his spine, triggered by the talk of religion. As it became colder, Ellie had begun to revert to the empty shell of a child she was after the events in Colorado. There’d been grifters in the past hiding behind religion to cheat people out of their money, to damage children irreparably while preaching the word of God. The end of the fucking world somehow didn’t stop them from going on. Didn’t stop people from believing that an all-knowing, all-powerful guy in the sky was still watching and would protect them. 

If what protected people was God, guns were God. And Molotov cocktails. Sharp rocks and shoelaces.

Ellie didn’t tell him much, but from what he could piece together, it was a religious group with one guy leading them. And they were fuckin’ cannibals. Sounded like a goddamn cult.

“It’s a nice place to meet people,” said Tommy, snapping him out of his descent into the void of the recent past. 

Joel simply snorted and took a sip of his glass of water. He couldn’t handle his alcohol like he used to. Age and that he had been off his usual cocktail of oxy and whiskey for a long time now. He had to resort to having a lot of water to sober himself up after the occasional evening drinks with Tommy. 

“What? It is! I go there, catch up with everyone in town. Usually people go there when they’re going through some shit. It makes them feel conscious if you visit their house. So I just run into ‘em at the Chu– house of worship– and I just talk to them about their lives ‘n see if there’s anything I can do for them.” 

“Guess you’re right,” he said, slotting his thumbnail in the ridges on the bar counter absentmindedly, scraping off bits of the old softening wood. 

He could go again. Only so many days he could ignore you. But the reminder of the shame coursing through his veins when he saw you this evening made him shake the thoughts off. There was no way he could be anywhere you were without shriveling up and dying of embarrassment. 

You were so young.

Relatively unblemished by the world. A fuckin’ virgin. Never known the touch of a man and moaning his name as you touched yourself. 

Nope, nope, nope. Shouldn't have gone there, he thought as he felt himself hardening in his pants. Shouldn’t his dick be non-functional by now? He was dangerously close to sixty and spent a good two decades without adequate nutrition. Shouldn’t that be enough to turn his dick limp forever?

“Come over tomorrow, then. We’re doin’ a little memorial thing in the back of the house of worship. That young doctor’s idea, actually. She put the idea forward at the last council meeting. Thinks it’ll help people to have something physical to remember their people by.” 

Young, sweet, and so fucking thoughtful. 

Not meant for men like him.

Yet he went the next day. 

The topic of Sarah hung in the air around him and Tommy like a fog beyond which they couldn’t see. It sat heavy in his chest, the memory of his baby and worse, everything his shit brain had forgotten. He remembered that she gave him shit, mocked him over everything. But she didn’t have a voice in his head anymore. He could describe the sweetness of her voice, but it no longer sounded out in his mind. No matter how hard he tried. 

Her favorite color was purple and she loved soccer. He couldn’t recall the name of her team. She loved reading. He didn’t remember her favorite author. She liked animated movies. He couldn’t remember a single one. Just the vague memory of her falling asleep on his lap as cartoon characters chirped away on tv. Even her face was beginning to blur. When he recalled her features, it was only through images of the last seconds of her life.

“We could just do alphabetical order. Simple.” 

“Not really,” you said, scribbling lines on the paper. “We get new people in the town sometimes and we don’t want the names they add to stand out, away from the alphabetically ordered list. Might make them feel bad.”

“Yeah, you’re right. What about age?” Tommy suggested. 

“Still the same problem. It would force newcomers to have their own separate list at the bottom.” 

“How about a first come first serve system? We tell people when we’re taking names down for the memorial and they can come over, form a queue and give us the names they want included. That way, people can keep the names of the people they love in one spot on the memorial instead of having it scattered all over because of age or alphabetical order.” 

“What do you think, Joel?” Tommy asked, making him fold his arms over his chest and sigh. He didn’t give a shit. But that wasn’t the most amicale thing to say when someone was trying to do an objectively good deed. Unlike the other people in this town, he didn’t deserve to add the names of his people to a memorial. He failed in protecting them. He didn’t deserve to mourn like he wasn’t the reason they went into early graves. 

“Yeah, ‘s good. I agree.” He said, finding no faults with your proposal to order the names of the deceased by the order in which people gave it to ‘em. He didn’t know why he was being asked all this. It wasn’t like he was on the council like them. He was just takin’ measurements when he got dragged into this. 

“How many names do you think we’ll get?” Tommy asked him in yet another attempt to get him involved. 

Taking pity on his brother, he began a rough estimate of the number of names they’d get for the memorial and how much surface area they’d need for carving them in. “Six hundred people in town. Babies don’t have names to give. Kids wouldn’t have too many and if they had any, it would be on their parents’ list too. How many kids in this town?”

It was a fucking nightmare, sitting there at the table with you and doing calculations when all he wanted was to throw you over his shoulder and take you back to his place. Make you pose like you were posing in front of your mirror that day. Like women in those porno magazines he sneaked into his teenage bedroom and jerked off to. The fuck were you even thinking? Door left open, tits out, fingers in your cunt and his fucking name on your lips. 

Did you notice him at your door and decided it would be a fun trick to play on an old man? Or did you always scream his name when you fucked yourself? When was the first time? Did you always come so prettily on your own fingers like you came on his? Being in the dark drove him crazy. But part of him felt that getting the answers would drive him absolutely fucking insane. 

The thought alone was enough to make him feel uncomfortable in his pants. He adjusted himself on his seat and looked away from you, afraid that somehow you’d be able to tell that he was having improper thoughts about you when you were talking about honoring the dead. If thinking about you sexually in a church was bad, he was sure it was worse to think it when you were trying to help people memorialize their dead.

You had an air of innocence about you. The brightness of your eyes and the way you moved your hands about as you planned the details of this memorial and scribbled them out on your little notebook. He’d been attracted to that innocence from the very start. A rare thing to find out in the world. When even babies were born into violence and oppression, innocence was a luxury no one even thought to acquire. 

A virgin, too. 

His cock twitched in his pants. He gulped and looked around to check if anyone had caught his shameless response. Nope. 

He was surprised you were a virgin. For all your innocence, you were also fucking beautiful. There were plenty of guys in town. Ladies too, if you liked that. Anyone would’ve snatched you up quick and made sure to show you a world of pleasure. It didn’t take him long knowing you to give in to temptation. It was fucking impossible that no man had worshipped with his head between your thighs. That no man who saw you in your pretty little dresses bent you over and filled you up with his cock.

You were beautiful. Even more so when you came on his fingers. Made all those pretty little sounds. The way you said his name… Nobody had said it like that in such a long time. Not even Tess. 

It rang in his head whenever he found himself alone at home. Being in possession of your panties didn’t help matters. White cotton. Innocent. Covered in your dried up release. When he left that day, he made sure to suck on his fingers. Moaned like a fucking creep while going down your stairs. Eyes closed, he could still taste you on his tongue. After so many days. A little tangy with a hint of salt from your sweat and all woman. 

It had been embarrassingly long since he felt like a man. He’d been father, brother, smuggler, and father again. But long since he was just man. Never someone desirable. Out there, sex was just for release. Purely biological. The end of the fucking world did not afford good hygiene. You fucked someone because they were the safest option. Not because you were attracted to them.

You, however… You had others in this town. You were here before him. Younger, smarter, with a body that worked perfectly fucking well. You could have anyone but it was his name you were moaning out in the privacy of your room. 

He grunted as your voice crept back into his mind. The ‘Joel, please’, and the ‘Sir’. 

He grabbed on to the railing as his thighs trembled, afraid he would have an embarrassing fall. His breaths grew quicker and his mind void of everything but you. 

On your knees. On your back. On your front so he could fuck you from behind. Your hand around his cock. Your lips stretched out around him as you struggled with his size. Fistful of your hair as you begged for release. Please, Sir. Please, Joel.  The heat of your tight velvety cunt. Tears blurring your wide eyed innocence as he stretched out your rear hole. He wanted to take you everywhere, leave you burning with him. Mark you so deep every man you let in after you would know who fucked you first.

It didn't take long. The mental images of you were far too effective. His last time was too long ago. He was too old to last. Too old to want you. Somehow the reminder only pushed him further along. Sticky white cum coated your panties, mixing your scent with his. The mirror showed him a reflection of himself. Old, gray, crow’s feet by his eyes. He dropped your panties in the hamper, the warmth of his own release on his hand and the shame on his face sobering him up quickly. 

He wanted to teach you sin. But you had taught him more of it already than you would ever know.

⌘

“Cool jacket, dude!” 

“Uh…thanks. I traded for it years ago” you said, digging your thumb nail between the teeth of the zipper. It didn’t fit perfectly, but it worked well on cold nights that weren’t cold enough to warrant a sweater. “Is Joel in? I need to talk to him about a building project.”

“Yeah,” said Ellie before pressing her lips into a thin line. “I mean, he was awake half an hour ago when I left, but he could be in dreamland by now. Cause he’s old.” 

“Ah. Of course,” you said, smiling awkwardly at the girl. Joel’s kind of, sort of daughter. You were closer to her than Joel in age. You rolled the memorial plan tighter and tighter, your hands needing to be occupied with something as your mind reeled at the inappropriateness of your desires.

“I’ll make sure I don’t wake him up,” you said before leaving the girl to return to her group of friends. 

He was old enough to be your father. It should disgust you, scare you. Maybe it would’ve if you’d had an actual father in your life. A point of reference to know how vile a man of that age would have to be to want a girl your age. You tried to force some disgust into your veins, hoping that would help in putting out the fire in you that threatened to consume you whole. But it was hard to convince yourself that this was wrong when he’d made you feel so good. 

Your fingers had become inadequate overnight. If his fingers were so powerful over you… You shuddered to think what he could do for you with his penis. It had to feel better. The organ was made for it, unlike fingers.

You stopped outside his door and knocked without giving it a single thought. If you’d thought about it, you would’ve fled. It had already taken you hours to muster up the courage to make the walk to his house with the draft sketches for the memorial. You wouldn’t let your desperation ruin it. 

He looked surprised to see you, mouth opening and closing as though he’d forgotten how to process language. His dark brown curls and the silver that decorated it sat messily atop his head. Like he’d run his fingers through it. An old t-shirt stretched over his chest and struggled against his arms. A pair of dark sweatpants sat on his hips, the drawstrings hanging in the front. 

“Hey? Uh…what’s wrong?” he asked, bringing a hand up to his face and scratching his beard. Why was that hot? You had to be out of your fucking mind.

You cleared your throat and looked up into his eyes. “Does something have to be wrong?”

“You’ve never come here, so I thought…” 

“I’m here about the memorial plans. I have a few designs I want to run by you,” you said, holding up the rolled up sheets of paper.

“Ah. That. Sure, uh come in,” he said, opening the door and stepping aside to allow you passage. You looked around his house, careful to seem disinterested so he didn’t have more reasons to think you were a stupid little girl pining after him just because he made you come once. 

Shit. He probably already thought that. 

“A virgin. Pretty young things like you ain’t for men like me.”

You swallowed at the reminder as he led you to the dining table and offered you a seat. You looked around while he cleared the table. Plates, tools, some worn out novels. So he was the messy sort. You didn’t know who you would be if you’d had the chance to just be. You didn’t know if you would leave things lying around like that if you’d had a normal start to life. Like Joel. Like the others who were old enough to remember life before the cordyceps.

The place didn’t scream Joel Miller. There were no personal artifacts decorating his living room. No framed art. No books. No throw pillows or even a blanket on the couch. 

You knew what it was like to have nothing in your house. When you were still new to the town and it hadn’t hit you yet that you were allowed to have your own things. Collect stuff and not worry about having too many things to carry with you when you had to run. You didn’t own anything you couldn’t fit into your backpack. And you took that backpack everywhere when you managed to step outside your new house. 

But over time, you’d decorated your house. People you helped out at the clinic often gave you things as a token of their gratitude. Kids drew pictures for you. A lady once gave you the art off her wall that the previous owner had put up. Tommy and Maria gave you a new sweater that she’d knit when she was pregnant. New yarn from new wool from the town’s sheep. The first time you ever got something truly new. 

“No decorations, huh?” 

“What?”

“You don’t have any decorations here,” you pointed out again and licked your lips nervously.

“Uh, yeah. Not really the priority. Have’ta trade wisely. Can’t be gettin’ pictures when ya need bread.” 

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “But you don't have to trade for it, you know? You could put up something of what’s in the house already. Surely the previous owners left some stuff.” 

“They did. Traded ‘em all for things we need. Fresh fruits, bullets, that kinda shit.” 

“Well, it doesn’t have to be framed art. You could cut up a nice picture from a magazine or something.” 

Joel looked up from the plans, head tilted and an eyebrow raised. Shit! Of course he thought you were talking about your magazines with the naked women. 

“I didn’t mean it like that!” you said, your voice coming out squeaky. Embarrassed, you cleared your throat and looked down at the plans. 

“Let’s discuss the plans,” he said, his voice all gruff and his tone so stern. 

“I-I- uh… May I use your restroom?” you asked, unable to look him in the eye after what you’d said. After how he’d reacted. You really didn’t mean it like that. But you could see why that would be hard to believe when the last time he saw you, you had a box full of those men’s entertainment magazines on your bed and one open in front of you as you touched yourself. 

Touched yourself and moaned his name. 

“Upstairs, second door to the left.” 

You squeaked out a thanks before you bolted out of his dining room and made your way up the stairs. There were two bathrooms. One decorated with band posters and a poster of a girl with weirdly cut black hair sitting on a motorcycle. Had to be Ellie’s. The second door to the left was another bathroom. Joel’s, apparently. There was just one bar of soap, a toothbrush, and a pot of toothpaste. No shampoo bar. You pulled the toilet seat and lid down before taking a seat. 

You let out a groan and planted your face in your hands. Why the hell did you have to go and make it awkward like it wasn’t already that way. After he made you come that day, he’d refused to be anywhere near you. You hoped it was just coincidence, but after over a week it became undeniable that he was avoiding you. 

He probably thought you were going to catch feelings. A girl in one of the romance novels you read fell in love with a guy who took her virginity. And there was the time you overheard this guy talking about not wanting to sleep with a girl because she was a virgin. He was afraid she would catch feelings and get clingy. 

Now here you were in his bathroom because you thought it was wise to make small talk and ended up insinuating he should put up dirty pictures on his wall. You could scream. But you wouldn’t. There was already enough awkwardness with him. 

You could always jump out of the window and run off to your house. Never speak of this again. Pretend nothing happened if Joel tried to talk to you about it. But something told you that he wouldn’t. He would probably be happy if he never had to interact with you again. You had been acting desperate. He caught you touching yourself moaning his name, for fuck’s sake! 

Your hands, permanently dry from all the times you scrubbed them clean for your patients, found some moisture from your salty tears. It was embarrassing, sitting in the bathroom of a guy who wanted nothing to do with you after you scared him off with your stupid little infatuation. 

You were a grown woman. Still young, but too old to be acting like this. You should have some experience already. Not sniffling over a man more than twice your age. He was right. He had been a grown man with experience longer than you’d been alive. Of course he wanted nothing to do with you. 

The window looked more and more attractive as the seconds passed. It had been a while since you did something like that. You didn’t need to jump out of buildings or trees anymore. You didn’t go on patrols like some residents. With no need to fight for your life and having all the food you could need to never go hungry even once, you’d become a little unfit. If you broke a bone jumping out of Joel’s bathroom window, there would be questions. And everyone would know. You’d have to avoid the whole town instead of just Joel. 

You’d just have to face it. Even if facing it was doing as little as just bidding him goodbye and bolting out of his house without an explanation. You got off his toilet and pressed the flush just so he didn’t think you were weird. Like it fucking mattered. He already found you weird and desperate. 

You washed your hands, letting the water wash away the tears on your hands before wiping your wet hands over your face in an attempt to remove traces of your crying. 

You should’ve just left after that. Not looked around. Not snooped like a creep. You didn’t ever dig. You didn’t have to look too deep to catch it. But a sliver of white peeked out through the netted walls of the laundry hamper. A sliver of white cotton with a light blue stitch. 

Without second thought, you dug into his dirty laundry. You came up with the white cotton fabric, going straight to the gusset where the blue thread stitched the fabric pieces together. The original stitch had given out and you sewed it back together just some time back. The blue thread was all that you had at the time. 

As though the sight of your panties in Joel’s bathroom wasn’t jarring enough, next came the smell. Of you. Your cum. You felt practically hear your own heartbeats as you recalled how he’d cleaned you up with your own panties. You recalled that he stuffed the fabric in his pocket as you lied on your bed, pussy still pulsating from his handiwork, brain melted, and life changed forever. 

You took another whiff of your panties, goosebumps raising the hairs on your body as you felt it. Your cum and something else. It was still damp.

Blood rushed back up to your face and you felt yourself getting tense. 

This fucker. How dare he? You’d been embarrassed just a minute ago over your desires and he was doing this the whole time? Noticing you on the streets and running away for days. Running back to his home where he kept your fucking panties, apparently. Avoiding you for so long only to cum in your panties. 

So he wanted you. 

If not you, he at least wanted sex. Dirrty old man who liked attention from you, but you weren’t even disgusted. Just angry he was pretending to be better than that. He could’ve used any old rag, but he used your panties. 

You brought your defiled panties back up and smelled them again. Strangely, it smelled something like bleach. Or you could be wrong. You’d never… You didn’t know what a man’s release was supposed to smell like. Was it different for each man or did they all smell the same? 

Wetness pooled in your panties as you imagined him touching himself. Large rough hand wrapped around himself. Did he think of you when he did it? Think of you naked in your bedroom and taking his fingers? What did his penis look like? What would it feel like? Soft? Rough? You’d wondered about having one inside you, but never about a particular man’s anatomy. But this was Joel. Joel was the only one who’d gotten this far in your head. 

He couldn’t deny it to you anymore. If nothing else, you could at least call him out for ignoring you when he was wiping his ejaculate off with your stolen panties.

“Joel!” you called out before your fears could talk you out of confronting him. Unsure if he would’ve heard you, you opened the bathroom door and yelled his name out again. “Joel!” 

“What?” 

“Come up here!” 

“What happened?” 

“Just come here.” 

You heard him sigh, the sound followed by the typical grunts and groans he made when standing up. Fuckin’ old man, ruining your life. Ruining your self-confidence. Ruining your fucking panties. His heavy footsteps thudded against the stairs as he climbed up, the sound getting louder as he got closer to the bathroom. 

“Why were you screaming my name like y–” he stopped mid scold, frozen in place by the door as he saw what you had in your hand. He opened and closed his mouth, as though attempting to explain but deciding otherwise. He licked his lips and scratched the back of his neck, his eyes looking everywhere but at you. 

“Do you not have rags, Joel?” you taunted, taking a step towards him and enjoying seeing him step back. You felt powerful, moving a large man with just your voice. It was very unlike how he made you feel all the days he ignored you. Weak, insignificant, undesirable.

“You weren’t meant to– Fuck, I’m sorry!” 

“Which part are you apologizing for? For breaking into my house and touching me? For ignoring me ever since? For stealing my underwear? Or for doing whatever you did with it?”

You moved him out of the bathroom, making him walk backwards in the hallway you hoped led to his bedroom. Even if it didn’t, you’d be fine. You’d exact revenge in any place you can. As long as you got to make him feel the way he made you feel. Pleasure. Shame. Want. 

“I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry. I never should’ve—”

You took your last step towards him, finally trapping him against a wall. You stood close enough to place your hand on his chest. You licked your lips, the rock hard muscles beneath your touch storing itself away in your mind for later use. 

“Imagine what would happen if I told someone? You sister-in-law, perhaps… She hates you, doesn’t she?” You smirked, though you were screaming on the inside. You didn’t know where you got all this courage from. You didn’t know you had it in you to threaten a man as imposing as Joel. 

He turned pale, his hands up against the wall in surrender. If you’d asked him, he wouldn’t tell you the truth that it was to keep himself from touching you. “Please don’t tell anyone. I won’t do this again, I swear.” 

“Maybe I want you to do this again…” 

“You don’t. Trust me.” 

“Shh!” You said, placing your index finger on his lips. Pink, perfectly shaped, and so damn kissable. “Don’t tell me what I want. You ignored me ever since you walked into my house without my permission and shoved your fingers inside me. I was walking around town believing I wasn’t good enough for big old Joel Miller. What did you say? That you’ve been experiencing longer than I’ve been alive?” 

You raised an eyebrow at him when he didn’t answer. Then he nodded reluctantly.

“Why were you coming in my panties then if I didn't measure up? ” 

“I won’t do it ag—” he groaned when you grabbed his cock through his pants. He let out a low grunt and his Adam’s Apple bobbed in his neck as he swallowed. You replaced your index finger with your thumb, tracing his trembling lips as you lazily stroked his cock with your other thumb. 

He filled your whole hand and there was still more. It took everything in you to not moan at the sheer size of him. To not grind your belly against it to feel it against you. You didn’t know how big it was supposed to be, but the romance novels you read always described the big ones as more desirable. 

“I don’t want to hear excuses. I asked why. Why did you steal my panties, Joel Miller?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Did you come on it? Don’t fucking lie to me cause I can fucking smell you on it.” 

“I did. I jerked off with it.” You had to choke back a moan at that. No, you had to be strong. Show him you could take the upper hand just like he did with you. You weren’t a little girl with a crush. You were a woman and you could have this effect on a grown man. You refused to be discounted with a pat on your pussy no matter how much you wanted him to touch you like that again. 

“Mmm. And that’s enough to get you going. Just a pair of my panties.” 

“Mhmm.” 

“Show me how you did it.” 

“What?” He asked, eyebrow raised. 

“Show. Me. How you did it.” 

He narrowed his eyes at you, his hand coming up to stroke the base of his neck. “Wh-What?”

You felt your heart thud against your ribs and if you didn’t know from experience and your textbooks, you’d have been afraid that he could hear it. You’d never done anything so daring. You were the timid girl when it came to this stuff. That the thought even occurred to you was a testament to how much you desired Joel. Not just to sleep with any guy, but to have Joel. Without a word, you reached under the skirt of your dress and tugged your panties down. 

He inhaled sharply as you bent down and came back up with your panties. Undyed white fabric, a little green ribbon in the shape of a bow stitched to the front, gusset a light gray from your wetness. 

“Show me. I want to see what you were doing in your bathroom with my panties after ignoring me everyday,” you said, taking his hand and forcing the fabric into it. His hand curled around it and you found yourself feeling lighter. You didn't know how long you could keep up the brave front if he continued to have no response. 

“Take your clothes off.” 

It was like something changed the moment you gave him the garment. His eyes were on you, his gaze unrelenting. He took a step ahead and you stepped backward. His lips curled up in a smirk. It seemed playtime was over… Like a lion letting the cubs play at predation before taking over to show how hunting was really done. 

You didn’t know if you were ready for that… Sure it was nothing he’d never seen before, but it was different. The last time, you didn’t do it with the intention to have him see you. He just happened to see you bare and you didn’t cover up when you realized. 

“I don’t have a box full of dirty magazines. I need to see somethin’,” he said, his eyes going down your frame like they had every right to be there. “Or you could leave these,” he said, holding your panties up in front of your eyes, “and run back home. What d’ya say?”

You swallowed, your hands shaking as you reached behind to find the zipper of your dress. You weren’t going to run off. Not when you’d been desperate for so long to do something, anything with him. Cold air kissed your back as you pulled the zipper down and the hairs on your body stood up in full attention. You pushed the sleeves off your shoulder and shimmied out of the dress, standing in just your dress in front of him. 

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. He looked you up and down. He tilted his head as he looked you up and down. He radiated superiority, putting you in some kind of a daze. “Your bra too. Show me your tits.” 

The crudeness had more wetness pooling between your legs. You nodded wordlessly, afraid that pathetic whimpers would be the only sound you’d make under his gaze. You reached behind and felt around for the clasp of your bra. With his eyes piercing into you, you failed to find it quickly like you usually did. Your mouth dried up, your tongue sticking to the roof. 

He made no effort to help. A mocking smile assumed its place on his lips as he watched you struggle in front of him. 

When you finally managed your task and stood fully naked, he stood up straight. His tongue darted out and licked his lips. You felt like a piece of meat placed in front of a starving man. Just seconds ago, you were telling yourself you didn’t need his approval, that this would just be revenge. But as he evaluated your body, your pussy wept with the need for your body to be nothing but what he liked.

“Room’s that way.” He nodded in the direction of the room. You turned around and took small steps, your shoulders curling inward and your head bowed in submission. Every inch of your skin burned with the strength of his gaze. 

“Kneel.” 

You placed your knee on his bed, ready to climb up. 

“On the floor.” 

One knee still on his white sheets, you turned around to look at him. He was so large. Imposing. The kind of figure you would follow without question. So, you did. 

“You look pretty on your knees.” 

He took a few steps towards you, stopping when the distance had your neck straightening to look up at him. Large, powerful, imposing. Another step and you were face-to-face with his crotch. His bulge was right there. 

“Go on, take it out. Since you wanted it so bad.” 

Joel didn’t think you would do it. You looked even smaller kneeling at his feet. Meek little thing. He didn’t at all expect you to taunt him the way you did. Especially after you threatened to tell on him to Maria. He fully expected you to start crying. Guess he really underestimated you. Virgin didn’t necessarily mean innocent. 

Yet you folded as soon as he took the reins. He saw the change in you right when he told you to take your clothes off. When your eyes went from determined to defeated. All that spunk evaporated to reveal the little girl underneath. He liked it like that. Made him feel like a real man. Not that there was any scarcity of masculinity in his life of taking out clickers and defending this town. But somethin’ about a beautiful woman accepting his authority did the trick faster than every other display of masculinity. 

Your hands fiddled with his belt, trembling as you tried to take it off. He stopped you with a hand on your wrist. “Just undo the zip.” 

No way he was going to get naked in front of a pretty little twenty something. It wasn’t anything great to look at even before he began a life of violence and traversing the wilderness. Sure he was well built from all the hard physical labor and constant fight for survival. It’d left several unappealing scars on his person. Time had done a number on him too. Especially his pudgy belly. It didn’t help that food flowed free in Jackson, fattening him up a little. 

Thankfully, you listened. You looked up, as though you expected him to complete the task for him. He challenged you with a look. Wanna be a big girl so bad, act like one.

You reached inside his pants and took his cock out. Your lips parted and he heard you inhale through your mouth. His cock hung in front of him, hard from your teasing. He had to give it to you, you were daring for a meek little thing. No one in town would believe him if he told them all that you’d done. And he suspected he didn’t even know the half of it.

“Not too late to back out, you know?” he said, wrapping his hand around himself. It took everything in him to give you an out. As much as he wanted to grab your face, force your mouth open and make you gag around him, he was man enough to let you know you didn’t have to do anything. Young girl probably bit more than you could swallow. And seeing his cock and your mouth so close by showed that he was definitely nothing you could swallow.

“I’m not backing out.” 

“First time seeing one?” 

“Of course not. I work at the clinic. You think I haven’t seen a penis?” 

“No anatomical terms. I ain’t your patient. Go on, touch my cock.” 

You reached up for him, but he stepped back, delighting himself in the disappointment on your face. “Come on, you want a man so bad, work for it.” 

You moved to stand up. “Did I say you could stand up?” 

“No.” 

“Then get back on your fucking knees.” 

You dropped to your knees and he groaned in satisfaction. The euphoria of wielding power over someone rushed through his veins. And he wanted more. It was the same sick satisfaction he got when he beat men to death. When he broke bones and dressed animals he hunted in the wild. “Good girl. You’re going to listen to what I say. Got it?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

Fuck! That fucking word again.

“Come on, come get it. Hands and knees. Crawl to me.” 

He beckoned you forward with one hand, his other still on his cock. You bent over and god fucking damnit, you were a vision. You were an eager girl and he could see what you could become in the right hands. His hands. The things he could show you… Introduce you to your own body. Bring you pain and pleasure that were indistinguishable.

Your tits hung from your chest, swaying as you crawled towards him. Feverish, bright eyes followed him as he continued to refuse what you wanted. Too fucking late. He warned you. Told you men like him weren’t for pretty little things like you. But you didn���t fucking want to listen. Now you’d have to deal with the consequences. Maybe you’d stay away then. 

“Please, Sir,” you whined so prettily he almost gave in. 

“What are you begging for?” 

“You. Y-your penis.” 

“My cock,” he corrected. “Say it.”

“Your cock, Sir.” 

“Good girl. C’mere,” he said, giving you a nod to come closer. You crawled to him and when he didn’t back away, sat up on your knees. He placed his hand on the back of your neck and gripped your hair, making you hiss. Holding you in place, he brought his cock to your face. You looked up at it, your eyes widening and your mouth slackening. You brought your hand up and touched his tip with just your thumb. The rest of your hand followed, wrapping around him. He gasped silently as you stroked his slit with your thumb, making him leak precum on you. 

“Did…? Did you?” 

“No. Gotta do more ‘n that to make me come. That’s precum.” 

“Oh.” 

He didn’t think you knew what precum was. Probably not the focus of your education here. Not the most important thing when townsfolk came in injured after patrols or suffering from a fever that was life threatening without the medicines of the past. 

He pressed his cock against your cheek. The sight presented a visual of how you’d struggle if you took him in your mouth. He’d have you choking on him before you even took half. He twitched against your face at the mere thought. You were the picture of innocence, even with his cock on your face. Even with the stunt you pulled before he put you back in your place. 

“Think I’ll just do this. Fuck your pretty face.” 

You whimpered, spurring him on. He wanted to force himself inside you, punish your mouth for having the gall to speak to him the way you did. Make you cry from how full of him you were. Give you a sore throat so when you spoke to him again, you’d remember to speak with respect. But you wouldn’t be able to handle it. So he’d settle for defiling your sweet features, hold his cock against your cheek and rut like the animal he was.

“I ain’t gonna lay you out on my bed and take you nice and slow. I’m just gonna use you. ‘s what men like me do.”

He pulled away, giving you another opportunity to rethink this. “You can put your fucking clothes on and leave if you don’t like it.” 

To his surprise, you stayed put on your knees. You shook your head before reaching up and rubbing your cheek against his cock. You let out a soft moan, eyes closed and your thighs pressed together tight. “No, no. I like it.” 

“Fuckin’ slut,” he said, his hand back in your hair. He tugged at it and took his cock in his other hand. He tapped your lips with his tip, smearing the precum that leaked out of him. “You like an older man using your face like it’s a pussy?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

He snorted, amused. “Never met a virgin slut before. Getting your face fucked before your pussy. Bet you’re wet from this.” 

There was the sweet little whimper from you again. He wanted to hear more of it. Trap you underneath him and make you weep and cry and whimper as he split you in half.

“Let me see. Touch your pussy, show me your slick.” 

You obeyed, spread your knees and touched yourself. Your hand glistened under the light of his bedroom, your wetness stretching between your fingers in strings. “Goddamn, would you look at that…” he said in a low rumble. “Rub it on my cock.” 

Your hand trembled slightly and you stared at him with a blank look in your eyes. He guided your hand to his cock, withdrawing his hand when he’d brought you close enough so you could decide whether you wanted to follow his command. You touched your slickened hand to his cock, covering him in the evidence that you wanted this. Wanted him. You reached between your legs and brought more of yourself, eyes soft yet glazed with lust as you smeared yourself all over his length. 

“Ask me for it.” 

“Please,” you whined. 

“Please, what?” 

“P-please fuck my face. Sir.” 

He returned his cock to your cheek, your wetness lubricating your face. Hand cradling his cock, he began to thrust. It wasnt much different from fucking his own fist. It was just skin. Not the tight velvety wetness of a pussy or a throat that would gag with his thickness. But your face was softer than his gun callused hands. Even better was your pretty face, looking up at him so adoringly… So full of desire. 

He didn’t have to let his imagination do the trick now. Not when you were right in front of him, lending yourself for his use. And no imagination, no memory did justice to you. Your body. Scarred, but beautiful. Tits that filled his large hands, clean and styled hair, a belly that showed you were well fed. He wanted to lay you out on his bed and consume you. Take your tits in his mouth, grab handfuls of your ass, spread your cunt lips and lodge himself inside you. Give it to you hard so your thigh jiggled and you felt them ache as they rubbed against each other when you walked around in your pretty little dresses. 

But as depraved as he was, he knew he shouldn’t be the first to take you. He’d have you just this once. Store your image in his head to get off with for as long as his dick worked. You acted all brave, but he couldn’t shake off that you were still inexperienced. The first time was meant to be good. The world was no longer normal, but you could have normality within the insular walls of Jackson. 

Even this was wrong. Using you like this instead of making sweet love to you. But he hadn’t been that man in a long time. He was selfish and cruel. If there was no town, no community where everyone knew everyone and you still threw yourself at him, he would’ve taken you in all your holes with no hesitation. Ruined you, kept you until your body wasn’t of use and tossed you aside. But being in this semi-normal place had gotten its claws into him. Softened him up.

He grew closer to the edge embarrassingly quickly, the haze of carnal pleasure beginning to muffle the voices screaming in his head to let you go. He only barely noticed that you were touching yourself. Enjoying this treatment of you. That spurred him on. There was no stopping now. 

You let out soft moans, your eyes never once leaving him. He struggled to get himself to focus. To check for any signs you didn’t want this. But all he saw was you on the precipice of pleasure. The world disappeared. His house, Jackson, the darkness that lay beyond. It was all him now. He felt lighter, like he would float out through the window and everything he’d ever been through would disappear. Every ounce of goodness quietened down, the last shreds of his morality discarded with your dress. He grunted and moaned your name as he kept fucking you. Your features morphed into nothingness. No longer a face, no longer a human woman. All he knew was the ache in his body, the tightness that begged to be released. 

He slapped a hand against the wall as his thighs stiffened and every muscle in the vicinity of his cock tightened. He took himself back in his hand and stroked himself over your face. Once, twice, and thr– mid stroke, he growled and spilled on your face, coating your innocent features in sticky white cum. You flinched as the first stream hit, screwing your eyes shut. He wanted to make you look, see how he could defile you, show you that he wasn’t for you. Force you to confront what you’d allowed into your life so you’d run and never look back. 

But all he could do was keep stroking as he came down from his high. It was unlike anything he’d had in the recent past. Not his imagination, not just his hand. A real human woman who wasn’t just a convenience. One who sought him out, stripped for him, and let him use her face like a toy. 

He took a minute to collect his breath and let his senses return to him. His cock hung semi-hard outta his jeans, like it could go again if he willed it. Like it wasn’t almost six decades old. But he wasn’t too surprised. He could go again for the utterly debauched girl in front of him. Innocence eclipsed by milky white ropes of his cum. Without thinking twice, he grabbed your hair and pulled at it. You yelped, but let him pull you up from the ground and drag you to the other side of the room. 

He stopped you in front of his mirror, and slapped your hand off your pussy before replacing it with his. “Look at yourself. I fucking told you,” he said, forcing two thick fingers inside your cunt. You sucked him in with little resistance, your cunt leaking enough for him to force a third finger inside you. You gasped and tried to wriggle away, but he wasn’t having it. He was a fucking monster, but he would never leave a woman unsatisfied. Especially a young thing who’d never had anyone else before. 

He wrapped his free hand around your throat, his half hard cock begging him to go again when he felt the vibrations of your moans. “I warned you,” he whispered into your ear. “Fuckin’ warned you. Told you how starved I was. And you still taunted me. Look at you now!” 

“Please… Please, Joel! Sir, please…” 

“Fuckin’ slut. Maybe you ain’t really a virgin.” 

“I am, I am, I promise. I wa–” you cut yourself off with a gasp as he pressed his thumb on your clit. 

“What was that?” 

You made some incoherent noises, too far gone to form words. Yet you managed to thrust onto his fingers and roll your hips like a real natural. 

“Joel…” 

“I know, pretty girl… I know,” he cooed, the softness in his voice contradicting how he’d used you just minutes prior. Contradicting the cum on your pretty little face. 

“You gonna come for me? Give me another one after you came so sweetly on my fingers that day?” 

There were no answers from you. Not even an acknowledgement that you heard him. Just whines and moans as you let him support your entire weight. Your head lolled back on his shoulder and your eyes rolled back into your skull as he fucked you stupid with just his fingers. Oh the things he could do with his cock… Reach deeper, take the virginity you’d held on to for so long. If he ever had you, he would never let go. He was too selfish a man to willingly lose a girl so precious after taking her cunt. 

You gripped him like a vice, so tight he couldn't pry his fingers out. Something that vaguely sounded like his name spilled from your lips as you crumpled in his arms. Your pussy pulsated around you as he held you against him, unwilling to remove himself from you so quickly. 

He withdrew your panties from his pocket– the fresh pair you took off in his fucking hallways like it was no big deal. He wiped your face with it the same way he cleaned up your cunt that day. Instead of tucking it in his pocket, he forced it into your hand. 

“Put it on. Your fucking dress, too. Hope you learned you fucking lesson.”

As you put it on and scampered away naked into his hallways, he hoped it would be enough to scare you away. But he knew in his heart of hearts that he would always crave you like an addict craving a drink.

⌘

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#joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x oc #joel miller x original character #joel miller x ofc #joel miller smut #joel miller series #joel miller self insert #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #tlou #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #tlou hbo #joel x reader #joel the last of us #fic: men like me #all that i've inflicted on the world

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: Home from the hospital, Joel is over protective after you give birth.]

“Listen, sweetheart, you just had my baby and I don’t want you lifting a damn finger as long as I’m home. Understood?”

Fluff

It had been a week since you had given birth to your son Luke. You were now home in bed and felt exhaustion like you had never felt before. It was two in the morning when you heard him begin to cry, you sighed pushing yourself up when you suddenly felt Joel’s hand on your arm.

“Lay back down, honey. I got him”

“But Joel, you work at six in the morning-“

“And you need sleep, now lay back down” he proceeded to get up as you looked at him with concern.

“I can get him you know, you don’t have to keep getting up every time he cries” you lay back as Joel walked around your side of the bed and hovered over you.

“Listen, sweetheart, you just had my baby and I don’t want you lifting a damn finger as long as I’m home. Understood?” The baby cried again as you silently nodded. He kissed your forehead and proceeded to pick up Luke from his bassinet. You watched half asleep as he began to gently rock him calming him down.

“It’s alright, buddy, daddy’s got you” Joel turned to find you still awake.

“Look your mamas right there but she needs some sleep alright? Me and you are gonna go get you some milk and hang out on the couch so mama can sleep” he whispered in a voice that made you smile. Before you knew it you fell asleep peacefully.

Joel entered the room a little while later, gently laying Luke back in his bassinet. The sound of Joel getting into bed startled you making you quickly sit up before hearing Joel’s voice.

“Shhh, he’s ok, lay back down” he assured you as you felt his arm wrap around your waist and pull you back in bed against him.

“Did he drink all his milk?”

“Mhm”

“Did you change his diaper?” You turned flat on your back with your face to him.

“Mhm” you took a deep breath as he held you against him.

“Go to sleep woman” he spoke with his eyes closed.

“I’m sorry, I just…I never done this before…I’m so anxious,” his eyes instantly opened.

“Look at me” you looked at Luke in his bassinet.

“Look at me, darlin’” he gently turned your face to him.

“You’re doing just fine, you hear me? I’m here every step of the way with you alright?” You knew he meant every word he said. Silently you nodded and took another deep breath as you looked up at the ceiling.

“I couldn’t have chosen a better mother for my baby boy” he kissed your cheek.

“Now get some sleep, if he’s up again I got him.” He closed his eyes as you smiled to yourself.

A few hours later Joel was getting up for work, you opened your eyes to find him pulling a shirt over his head.

“I’ll make you some breakfast” you pushed yourself up making him turn to you.

“Oh no you won’t”

“Joel you need to eat something”

“I’m not hungry, besides Sarah beat you to it” he smirked leaning in to kiss you.

“You feel ok?” A look of concern in his brown eyes.

“Yes, I’m fine” you assured him yet you could still see the uncertainty in him.

“I swear” you caressed his face looking up at him. He silently nodded and kissed your hand.

“I’ll try to get out of work early” he stood up and looked back to see Luke sleeping peacefully. Joel was always protective of you but the moment he found out you were pregnant, his protective side reached a level you had never seen before. Joel would take Sarah to school in the morning and ask her to help you as soon as she got home which she gladly did. Joel not letting you lift a finger was nothing new, through out your pregnancy he never let you carry a thing, and even with his hands full he still made sure there was room on his arm for you to hold on to. It was sweet having an attentive man but even sweeter seeing him as a dad.

#pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller x ofc #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel miller imagine

[toxicanonymity]

busted (jailbird one shot)

2.5k WORDS, JOEL "JOJO" MILLER x f!READER SUMMARY: You roleplay as cop and sex worker. WARNINGS: I8+, no plot just smut, roleplay, manhandling, handcuffs, bj, unsafe PIV, creampie, fluff. writer chooses not to warn in further detail, read at your own risk. Read alone or see jailbird masterlist for relationship & reader history. NOTES: On hiatus, but this has been in my tumblr drafts since 3/20. Ty for the ask. They've both served time. This happens while Joel's aunt/your former cellmate is still locked up. Ty again to everyone who made me write cellmate's nephew (history) 💀. Divider by @saradika-graphics. @toxicfics for notifications.

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You sit on Joel’s bed alone, wearing a short skirt, a lace bra, and fishnet stockings he already ripped wide open the last time you wore them. You finish lacing up your boots, tuck a wad of cash into your bra, and get a tictac mint from your purse. Then you put on the bag and close the bedroom door behind you as you leave. 

As you walk into the living room, the front door opens. You realize you’re holding your breath and feel silly. Your heart skips a beat when he steps through the door. 

He pauses long enough for you to take in his whole form. . .tattooed arms swelling out from the sleeves of his slutty, blue uniform. Your eyes fall to his crotch as he turns to face you. The tight polyester pants leave little to the imagination. The whole, massive outline is visible atop his thigh, straining the fabric. He smooths his mustache and tilts his head, checking you out. Then he keeps a straight face as he steps toward you and says,

“‘S’cuse me, miss. Can I see some ID?”

Your heart flutters. You’ve played the part so many times. Played lots of parts. You're used to being who the client needs. But here you are with a little stage fright in front of your boo. And Jesus Christ, there’s something about his prison tattoos bursting out of that uniform. 

You stand still in the middle of the room and he slowly paces around you. A few feet away, but close enough to smell the cigarette he must have enjoyed outside and the cologne he reserves for date nights. The sight and smell of him makes you tingle. His touch might make you physically swoon. He clears his throat, and your face heats up. You lock eyes with him, and there’s a sparkle in his gaze, but he manages to hold firm, not breaking. 

“I, um – I have it somewhere.” You rifle through your bag.

“What’s that in your brassiere, ma’am?” He takes a baton off his hip and gestures to your bra cup. Your chest is lightly dusted in a caramel flavored shimmer powder.  

“Oh,” you stammer, looking away.  “I dunno why I put this here when I have a purse,” you mutter, half out of character.

“Just what I was thinkin’,” he cocks an eyebrow at you. He begins to stalk around you again, getting a little closer with each step, closing in on you. Then, he holsters his baton and stands behind your back, close enough to feel his body heat. You turn your face to the side and his scent wraps around you. 

His hardness lightly grazes you, and you push your ass back instinctively. His left hand comes to your hip as his right hand snakes around your torso.  His voice is deep and gruff.

“I’m thinkin’ this is dirty money.”

He trails his fingers slowly up your sternum, then over the curve of your left breast to your black push-up bra. You watch the faded barbed wire flex on his hand as he slides two fingers into the bra cup, retrieving the cash. He lowers his volume and his lips brush the shell of our ear. “Real dirty, honey.” 

“It’s nothing,” you shake your head, getting into a better rhythm. 

“Lemme take this off your hands,” he offers and lifts the strap of your purse off your shoulder. He stuffs the cash in it and tosses the purse to Mabel’s easychair. The tictacs rattle as it lands. He returns behind you, and this time, both hands go to your hips.

“I’m thinkin’ we can work somethin’ out,” he murmurs. His hands meander up your sides, then back down. He holds onto your hips and pulls you back against him, lightly grinding his hard length against your skirt, making you throb. 

“Fuck, Jo,” you whine in a whisper, pushing back on him like you shouldn't be. He exhales what you're pretty sure is a laugh. You can picture his smile. You're not ready to throw in the towel on this scene. You compose yourself and ask, “What are you doing?” You step forward, away from him, then turn around with a glare. 

He slowly rubs his arousal and adjusts himself. Then he puts his hands on his hips and shifts his weight. He looks you up and down, slowly shakes his head, and clucks his tongue.  

“Y’know, I didn’t wanna have to do this.”  He reaches behind his back for his cuffs, and you head for the door. 

He grabs you by the arm, and you continue to pull away. 

“No,” you protest emptily, tingling at the thought of him getting rougher.

He wraps a strong arm around you and you keep squirming. He lets you pull away toward the door until you’re up against it. He presses his weight against you with a forearm on your upper back and warns, “Resisting arrest?” 

He wrangles your arms behind your back, and the cold metal edge makes you shiver as your first wrist is cuffed. The second cuff clicks into place and he tightens them. Your cuffed hands desperately feel around the front of his pants, and he shifts his hips to help you find what you're looking for. You softly moan when your palm meets the hard length in his pants. 

“So now ya wanna be good,” he taunts, then lets out a barely audible grunt, pressing his hips forward, arousal swelling against your palm.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, officer.” He takes your hands and puts them on your mid back, and you keep them there. He yanks the whole skirt up over your ass in one go, watching your ass drop, fishnet diamonds stretched over it. His hips push forward and his hardness makes you throb. 

“Spread’em,” he commands. 

You widen your stance. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, then wedges a hand between you and the door. Your palms rest on his tummy as he shoves his hand between your legs and feels how wet you are through the pre-ruined fishnets. 

“Alright, let’s make a deal,” he growls, then cruelly takes his hand away without so much as putting half a finger in you. 

He grabs you by one arm and pulls you over to the sofa. “Knees,” he murmurs, and helps you down onto the carpet. He pats your head then sits down on the sofa with a sigh, manspreading. He splays his arms out on the back of the couch and looks at you affectionately for a moment before his face hardens again. He takes off his fake utility belt in a hurry. 

“Got five minutes to convince me not to take ya in,” he warns, "If ya can handle it." He lifts his hips, giving you a rush of arousal. He pulls at his uniform pants, and they snap open at the side. This must have been quite a hit all those years ago on stage. For you, he's not wearing anything under them. You glance at his hip tattoo. Yeah.

He frees his massive cock and wraps his hand around the clean shaven base. He squeezes it as he looks at you darkly. "Such a bad girl." He scoots toward the edge of the sofa. Your hands are still handcuffed behind your back, skirt still sitting up above your ass.

You lean forward, dip your head, and he feeds you his cock. You slurp the fat head into your mouth and he sighs, watching you with a softening scowl. "Fuck yeah," he breathes. His knees bracket you and help you balance with no use of your hands as you bob your head. He moans as you suck him. You stretch your jaw, sucking at the smooth, salty tip, then take a few inches into your mouth and hold it, feeling him throb. "God damn," he curses softly. You suck with the back of your throat and carefully take as much as you can, expertly swallowing his length. You take him so deep that your lips brush his shaved pubic skin, and your eyes prickle with tears.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Get up here.” 

You slowly let his cock out of your mouth, and a string of slobber falls away with it.

He grabs your arms and helps you stand. He could stand to be rougher about it. But he's all but abandoning character, overtaken by the way you make him feel. The real you.

He helps you balance as you kneel onto the sofa, straddling him with your thighs spread wide. His breaths are heavy and getting heavier as he eyes your tits and the front closure of your bra. 

He sits up straight. He wraps an arm around you and interlaces his fingers with one of your cuffed hands. "Doin' so good, baby." With his other hand, he swiftly unhooks the front clasp of your bra, and the cups break apart, letting your tits fall out.  He takes a nipple into his mouth, then passionately licks and kisses his way up to your mouth. He palms one breast as he sucks the other and holds your hand behind your back. He pulls you right against him so your clit presses against his warm, hard cock and it makes him moan against your breast as he throbs against you.

He moves you, grinding his cock on your clit. He kisses your breast again, then drags his nose up your chest and feverishy kisses you everywhere on his way to your neck, where he sucks you long and slow. He lets go of your hand and slides his hand down, reaching under your ass to your cunt, where he slides his fingers through your slick then spreads you open for him.

He maneuvers you up to get clearance for his cock. He runs the tip through your slick, then massages your clit with it before notching at your entrance. You twitch at the contact, then begin to sink onto him and he pulls you down with a grunt.

"That's my girl," he breathes.

His lips find yours, and the kiss is long and slow with him seated fully inside you. He moves you on his cock, and his hips roll under you at a slow rhythm, stretching you with his girth, making you twitch already. You break the kiss with a moan.

You look down between your bodies, then purr, “is it hot in here, officer?” 

“God you're fuckin’ hot,” he gushes with urgency.  He reaches in his shirt pocket for the key to the handcuffs and wraps his arms around you. His cock twitches and he fumbles around as he uncuffs you. You rip open his snap button uniform top, then cradle his face and your lips smash back together and his tongue finds yours. He pulls you close. Your tits press into his chest and you moan into his mouth as you roll your hips.

You sigh and curse and moan against each other's mouths as you ride him.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes. “I coulda came soon as ya—fuck–the way you were clawin’ around for my cock just to feel it—ohhhh.”

He playfully plucks at the fishnets then kneads your ass as you fuck. He lets you take the lead, sliding his hands down to your legs, then your boots. He sighs, "Ohh, baby," as you ride him.

“Yeah,” you breathe, feeling sharply on the edge already, with his cock inside you and the ghost of it pressed up against you through those pants. 

“Ohh, fuck,” he pants, “yeah.” His flesh fills yours so perfectly, stretching you around him. Your body wetly hugs his length as he smoothly thrusts up into you. He growls into your neck, “I can't get enough’a ya.” You card your fingers through his hair. 

“God you feel good,” you gush. “So fucking good. He’s kissing your neck wet and sloppy now. You both breathe audibly. "God, I love this cock," you pant. Your breath is shallow with your pending peak. You grind against him, then let it overtake you. “Fuck,” you breathe as your walls flutter around him. 

He groans as you come on his cock.  As you finish your peak, he’s clearly holding back. You look down at his inked torso glistening. 

You both watch where your bodies meet, and you tell him, “i want you to come.”

“c'mere” he takes your jaw in one hand, and brings your lips back to his. He holds you tight, kissing you for a few thrusts, then his lips fall apart to moan and breathe vocally as he fucks you.

He pulses inside, pinching his eyes shut. He groans into your cheek, and you finger his curls as he pumps you full. Then you relax into his arms.

-

You share a long moment without words, and he holds your head. Then he uses his chest to push you slightly off him. He looks you in the eyes, then does a double take down to your tits and dips his head to kiss one before returning his attention to your face. 

You're still on his cock, and the stretch persists even as he slowly softens.

He looks back and forth between your eyes and blurts out, “you should move in.” 

You laugh in shock. 

“‘m’serious, baby,” he says with a smile. You bite away another laugh and his smile fades. He whispers, “Dead serious.”

He pulls you in for a kiss, then breaks away to await your answer. 

You haven't thought about it, really. Not yet, anyway. But it doesn't feel out of the question. You glance over to Mabel’s chair. 

“She knows,” he assures you. It doesn't make a difference right now, but you pray she'll get paroled sooner rather than later. 

“Just think about it,” he offers. 

You nod and bite your lip, running your hand through his hair affectionately, still plugged by his cock. "Tempting," you smile.

“I'm a lucky man either way,” he says.

Your face heats up, and you reflexively lighten the conversation. “Why’d ya cuff me if ya wanted me on top,” you laugh.

“Hell if I know what I want,” he admits. He kisses your neck then murmurs, “Just want ya every which way all the time.”

thank you for reading, and thank you for your support. love you guys <333. my tag list is gone for real this time, sorry. I'm also on a break from writing & reading but had this in my drafts.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #jailbird #joel miller x female reader #toxicanonymity ☠️ #joel miller x ofc #cellmate's nephew!joel #CN!Joel Miller #cellmate's nephew!joel miller

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

**stunning gif made by @pedrorascal 🧡🧡🧡

pairing: pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

genre: angst, smut, romance, slow burn, mutual pining, secret relationship

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

additional notes: Joel is 36 and since I saw Tommy's age nowhere, I decided to give them a five-year age gap which will make Tommy 31 in this story. Reader is in her late twenties.

warnings will be given before every individual chapter

chapters marked with ** indicates smut

⠀MLISTS .  LIBRARY . PLAYLIST . AO3

𝑴𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝑺𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚

Prologue - Somewhere New

Chapter One - Pizza Day

Chapter Two - Rueful

Chapter Three - A Day In the Life of Tommy Miller**

Chapter Four - Like Highway Signs**

Chapter Five - Ostensible**

Chapter Six - Kinesthesia**

Chapter Seven - Helpless

Chapter Eight - Satisfied

Chapter Nine - Show Me How**

Chapter Ten - You Belong With Me**

Chapter Eleven - Hi, How Are You**

Chapter Twelve - Sui Generis**

Chapter Thirteen - Sarah

Chapter Fourteen - Conversations With**

𝑩𝒐𝒏𝒖𝒔 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔

Art Deco**

if you were wondering how Joel took his spicy picture for Asha, this is how. Takes place between chapters four and five

Mirror Lake**

Joel takes you to a cabin for the weekend, there you propose he pay up the bet he lost to you and that the two of you should have some roleplaying fun.

As It Was**

you decide to host a New Year's party and when Joel shows up soaked to the bone thanks to the rain, you lead him to the bathroom to dry him up.

Chapter Sneak Peeks: six | eight | nine

𝑬𝒙𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒔

Stunning artwork by the most talented Maia (@mjpens) commissioned by me depicting a scene from chapter six

Amazing moodboard made by the lovely @johnwatsn

Lovely moodboard & playlist made by the amazing @saradika

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x ofc #joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x y/n #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller #tommy miller x you #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #hbo the last of us

[netherfeildren]

My Whole Life : A Fear of God Story

(Joel Miller x OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary: The family celebrates Joel's birthday.

Content Warnings: Fluff and smut (like the fluffiest fluff ever); Miller Family Fun; Joel being overrun by wild little girls; Dirty old man & inappropriate groping; Established relationship; Joel Miller is a Wife Guy; Competence kink; Breastfeeding; Lactation kink; Oral sex (M! & F! receiving); Come eating; Pregnancy kink; Size difference; Daddy kink; Possessive behavior; PIV sex; Ass play; Romantic anal :) ; Body worship; Dirty talk; Pussy slapping; Over stimulation

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Happy happy happy birthday to our bestest and most beautiful old man. This might just be some of the most ridiculous shit I’ve ever written, and it’s all for him :)

Word Count: 9.8K

Read on AO3

MY WHOLE LIFE

And you’ll always love me, won’t you?

Yes.

And the rain won’t make a difference?

No.

Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell To Arms

He’s still asleep. Laying on his side, bent elbow tucked beneath his smushed cheek, messy curls strewn across his pillow, overly long and floppy against his forehead. It’s time for a haircut, but he’s been distracted and busy lately, evading your managing fingers and scissors. The quilt is pulled up high over a thick shoulder, and that soft, full mouth is slightly parted, the near silent whistle of his breathing passing through each exhale. You close your eyes and listen for a moment. When you open again, you reach up to run the tip of your finger along the damp edge, and he puckers his lips slightly, mouthing at your exploration. Ah, awake then. You lean forward to press your mouth to his briefly, taking his breath into yourself. 

Tell me you love me, you whisper the words onto his tongue. 

“I love you, Birdie,” voice like falling stones; graveled, sluicing into your ears, eternally familiar. An everyday thing that’s a small miracle each time it’s whispered into the small shell. 

“Happy Birthday, Joel.” And he finally opens his eyes, long lashes squeezing tight and spiky for a second before he blinks open, bleary with sleep. His half smile unfolds for you, slow and lazy, the lines around his eyes going deep and grooved, and your fingertips skim over the whiskered plane of his cheek, feeling the proof of his happiness around his eyes. Pulling his hand from beneath his cheek he reaches for you, skims the back of his hand down the front of your belly, undoing the buttons of  his old, worn to softness flannel as he goes. Backs of his knuckles following again, skimming down the soft swell, dipping into your navel, and then sneaking around your waist to pull you into himself. Belly to belly he sighs deep and rumbly, closes his eyes again, nods his head just a smidge, settling back into the pillow. “Thank you, sweetheart.” 

You know that if he could skip this day every year, he would. Sleep through the whole thing of it, erase it from history. You know that it’s endlessly painful, eternally terrible, and that even after almost three decades it never hurts any less. Five years now, you’ve been married, and you’ve tried to make every year as special as possible. Not necessarily peaceful, an unachievable thing in a house full of four loud and scrambling little girls, but always special, always infused with as much happiness as you can give him. 

The sallow purple light from early dawn seeps in through the sheer blue curtains over the wide bay window of your bedroom, and as he presses you to him, the course hair of his chest and belly rubs against the skin of your own stomach, your overly sensitive breasts, full and extra tender from nursing. You’d made his gift extra special last year, your last baby, little Connie, now nearing six months old. 

-

“Another one?”

“Well, baby, that’s what happens when your husband can’t keep his dick in his pants.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he sighs, head falling back on his neck as he runs his palm over his mouth, two fingers tucked into his belt. Dad pose.

“We’re getting a nanny, Joel. Someone to help us – you go out there and find anyone, I don’t care who. There’s too many of them, we’re being overtaken. And we can’t keep asking Ellie and Dina – they’ve got JJ now, they’re busy too. You’ve saddled us with a whole kindergarten here because you can’t seem to stop getting me pregnant,” voice hitching with equal measures of anxiety and happiness, and an overabundance of hormones and love. 

He sidles up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist to hug you tight to his chest, one of his hands coming up to squeeze your full, heavy breasts gently, you gasp, extra sensitive already. He coos right into the soft shell of your ear, “Poor Birdie. S’just so fun makin’ ‘em baby. Can’t help myself.”

You roll your eyes at him even though he can’t see, and you kind of want to claw at his face and rip all his clothes off, all at the same time. This is all his fault. All of your sense gone out the window, can’t get pregnant while you’re breastfeeding, as if you didn’t know better. Too desperate for your husband to be more careful. And now look at the two of you… 

Your ass perks up, grinds back into his already growing erection, fucking beautiful, he murmurs with his forehead resting on your shoulder to look down at you, palming your ass. His hands sweep over you in an arc, skimming the soft dips and contours of your skin. 

Then shyly, head tuning over your shoulder to press your temple to his forehead, “Are you happy?” Because you still just need to make sure, you still just need to hear it. 

“You’ve never given me the option to be anything else but, my love.”

-

He’d gotten up in the middle of the night when he’d heard her fussing, bringing the baby to you still half asleep, cuddling her tiny, pink form against his naked chest, so that you could nurse her back to sleep. He’d sat at the edge of the bed, big hand cupped at the back of your skull as he’d looked down on you feeding his child from your breast, the look in his eyes like nothing you’d ever imagined before him. The birth of your children had infused a sense of tenderness, an intimacy so acute it brought tears to your eyes if you thought about it too much, into your relationship that had made the two of you closer than ever. More in love with each other than you’d ever thought possible. 

The memory of your parents was worn and faded with time, but you remembered they’d always approached each other with a sort of comfortable respect. Never ones for overt displays of affection or physical intimacy. So you’d never expected that the love of a man like Joel Miller, stoic and reserved and brusque, could be like this; an overwhelming sort of thing, scalding and suffocating in a way you needed. 

His hand skims back to your chest, undoing the rest of your buttons to get at the warmth of your breasts, rough palm gently, gently cupping the full weight. The dry abrasion of calluses catching at your sensitive nipples, handling you with such care. A low rumble in his throat, eyes still closed, “Gimme another kiss, little bird. It’s my birthday,” he whispers before sliding forward, taking your mouth with his. He starts off slow, a soft brush of damp lips, before he takes your upper lip between his, pulling gently, his hand moving back and down now, cupping your lush bottom to pull you up and into himself. Your hands flutter over his chest, still after all this time, easily overwhelmed by the heat and feel of him. You never want it to end, you never want it to lessen. 

The sex is still filthy, but everything else is pure. 

You can feel the hardening heft of his cock under his boxers between the two of you, and you skim your hand down the length of his soft belly, fingers tucking beneath the elastic to run the backs of your knuckles against the burning hot skin there, feel the tickle of his hair. He makes another one of those deep sounds, warm and masculine and smelling faintly musky from sleep, and you bring your knee up against his hip, pushing further into his boxers to feel the rapidly thickening base of his cock against the back of your hand, you brush the pad of your thumb there and his kiss becomes hungrier. Bringing his palm to the nape of your neck he rolls the two of you over suddenly, trying to take charge, licking deep and wet into your mouth, pressing his now full-on erection into your cupping palm. “Taste so good, Birdie. Is my little cunt wet and ready for me?” 

“Joel–” you whisper, drawing your hand up to his shoulder to try and keep him at bay. His wet mouth moves down to your throat, cupping your breasts, pinching your nipples, settling more heavily between your spread thighs to grind his cock into your warmth. “We can’t,” you moan as his hot mouth pulls gently at your tit now, nipples dark and swollen. It’s been several hours since you’d nursed, and you feel the warmth of your milk as his tongue swirls around you. He groans, rough and hungry at the taste, bringing his knee up to lever himself over you, readying to rip your clothes off and take your cunt for himself, but as he moves to balance himself on one arm and knee while his other hand reaches for your panties, you press him off balance, dislodging him and rolling over as he goes, so that you’re left straddling the wide breadth of him. His eyes flash, provoked, and he jerks you forward, ripping the flannel off your shoulders so that your breasts are left bare and swinging heavily. With a rough grunt he bends his knees, shoving you up further on his stomach to wrap a big hand around your tit and bring it to his mouth. Mine, he growls, with your flesh in his mouth. He pulls on the taut peak again, another warm rush of your milk, his eyes locked on yours as he sucks from your nipple. It should be wrong, maybe it is, but like you’d said, the sex is still filthy, everything else is pure. 

“We can’t,” you whisper, carding your fingers through the long locks of his messy curls, the strands cool and soft at the ends, but hot and damp at the roots. You can feel your pulse thrumming at your throat, the insides of your wrists, the back of your knees. The slide of your wet cunt against his abdomen has the heat between the both of you ricocheting up to a sweltering dampness, and despite your protests, you moan as his hands roll you against him. “They’ll be up soon and banging on that door, you know it. Ellie and Dina can only hold them off for so long.” The girls had spent the night, not only so they could be here for birthday breakfast, but so that the two of you could spend a few extra peaceful moments in bed without three raucous monsters climbing in with you. 

“Don’t care – need you now.” He levers his head up off the pillow, following the swing of your breast until he can catch it with his mouth, teeth gently scraping across the bud. Joel, you whimper, lashes fluttering against your cheeks. He makes a self satisfied noise low in his throat, crushing you to himself and sucking hard on your skin, pulling a strangled moan from your throat. Trying to pull away, grabbing his marauding hands, you try to pin him down with your entire weight, small fingers clasping around the thick of his wrists and pressing them back into the pillows. The two of you pause to take each other in for a second, I love you, he mouths up at you, silent, eyes on fire. You can’t help the deep flush, trying to swallow your smile and shake your head at him in mock disapproval, pinning him harder. “That isn’t gonna work, little thing. Got the strength of a butterfly.”

“Shut up.” You lean forward, pressing your mouth to the thick bulge of his bicep, dragging your teeth across the swell. “You’re mine – I do what I want.” He gives you a soft, conceding laugh, and you press kisses along his shoulder, across his collarbone, letting the long tresses of your hair snake like water over his face, his chest, his stomach. Scooting down his belly to nuzzle at the springy hair covering his chest, little tongue darting out against his nipple, smiling at the sound of his soft gasp. Further, further down, kisses to his soft belly, thicker around the middle now, sympathy weight, he calls it. But he’s so strong, and so endless, and you need him so much. You wiggle between his legs, forcing him to spread his thick thighs to make space for you and nip at the sensitive inner slope there. Nuzzling his hairy limbs, you pause to look up at him, cheek resting there, feeling the restrained strength of his muscles. The two of you go quiet for a second, taking each other in, and there’s so much said in his gaze. He brings his hand to the crown of your head, cupping the small bowl of your skull in his palm, and smiles a little, a teasing crook of his eyebrow, and you can’t help but laugh, turning your face to hide your own smile in his thigh. 

“What’cha gonna do, baby?” Hmm, he croons down at you, sliding his fingers through your hair. You sneak your fingers below the waistband of his boxers again, tugging them down to free the straining, thick cock and heavy balls. You press a barely there kiss to the skin just beside the base and watch as his length jumps, flushed head starting to leak. You give him another wry look, and he runs his fingers along the line of your jaw, up the slope of your cheek bone, hot touch following the wing of your brow. It’s all soft caresses and the sort of comfort that only comes from knowing another person almost better than you know yourself. You finally bend down and press a kiss at the tip, opening your mouth to let your tongue flutter along the soft, spongey curve. He lets out a long, restrained breath through his nostrils, fingers still roaming along your face, through your hair as you start to take him deeper into your mouth, levering yourself up over his groin so that he has a better view of your breasts and hair dragging over his thighs. A desperate groan, and you smile around his cock, you know him too well. You drag the flat of your tongue along the ridged base, a swirl around the fat head, his hand cupped at the nape of your neck. You can feel the pulse and throb of him against your tongue, and you moan around him, fluttering lashes tickling your cheeks, you want to feel that pulse at the core of you, deep where he owns you. “Yeah, baby,” voice soft and strained, trying to swallow the sound of his own pleasure in the hollow quiet of your still sleeping home. “Hum a little song around daddy’s cock, little bird.” And your eyes flash hot and desperate up to his own. A wash of heat spreads from the crown of your head to the tips of your curling toes, backs of your knees smarting, pussy going tight and desperate as a knot. You wrap both hands around the length of him and focus your suctioning mouth at the head, moaning wantonly, twisting your palms around the slick spit left by your tongue. 

“Fuck, yes – yes, yes yes. That’s perfect, you’re doing so good, Birdie. Just like that.” He bears his teeth at you, a wash of color spreading across the crests of his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. You slide your slick hands down to cup his balls and take him to the back of your throat, moaning ragged and choked around the too thick length, swallowing repeatedly, trying to breathe through your nose, eyes smarting and thighs clenching. His fingers twist in your hair painfully, and he swells almost impossibly bigger in your mouth. “Fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come, baby. Don’t swallow, don’t swallow.” He hasn’t stopped looking at you, eyes wide and frenzied. You pull back, squeezing his sack as he starts to spurt, thick and salty into your mouth. “Don’t swallow, lemme see. Gimme my birthday present, show me–” You pull away from his soaked cock, mouth sticky with semen, and present your tongue for him, the milky viscousness dripping sloppy while you continue to jack his still spitting length. He sits up suddenly, cock still fisted in your working hand to grip your jaw in his strong fingers. His eyes are filled with a sort of mania only you know how to bring out in him now that he’s been mostly tamed, and you bring your other hand up to your face, scooping the spurted drops of come on your cheeks onto your white splattered tongue. “Perfect fucking thing,” he growls. “You do what I say,” he gives your captured jaw a rough, little jostle. “Swallow now.” You close your mouth and obey, “Open again – lemme see,” sticking your now pink tongue out at him, he leans forward and licks into you, tasting himself. Filthy, filthy, filthy. I fucking love you, you can’t tell who says it, it doesn’t really matter. 

-

The farmhouse is a short ways outside of Jackson. He’d picked it after Lena was born, Kate and Clara had been two, and Connie would soon be on the way. The family needed more space, four children was a lot to manage, and he wanted his girls to have room to grow and play. You’d let him do as he pleased, and made the trek into the clinic every afternoon at first, but had taken on a partner two years ago, Jamie. She’d come to Jackson with her own medical background, and with four babies at home, the help was more than welcome. 

The house is old, but made of strong bones that Joel had painstakingly refurbished and now cared for meticulously. Filled with sturdy furniture he’d mostly made by hand, thick rugs and soft glowing lamps and books, books everywhere. And something else, something unknowable and invisible, but that was immediately obvious, nonetheless. A sort of love that was in such overabundance; it was an unbelievable sort of thing that a creature that had lived as he had could have ended up here, surrounded by all this goodness. Joel knows it is only because of you, all only your doing, his ending up here like this. 

As you step into the large dining and living space you stop abruptly, his chest bumping into your back, hands going to your hips to steady you. Your head cocks slowly to the side as you take in the new addition to the kitchen. “What’s that?” 

He presses his face into the warm, fragrant skin of your neck, smiling against the tender slope. “Made it for you.” It’s a kitchen table, long and thickly built, the warm oak color polished and cured to a glowing sheen. He’d snuck it in from the barn last night after you’d gone to sleep.

“It’s your birthday, you’re not supposed to be giving me gifts today.” He wraps his arms around your middle, his hand spanning across the soft swell of your postpartum belly. The change your carrying his children had wrought on your body was something that he’d not known would have such an effect of him. But the sight of you most days, wearing nothing but one of his oversized flannels, and his favorite itty bitty, pink, polka dotted panties. Swollen, leaking tits and the lush softness of your belly and hips underneath. Long hair, a tousled mess of a cloud around your head. Too fucking tempting. It brought out something not entirely civilized in him. How was he ever supposed to behave when you were prancing around your home together, surrounded by all your children, being the best mother the world had ever seen. Sometimes the urge to get you pregnant just one more time was almost irresistible. Soft and feminine and his, it did things to him, made him think unspeakable thoughts that he later acted out on you in explicit detail at night, in the privacy of your bedroom. Things had changed after the birth of your children, he had changed, in so many ways, in ways that Joel had never even thought possible. The intimacy, the closeness was something that he’d never even thought possible, something so vulnerable, so tender, his mind hadn’t had the capacity before this to imagine it. He’d never thought, never thought that he could love with an intensity like this, but you’d taught him so many things over the years. You taught him something new every single day. 

“It’s for me too,” he murmurs. “And giving you things makes me happy. Seein’ you happy makes me happy. This is my gift to myself.”

You’re quiet for a second, and he feels you tense and hiccup beneath his touch, trying not to cry. Finally, when you’re sure your voice won’t break, “Don’t be cheesy, old man.” But you turn in his arms, going up on your little toes to press your mouth to his, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. He sighs into the kiss, tasting you slowly, savoring you, feels himself thickening again already, just at the feel and smell of you. When he pulls back to look down at you, sure enough, your eyes are wet and gleaming, a soft flush across your nose. “Thank you, I love it,” A small sniffle.

“Get in there,” he says gently. “Stop provokin’ me.” He gives your bottom a gentle squeeze before letting go. 

After he helps you get the girls up and settled, he goes on a long walk with Ellie and Kate, leaving you and Dina to hold down the fort for a while. Sydney, panting along Kate’s gangly, coltish side as they lope ahead of him and Ellie. The old Newfoundland had shown up one day on the front porch, mud and bramble slewn, Kate and Clara had brought her in, told them her name was Sydney, and that had been it, the dog had stayed. The hound, covered in a nearly unmanageable chocolate brown mane, had what he called an old disposition, much like him, Birdie liked to tease, but gentle and slow. The perfect animal to patiently accompany the girls along their misadventures, but large and astute enough to herd and protect when necessary. They liked to wander sometimes, disappearing at any moment, hiding and jumping out to scare the two of you in your frantic searches for them. Trouble the two of them, Kate and Clara together. Clara especially, mind sharp as a whip and an inclination for trouble she could have only gotten from him, if he was being honest. Kate was always the cooler, more level headed voice of the two of them, even at five, nearly six, years old. With those deep blue eyes, like shards of sea glass with the very power of the sun shining through. They’d slipped out of the house a few months ago behind his back, and after his mad search he’d found them wandering, hand in hand, towards the treeline. Short legs setting a slow and stunted pace, Sydney had been following closely at their heels, towering over the two small frames. At the sound of his approach, she’d turned back with an aggressive growl, ready to protect the two vulnerable creatures in her charge, but he’d settled her with a gentle, It’s just me, Syd, and the hound had gone tame and sedate once again. He’d trusted her with them unfailingly ever since. 

They were meandering slowly along one of his and Ellie’s favorite paths now, slowly, allowing for child and dog to pause and investigate at will, dew-covered spiderwebs, bright tufts of moss and old, rotted logs covered in bugs Kate begged him to let her bring home. 

“Mom gets scared. We don’t want that, do we?”

“Mom doesn’t get scared,” Kate says, scrunching her nose up at him. 

“It’s secretly him that gets scared, Katie. Don’t let him fool you,” Ellie tells her. They walk for close to an hour in mostly silence, their ritual of sorts, listening to the sound of the woods around them and Kate’s soft voice going on and on at Sydney, while the dog seemingly pays the closest and most attentive regard possible. The quiet walks, something that calls back to their long journeys all those years ago, a way to remind themselves of where they’d been and what they’d come to. 

“What do ya think?” She breaks the silence after they’ve turned back toward home and the breakfast waiting for them. 

“‘Bout what?” 

“Anything.”

He shakes his head, watching Kate’s short leap over a puddle, sighs long and deep, “Dunno – so many things. Nice walk–” He gives her a wry look out of the corner of his eye. 

They reach the edge of the woods and pause to watch Kate breaking into a run towards the house, Sydney matching her pace. “I think we did good, don’t you?” He knows she means everything, all of it. Lena, three years old, bursts out of the propped open front door of the house, Dina on her heels. “We kinda made it, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, kiddo. We did good.”

-

“I drew you a birthday picture, Daddy,” Clara tells him.

“C’mere, my angel. Let’s see it.” Sitting around the new kitchen table, he pulls her up into his lap, Lena following suit to scramble up as well. 

There are seven figures: you, drawn with long hair that reaches your feet, Kate, Clara, and Lena, respectively, what he assumes is baby Connie drawn as a miniscule figure eight at your feet, something that resembles a tumble-weed more than a dog, poor Syd, and then… someone drawn as a big circle, with an even bigger head on top. “Where’m I, baby?”

“Right there.” She points at the big, round thing, “I made him soft like you, Daddy.” And she pats his belly so affectionately, looking up at him with the biggest smile he’s ever seen, poor Syd – fuck, poor me, he thinks.

“Thanks, baby. I love it.” He squeezes her into his chest, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you bent over the kitchen counter trying to strangle yourself in a kitchen towel to muffle the sounds of your hysterical laughter. 

After scrambled eggs and hot breads with honey and jam, bacon and fruit and coffee, perfect girl that you are, you’d somehow gotten him a tin of beans as a birthday gift, you bring out what the girls call the pancake cake. A large, wide stack of the fluffiest buttermilk pancakes, all lathered in Dina’s whipped cream, and a mountainous heaping of bright red strawberries. He watches you, a thing akin to awe in his eyes as you set the red and white cloud down in front of him, you’d put on a soft blue dress, robins egg blue, with tiny lace cap sleeves that fluttered with your movements and made his stomach dip and swoop and ache to reach out and toy with them. 

“The berries were a gift,” you say with a pleased smile.

“Oh, was it Jeff?” The grocer, Dina asks. “He’s so nice.”

“Who?” Joel frowns.

“Jeff, he works at the market. He–” You pause, a laughing smile playing on your lips. “He wanted me to wish you a happy birthday, baby.” His scowl deepens, your own smile widening. 

As soon as the cake’s set in front of him there’s a chubby little hand sneaking forward to stick grubby fingers into the confection. “Lena,” looking down at her, and the hand is immediately snatched back. “Oh, the candles,” you remember as you’re about to take the seat next to him. 

“Left them in the back room, with the other stuff I brought,” Dina calls as you head to what’s used as a makeshift laundry room at the back of the house. He gets up quickly, a murmured, I’ll help you look, following you and flicking the door shut behind him, the echoing sound of snickers and Ellie’s hooting, mesmerized by the swish and flow of the blue fabric around your legs, and with a bone to pick.

“You’re not allowed to go to the market anymore.”

“Excuse me?”

“Take Ellie or Dina with you.” He pouts and scowls and fumes behind you as you rifle through the bags they’d brought with them.

“Excuse me?” You say again, voice soft and patient, infused with just a tinge of laughter. 

“You want me to say it again?” He steps forward, fingers ghosting through the ends of your long hair, hungry, possessive. “And who gave you permission to talk to other men?” And you snicker, not taking him seriously even a little bit. He wraps his arms around you, pressing you forward to squeeze your tits in his big hands, he’s obsessed, grinding his groin into the soft round of your ass. He drags his hands over the dips and contours of your body, squeezing lush curves as he goes, reaching to wrap around the delicate architecture of your jaw and pull your face around to look at him, taking in the beautiful heart shape of your mouth.

“Joel–” you chastise.

“Five minutes.”

“Behave, they’re gonna–”

“Don’t care. It’s my birthday.” He nuzzles your hair, searching for the small shell of your ear. “Just want a kiss, Birdie bird.”

“It’s never just a kiss with you,” but you turn in his arms anyways, pressing your mouth to his, licking into him before you’ve even fully got the words out. He gropes you, sliding a knee between your thighs to press against your mound and roll you against himself. Cupping the nape of your neck, he eats at you, sliding his tongue along yours. He can hear the desperate sound of his breath rattling in his own chest, and he slides his mouth down the slope of your neck, a soft nip to the tiny pulse there. He groans low in his chest, cock hard and straining against his jeans. “They takin’ them for the night, still?” He asks panting.

“They are,” voice a whimper, fingers twisting in his hair and tugging in frustration. You push him back by the shoulders, laughing gently, as you wiggle out from between his steaming, hard body and the counter. “Come on. Ellie’s gonna give you hell.” He braces his palms against the edge, head hanging trying to will his erection down and catch his breath. Jesus, Birdie. 

“Mama, why did Daddy go in there with you?” Clara’s little voice sounds as he steps back out into the kitchen behind you. 

“He was helping me–”

“They were making you another baby sister,” Ellie supplies unhelpfully, big fucking grin. Joel drags his thumb across his throat, staring daggers. 

“How do they do that?” Kate asks.

Ellie’s mouth opens, readying to worsen the situation, “Ellie–” Joel warns. 

Dina, ever the voice of reason, tells them patiently, “They write a letter to a stork, sweet. And then nine months later, he brings a baby.”

The girls are all quiet for a beat, digesting this newfound, eternally fascinating piece of information, until Kate says, in that solemn and level headed way of hers, hands primly set at the edge of the table, “I think the stork has come to our house too many times.”

Ellie cackles uncontrollably, Bridie’s giggle following suit, until the lot of them are caught in a net of laughter. Joel lets his head fall back, thumbs tucked at his belt, letting a long sigh out. “Jesus.”

“Jesus!” A little voice yells out in imitation. 

-

“What is a stork?”

“A bird,” Ellie provides. 

“Is that why mama is Birdie? Because she makes the baby come?”

“Yeah, baby. That’s why,” You tell Kate, smoothing a gentle hand over the crown of her bright blonde head. Inquisitive little thing. With your other hand you flick Ellie in the back of the head. Mother fucker, you mouth at her affronted look. 

“Father fucker,” she mouths back with a snicker. 

Once the candles are securely in the cake and lit, and Clara’s added her ever helpful, Mama, we need one thousand more candles, Daddy is so old, he nudges his head at you. “Come be a good girl, and sit on my lap,” he says quietly. You perch on the strong expanse of his thigh, one arm around the back of his neck, the other coming to entwine with the fingers of his hand at your waist, twisting the gold band of his ring round and round his finger. 

The girls sing Happy Birthday, Daddy, at the top of their lungs, and you watch him watch them, the clenching of his jaw, those fine little muscles that wrap around his mandible, fluttering as he grinds his back molars together, the ripple of his throat as he swallows again and again. The corners of his eyes go a little wet, tears lining the edges of those gorgeous hazel eyes as he stares into the flames of his birthday candles while the girls sing to him – off key, off harmony, so full of love. Clara clambers up onto his other knee midway through, plants herself on the endlessly strong surface of her father’s thigh, the safest place in the whole world. “Happy birthday, Daddy. I love you,” she whispers up at him, laying her little head on his shoulder, gazing at him with those same hazel green eyes that reflect his own image back at him, remind him of another little girl he’ll never stop missing, and he brings his hand up to cradle the back of her skull in his large palm, presses his lips to her forehead, love you so much, baby girl, whispered into her skin. Your first baby. His eyes fill further, and they flutter closed, trying to contain all that you know he’s feeling right now. Your hand on the back of his neck strokes softly at the overly long curls, soft and thick. You press your thumb into the notch of his skull, anchor yourself there, I’m here, I’m here, we are here together, look at all we have, and he turns to look at you, his cheek resting on your daughter's head. “Thank you,” he says, and you know that he means for all of it. 

Cheering squeals, laughter, and the padding rush of little feet over the floorboards as the rest of them start to run around the table, shrieking fills the air as they scramble over him, trying to climb up as well. He buries his face in your hair and shudders as he presses a tiny kiss to the soft lobe of your ear. Look at all we have. The whole world right here at our kitchen table. 

-

The birthday of a perfectly happy man is spent like this: a long breakfast with the woman of his dreams and all his daughters surrounding, a lazy afternoon, trying to doze on the deep, lumpy couch, intermittently interrupted by a knobby knee and a sharp little elbow to the gut or thigh, lunch and peach cream popsicles on the porch, watching the clouds, searching for shapes like treasures in the deep blue sky. 

He thinks of Sarah, as he lays there surrounded by her sisters. The sweet shape of her face, the dove green of her eyes surrounded by the thickest, darkest lashes he’s still ever seen to this day, Lena’s eyes are the exact same shade, the texture of her curly hair beneath his palm. Her memory is faded now, after so long, but he works it like a muscle in his mind every day, a staunch refusal to ever let her go. And no matter how far away he moves from that day, he still asks himself sometimes: How does one grapple with the loss of something that big, something that essential? He’s lived with a hole in his heart in the shape of a little girl for so long, decades, but now, with all of this surrounding him, he also has so many things that leave his heart so full he’s almost bursting with it. The two opposing feelings often leave him feeling bloated and without space within himself, and yet, he always finds another nook or cranny for more. Even when it’s left him tired, when his remembered past hangs over his head so that he feels, sometimes, like his edges are disjointed, not glued together symmetrically, you’re there to put him back to rights. 

And the memory will always be painful, it will never not hurt. It’ll never not be agony. But it’s easier now, to recall all the wonderful, all the good. Sometimes, he almost feels afraid of the intensity of this happiness, but in those moments, when that old fear returns you’re able to recognize even that, like everything else in his heart you know as well as your own, and you take him into your arms, reminding him that his whole life is right here in this house now, that you’ve saved him. 

“Look at the clouds, Daddy. There’s shapes.” 

Sprawled in the lush grass in front of the house, the three girls surrounding him. He presses a kiss to Lena’s soft curls, “Look at that one,” he says, “What d'ya see there?” 

“A bunny,” Kate says with all the self assurance of knowing she’s the eldest sister, and thus, the wisest. 

“A bunny? You sure?”

“Yes, Daddy. Don’t you see it?” Clara interjects. “He has big ears and funny whiskers just like yours.” Raucous giggles and screeches after that as they jump over and across him, with claims that he needs reminding how a bunny hops and leaps.  

Eventually, when they settle, Birdie brings out more cake, leaves the four of you to sit in a huddle criss-cross-apple-sauce and discuss the woes of kindergarten at the school house in town. 

“Mama told me I’m not allowed to bite,” Clara gives an exasperated huff, abandoning her cake to melt into the grass and crawl into his lap. “She bites a lot,” Kate adds. Irritated, pushing unruly curls out of her strawberry red face, “But– but I don’t like that Mama said that to me, Daddy,” she continues, looking at him very seriously, “I like to bite so much,” followed by the most conniving smile he’s ever seen, besides Ellie’s, blooming proudly across her angel sweet face. He’s forced to swallow his laugh and explain the merits of listening to her mother, something they must all do. When he turns back to look at Lena, she’s licking the spilled whipped cream out of the grass. They have to go inside for baths after that. 

At Kate’s behest, they have spaghetti and meatballs for dinner that night. Tommy, Maria and their son joining the family alongside Nancy, so that the table’s chock full of the people who care about him, all coming together to celebrate one more year of Joel’s life. By the end of the meal, he has all three girls perched on his lap, eating spaghetti off of his plate because, Daddy, it just tastes so much better from yours, obviously. He’s never been able to say no to them, and he isn’t about to start tonight, and you roll your eyes, but you also look at him with that gleam that tells him that if he asked you for another baby tonight, you’d probably not say no. They eat his food and yank on his hair and stab him with pointy sharp elbows in the ribs repeatedly, at one point someone sticks their finger up his nose, pulling his nostrils apart to look inside. 

“Daddy, why do you have so many hairs all over?”

“It’s so dark and scary in there, Daddy.”

Clara nods so fast her curls bounce up and down around her head, “I feel scared when I look up there,” green eyes wide. 

“What are they for, Daddy?”

Questions volleyed at him so fast he doesn’t have a chance to answer a single one of them. “If you eat spaghetti, will your boogers taste like spaghetti after?” Ellie, ever brilliant and helpful, suggests they try some to verify the theory.

“What is verify?” One asks.

“And what is seery?” Another calls. Birdie’s red in the face with laughter, and Joel feels very tired and very old and very ready to take his wife to bed. 

“A theory is when you think about something,” Tommy says, and gives him that look he’s wont to throw his way when he’s about to make fun of Joel for not being able to keep it in his pants and stop procreating. 

“And verify is to make sure,” Joel tells them.

“What is to make sure?”

“To know something.”

Kate nods solemnly, while Clara pauses, and then says, “I don’t think I know anything.” That worried sort of look only a five year old can get when an idea is just too big, crossing her little face.

Chuckles sound around the table, “That’s alright, sweetheart. Don’t you worry about it.”

-

As they say good night, the girls packed and ready to spend the night at Tommy and Maria’s, Ellie and Dina taking baby Connie, Ellie pokes and prods at you. 

“Would you quit, you little shit.”

“Dinner was nice, step mommy,” giving you a smarmy little smirk. 

“You know, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh?”

“It’s serious.” 

She cocks an eyebrow at you, “Spit it.”

“Well, I was wondering if you’re going through something right now? If you’re okay?”

“What? What do you mean?” Face twisted in confusion. 

You snicker, pulling on the ends of her recently shorn hair, “Then what’s up with the new fuck ass little bob you’ve got going on?” She slaps you away, swatting at your arms, reaching down to get at your thighs too. 

“Fuck you, mother fucker,” she laughs, trying to yank on your hair too. 

“Stop it. You have to respect me. I’m your step mother, remember?” 

“You’re so annoying.” You hear Joel call at the two of you to knock it off, but goes entirely ignored. 

“Poor Dina’s gotta look at this mess. Let her know if she ever needs to get away from it, she can come stay here any time she likes.” 

“I hate you,” she laughs, and you pull her in for a tight hug, another pinch to your side before she hugs you back. 

“Tough shit, I love you.” She squeezes you tight, grumbles a little before returning the sentiment. 

“Thank you,” she whispers into your shoulder, “For making him so fuckin’ happy.” You squeeze her tight as you can before she shoves you away, pretending not to sniffle and rolling her eyes at you. “Now stop being so fucking weird and sappy, and say good night to your football team.” 

-

“Blood Meridian again?” You ask him from where you’re standing at the kitchen island, snipping the ends of the flowers Nancy had brought with her and arranging them in a vase. “How many times’ve you read that?” He’s sitting on the sofa, facing you, reading glasses sitting crooked and bent on his nose from where someone’s little foot had crushed the frames. You watch the flicker of his gaze as he peeks at the page number, and then snaps the book shut. He never uses a bookmark, always just remembers. 

“Dunno–” big sigh, long stretch, “More than I can count now, I suppose.” He settles back into the couch, pushing his hips forward to slouch deep, tired, spreading his thighs wide, tempting you. You finish with the flowers, walking the vase to take center stage on the new table. At the far end of the table, right by your spot, he’s carved a tiny little sparrow into the surface of the oak. The etching so fine, so delicate, in comparison to the sight of him, big and brusque. It would be almost unbelievable to someone who didn’t know him as you do, who didn’t know the violence he’d endured to make him so gentle, someone who hadn’t watched him pull your newborn daughters from your own body, who hadn’t witnessed the incredible sight of him cradling those tiny little babies in his infinitely strong arms. You turn back to look at him over the hill of your shoulder, taking in the sight of him watching you, appraising your form. The slow rove of his eyes starting at your bare feet, moving up your legs as if his gaze was a physical manifestation of his hands on your skin, over the swell of your bottom, the slope of your spine, the fine crest of your shoulder, landing on your face. You can see his eyes moving over the planes of you, your chin, your mouth, cheeks, your eyes. He lands there, stays. You know he’ll be hard beneath his jeans when you go over to him. 

“C’mere – come sit on me,” voice soft and sultry. 

“Sit on you?”

“Mhmm, come tell me how much you love me.” He pats his thigh, and you move towards him slowly, shaking your head at him. 

“Needy.” You reach him, hitching your knee over his lap to straddle him, and he pulls you close and tight against his warm, wide chest.

“So needy.” He nuzzles into the fine tendrils of hair over your forehead, his breath hot and soft on your skin. “Need ya so much, Birdie.” A soft kiss to your temple, another to the flared end of your eyebrow, and you squirm on his lap, hot and restless and needy also, a fine thrumming ache flaring throughout the various pressure points in your body. Your throat, the inner curves of your elbows, the backs of your knees, deep in the pit of your belly. You feel weak and trembling, and he fills his hand with your hair, bringing it to his face and rubbing the soft curls against his cheek. “It’s time I take you to bed, isn’t it?” You hum against his collarbone, taking in the scent of his skin, fresh and clove-like, cedar sap and sage and Joel, you nod slowly against him. 

He runs a bath for the two of you, filling the deep clawfoot tub in the master bathroom. He’d outfitted the house from the get-go with the same system for electricity and water that Jackson ran on. And he pulls your clothes from you slowly, running rough, caressing hands over the sensitive slopes of your curves, gentle pinches and squeezes to the places he likes most which is all of you. When the two of you sink into the tub, he sits between your legs, wide back leaning back on your chest so that you can run your hands along the strong breadth of him. You taste the water off his skin and listen to the sound of him rumble and purr like some sort of overgrown wolf beneath your touch. 

“Did Clara tell you what happened at school yesterday?”

“Said you told her no more biting.”

“Did you tell you she punched some poor boy?”

“She did what?” He tenses, long fingers wrapping tightly around the circumference of your ankle in his lap.

“She called one of the boys in her class, and I quote, a little fucker, and then socked him in the nose.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Clara,” he sighs, laying his head back on your shoulder. “Why in the hell did she do that?”

“She’s your daughter.”

He hums as if he can’t bring himself to disagree with the reasoning. “Little fucker probably deserved it.”

“You’re not supposed to call children fuckers, Joel.” He grunts. “She also told him that her dad was going to beat up his dad.”

“Oh my God. I’m too old for this shit.”

“They’re heathens because of you. I hope you know this.”

“They ain’t heathens. They’re perfect.”

“You weren’t saying that last week when they painted your face blue.”

“Jesus, you’re right. Thought it was never comin’ off.” You snort, rolling your eyes at him, but hugging him closer. The best father anyone could ever want for their children, surely. “Gotta teach her how to throw a good punch,” he adds to himself. 

You wash each other’s hair after that, taking turns lathering each other up, rinsing out the suds, and when he’s finished with you, he carries you to bed. Lays you out like his own personal feast and tastes you everywhere. The pads of your water-wrinkled toes, the backs of your knees, the crest of each hip bone, cruelly bypassing the place you need him most. Dragging his mouth over your stomach, tongue savoring the silvery streaks left behind by the growth of your daughters inside of you, over your nipples, dark and swollen. His mouth rests at the notch of your throat lightly, and then, whispered against the moist spot he’d made with his tongue, “You’re the only dream I’ve ever had. You know that?” And you tell him that you do, you do know, your husband who is, in his own right, like a dream figure. 

Finally, taking pity on you, he slides down between your thighs, making room for the incredible breadth of his shoulders, and gently as possible spreads you apart with his thumbs, takes in the sight of your embarrassingly slick, untouched cunt. He blows a slow stream of cool air over your pulsing clit, and bends his head to lightly drag his tongue over the swollen bundle. And you’re going to cry, real, desperate tears. “Joel, please, don’t be mean.” But he’s never been very good at that.

“Oh, I know,” he tuts, “My poor baby. Been waitin’ all day haven’t you?” He’d purposely not made you come all day. This had been his plan all along, you know it. Another, light as air slip of his tongue, his mouth, sliding down to your leaking opening, mouthing against it, barely there. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the whole world, little bird. You know that?” And he licks your clit for real this time, the broad, flat of it pressing against you in one long, slow swipe. You can’t answer, ragged moan clawing up your throat. You reach for his dark head bent to your sex, one small foot propped against his thick shoulder to anchor yourself as he starts to eat you. Sucking hard and fast on your poor, throbbing clit, moving down to spear the strong muscle of his tongue into your pussy. You want more, you want his cock, you want it, you want it, you want it. He sucks the orgasm out of you, lapping and kissing at your cunt until you’re shuddering and shivering, clenching around that terrible, painful emptiness, leaking onto his tongue, and then surging up quickly. Massive fist around his cock, he presses the drooling head at your clit, teases you there slowly, watches the heave of your breasts as you struggle for breath. You bring your knees up, spread wider, inviting him in, and he notches the head slowly, giving you nothing more than the flared crown. He pauses there, thrusting shallowly, watching your swollen, red pussy swallow him, and head catching on the blushed rim, he spits, rubbing the flat of his fingers over the crest of your sex, the unsheathed length of his cock, and then presses in, in, in, in, all the way. You give a warbled whimper, trying to twist away, clawing at the sheets. You’ll never be used to it, never not enjoy the twinge of hurt when he gives you the whole thing. “Fuckin’ love it when you sing for me, little bird,” he moans. And he doesn’t give you a chance, doesn’t give you a second, he never does, setting a hard and brutal pace, riding your cunt like he owns it, because he does. 

He wraps his hand around the round of your breast, squeezing, but still careful of how sensitive you are, thumb flicking at the tender nipple, and you spread your legs wider, one hand hooking beneath the sweaty back of your knee to pull yourself open, your other hand reaching down to cup the swinging weight of his balls as he thrusts up into you. He bares his teeth at you, wide palm landing with a little snapping slap low on your pelvis to press down, feel himself from the outside as you squeeze his balls. He shakes his head at you, fire in his eyes, “You’re gonna end up pregnant again, Birdie,” voice chastising, a little like a threat.

You close your eyes, back arching to take him deeper, don’t care, you want to say. “N– no, noooo, can’t” you pant instead, “Can’t get pregnant – breastfeeding.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said last time, little girl.” He lets himself fall forward, the bone of his pelvis grinding against your clit, and your cunt goes tight and so, so fucking wet, throbbing and fluttering around him, trying to suck him deeper, working around the hard invasion as you start to come. His sweaty, steaming head falls to your breast, mouthing wetly, fucking you through it, just like that, he murmurs, my perfect girl. 

“Don’t– Don’t come in my pussy then.”

“No?” He slows his thrusts once he’s felt the trembling of your walls around him settle, lets his hips seesaw in and out slow and languorous, long provoking strokes. “Should I fill that sweet ass instead?” And despite the fierce blush that washes along the length of your body, you nod shyly at him, running your hands down his belly. The fact that he still possesses the ability to drive you to shyness after all this– “Say it, baby. I gotta hear it.” You flush impossibly deeper, little toes curling in humiliated excitement and lust.

“Please, daddy, please– I want it in my ass.” He pulls out suddenly, the lewd wet squelch of your cunt closing hungry around nothing. He spreads his fingers over the length of your sex, slick, gleaming cock, flushed so red it’s almost purple, veins pulsing along the length. “Gorgeous thing,” he murmurs as he starts to pet at your ass gently, thumb swiping, giving you light pressure, and then pushing in slowly, slowly. Your mouth falls open, gasping, eyes wide and wet and probably, definitely, a little pleading. “Lemme in, Birdie. Let me have this sweet little hole.” You nod, a marionette caught on his string, hips starting to hitch and follow the thrust of his invading thumb. “I’m gonna fill it with my come, and then watch it drip out of you. That what you want, baby?” Yes, yes. He pulls his thumb from you, slides his slick hand over your leaking sex again, and then fists his cock, the dull pressure of the wide head at your back entrance, pushing in slowly, making you feel the stretch and burn of it. Your fingers claw and scrape against his chest and abdomen, trying to pull him towards you, push him away, legs shifting restlessly at his sides until he’s buried to the hilt, heavy sac pressed against the curve of your bottom. Sweat slides in steaming rivulets down his temples, his neck, and a bright red flush moves across his chest and up his thick neck. You watch a violent shudder jerk through him, lashes fluttering closed, and then screwing shut tightly as he tries to control the rush of his oncoming orgasm. He runs his hands up your stomach, the dips of your waist and hips, wrapping around your breasts. “You’re doing so well, my little love.” He opens his eyes to take you in, pulls his hips back, and then pushes in again. “Taking my fat cock in this tiny hole. Look how messy and wet your greedy cunt is. You want me to fuck you here too?” He pulls your lips apart, wide, thrums at your swollen clit, and then starts to press a single finger slowly into your pussy. And oh, it’s too much, it’s too much, stretched and stuffed so full of him everywhere, the play of his fingers also on your clit, he starts to fuck your ass in hard, jolting thrusts, growling your name through clenched teeth. 

“Look at it,” he spits, “Look at where I’m fucking you open. Look at how you’re all fucking mine.” Your heart beating out of your chest, insides twisting and throbbing, you take in the sight of your blushed sex stretched to obscenity around him, his soaking fingers, two of them now, pressing slowly in and out of your cunt as he slams into your ass. You let your head fall back, “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come – oh God.” You cross your arms over your face to hide the sight of your overwhelmed tears, and he pulls his fingers out to slap the top of your cunt in a single stinging swat that you feel reverberate in the place he’s impaling you with his cock. “Nuh uh, you let me look at that gorgeous face when you come all over me.”

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t – it’s too much. 

He doesn’t give you a choice. There’s never been much of that where he’s concerned. Everything below your navel goes painfully tight, white light streaking across your eyes as you twist and writhe beneath him, and he follows suit, starts to fill you in thick pulses, the heat of his spend coating your insides with a savage snarl of your name, the breath nearly knocked out of you with the intensity of your shared orgasm. He lets his weight fall over you, pressing you into the bed, massive body shivering and jerking, buried deep inside of you, and after the last spit of his cock, he pulls from you slowly, moaning softly and rolls the both of you over. Draping your listless form over his chest, arranging your limbs how he pleases. You shiver and feel the sweat cool along the slope of your spine, enjoy the tickle of your lashes catching in the coarse hair of his chest. You feel him play with the long tresses of your hair, draping them over his chest and shoulders, rubbing the smell of you against himself. Picking up the hand curled over his shoulder, he absently draws the backs of your fingers against the edge of his jaw and his ear, kissing and sucking on the soft tips. 

“Tell me you love me,” you tell him.

“I love you, Birdie.”

Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie.

“Tell me that you’ll always love me.”

“I’ll always love you. For the rest of my life, as long as I live, I’ll love you.”

-

Nights later, after the excitement of celebration has died down, and the family’s settled back into peaceful routine, you think about when you’d first realized you were pregnant with Clara, and how you’d worried the news would disturb the happiness and peace he’d fought so hard to find for so many years, terrified that in some way, you’d force him into a situation he didn’t want, wasn’t prepared for. Now, looking across your large bed, two dark, curly heads, another bright, blonde as a star, separating the two of you while he sleeps deep and peacefully, Connie in her crib at your side, you are once again, like so many other times, hit with the full appreciation for the miracle this family is, how wrong you were to ever worry about it being anything but. 

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#FoG fic #Joel miller #joel miller smut #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #joel miller imagine #joel miller x original character #Joel Miller x ofc #joel miller x you

[wildemaven]

fall apart, again : chapter four | joel miller

pairing: joel miller x ofc!genevieve word count: 3156 content warning: 18+ blog; heavy angst, child loss, talk of death, talking about Sarah, heavy emotions, grief, fluff, vague talk about being with other people while married (but neither know the other was alive/nocheating), reader has a name but has zero descriptive features, reader is wearing some of Joel's clothes, no age given but is within a couple of years of Joel, if l've missed anything please let me know notes: oh look what I managed to whip up! Joel was on the brain and I was thinking of these two so I just let things flow- needed a break from Dave I guess. Big thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for her continued support and help as I worked through this— love you!! This writer supports Palestine and does not share or support the views of tlou creator. series masterlist | previous | next

Contentment blooms somewhere deep within you. It fills in every fractured part of you that’s been lost and forgotten for so long. It brings a sense of peace, a feeling that you’ve searched for through bleak and uncertain times.

There’s a twinge of guilt that starts to prick at you, shame at how quickly familiarity has settled in. Less than 24 hours ago, your life had shattered on that hillside. Leaving you broken and left to figure out how to move forward with little hope of ever finding placidity of any sort. Only to seemingly be put back together after stepping foot into this new place, reacquainted with your old life. For it to be ripped apart again. 

You decide to focus on the stillness that bleeds through the morning air. Focus on how sleep came with ease as you settled into bed, far easier than it should have— has been for years. Focus on the way the sunlight catches the tiny dust particles that have been floating in front of the bedroom window for the last hour, each one on its own lofty path. Focus on the warmth that radiates from Joel as he still sleeps soundly next to you. His body instinctively found yours in the night— after all this time, he still fit perfectly against you. 

Joel. Your Joel. Alive and here with you. 

Your mind tries to replay every detail that has led you to this conclusion, replaying that reunion over and over. A happenstance of pure luck that you’re here, laying in the arms of your husband. 

A second chance? But why? Even as you will yourself to revel in the beauty of reconnecting with Joel, your heart still fights to grieve— Steve… Sarah. 

“Whatcha dream about?” A question you haven’t heard in two decades, Joel’s voice low and laced with sleep as his lips brush over that little spot behind your ear. 

It transports you back to a time where mornings together were sacred and unhurried. The sun barely pours through the opening in the curtains, still enough darkness to remain entangled and unbothered by the day's menacing agenda. Joel’s warm body spooning you from behind, his leg anchored between yours, a heavy arm securing you to him. 

Whatcha dream about? Was his good morning-love you-how did you sleep? He’d listen intently as you spoke about the wild imagery that filled your mind through the night. Whether it was a silly little blip of a dream or some drawn out story that had you dissecting its meaning far longer than your mornings allowed, Joel was fully invested. Humming along as he absorbed the details, only interrupting in the form of feather light kisses he strategically placed on the little spot behind your ear, the crook of your neck and slope of your shoulder. 

In turn, you always asked him the same. What dreams graced Joel Miller's brilliant mind? And he always responded the same, I don’t need to dream when I have you. 

“About that one summer, I think Sarah was 8, maybe 9. We decided to have that barbecue, and invited all the neighbors over.” Joel’s nose gently slides over your ear, his forehead resting against the side of your head. “Sarah was in heaven with that slip n slide she begged us to get once the heat finally hit. We had to beg all the kids to take a break so we could fill them up with hotdogs and chips— then they were right back at it again. I remember a few of them cried when their parents told them it was time to leave, but Sarah being so sweet told them they could come back again the following weekend.” 

Joel’s arm tightens around you as you talk, soaking in the memory he so vividly remembers. Sitting together on the blanket you had laid out on the lawn, tucked into his side as you both sipped on ice tea while you watched Sarah and the remaining few neighborhood kids, hyped up on soda and popsicles, splashing down the plastic water slide until the sun finally dipped below the back fencing. 

“That was the same weekend Tommy thought he was invincible. Made it a whole two slides before he was hollerin’ like a baby and I was drivin’ his dumbass to the urgent care.” You can feel Joel grinning as he recalls his own recollection of that day, little puffs of air hitting your neck followed by a singular kiss— his lips hesitate briefly, lingering just enough to not make you uneasy, but enough to convey the love he still holds for you. 

“Yeah— I can’t remember if it was the blonde or the redhead he was trying to impress that time. He got her number either way,” you add on. Joel’s light hearted laugh doesn’t go unnoticed, you smile at the sound as a single tear plunges into existence, rolling down your cheek and falling to the cotton pillowcase below. 

Tommy. 

“Tommy—“ You gasp, your stomach drops at the notion of Joel losing his brother. Turning in his arms so you're facing him, Joel’s eyes fluttering open at the sensation of you lightly brushing over his patches of grey whiskers . “Tommy. I— he’s…”

“He’s alive.” Joel’s expression is soft as he says it, his heavy lids lifting to take all of you in, grateful that this wasn’t some ruthless dream his mind was torturing him with. 

“What— Tommy’s alive? Where is he?”

“Here. He’s kind of in charge— always wanted make a name for himself somehow. Him and Maria actually put this whole place together.” His heart nearly gives out seeing your face light up. 

Joel takes advantage of the proximity, really taking in every detail of you in this morning light. He’s not surprised how even as the world shifted into darkness, you still managed to emerge into this season of life so gracefully. Noting how so much of you has changed, in gradual ways he wishes he could have witnessed first hand, but you’re still you— even more beautiful than he remembered. 

“Maria— She’s Tommy’s wife?” You ask, softly laughing as your mind begins to connect the dots to when she had mentioned you would be staying in her brother in law's house and elated Tommy had found himself such a strong woman to settle down with. 

“Yeah. Maria invited us over for dinner— whenever you feel up to it.

“Mmhmm. Yeah, I’d like that.”

You watch your fingers trace over Joel’s golden skin, still soft but slightly matured with age. Their curiosity produces tiny goosebumps as you reacquaint yourself with each tiny freckle and ridges of his chest. 

Joel’s own fingers dance over the hem of the shirt you're wearing. There’s hesitation at first, bloodshed and sacrifice embedded into every creased line, every rigid callus he’s collected. The weight of them is too rough and repulsive to share with you. But you don’t notice the way they’re marked with flaws gained through surviving and enduring. His progress becomes less reluctant as he soothes over the sliver of exposed skin on your hip, resisting his own temptation actively burning through him. 

“Did you and Tommy come here together?” 

“We went to find you, but the hospital was empty by the time we got there— just assumed, you not bein’ there meant that you were…” Dead. “We left Texas, eventually made our way up north to the Boston QZ— taken in by Tess and her crew— had us smuggling. Tommy being Tommy, was fed up with it, you know how he gets. So he left, joined the Fireflies before finding Maria and settling here.”

It’s condensed. Leaving out how the obscure nature of this world had hardened him into a depleted shell of a man. He knows it will eat away at him, keeping it from you. Though for the time being, it’s a burden he’s willing to carry. 

“We kept in touch for some years after through the radio but then he stopped contactin’ me. Tess n’ I decide to go find him— how we got the girl.” 

“Ellie?” You pull your head back and settle onto your pillow, watching as Joel’s face morphs through a multitude of emotions as he speaks. 

“Yeah, Ellie. After Tess— she was bit— I had to save who I could and keep movin’. We finally made it here, Ellie and I. She’s a spitfire that girl. I was such an asshole to her too, but she never gave up on me— think she saved me more than she realizes.” 

“Ellie mentioned her yesterday, Tess. You two were— partners?” 

“We— she and I were— we—“ Joel finds it hard at this moment to put an exact label on what they were, especially when explaining it to you, his wife.

It’s evident Joel harbors the same guilt as you. The two of you navigating a new life apart, your hearts seeking refuge in this destroyed world. You can see it, the shame slowly stitching its way into Joel’s features. How it pains him to verbalize it to you. To admit to something that in a different setting, your old life with him, would rip you apart.  

“Joel, it’s fine— whatever you both meant to each other. We were apart, not knowing the other was alive. You don’t have to explain anything to me.” You pause briefly. You let your own words sink in. Steve still heavily in your peripheral thoughts. 

This is your chance to start over, to be happy— do that for me?

Steve’s last moments with you, a premonition of sorts. This is your starting over. Here. Back together with Joel. A man you’ve held in your heart during the darkest of times for so long. 

“There was— I wasn’t alone either.” Joel's quiet but lends you his full attention, giving you the impression you don’t need to explain or justify anything either. “He was bit right before we got here.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

There’s a lull in the conversation. The room is quiet as you both bask in each other’s touch. The inevitable of what’s been left unsaid hanging over you both like an ominous cloud of dread. Joel is already preparing himself for what you’re expecting to hear. Your heart prepares itself for the inevitable of what you want to know. 

You swallow the lump that’s settled in your throat. “Was she here— did Sarah come here with you?” Your fingers stilling over a familiar scar on his shoulder that you’ve traced over a hundred times in the past. 

“Eve— we don’t have to talk about this today.” Not really sure if it’s for your benefit or his— perhaps both. 

“Joel— please.” Your voice cracks ever so slightly, lifting your gaze to his, tears already burning your lash line. 

He falters. Considering the caliber at which you have lost already, his heart begins to construct walls. Solid and impervious to the reality that’s haunted him for so long. Locking it away as he always does, suppressing the pain over and over. But as you look at him with your eyes glossed over, ignoring the subject isn’t an option anymore. Not with you. Not with the woman who gave him his purpose, his life— his babygirl. 

“No. She didn’t.” He releases a heavy sigh. “She— it was the first night of the outbreak—“ His voice trails off when he sees you’ve figured out the rest, nodding as your own tears silently overflow. 

Joel’s breath hitches. Reliving the incident through your eyes has what is left of his heart shattering against his chest.

Fail her. Again and again. 

You feel it in your bones. A hurt so deep it feels unbearable. Beyond any capacity you think you can handle. It splinters and forks out, penetrating every layer of your being. 

Joel wraps his arm around you, seeking a closeness he’s longed for in your arms. 

You cling to him desperately. Trembling as your hearts fuse together, reinforcing a love that’s managed to withstand lost time. Picking up where you both left off— 21 years ago. 

*

It’s some hours later. Tears dried and breathing settled. The heat radiating from the window warms the bedroom a few degrees above the morning chill. 

Shuffling coming from downstairs wakes Joel. Pots and pans clanging about, alerts Joel that Ellie’s grudge against him was short lived, for now at least, especially since it seems as though hunger has struck. He knows he’ll have to face her sooner than later, snuff out any remaining teenage rage still actively smoldering.

A glimmer of light refracts off the window pane, collecting in the tiny diamond nestled in the center of the ring on your left hand that’s resting on his chest. 

It draws him in. Like a moth to a lit flame, mesmerized by the sight, needing to consume its beauty wholly. His fingers fidget with the dainty gold band, again struck by how you still felt compelled to hold true to the vows you both shared, evident in the way you're still wearing it. 

Joel’s contemplation of the ring pulls you from the edge of sleep. The stammering of his heart, wavering somewhere between a nervousness or exultant leveled rhythm, is the first sound you audibly recognize as your eyes take in the rest of the room. 

“You’re still wearing it.” Joel's voice rumbles through his rib cage against the walls of his chest. 

“Hmm?” Your sleep addled mind absorbing and deciphering to its best ability. 

He lifts your hand, thumb running over your most treasured possession. Your fingers splay out above where you both still lay in Joel’s bed, cotton sheets kicked away, neither of you willing to let go of the other. 

“Yeah— kept me going when I didn’t have any reason to.” 

The watch still wrapped around his wrist doesn’t go unnoticed. Its face no longer resembles the pristine condition it once had. The arms frozen in place. A time forever displayed as such. The cause of its destruction is not of importance right now— another time. 

“Wait— I have something.” It’s all you say before you extract yourself from Joel’s arms. “My bag.”

Joel sits up alongside you, pointing to the corner of the room. Your tattered leather bag slumped on the floor next to the wooden dresser. 

Your tired legs carry you to your belongings on the other side of the room. The floorboards cool beneath your feet during the short distance it takes to grab the bag and haul it back to the bed where Joel rests propped against the headboard. The mattress dips as you climb back in, reclaiming the space next to him. 

Joel watches as you sift through the opening, in search of something hidden within the bag’s contents, in a spot only known to you. 

A small smile breaks across your face the second your fingers clasp around the small item. 

“I made it back to the house after some time— had to see if I could find you. It was sitting in its usual spot in our bedroom. It’s been with me ever since.”

Your fingers slowly unfurl, revealing a simple gold band resting in your palm. “I believe this belongs to you.” 

Everything stills as you watch Joel take in the sight of his wedding. Find it hard to discern what he’s feeling at this moment. His relaxed features now clouded by sadness and confusion, causing you to second guess your intentions for wanting him to have it back at this time. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want it right now— or ever. I know this is all still a lot to take in for both of us. So I understand if you don’t. I just—“ 

“No— No, Eve. I do. I definitely do want it.”

It fits back where it was intended to be with ease. The metal intense the second it makes contact with your skin, Joel’s large hands cradling your face as he delivers a gentle kiss of gratitude to you. 

“Thank you. For keeping it safe for me.” He says softly against your smile. “Forever mine.”

“Forever yours.”

*

Joel’s moving about, pulling clothes from over stuffed drawers, dressing himself for the day. You're occupied on the edge of the bed, unpacking the remaining items from your bag in preparation to find permanence in this space Joel calls home. He’d mentioned the idea of you living here with him, giving you the option of taking his room for yourself while he camped out in the living room, which you turned down immediately. You had just gotten him back, and you wanted it to stay that way. So you agreed to stay permanently in his room, under the condition that he would be in it too. 

The bed shifts when Joel sits next to you, groaning as he leans down to pull on and lace up his scuffed work boots. 

“What all you got in there?” Joel’s focus oscillates between you and his hands working at his worn laces, watching you empty 21 years worth of life that’s been crammed into the small space. 

“Pad of paper, a few books, some maps, some first aid equipment, a change of clothes that desperately needs to be cleaned.” He listens to you intently, the bag deflating as you pull each item, inspecting it then strategically organizing them on the bed for the time being, glancing over when you hear Joel chuckling as you rattle off one thing after the next. “Some other random things I’ve collected over the years.”

Everything accounted for, you toss your bag to the side. It hits the floor with a muffled thud in front of Joel’s boots. You miss the small folded paper that slips onto the patterned rug that lays beneath the bed. 

“This somethin’ of importance?” Joel asks, hold the paper between two fingers. 

“Not sure. Might just be some trash.” Taking it from him, promptly unfolding it for further consideration. 

It’s a letter. Not one of your own, although it’s directly addressed to you. Your eyes flit over every word. Then once more. And then again. Picking up on key words each read through. 

Eve… Genevieve… Jackson… Radio… Joel… Bit… I’ll be waiting for your letter… I love you… 

“What is it?” Joel’s hand settles on your thigh, your silence slowly becoming worrisome as you stare at the paper, its edges crinkled in your grip. 

“Joel— what’s your job here?” Your voice cracks in the air. 

“Patrol mainly. Took over the radio sometime ago. Help out here and there— wherever I can. Why?” His thumb strokes over your leg, a subtle mixture of coaxing and grounding, equally preparing himself for whatever it is that you’ve just happened upon. 

Each droplet hits the paper with a sharp plunk. 

Plunk. Plunk. Plunk. 

The words blurring, squeezing your eyes shut tightly, releasing the tears all at once. 

Plunk. Plunk. Plunk. 

“Eve— what is it?”

“You helped guide Steve and I here—“

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x original character #joel miller x ofc #pedro pascal #fall apart again series #Joel x Genevieve #wildemaven writes #pedrostories #tlou au

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

i’ve got you

plum, chapter nineteen 

warnings: Joel Miller x reader, smut, MILD SPOILERS for the last of us (both games and the hbo series), timeline wise this is set in between the first and second game (so when they live in Jackson), age gap (20 years), rape recovery, ptsd, kissing, pussyjob, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, pull out method, dirty talk, love confession

word count: 1301

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“Hey, are you okay?” Joel asked as he felt your body suddenly stiffen up in his lap. 

“I-…” you exhaled slowly, focusing your jittery vision on his warm eyes, “this just got very real all of a sudden…”

“Yeah…” his wide palm moved gently over your bare back, his respectful gaze staying on your face and not drifting down to soak up the distracting vision of your collective nude forms moulded against each other, “do you wanna stop?”

“No,” you shook your head lightly. 

“Do you wanna do something else? Because you know I’m fine, we don’t have to do this.”

“No, I really really want to, I just-…” your eyes drifted down to stare at his shoulder while you spoke sincerely, “I wanna stay here with you and not have my mind wander off and get confused…”

“I want you to stay here too, more than anything,” his fingers tangled themselves in your hair, bringing your eyes back up to meet his, “what can I do? What can I do to help?”

“I don’t know…” you offered him a shy shrug, “I guess you could try and remind me? Help keep me focused on this, on you…”

“Okay,” he agreed softly, his thumb swiping over your flushed cheek, “well you’re right here with me, there is no one else, just you and me, plum.” 

“Yeah,” you exhaled, your shoulders relaxing under his comforting touch. 

“And you know that I’ve got you, right? No matter what, no matter how, I’ve got you.”

Feeling a soft smile warm up your face, you echoed, “you’ve got me,” and absentmindedly rolled your hips once more against his own, rubbing your leaking cunt all over the underside of his length as it stood proud. 

Leaning in to steal a chased kiss, you sneaked your hand down between your forms and ghosted your fingers over his girth. Joel sucked in a breath as you slowly gained more confidence, dancing your fingertips over his slick stained dick. 

With a hand rooted on his chest as an anchor, you needily began to buck your hips against him, your weeping folds enveloping his cock as you rocked against him.  

“Fuck,” Joel hissed in pleasure, his nose bumping lightly against your own as he commented on the slick sounds accompanying every desperate rock, “you’re so wet.”

Brows knitted together you let your head drop down and hide in the crook of his neck, your whimpers vibrating against his skin and as you felt the fire inside of you begin to grow out of control, and so did the confession that irrepressibly flowed from your blissful lips. 

“I love you.” 

You instantly froze up, feeling your swollen clit throb against his hard cock. 

“Oh my god…” he breathed, sounding utterly amazed. 

“I-…” you continued to hide, “oh god, I’m sorry… I-, I’m sorry…”

“No, hey, hey,” his hands found your neck and gently pulled you back, “why are you sorry, huh?” he searched your averted gaze. 

“I didn’t mean to say that.”

“You didn’t mean it?”

“No, I just didn’t mean to blurt it out like that!” completely mortified, you brought your hands up to shield your face.

“…so you-”

“I’m sorry, I just-”

“Plum,” you felt his thumbs swipe over the backs of your hands, begging them to reveal your face to him, “please stop apologizing for telling me the best thing you could ever say to me,” holding your breath, you slowly let your fingers fall down. Sucking in a gasp of air, he gazed into your nervous eyes and uttered earnestly, “I love you too.”

Feeling lightheaded, you breathed, “what?”

“I love you,” he repeated with a small chuckle as the words sank in. 

“You-… you do?”

“Yeah, of course I do, I mean, how could I not-,” but he didn’t get to gush any further as you feverishly grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss, an amazed giggle soon interrupting your adoring lips. 

“I love you,” you smiled, planting a dozen pecks all over his face, his arms wrapping around you and enveloping you in warmth as he contentedly rocked the both of you lightly in his embrace. 

“I love you,” he beamed as you gently raised your hips up and grabbed his twitching length, aligning it with your entrance, “I lo-… love-… holy shit,” he cursed as you slowly sank down on his fat girth.

The sensation of him stretching you out had a confusing cocktail of emotions flooding your system. It both felt so beyond amazing because it was him, it was Joel, but it also had your body trembling with the assault of tainted memories. 

Your wide eyes eventually locked on his as you stilled in his lap, letting the warmth of his kind eyes ground you as you breathed, sounding like you were sucking in your very first breath, “Joel,” your chest rose and fell rapidly as your vision washed over his face. 

One arm staying safely around your torso, the other hand drifted up to the side of your head, “yeah, it’s me, it’s just me,” lovingly taming your wild hair as you steadied your fevered breath. 

Feeling your body relax under his touch, your fluttering eyes darkened as you instinctively rolled your hips, “Joel,” watching his face contort beautifully as you grinded in his lap, letting his cock nuzzle in that much deeper. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” the arm that was tangled around you snaked down so that the hand could supportively grip your backside, “keep saying my name, just like that,” you desperately picked up the pace, moaning intoxicatedly at the sound of his deep voice, “it’s just me, I’ve got you.”

Half of the time when his name left your lips, the mantra sounded utterly incoherent as your moans drowned it out, leaving the whispered prayer completely unrecognizable. 

Asking for permission with his gaze, he kept his eyes locked on yours as he lowered his head down enough to bury it in the swell of your tit, feeling his hot tongue swipe across your skin as his cock stretched you out so intoxicatingly. 

With one hand firmly aiding your fevered pace, the other one stayed right where your bodies met, swirling your swollen clit with a firmness that made it difficult for you to keep your hazy eyes open. 

“Joel,” you let him take over as you neared the end, surprising you with how effortlessly he bounced you in his lap, sloppy wet sounds filling the living room as your skin slapped against each other with every needy thrust, your juices undoubtedly dripping down onto the couch at this point. “Joel,” you whimpered as you clambered down around him, nearly choking his dick to death as you came on his cock.

Your thighs trembled violently as he let out a string of beautifully lewd moans, holding you there and fucking your spasming pussy just a few more times before he pulled you back just enough for him to yank out his angry cock, pumping it quickly in his tight fist, his forearm flexing under the strain as hot ropes of cum spilt out and painted your heaving belly. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, breathing heavy as he pulled you in to kiss your cheek. Draping both of his arms around you and holding you close, you felt his heartbeat thump against your chest as you slowly regained composure of your own ragged breathing. “You okay, Y/n?” 

“I-… I think so…” you blinked back at him, completely starry-eyed, “oh my god, I love you.”

“I love you,” he couldn’t help the relieved, breathy chuckle that bubbled out of him, “fuck, I’m so proud of you. You-, you’re-…” his eyes flicked across your face, his brain visibly melting at the way you looked back at him right now, “christ, I love you…”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

#lea’s writing #plum #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller x fem!reader #pedro pascal smut #joel miller series #joel miller hbo x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x ofc #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x female reader #joel miller hurt/comfort #joel miller fanfiction

[joelsgreys]

Talk Tonight l Part 1 (Joel Miller x OC Female Reader)

Series Masterlist

Summary: After their flight home is canceled, two complete strangers decide to spend the entire night getting lost together in one of the most beautiful cities in the world—what could go wrong?

Pairing: Pre Outbreak Joel Miller x OFC Camila Mendoza

Warnings/Tags: 18+ Only Minors DNI. NO big age gap, Joel is 35 and Reader is 29. Reader is a mixed woman of color, she is multilingual, although it is written in second person POV (I am terrible at doing third person, sorry) she does come with a name. I also do give her a physical description EXCEPT for her body type (she is shorter than Joel though). Ultimately, if you choose to read this story, you’re more than welcome to read it how you want! If you want to picture her as I write her or as your own—whatever tickles your fancy!

Chapter Warnings/Tags: preface angst (I sorry), we have our girl Sarah, Tommy is a pain in the ass but we love him, airport meet cute, Camila has a physical description, talk of her career and profession, I think that’s about it.

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: Well, here she is. My lil passion project. It has been kind of nice to write something with zero expectations, not going to lie. No pressure, just straight vibing with this one. This chapter is quite tame, not a whole lot of action yet, but it obviously sets the story up for the good stuff. Tbh, the next chapter is my FAVORITE of the whole series and I almost wish I could skip this part and post that one because when I tell you it is cute, it is so fucking cute lmao. But anyway. I know this series might not gain a ton of traction, but I hope that the few people who DO read this enjoy my OC and grow to love her as much as I have and that you love this story as well. Also I just want to shoutout Doni @morning-star-joy for being so lovely to me and supporting my idea and letting me scream about Camila to her. 🩷

Charles De Gaulle Airport

Paris, France 

September 26th, 2002

07:00 Hours

“I beg your pardon?”

Startled by the sound of that rich, deep voice, that heavy Southern drawl that had become so familiar to you over the last nine hours, you lifted your face from your hands and whipped around in your seat; you’d turned so fast that you almost gave yourself whiplash. Your lips parted slightly in surprise when you saw Joel Miller standing there in the aisle with his plane ticket clutched in his hand.

He looked at you, then his dark eyes flickered over to the man sitting next to you. “Sorry I don’t mean to be a bother, but would you mind swappin’ seats with me?” He asked, politely. “I’ve got a good seat up in business class. It’s all yours if you’re willin’ to switch with me.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “What’s the catch?”

Joel shook his head. “There ain’t no catch, sir.”

“There has to be a catch,” he said, suspiciously.

“Ain’t no catch at all. It’s all yours, no extra charge, sir,” he told him, earnestly. “It’s more comfortable; there’s plenty of legroom. There’s also free food, a better selection of movies to watch. Oh and all the complimentary drinks that you can toss back from here to Austin,” Joel added, practically shoving his ticket right under the man’s nose. He hoped it had been enough to tempt him into agreeing to switch with him. “So? What do you say? Can we swap?”

“Well, I say you had me at complimentary drinks,” he remarked with a grin. He stood up, grabbed his carry on bag from the overhead compartment and took the ticket from Joel’s hand. Eagerly, he made his way up the aisle towards the front of the plane.

Dumbfounded, you couldn’t help but stare at Joel, your eyes widening as he slid himself into the seat beside you. “Hi baby,” he greeted you, his lips, soft and warm, brushing against your temple.

“Joel?” You sniffed, quickly dabbing at your damp, swollen eyes with the sleeve of your cardigan. “I’m confused. What in the world are you doing here? Is this even allowed?”

“It’s fine, Mila. I asked one of the flight attendants, she said it was okay so long as he agreed to it.” He put on his seatbelt and glanced over, noticing that your own seatbelt remained unfastened. Reaching over, Joel grabbed the two straps and pulled them around your hips, buckling it for you. He then gave it a firm tug to make sure it was secure. He felt the way you were looking at him and murmured, “Just wanna make sure you’re safe, baby. That’s all.”

“Joel,” You whispered his name thickly. “Seriously, what are you doing back here?”

Joel’s eyes met yours. “If I can get just a few more hours with you, I’m gonna take them. Camila, I will take every last second I can get with you, alright?”

“But—”

You stopped, clamping your mouth shut as a fresh batch of hot tears threatened to spill over.

“C’mere.” He cupped your cheek with his opposite hand and delicately tucked your face into the spot between his neck and his collarbone, soothing you softly, “I’m here, baby. It’s okay, I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

You clutched fistfuls of his denim jacket and clung to him desperately—it was almost as if you’d been clinging onto dear life itself.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Joel promised. “We’re gonna be okay, sweetheart. We’re gonna be okay.”

But that couldn’t have been father from the truth.

You and Joel weren’t going to be okay.

You knew that.

And he did too.

Charles De Gaulle Airport

Paris, France 

September 25th, 2002

21:00 Hours

“You’re still in Paris?” Sarah shrieked loudly.

Wincing, Joel pulled his Nokia away from his ear.

She had nearly blown his goddamn eardrum out.

“Please tell me this is some kind of sick joke?”

He sighed heavily, tiredly rubbing at the side of his face with his opposite hand.

He should have known, expected even, that Sarah wouldn’t take the news of his current predicament all too well—she wouldn’t take it well at all.

Joel brought his phone back to his ear. “Sorry, but unfortunately this ain’t a joke, babygirl,” he replied to her after a minute, letting out another sigh. Joel glanced across the crowded airport lounge and he squinted over at the big digital sign hanging above the airline’s counter displaying all the details of his flight home to Austin, Texas. Even after about four hours, it still flashed red, signaling to everyone the flight was still very much delayed due to the harsh weather conditions on the route. Like Joel, several other passengers were growing restless. “We were supposed to take off a few hours ago, but there’s a pretty bad storm on the East Coast—”

Sarah cut him off with a dramatic groan.

“Oh, come on man! Are you fucking serious?”

“Hey now, you had best watch your language!” He chastised his teenaged daughter. “Don’t you think for one second that I ain’t gonna ground your little behind from halfway across the world, missy. I will ground you right from this airport.” He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Christ, I leave you alone with Uncle Tommy for one weekend—”

“Tell me you’ll be home by tomorrow night, dad.”

He could hear the disappointment in her tone.

As if she already knew she would be let down.

Joel couldn’t blame her.

“I’m not sure when I’ll be home,” he admitted. “It’s lookin’ like the flight might get even canceled.”

“But tomorrow’s your birthday!” Sarah cried. “You have to be home for your birthday.” There’s a long, silent pause on her end of the line, but just as Joel was about to ask her if she was still there, she said in a sad, devastated voice, “It was supposed to be a surprise, but Nana and Grandpa are coming into town tomorrow. We planned a big birthday dinner, even ordered a special cake and everything. You’re always working on your birthday, we haven’t had a chance to properly celebrate it together in years.”

Joel’s heart sank, the guilt creeping in. “Sarah, I’m sorry, babygirl—”

“You just can’t be stuck in Paris, dad. You can’t—”

Suddenly, he heard Tommy in the background.

“Wait a damn minute, what did you just say? He’s stuck where, now? You’ve gotta be—here, give me the phone, kiddo.” There’s another long pause and then his younger brother’s voice came on the line. “What the hell do you mean you’re stuck in Paris?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Joel replied, flatly.

“You better be fuckin’ talkin’ about Paris, Texas.”

“Christ, Tommy! Watch your fuckin’ mouth around my daughter,” he hissed, knowing damn good and well that Sarah was standing beside him, listening to him. “I’m stranded at the goddamn airport here in France. I’ve been sittin’ on my ass for hours now just waitin’ around. My flight’s delayed due to that big storm over on the East Coast,” he explained. “I don’t know how long I’m gonna be here since they grounded all air traffic to the States. Nothin’s flyin’ out in that direction right now.”

“Oh c’mon, that can’t be true! Somethin’s gotta be flyin’ out of that airport to the United States. Have you tried switchin’ airlines?”

Annoyed, Joel snorted and rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Tommy, that ain’t how it fuckin’ works, you moron. Nothin’ is flyin’ out in that direction right now,” his voice was firm as he repeated himself. “That really so goddamn fuckin’ hard to understand?”

“Those Europeans put somethin’ in your water?”

“The hell you fuckin’ talkin’ about?”

“‘Cause your ass is crankier than usual, brother.”

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his composure.

Even in his late twenties, Tommy refused to grow the fuck up and it often drove him to his wits end.

“Look, this long distance call is costin’ me a damn fortune, so listen and listen good, ‘cause I ain’t got a whole lot of time left,” Joel snapped. “I need you to do me a real big favor, alright?” Without waiting for a response from his brother, he continued, “It’s Sunday, so I need you to make sure that Sarah got all of her homework done this weekend. But check it for yourself—and don’t let her lie to you, Tommy. She’ll swear to you she did it, even if she didn’t. I’ll also need you to take her to school tomorrow. She can’t be late again. Her homeroom teacher already chewed me out for droppin’ her off after first bell. I need you to get her there before eight o’ clock. Do you think you can handle that for me?”

Tommy clicked his tongue. “Sorry I wasn’t listenin’ to you, what did you just say?”

Joel’s jaw clenched. “Tommy, I swear to Christ—”

He laughed. “I’m just fuckin’ with you, Joel. I got it all handled, okay? Uncle Tommy to the rescue.”

“Uncle Tommy’s a fuckin’ idiot,” Joel mumbled. “It ain’t a joke. Can I trust you to do this for me or do I need to call Mrs Adler and ask her for her help?”

“I’m a little offended,” Tommy scoffed out. “I think I’ve been takin’ real good care of Sarah on my own over these last few days since you’ve been gone. I mean, she’s alive and she’s breathin’ ain’t she?”

“Tommy—”

“Relax, Joel. I’ll check out her homework tonight, I promise. And I’ll get her to school tomorrow, make sure she ain’t late. You can trust me. Alright?”

“Not like I’ve got much of a choice,” he muttered.

“That’s the spirit.”

Joel rolled his eyes. “I’ve gotta go. Tell Sarah I love her and I’ll do my best to make it home on time for that not so surprise special birthday dinner Mama and Pop are comin’ into town for tomorrow night.”

“You got it, big brother.”

Joel ended the call and then shoved his Nokia into the pocket of his faded, black denim jacket.

He had to get back home by tomorrow night.

If he didn’t, Sarah would be absolutely crushed.

He’d spent his last three birthdays working double shifts just to help make ends meet—but ever since he finally got his construction business going with Tommy, the hours had been even more brutal now that it was just the two of them doing big jobs. He swore both to himself and to Sarah he would try to take more time off—for birthdays, holidays, soccer tournaments, dance recitals. To spend more of his time with her.

So far, he hadn’t been able to keep his word.

He felt like a jackass for it, but what could he do?

It wasn’t just about paying the bills anymore.

Sarah would be turning fourteen next year.

In a few years, he’d be putting her through college.

He needed to work to secure her future for her.

Joel sank back into his chair, taking a look around; his dark eyes scanned the lounge with disinterest.

That’s when you caught his attention.

Caught it and held onto it with a vice like grip.

Joel’s throat went dry.

Christ, you were so fucking beautiful.

Dark brown curls, soft skin the color of deep sand.

Your white sundress only accentuated the warmth of your smooth complexion, giving you a glow that was so radiant it knocked the wind from his lungs, making it hard for him to catch an even breath.

You were sitting in the row of chairs opposite his, a couple chairs down. He couldn’t be too sure, but it seemed like you were traveling alone—the chair on your left was empty and the one on your right held your tan leather satchel bag. Your nose was buried deep into a worn out, paperback book and he took notice of the way you would take the ballpoint pen that you had tucked behind your ear, using it to jot down notes on the crinkled, yellowing pages every so often. Then you would put the pen back behind your ear with a the tiniest, satisfied little grin.

Joel swallowed, his throat bobbing harshly.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

You must have felt his stare because you suddenly looked up from your book, meeting his gaze. You’d seemed a bit startled at first, but then flashed him a pleasant, friendly smile.

Embarrassed, Joel quickly turned away from you.

Way to go you fuckin’ idiot, he thought to himself, silently. She probably thinks you’re a damn creep.

He feigned a sudden interest in the airplane that is parked right outside the gate, the very same plane he was supposed to have boarded four hours ago.

“Êtes-vous coincé ici aussi?”

The sweet, feminine voice came from beside him.

Startled, Joel looked to see you’d moved, and now occupied the once empty seat next to him.

“Uh, sorry. I don’t speak French,” he sputtered out nervously.

“Oh, I’m so sorry about that,” You said, making the effortless transition from French to English. “I just assumed, but I shouldn’t have.” Tossing him a soft and apologetic smile, you asked, “So then, you are an American too?” Of course, there was no reason to ask such a question when the answer was quite obvious, but you were trying to get a conversation with him going.

“Yeah.” Joel winced, mentally kicking himself over how curt he’d sounded. “I’m from Texas.”

Your hazel green eyes glimmered with amusement and you flashed him a brilliant smile that made his heart skip a beat or two inside his chest.

“I thought I detected a hint of a Southern drawl.”

“Oh trust me, it ain’t just a hint, darlin’.”

You threw your head back slightly, laughing. “Well, hello there cowboy,” You teased him, playfully. You were even more stunning up close and all he could do was hope that you couldn’t tell how nervous he was underneath the surface—eager to be chatting up a stunning woman like you, but still nervous.

“So what did you ask me just a minute ago?”

“I asked if you’ve been stuck here like me.”

Joel grinned, feeling a little more courageous.

“Ain’t it obvious what flight I’m waitin’ on, angel?”

“Oh very much so, cowboy.” Grinning back at him, you leaned back into your chair and made yourself comfortable. “I’m waiting on that same flight too.”

Joel chuckled. “At this rate we’d get to Austin a lot faster by swimmin’ across the Atlantic.”

“It’s too bad I don’t know how to swim. Otherwise, I’d say let’s get paddling,” You kidded, causing him to laugh again. “How long were you here in Paris?”

“Few days,” he answered. “Buddy of mine married his longtime girlfriend here. I was his best man.”

You wrinkled your nose at him. “Really?”

Amused, he asked, “Somethin’ wrong with that?”

“I mean, getting married in the most romantic city in the entire world? Don’t you think that’s just a bit cliché?”

Joel shrugged. “I suppose it is,” he agreed. “Come to think of it, can’t get more cliché than that. But I couldn’t say no to Wyatt. He’s been my best friend since we were in diapers,” he explained. “He asked me to be his best man. I couldn’t say no to him, no matter how fuckin’ cliché the whole thing was—”

He suddenly stopped, face burning.

“Sorry darlin’,” he apologized, sheepishly. “I should mind my manners. It ain’t polite to curse when I’m in the presence of a lovely lady.”

Your laugh sent a pleasant shiver down his spine.

Waving a hand, you assured him, “It’s totally fine. I don’t it mind at all.”

Joel smiled, angling his body towards you.

His nerves hadn’t disappeared, not completely.

But as the seconds ticked by, he felt more at ease.

Talking to you felt as natural as breathing.

Joel decided to turn the tables. “What about you? How long were you here for?”

“Oh, I wasn’t. I’m actually just here on a layover.”

“From where?”

“Somalia.”

Joel frowned. “I damn near failed geography when I was in high school. You’re gonna have to help me out a little here, darlin’. Where’s Somalia?”

“East Africa.”

“Africa?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise. He had never been into traveling—he preferred to stay put in his bubble in Texas. Flying out to Paris for Wyatt and the wedding had been Joel’s first time leaving the United States. He never had a desire to go and see the world, nor the interest. But he would have been lying if he said you hadn’t piqued his interest with such an unexpected answer. “What were you doin’ down there?”

“Working. I’m a traveling physician.”

Joel’s mouth fell open slightly. “You’re a doctor?”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Is that such a surprise?”

“How old are you?”

“It’s not polite to ask a lady her age,” You smacked his arm playfully. “Don’t you know that?”

He flushed. “Sorry, it’s just—you seem a bit young to be a doctor, that’s all. I wouldn’t have thought.”

Tilting your head to the side, you asked, “Well how old do you think I am, cowboy? And don’t lie to me just to stay in my good graces. I won’t be offended by your guess, I promise.”

“Twenty five?” Joel guessed, honestly. “Or twenty six?”

“You flatter me, but no. I’ll be thirty in December.”

“So tell me, doc. How long were you in Africa?”

“About a month,” You replied. “I was there with my team to visit some of the villages in Somalia to see families in need of basic healthcare. We offer them medicine and supplies, we offer vaccines. I tend to the children, mostly. I specialize in pediatrics.”

Joel couldn’t help but stare at you in awe.

“What?”

“That’s just really impressive,” he admitted. After a minute, he found himself asking, “Now that you’re done workin’ down there, are you goin’ back home to Austin for a while? That where you’re from?”

You shook your head, and he hoped he didn’t look as disappointed as he felt.

“I’m from Laredo,” You said. “But then I moved for college. I did pre-med at The University of Texas in Austin.”

“You visitin’ your old stompin’ grounds?” he joked.

“Something like that.” You giggled. “One of my old professors, he invited me to give a lecture to some of his students who are interested in medicine and might want to pursue careers in the field—I’ll only be in Austin for a day, then it’s off to my next work assignment.”

Joel shot you another incredulous look.

“What? Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

“I just figured you’d have to be some old geezer to give a lecture to college students.”

“Nope. You just have to be really good at what you do,” You winked at him. “That’s all.”

Before Joel could say another word, an attendant at the airline counter picked up their radio to make an announcement over the intercom—the flight to Austin had been canceled and all passengers were required to book a new one for the following day.

There was a collective groan in the lounge.

“Well, that’s a bummer,” You let out a tiny sigh and stood up, slinging the long, thick strap of your bag over your shoulder. Turning towards him, you gave him a warm smile. “Thank you for talking to me. It was nice having some company.” Lightly touching his shoulder, you said, “Good luck in getting home tomorrow, cowboy.”

Retracting your hand, you whirled around.

Joel jumped to his feet, ready to stop you.

But it was too late.

With the hustle and bustle of everyone scrambling towards the airline ticket counter, he’d quickly lost you in the massive crowd of people.

Joel craned his neck, searching around for you.

“C’mon,” he muttered. “Where’d you go?”

Finally, after a couple of minutes, Joel spotted you walking away from one of the counters with a new plane ticket in hand.

He didn’t even have to think twice about it.

Making his way through the crowd, Joel rushed to the counter and up to the same blond woman who had assisted you. “That girl who was just here, the one with the dark curly hair,” he said. “Can you tell me which flight she booked?”

The attendant gave him a strange look. “Yes she is on the first flight available to Austin,” she stated in a thick, French accent. “Seven in the morning.”

“I need to be on that flight,” Joel told her. Noticing the hint of annoyance on her face, he added in the most polite tone he could muster, “Please. And I’d like the seat next to hers, if it’s possible.”

She shot him another odd look, but typed away at her keyboard and checked the computer screen.

“My apologies, Monsieur. But the seat next to her has already been booked by another passenger.”

“What ‘bout one close to her, then?” He tried.

“I am afraid the only seats left available are at the very back of the plane or business class.”

Joel sighed. He pulled his wallet out from the back pocket of his jeans and handed her his credit card.

“Fine. I’ll just upgrade to a business class seat.”

The attendant nodded. “Of course, Monsieur.”

Once he was all set, he thanked her and started to make his way through the lounge and towards the exit. He walked outside and took a look around the terminal, his eyebrows pulling together.

He knew the chances of finding you were slim, but he took comfort in knowing that he would see you in the morning on the flight back to Austin.

Until then, he had about nine hours to kill.

“Suppose there’s worse cities to be stuck in,” Joel muttered to himself. Most places had translations, and he figured he could get by on his own alright. The hotel he’d stayed at with the wedding party, it wasn’t too far from the airport—after a drink and a bite to eat, he could book a room for the night and crash until the morning.

He started down the sidewalk, but then stopped—out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of your curls and his stomach fluttered eagerly.

You were standing in line waiting for a cab holding what appeared to be a map in your hands.

Before his mind and body could even try making a connection, he found himself walking over to you.

“Hey there,” Joel greeted as he approached you.

You looked up from your map and beamed at him.

“Hey! Did you manage to get a new flight home?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I did. I’m on the first one out to Austin at seven o’ clock in the mornin’.”

Your smile widened. “I’m on that one too!”

“You don’t say,” Joel said in a nonchalant tone. He didn’t want to admit he already knew that. “Well, if that just ain’t a funny coincidence.” His eyes fell to the map in your hands. “What’cha got there?”

“A map to the city.”

He laughed. “Gonna go sightseein’ or what?”

“I am indeed going sightseeing, actually.”

Joel’s smile faltered. “You serious? At this time?”

“I’ve been to Paris a couple of times before. I have always wanted to see it at night, but never had the guts to do it,” You confessed. “But here I am stuck for the next nine hours, so I suppose tonight is the night I finally do it.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I prefer the term adventurous.” Folding your map, you looked at him. “What about you, cowboy? You have anything planned for your night?”

Joel shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Was gonna go grab a bite to eat and then get a hotel room to crash in.”

He was tempted, oh so tempted, to ask you to join him for a late dinner and drinks—just when he had worked up the courage to go for it, you spoke.

“Did you get to see the city while you were here?”

“I didn’t see much of anythin’,” he admitted. “With the weddin’ and all, I didn’t have the time. It ain’t a big deal, though. I ain’t a big sightseein’ kinda guy to begin with, you know?”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Wait a minute, I just want to make sure I have this straight—you’ve got an entire commitment free night in Paris, and you’re going to spend it cooped up in some hotel room?”

Joel shrugged. “I reckon I am.”

“No way.” You grabbed his arm and started to pull him over towards an available cab. “You’re coming with me tonight.”

“Wait just a minute, darlin’—”

Ignoring him, you continued to drag him along. “It would a crime if you didn’t see this city before you go back home,” You stated, opening the back door to the car. You tried shoving him into the backseat but he caught himself on the roof of the vehicle.

“Whoa, whoa. Hold on there a second, angel,” he said with a chortle. “You’re really just gonna spend a whole night in a foreign city with a complete and total stranger you just met half an hour ago? What if I’m some kinda serial killer?”

You blinked. “Are you a serial killer?”

“Well no I ain’t a serial killer, but my point is—”

“Then we’re fine,” You chirped. “Come on, let’s go. There’s no time to waste.”

Pushing past him, you climbed into the backseat.

“You coming?” You asked over your shoulder.

Joel chuckled, sliding in next to you.

“Guess I am.”

He shut the door behind him—this was happening and yet somehow it didn’t even feel real.

A chance to spend the entire night with you?

It just didn’t feel real to him.

“I’m Camila,” You introduced yourself, extending a hand towards him.

He took your hand, holding it in his.

“Camila,” Joel repeated with a smile. “That’s a real pretty name for a real pretty girl.”

You grinned.

“How about you, cowboy? You got a name?”

“Joel. Joel Miller.”

You gave his hand a squeeze.

“Well Joel Miller, it seems like we aren’t complete and total strangers anymore, are we now?”

His own grin widened. “No, darlin’ I suppose we ain’t.”

#queued to post #fic: talk tonight #joel miller x ofc #joel miller x original character #Joel miller x original female character #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller story #joel miller series #pedro pascal characters

[trulybetty]

323 Mulefall Crt. Chapter One | Monday

Pairing: no outbreak!Joel x OFC Word Count: 3,048 Warnings: mentions of alcohol, food, minor mentions of a previous relationship, a brief suggestion of possible cheating, Cousin Joel™️ comes with his own warnings, as does David! Chapter Summary: Cousin Joel has officially arrived on Mulefall Crt. and happenstance has Katie running into both him and Will. AO3: Linked

A/N: it's finally here! Or should I say he's finally here? 😏 This has been in the works for such a long time in collaboration with @rhoorl that it feels surreal to be posting it! We hope you enjoy this as much as Jess and I enjoyed creating these characters! Thank you Jess for allowing me to come play in your sandbox and being such an amazing friend! 💕

x. master list | x. delta landscaping

There wasn’t a drawer in Katie's office that wasn’t open and rifled through. If anyone was to walk in at that moment, they’d think she’d been broken into. However, as she wiped her sweaty brow and tried to catch her breath, it was evident that it was Katie who was responsible.

She checked her watch on her wrist, “Fuck,” she muttered as she noticed the time, she had less than an hour to find the missing USB drive, get back to the office, give Miranda the rundown of the presentation and, oh, squeeze in a drive through visit for a very much needed obnoxious coffee to get through all of the above.

She shoved papers back into drawers, her eyes scanning over the desk one more time. Had she checked her car? Yes, it was the first place she’d looked after it was missing from her office desk. Did she check the kitchen, the place where everything usually ended up getting left to be sorted later? Yes, she’d broken a knob on one of the drawers she’d have to repair later. After the shake-down she’d given the usual spaces she dove back into the mess of her office, tossing aside pens, staplers, and old receipts, cursing herself for not being more organized.

Gritting her teeth, she moved onto the file cabinet that sat under her desk. Each and every drawer yielded nothing but old invoices, her passport which she’d actually been looking for the previous week, and the phone bill she still needed to pay. With a grunt, she sat back in her office chair, idly swinging side to side, trying to remember where she saw it last.

With a heavy sigh of frustration escaping, her eyes wandered towards the large window that framed the view of her front lawn; it had been the main reason for choosing that room as the location of her home office. It was where she mostly worked from, only dropping into the office on occasion. Today was a big presentation for her team, and she was the one leading it and had painstakingly created the deck. Foolishly though, she’d saved it to a USB drive rather than the cloud. Fooling herself into thinking she’d upload it when she was done, which wasn’t the case.

Chewing her lip absentmindedly, she caught sight of Will’s iconic red Jeep pulling up across the street. Despite her current predicament, a small smile tugged at her lips. Will and Benny Miller’s arrival on Mulefall Court all those months back had been a welcome one. If anything, the two brothers and their friends often provided a welcome distraction from the routine of work-from-home life.

Usually, it was Benny with Will, but today it was someone else. Climbing out of the passenger seat was the elusive ‘Cousin Joel’, a character of great interest in the neighbourhood group chat as of late, especially when news of his impending arrival for Benny’s fight later that week was announced.

Curiosity piqued, she leaned forward in her chair, angling to get a better look over her monitor setup at Joel. With his broad shoulders on display, swathed in green plaid unbuttoned to reveal a white t-shirt, he had a rugged charm about him. Sunglasses perched on his nose, he closed the Jeep’s door as he took in the neighbourhood.

However, as if sensing her gaze, Joel suddenly turned, his eyes, though hidden behind his sunglasses, seemed to look directly at her. Despite logic telling her there was no way he could likely see her, panic set in. She dropped to the floor in a frantic attempt to hide, her heartbeat furiously in her chest, and only part of that was due to the idea of being caught. The absurdity of the situation was not lost on her, a grown woman ducking from view over harmless curiosity.

Trying to get her bearings, her attention was taken by the buildup of dust under the desk, cursing the RoboVac for not reaching the far corners. Just as she was backing up to climb up from under her desk, her fingers brushed against something familiar. The USB drive! There, hiding in plain sight, she let out a laugh at the silver lining of her comical dive under the desk bringing her to the reason for running out of the office half an hour ago.

Relief washed over her but was quickly replaced by a sharp pang of pain as she bumped her head on the underside of the desk in her haste to stand up. Rubbing at her head, she made sure she was clear of the desk before she stood to avoid hitting her head again. Standing, she brushed down the front of her pencil skirt from the dust from under her desk. The last thing she needed was to turn up back at the office in a state before the departments' directors.

Running to the kitchen, she grabbed her phone, then made a path back to the front door, picking up the various items she’d strewn upon arriving home. Knitted duster, check, purse, check, car keys, check, and then finally, her heels she’d kicked off as soon as she was over the threshold. Trying to hold her balance, she slipped on the pumps and cursed her panic in leaving the office and forgoing the flats she usually wore for driving.

The mid-day sun was high, casting long shadows over her driveway as she navigated what was becoming the too-familiar obstacle course of loose and warped planks of her porch. Each step was a calculated risk, the heels of her shoes threatening to catch in the gaps. She reminded herself to finally arrange to get it fixed, a mental note she’d made countless times before after Will’s discovery that the whole thing was barely holding on and was likely on the cusp of collapse. A problem for future Katie, right now she needed to get back to the office with the USB.

Checking her tote’s contents, ensuring the USB drive had not moved since she last checked on it only five seconds previously, her focus was interrupted by a voice from across the way, “Hey, Katie!”

It was Will.

He was jogging across the street, a figure trailing behind him looking both ways across the street as they followed. As they approached and as she caught up with what was happening, her heart skipped a beat or two. ‘Cousin Joel’, the man whose all but brief mentions in the neighbourhood had launched a thousand theories and gossip threads in the group chat. He was even more ruggedly handsome up close than the view out of her window and through any of the photos she’d caught sight of at Will’s and the one FaceTime chat she’d briefly been a part of.

He had a casual confidence that was magnetic, and as she tore her attention back to Will, missing the appreciative once-over Joel gave her legs as she was too busy trying to find her voice, suddenly at a loss for words.

“Hey, Will,” she responded, trying to sound composed.

Will, oblivious to her internal struggle over Joel’s presence, gave her a wide smile, “Katie, I wanted you to meet Joel. He’s in town for an overdue vacation and just in time for our Benny’s fight this weekend!” He patted his cousin on the back, and it was evident without knowing, in just how he spoke about his cousin, that Will held him in great regard.

Joel extended his hand, his sunglasses now pushed to the top of his head, his deep brown eyes alight as his smile turned into a friendly smirk as if he was fully aware of the thoughts in her head, “It’s great to finally meet you, Katie,” he shot a look at his cousin, “I’ve heard a lot about you from Will.”

She took his hand, the warmth and firmness of his grip almost made her knees buckle. “So you’re the infamous Cousin Joel we’ve been hearing so much about?” she replied, hoping her voice sounded steadier than she felt.

Joel's smile widened at Katie's question, a spark of amusement flickering in his eyes. “Infamous, huh? I hope Will's been keeping it positive,” he joked, his voice deep and slightly tinged with a flirtatious undertone that wasn’t missed by Will as he raised a humoured eyebrow at Joel’s antics.

Before Katie could open her mouth to try and muster something that might have resembled a coherent sentence the boisterous voice of Benny Miller rang out through the street, “J MONEEEEYYY!! You made it!”

Benny charged across the road and with a running start leapt at Joel, who managed to catch him mid-air without so much as a stumble. Benny’s infectious energy was palpable, even without the wide grin spread across his face.

Suddenly, the air was filled with booming laughter

“Bean,” Joel rumbled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he returned the hug with equal enthusiasm. “It's good to see you.”

Benny pulled back after a moment and grinned at Katie, “So you got to meet the man, the myth, the legend himself!” he said as he patted Joel’s shoulders, showing him off as if he were

a grand prize. Joel rolled his eyes but the smile never left his face.

“Indeed,” Katie responded, somewhat overwhelmed by the hive of activity that had descended upon her driveway, she was pretty sure several members of the group chat were twitching their blinds at Benny’s rowdy entrance, “but, J Money? Did I hear that right?”

Joel laughed as he shook his head, “It’s a nickname,” Benny swung his arm around Joel’s shoulder in pride, “It’s a long story,” Joel continued flashing Katie another smile that instantly made her stomach flip-flop once more.

Before the conversation could continue, Katie’s phone buzzed in her hands, bringing her back to reality, a reality where she needed to be back in the office doing a presentation in less than forty-five minutes.

“Sorry,” she held up her phone in a way of an apology.

She thought she caught a glint of disappointment across Joel’s face, but she quickly shook it off as just her imagination in the chaos of Benny’s arrival.

“Work?” Will asked, giving her a sympathetic look.

“Yeah,” she mumbled as her eyes skimmed over the message on the screen of her phone before she looked back at Will and Joel. “Unfortunately,” she said, forcing a smile onto her face despite the sinking feeling in her stomach at the weight of its importance rearing its head again. “Big presentation.”

Will nodded sympathetically, but still had a wide smile on his face conveying that he had the utmost confidence she was going to ace it. He had heard her talk about it for weeks, been an ear as she vented, and he knew she was well-prepared despite her fears, “No rest for the wicked.” he quipped with a wink.

“Yeah,” Katie murmured distractedly as she began to dig in her tote for her car keys, cursing how she could misplace them just steps from her front door. One last deep dive of her tote she finally fished them out from the bottom of the bag.

Before she could say anything, Will placed a reassuring hand on Katie’s arm as Benny regaled Joel about his training regime, “You got this Kat.”

She gave him a forced smile, “Thank you,” her phone buzzed again and she sighed, “Okay, I really have to go now.”

It was a quick round of goodbyes, but Katie couldn’t help but feel like she’d gotten lost in Joel’s gaze as he gave her a wide smile telling her it was nice meeting her. But before he could say any more, Benny was dragging him away talking loudly about the preparations for his fight Friday night and asking if Joel would come by the gym for his training session with Frankie. It was impossible not to notice the admiration Benny had for his older cousin from the pep in his step combined with his excitement and infectious enthusiasm that Joel seemed to share.

Reaching her car, Katie allowed herself one last glance back, catching the boys walking up the driveway of Will and Benny’s place. Benny animatedly talking with his hands flying in sparring moves, Will laughing with his head thrown back at something Benny had just said but what caught her breath was Joel watching her with a small smile on his face as he nodded his chin at her in a means of goodbye and a look in his eyes she just couldn’t quite figure out.

“Oh lord,” she muttered to herself feeling her cheeks flush with heat, “you’re a grown woman Katie.” With a deep breath, she opened the car door and took a deep breath as she got herself situated and dialled Miranda as she checked her mirrors and reversed down the driveway.

“Hey, Miranda, I’m on my way back to the office… yeah I’ve got it. We need coffee, what can I get you?”

Katie stretched out her legs across her sectional sofa, sinking into the corner and enjoying the plush cushions nesting her in. Despite the day’s presentation going off without a hitch, the day had been a long one. With a glass of white wine in one hand and a bag of chips in her lap, she settled in hoping to switch her mind off with some trashy TV.

She wasn’t far in on some reality home design show when her phone started to ping persistently. Dropping the bag of chips she picked up her phone from beside her and saw that the group chat was flying back and forth, the notifications already in the double digits.

She squinted at the screen, annoyed she’d left her glasses in the kitchen, as she scrolled through the chat. It mostly consisted of David asking about any and all sightings of ‘Cousin Joel’ and a picture of Joel. One that Katie zoomed in on with a pinch of her fingertips, squinting even further to make sense of the already blurry picture, that looked like it was taken from David and Ty’s house.

Katie: David, did you take this from your bathroom window?! David: 👀 no comment Ty: I stopped him before he got the binoculars out Melissa: has anyone actually seen ‘Cousin Joel’ in the flesh?! Olivia: I saw Ms. Katie with the boys and Joel this morning 😏 David: Katie baby, I need ALL the details!!!

Katie laughed at the enthusiasm of the chat, which turned into a giggle when she saw David’s last message.

Katie: Sorry to disappoint but I’ve got nothing juicy for you. Ran into the boys this morning, that’s all. David: so you’re telling me that sexy man was there and nothing came out of it?! David: Have I not taught you anything?! Olivia: give her a break Dave 😂 Ty: Olivia’s right. Let Katie live! David: give a man something Katie! Ty: Please Katie, he’ll be clawing at the walls for the rest of the night 🤦🏻‍♂️ Olivia: and maybe for the rest of us too… just saying 👀

Katie laughed again as she took a sip of her wine finishing the glass.

Katie: Okay, okay… He was hot, his pictures Melissa dug up do not do him justice David: 💀💀💀🪦 Melissa: Is David okay @Ty? Ty: I think he might be talking in tongues, I’m about to put a Stanley straw under his tongue so he doesn’t choke on it Olivia: This might be first time David has been rendered speechless

The group chat slowing down and some throwing out good night wishes, swiping out of the app and with a loss of interest in the HGTV show of the moment against her better judgement Katie opened Instagram and began to mindlessly scroll through her feed. It was a mix of family and friends’ updates, a few work colleagues and the occasional celebrity. She double-tapped a picture of one of her brothers posing with his dog and was about to swipe away from the app when a picture caught her eye, freezing her mid-motion.

It was Seb. Seb with his arm wrapped around her, Petra. His ex… No, not his ex anymore. The caption underneath read “She said YES! 💍”. There was a flood of congratulations and heart emojis in the comments section which Katie had expanded against her better judgement. She hadn’t realized she still following him since he rarely used social media.

A flood of emotions washed over her—surprise, a twinge of pain, and an odd sense of finality even if their divorce was almost a year out. She remembered their conversations at the start of their relationship, the way he’d always had that far-off look when he ‘joked’ about “the one that got away.” — then as their relationship progressed and things started to plateau and go south Katie tried to convince herself that she could be enough, that their love could be stronger than his past. But in the end, despite three years of marriage, she was just a placeholder until he found his way back to Petra.

Letting out the breath she didn’t know she was holding, she tried to shake off the feelings of inadequacy that threatened to resurface. The engagement announcement was a stark reminder of why she’d packed up her life in Chicago to move to Florida, to a house she bought sight unseen for a fresh start.

Before she could be tempted to go back through his profile page Katie quickly hit the unfollow button, a final act in moving forward.

Switching back to the group chat, she skimmed through the talk of Benny’s fight coming up that Friday. David asking if cigarette pants were appropriate attire and Olivia asking how late these things ran so she could arrange a babysitter.

Throwing her phone back onto the sofa Katie took a deep breath in a moment of reflection. The day had been a long one and filled with the ups and downs of the morning's events without news on Seb. Standing up she turned off the TV and walked back to the kitchen to refill her wine and on the way back she grabbed her glasses and her book she’d started over the weekend, hoping she’d find some distraction in its pages.

#323 Mulefall Crt #Delta Landscaping Universe #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x ofc #joel miller x original character #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction

[lokischocolatefountain]

Comfort || Taken Care of

Based on this request

Series Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Rating: 18+. Like extremely 18+. I’d make it 20+ if that was a thing. Serious filth.

Warnings: Chonky age gap (Joel: early 50s and Reader: early 20s), extremely naïve reader, praise kink, innocence kink, non con, face-fucking, oral sex (make receiving), name calling, daddy kink, slapping, mentions of past abuse, mentions of FEDRA school abuse, dacryphilia, moneyshot, dbf!Joel (as friendly as that grump can be). Joel is a lying liar and the creepiest creep. Proceed with extreme caution.

Word count: 1.8k words

Summary: You are as sheltered as can be in a world that has fallen apart. Realizing the errors of his ways, your father has his friend Joel take you outside the QZ to teach you how to survive in the real world. Unfortunately for you, Joel is interested in teaching you more than basic survival skills.

A/N: I finally understand all the AO3 writers who are like ‘sorry for the late upload. My husband died, I gave birth, I was called upon by the US army to stop an alien invasion, my roommate stole all my things and I’m homeless. But here’s chapter 43 of my fic’ cause I am really really going through it rn. I submitted my thesis, I am defending it in a couple hours, I have to move my things to a new place immediately, I have to go to work and yet I wrote this. Who knew writing the absolute filthiest porn could make a girl feel slightly better while being in a dumpster fire…

“It’s okay, it’s okay…” he comforts you, his large hand cupping your face as he uses his thumb to wipe your tears. Shame he had to wipe them ‘cause they made you look so much prettier, got his cock so much harder.

“Oh, you poor thing,” he cooed as he unzipped his jeans. Life on the road was hard, especially for a sheltered girl like you. Your dad did everything he could to give you the best he could within the tall walls of the QZ. You knew no pain, no suffering, and definitely knew nothing of the outside world. So here he was, on your dad’s request, taking you out into the real world. The QZ could collapse anytime as QZs often did. So when it eventually did, your dad wanted to prepare you for a harder life.

Thankfully, Joel was a kind man. He held you at night when you were feeling cold, taught you how to hunt and carried your pack for you when you were feeling tired. He also comforted you when you felt lonely.

“Daddy…” you whined, too embarrassed to ask. Calling him Daddy always did the job too. You used to call him Joel, but it changed from when he started comforting you. He told you to call him Daddy, said it was more respectful, so you obeyed.

He never made you feel ashamed for wanting comfort, but something about it made you shy.

“Yes, pretty girl. What do you need?”

You put your hand on his lap and stroked him through his jeans though he was already unzipped and ready to give you the comfort you craved.

It started just a couple kilometers from the QZ. He found you sniffling in the corner of the abandoned building you’d both found shelter in for the night. He was so sweet about it too, asking you multiple times if it was okay for him to comfort you this way. He said your dad wouldn’t like it and that was true— your dad had coddled you too much and now he’d begun overcompensating for it. He yelled at you for crying, made you take up the worst shifts in the QZ and sent you off with his friend Joel— a man feared by all of the QZ— to go out and learn the world.

So you begged him to not tell your dad and put your mouth around his cock. From then, it was the only way you could find comfort.

“I need you to say it, darlin’… What do you want?”

“Please take care of me, daddy.”

“I’m taking care of ya already, aren’t I? Make you food, give you blankets, make sure the infected don’t get to ya… What do you want now?”

“Your cock. Please.”

He nodded and took himself out for you. He sat back on the rickety chair and placed a hand on your head, guiding you down to his cock. You took his tip first and sucked on it. He hissed, so maybe it hurt. But let you keep going. You opened your mouth wider and took him in, inch by inch. It hurt sometimes, but he reassured you that you will get better. You wanted to get better.

The taste was also strange. It needed getting used to. But now that you’d had his cock a few times, you were beginning to like it, to get used to it. It was salty from his sweat and it also tasted just like the skin on your arm. But there was something distinctly Joel about it.

“Just like that, darlin’. Good girl, aren’t you? Look so damn pretty like this,” he said, pushing you gently to take more of him. You gagged a little, but went on anyway. You looked up at him, wanting to smile at his compliment but too full of him to do so. More tears rolled down your cheeks at the compliment. He hummed at the sight and twitched inside you.

“Don’t forget to use your tongue,” he reminded and you felt embarrassed for forgetting already. You wanted to be good, wanted to learn everything he taught you quickly so you didn’t trouble him with the same thing twice. But here you were, having forgotten one of the important lessons already.

You did as you were told and moved your tongue along his cock, feeling his veins and ridges. He was hard, so hard but he was also smooth. He moaned as you did, making you shiver. It felt good to hear him moan, made you feel you were doing something right even though none of this was for his own benefit.

He did it just so he could make you feel better, feel less lonely. Sometimes you weren’t even crying when you got a craving for comfort again. You asked him on random nights to fall asleep with his cock in your mouth. It was becoming a kind of an addiction, like how your dad bought those pills from Joel to keep his nightmares out and now he couldn’t go without them.

You weren’t any help with other things either, even though you’d become a better shot and were more alert when it was your turn to keep watch. Suddenly, you were reminded of the time you missed a shot at a deer and made it run off, leaving both you and Joel hungry for days. You sobbed at the reminder, feeling the sharp sting on your cheek when he slapped you.

“Useless fucking whore!” He’d called you right after slapping you. You’d cried then and you cried again at the reminder, forcing yourself to take in the last of his length to prove to yourself that you would do better. He groaned and tightened his grip on your hair before pushing himself inside your mouth forcefully.

“Look so pretty like this, darlin’. Ain’t seen a prettier sight than my whore crying on my cock.” He said, pulling back before pushing into your mouth again. He hit the back of your throat and it hurt, god it hurt so bad. But he kept a firm grip on you, kept you in your place so you didn’t make mistakes again.

“Sorry, darlin’. Daddy’s gotta do this. ‘s too much,” he said, before grabbing your head in both hands. He hammered into you repeatedly, handling your face like it was something he hated. You didn’t know why, but that didn’t make you feel bad. It did the opposite.

You felt good. Like you weren’t a ‘useless fucking whore’ like he had said you were a few times. You were learning like he expected you to. The first time he did this, you forced him to stop and crouched over a bush and threw up the little food you’d eaten. It still hurt to be this way, but you were getting better. You didn’t have to throw up anymore.

He grunted and groaned, let out a few expletives that would’ve made you embarrassed if you were still back in the QZ. They were words you weren’t allowed to use back there. You’d come back from FEDRA school one day, using a bad word and it set him off. He slapped you, much like Joel would slap you later for missing the shot. When you did it again a couple of months later, he slapped you more times.

It was Joel then who came to your rescue. Promising your dad that you would behave better from now, he carried you off to his apartment and tended to your wounds.

“Ohh, of fuck. F-fuuuck… Mmm, such a pretty hole. Such a good hole for me,” he praised before pulling out of you. You inched closer to him, but he pulled you back by your hair, putting you back in place. You gasped softly when something warm hit your face. You tried to move away from it, away from him. It was wrong. How ungrateful did you have to be to jerk away from him like that when he was taking care of you.

“Fuckin’— fuck. Fuckin’ take it, bitch. Take my cum,” he struggled between pants as he continued doing— doing that. The warm sticky thing came out of his cock. You didn’t know what it was, didn’t know if he was okay. It had never happened before. You panicked and held on to his legs, afraid you did something wrong to cause this.

His jaw was clenched and his eyes were screwed shut. He grunted and moaned like he was in pain.

“Daddy…” you called for him gently. When he didn’t respond, you touched his thigh and began caressing it. Slowly, gently like he sometimes did to comfort you.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, afraid of what you’d done to him. He leaned back on his chair, his hand still in your hair. His breathing slowed down and his fingers massaged your scalp, making you feel good.

“Why’re you apologizing, pretty girl?” He asked, making you sigh in relief.

“I— I don’t— this,” you said, pointing to your face that held the white thing that came out of him. “And you looked like you were in pain.”

He chuckled and looked down at you, before cupping the cheek that didn’t have any of the white thing on it. “You really are so dumb.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” you blurted out, not even knowing what you’d done this time.

“I wasn’t in pain. I was feeling good.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm… I know your dad did a lot for ya; you’re his whole world. So it only matters to you when you feel good. But sometimes I need to feel good, too.”

“What makes you feel good?” You asked, desperate to learn, desperate to do for him what he did for you.

“It really helps to have a pretty girl. And you’re a pretty girl, ain’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good, good. ‘s long as ya know. Pretty girls like you, you have three holes. It’ll make a man feel good. Just like when I put my cock in your face hole to make you feel good.”

“M-my mouth?” You asked, looking up at him with curiosity. You’ve never heard of it being called that… It felt strange, but you weren’t going to protest. He knew best. Just as your dad told you before sending you out. Joel knows best. Do what he says, no objections.

“Yeah. This pretty mouth,” he said, brushing his thumb over your lips. “When I make you feel good with my cock, I feel good too. But only if you’re a good girl. Only if you do as I say. You did good today, darlin’. You thought of me too instead of being the selfish bitch you always are.”

You surged at the praise, happy that you’d finally learned. Finally did something good for him instead of taking and taking and taking like a selfish bitch.

“And I know you wanna learn. So keep being good like this, okay?”

You nodded.

“Keep being good and I’ll teach you about your other holes.”

“Thank you, Daddy…”

#joel miller fic #joel miller #read the warnings #joel miller x reader #dbf!joel #joel miller fluff #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x ofc #joel miller smut #tommy tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller age gap #hbo joel miller #hbo joel miller x reader #hbo joel miller x you #daddy issues #x reader #manipulative!joel #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #all that i've inflicted on the world

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: Joel suffers a PTSD episode of when Sarah was killed and accidentally hurts you.]

PTSD, Angst, physical violence.

“Did you see the way she looked at me?” Joel stopped and looked down as he took a deep breath.

“I could’ve really hurt her, Tommy”

It was late in the night and you woke up realizing Joel wasn’t in bed beside you. Joel never left your side without letting you know where he would be, especially in the night. Tonight it was strange, you woke up careful not to wake up Tommy or Ellie who were in their own rooms down the hall. You could hear a faint mumbling coming from the living room and silently followed the sound.

Stepping into the main room you could see Joel facing out the window and still mumbling something to himself that you couldn’t make out.

“Joel?” You whispered as you walked towards him but he didn’t respond.

“Joel?” You gently touched his arm when he suddenly grabbed you by yours and slammed you against the wall. You whimpered as he took hold of your face in his large hand and looked at you with eyes you did not recognize.

“You killed my daughter” he squeezed your face as you looked up at him with horror and confusion.

“Joel!” You screamed as his hand moved to your throat with a tight squeeze. You gasped for air hitting his chest when the lights suddenly turned on and you heard Maria’s voice.

“Tommy!” She screamed out for him, the second he heard her voice he came running out.

“Shit” he uttered before grabbing Joel from behind and putting him in a choke hold.

“It’s me! It’s Tommy!, I’m gonna let you go just calm down, I need you to listen to me-“ Joel tried to fight it at first but slowed down as Tommy bought him to the ground. You coughed gasping for air as Maria ran to you making sure you were ok, your hand on your chest you couldn’t believe what had just happened. Looking back at Joel you could see he wasn’t himself, he didn’t notice anyone around him.

“Joel, you hear me?” Tommy yelled when suddenly Joel broke down in tears as Tommy let him go.

“It’s alright brother, it’s alright. Just another nightmare” you watched as Tommy comforted his brother as you stood still trying to catch your breath when Joel suddenly looked up at you, his face instantly changing realizing what he had just done.

“Oh my god” Joel pushed himself up coming towards you. You panicked quickly backing away as Maria got inbetween both of you.

“Hold on a minute, Joel. Give a her a minute”

Looking at him, all you could see was big brown tearful eyes.

“Jesus Christ, I hurt you-“ he spoke in shock with himself.

“I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to“ he spoke with desperation looking over Marias shoulder. Never had you seen him look so vulnerable before. You had no idea how to respond but you could see how distraught he was.

“Let me take her to the room, just stay here for a bit with Tommy,” Maria quickly turned to you guiding you to the bedroom as you silently cried without turning back.

Tommy could tell Joel felt horrible, watching him pace back and fourth in the living room not knowing what the hell to do with himself.

“You didn’t do it on purpose, Joel”

“Did you see the way she looked at me?” Joel stopped and looked down as he took a deep breath.

“I could’ve really hurt her, Tommy”

“Look, you had a nightmare about that night and you haven’t had one in a long time alright, you weren’t looking to hurt her” Tommy explained.

You could hear them in the living room talking as Maria closed the door.

“He’s never had a nightmare with me. I don’t know what happened” you whispered as you looked at yourself in the mirror, bruising already forming around your neck.

“He told me about them but I thought…I thought he was doing better now. I shouldn’t have walked up behind him like that” you whispered shaking your head.

“Look, it’s not your fault or his. Maybe it best you two don’t sleep together tonight, I can stay with you if you’d like.” You nodded in a bit of relief.

“Thank you, Maria” you whispered as she left the room to let them know.

Joel instantly looked up as Maria walked towards them.

“How is she?” He asked eagerly walking towards her.

“She’s a little startled Joel. I think it’s best I stay with her for tonight, you both get some rest and talk about it tomorrow.”

“She needs to know I didn’t mean to do that, she knows that don’t she?”

Maria simply nodded before walking back to the room and closing the door.

The next morning you were too anxious to leave your room, you waited until you heard everyone leave. Fixing yourself up you did your best to cover the bruising on your neck with your long dark hair when you heard a knock. You head turning so fast you winced at the slight soreness you felt. You thought everyone had left, at least you hoped.

“If you don’t wanna open the door, that’s fine. I just need you to listen” Joel’s voice on the other end made you take a deep breath. Slowly walking towards the door you unexpectedly opened it, surprising him as he looked down at you. You hadn’t realized moving your neck so quickly your hair was no longer covering the bruise, allowing Joel to see the harm he’d done. His jaw clenched and you quickly noticed what he was looking at and moved your hair to cover it. Joel thought he was ready to say something, but seeing what his hands had done to you he was left with no words.

“I’m not mad at you” you assured him with a soft whisper.

“You didn’t deserve that” he looked down taking a shaky deep breath flaring his nostrils.

Joel was angry with himself in a way he had never been before.

“I’m fine” you barely sounded convincing to yourself.

“What if Tommy wasn’t there-what if-“ he couldn’t even finish the sentence, the thought of anything happening to you he simply couldn’t take.

“You know I would never do anything to you like that purposely right? I swear, baby if I knew it was you-“

“Joel, I know” you assured him with tears in your eyes. You could see the guilt he felt eating away at him.

“Let’s just forget this happened” you caressed the side of his face with a smile he could see right through.

“Shoot, sorry-“ Ellie suddenly appeared through the door catching you both by surprise.

“I was just gonna head to my room” she furrowed her brows taking a better look at you.

“Hey what the heck happened to you?” You quickly covered your neck with your hand turning away as Joel took a step towards Ellie, covering her view of you.

“Ellie please go to your room”

“Ooook then” she raised her brows walking backwards as she stepped inside and closed her door. When Joel turned back he realized you had walked into the room and quickly followed. Your back to him you quickly wiped away any tears before he could see.

“Hey” he reached out to your arm making you unexpectedly jump. The sight of you even the slightest bit afraid of him broke him. He a took a step back but all he really wanted to do was hold you.

“You want me to go?”

“No” you quickly responded turning to him.

“Stay” you gently reached your arm out to his hand taking hold of it.

“I’m fine, I promise” you took a deep breath and smiled but you could see the uncertainty in his eyes. To reassure him you took a step closer and wrapped your arms around him, it took everything in him to keep his hands to himself afraid he would scare you off.

“Hold me” he looked you in your eyes and without saying a word you slowly felt his hands grab onto your waist.

“See? We’re ok” you smiled as he furrowed his brows.

“It wont ever happen again, I promise you that” he meant what he said and you trusted his word but in all reality, how could he be so sure? Not saying what you were thinking you nodded and lay your head on his chest as he held you silently against him..

#pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x ofc #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #the last of us

[thirtysevenodddogs]

TEENAGE DREAM

Chapter 1 - Of Broken Hearts And Teenage Guts

Pairings: Main-Joel Miller x Ofc/Reader/You (reader has a name)

Secondary- Joel x Tess / Mentioned- Ellie x Riley, Tommy x Maria

Fic Warnings: 30/y Age Difference, Joel is 48, Reader is 18, Underage for Ch1 (Legal in the State of Texas), Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Anal Play, Use of Sex Toys, Outdoor Sex, Squirting, Sex Tapes, Infidelity, Rough Sex, Spitting, Face Slapping, DV, Unwanted Pregnancy, Spanking, Daddy Kink, Anal Sex, Rimming (Both M/F and F/M), Light-Skinned Ofc, Athletic/Curvy Ofc

Word Count: 3.3K

AU-No Cordyceps Outbreak/Sarah is alive

BFD!Joel Miller

Joel Miller is having an affair with his daughters’ best friend.

Cover image by @beskarandblasters

Banners and dividers by @saradika-graphics

It started in the way things like this start you suppose, almost by accident. 

It started with a soft touch, firm hands, and a deep need for protection, care, and want.

It started on a rainy night when you got to their house looking to spend a weekend eating junk food and having two shoulders to cry on, a weekend of girl nights and rom-coms and trash-talking the boy who just dumped you.

It started when you forgot Sarah and Ellie were away with their mom, and Mr. Miller opened his door to you standing on his porch soaking wet and crying.

It started with Joel Miller letting you in and closing the door behind you.

You're staring at a white scuff mark on an otherwise perfectly pristine soft blue wall, your breathing harsh still, you can feel your chest expanding against the mattress with each panting exhale, and there's sweat running down your back that's starting to turn sticky thanks to the night breeze coming in from the half-open window.

"Fuuuuck!" You hear him groan and feel him start to move, you dare not even turn and look at him so you just stare at that scuff mark on the wall right next to his dresser, and try not to think about what you just did.

"This never happened", he says, and you feel the bed give way with the shift of his body as he gets up, you listen as he walks and the bedroom door opens and closes, and you still can't move.

You can still feel him all over you, his hands running over every inch of your body, his beard scratching at the skin of your belly, his lips against your neck after he flipped you over, that dull ache from where he entered you, and the telltale sign of what he left behind dripping down into a puddle that's becoming uncomfortable under your hips.

You close your eyes and can't decide if you should laugh or cry, it all happened so fast, and you still haven't processed that you are here, that he did do that to you, that you wanted it so badly, that you begged him for it.

It all happened so fast.

Joel frowns, looking down at his watch, still the same one Sarah had fixed for him so many years ago, it reads 10:51 pm, too late for anyone to come knocking at his door.

He puts down the tumbler of whiskey he had been indulging in after a hard day of work, "Fucking Tommy" he groans, ready with some choice words for his little brother who is probably already drunk and had forgotten again that he'd moved to his own apartment a month ago.

"I'm coming! Stop knocking you fucking idio... Oh!" He stops then, taking a moment to look at the girl standing on his porch, face red and blotchy and clothes heavy with rain water, shivering and looking like she'd just run there. "Jenna? It's 11 pm, sweetie, what are you doing here?" he asks, a little confused as to why his daughters' best friend is knocking on his door so late at night.

She sniffles and looks around, seeming confused herself "Mr. Miller... I..is.." She sobs a little, using the cuff of her hoodie to wipe at her face "Are Ellie and Sarah home?" she sniffles again, looking up at Joel with big sad eyes.

"Oh honey, no, they're at their mom's this weekend", Joel tells her, still lost on what to do. He can't see any cars he doesn't recognize parked down the street and the way she's breathing all labored, and shivering, it does seem like she genuinely actually RAN there.

Joel sighs and opens the door fully "Why don't you come in, we can call your parents" He steps back a little so she can walk inside, closing the door behind her after checking the street one more time.

You can hear the sound of running water down the hall. Mr. Miller, "Call me Joel", washing away what he clearly feels was a mistake off of his skin. You finally roll over, gathering the crumpled-up, thin green sheet to cover up your body as you sit up against his headboard.

You wince, the dull ache deep inside you turning into sharp pain for a second before dissipating back into that strange feeling of emptiness. And you feel a little dirty, a little weird too, almost like your skin fits too tight on your own body, like it's not yours.

Everything smells like him and you and sex and a little bit like dirt and wet grass. You lean over the edge of the bed looking around for your clothes and you groan when you remember they're not there. You close your eyes and curse at yourself, at your stupidity, your neediness, and how easy it all was.

How could you have done this to them? "This never happened, ok" You whisper his words back and nod as if saying it means that it's real and erased and you're clean again and Ellie and Sarah never, ever need to know.

You gather yourself up still wrapped in his green sheet and tail it out of the bedroom and down the hall, past the bathroom where you can still hear the water running, and down the stairs. Where you know your clothes are, somewhere in between the laundry room and... everywhere else.

"Come on, let's get you out of those wet clothes", Joel says, looking at the poor girl still shivering and trying to calm down her crying. He gestures towards the laundry room with his head "I've got some clean towels down here, you can take your hoodie off and I'll make you some tea while you call home ok?"

"I can't go home" She whines, following after him, still sniffling a little.

Joel stops and turns back to look at her, a worried frown etched on his face “What do you mean?” he asks, concerned. 

Jenna bites her lip looking up at him, face flushed. And he has passing thought, that she’s so fucking pretty. He shakes it off as she speaks. "I lied to my parents” She pouts “They wanted me to go camping and I told them Ellie and Sarah had invited me to spend the weekend, I..." She blushes, looking down at the floor and pulling on the sleeves of her hoodie, wrapping her arms around herself "I was supposed to be with my boyfriend" She whimpers, her voice cracking again looking up at Joel with those big brown eyes, red-rimmed and filling up with tears threatening to spill again. "He broke up with me" She breaks down again, sobbing.

And Joel? He just reacts.  He gathers her up in his arms and makes soft soothing sounds "Shhh, It’s ok" he says, holding her close to his body just as he would his own daughters. His cheek is pressed against the top of her head and he can feel her shallow breathing against his chest. His shirt getting just as soaked as her clothes are. "I'm so sorry Mr. Miller" she mumbles, warm breath against his neck. "It's ok sweet girl, it's gonna be ok" he keeps saying over and over again.

You start picking up your clothes, blushing, all the way from your panties halfway down the stairs, your bra and his boxers just a few steps away, to the living room where the rest of your clothes lie in a pile, along with his just on the edge of the couch that he had pushed you into.

You remember fisting the back of his shirt and the way his scent was almost overwhelming. His hands, big and firm and safe, and the way you dragged your nose over his throat pushing up on your tip toes and whispering against his cheek once again "I'm sorry Mr.Miller". It was mostly a blur after that.

You know it was you. Your lips against the corner of his mouth then full-on against his. You know it was you because he was the one who stopped, you know it was you who started it, yes. But it was him who didn't let you go.

You know it was you because you wanted it so badly, and he didn't let you just take it. He took too.

Joel is startled, pulling his face back, eyes wide.

"Hey..." he starts to say, only to be interrupted again by your lips crashing back against his, and your voice so soft and still shaky whispering "Please" another small kiss and your face so close and your body rising up against his "Please" another whisper and something just snaps in him, he kisses you back so hard he ends up pressing you against the wall.

Your lips are so soft and plump and YOUNG, you taste like candy and coconut lip balm and you’re so fucking eager. Your hands are running up the back of his head, his own almost reacting of their own accord going down to hold your waist and squeeze your hips, and palm your ass, so fucking perky and tight. He doesn’t know what to do, where to touch, what to grab. He wants all of it, all of YOU, at once.

"Fuck" he groans, breaking the kiss only to tilt his head down and latch on to your neck.

"Please Mr. Miller" You moan, your hands going to the front of his shirt almost ripping it open to push your fingers against his collarbone and behind his neck, pulling him down into a deep kiss again, sucking his lip into your mouth and biting down. Your teeth drag over his flesh. 

He’s harder than he’s ever been.

"Jesus" Joel pants, he knows it's going to happen, he wants it to happen.

In less than two seconds he has your hoodie open and is pushing it down your arms onto the floor, a small puddle forming around the heavy fabric. The t-shirt you’re wearing underneath is equally soaked through and he can see the hint of a lacy pink bra and large, soft breasts. "Fuck!" he groans again taking your mouth in another deep kiss and pulling you along towards the couch. He pushes your hot little body up against the back of it, your legs kicking out as you try to kick off your shoes.

"Mr. Miller" You moan against his ear, and it feels like a fucking prayer. Blunt nails scratch at the exposed skin peeking out from his shirt at the top of his back and drag their way down to the hem, pulling at it again. "Please" you groan almost desperate. His own hands going under your t-shirt and pushing up, his thumbs dragging against your not-quite-flat stomach and sides as his palms glide up your soft, so fucking soft, back.

"Lift your arms up, baby girl" Joel whispers against your lips, pulling back a little to just look at you as he rips the shirt off completely, dropping it to the floor at his feet. "Shiiit" he whispers breathlessly, looking down at that pink lacy bra and those gorgeous fleshy breasts, cupping each one and moaning out loud at how well they fill up his hands, he squeezes and rubs the tiny peaks of your hardened nipples with his thumbs, pushing his forehead against yours "You're so fucking beautiful" he groans.

You moan in response, your eyes rolling back a little and your arms going back around his neck "Feels so good Mr.Miller" you groan, finally getting your shoes off and wrapping your legs around him, kissing any and every part of his skin that you can reach, still tugging and pulling at his shirt.

"Joel", he says, finally reaching down and almost ripping off a button in his haste to tear his shirt off "Call me Joel". His hands fall to grip your ass as he lifts you off the couch and walks just a few steps away, his mouth devouring yours again pushing you up against the wall.

"Joel" You pant in between kisses, your hands cupping the sides of his face pushing him to look at you. Your eyes blown wide, almost dazed.

"Fuck me, Joel" It’s the sweetest fucking thing he’s ever heard, such a pretty voice. 

Such a sinful mouth.

Your jeans are still damp when you pick them up from where they lay crumpled up in the middle of the living room floor. You can still feel the burn of the small scratches on your back from where he held you against the wall not even an hour ago.

You hear the water shutting off and look down at yourself in your lacy pink underwear. And you can see your t-shirt just behind the couch and your hoodie peeking around the hallway. You could just get dressed and go, call some other friend, and tell them you need a place to crash for the night, you could just walk away.

But… you don't. You can't.

You don't want to feel this way. Like what you did was such a bad thing. You don't want to leave with the memory of a bedroom wall instead of his face, instead of his eyes. Because you didn't do anything wrong, you decide, not really. You gather up both his and your clothes, his dumb green sheet, and all the courage you can muster. You march back up the stairs.

You refuse to walk out of this house feeling ashamed.

The carpet is rough against his knees, and the steps aren't nearly wide enough to be comfortable but he doesn't care, your back is arched and your legs are spread wide over his shoulders. And you taste like he's a fucking teenager again, sweet and bitter and perfect.

The soft cotton of your panties is still clutched in one of his hands while the other keeps you open. His tongue lapping at that little nub right above your core and his nose is flush with a perfectly trimmed little line of pubic hair.

"Fuck, Joel" You’re mewling now, your hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair, your legs twitching and your belly tight "Oh my god!" You almost shout as he breaches you with a thick finger. He pushes in, firm and relentless all the way up to the last knuckle, his lips around that little nub now as you clamp down around him, so warm and tight.

"That's it, baby, so fucking sweet" He pulls out and pushes back in again, letting your underwear drop onto the step below your body, and bringing his other hand up to spread your beautiful pussy open, looking down at that tight little bright pink hole. So lovely, wet and shiny, and sooooo fucking young.

" Wanna eat you so bad baby, wanna stay here forever" he groans lowering his head and taking you back into his mouth, sucking harder now, finger pushing in and out getting you ready to take another one.

"Yes, fuck yeah, Jo... Joel" You moan spreading your legs as far as they'll go wedged in between the walls of his tiny stairwell. He's pushing two fingers in now, and you open up so well that he almost feels jealous to know that someone has already been there before. That your body’s already been taught this kind of touch. 

The grip on his hair gets tighter still, almost painful and your heat grips his fingers like he hasn't felt a woman do in way too long. Your hips are twitching and he feels as you start to drip all over his hand, all over his beard.

"Come on baby, come for me"

"We had sex!" You say as you storm back into the room.

He's naked, a towel wrapped around his waist, his head down in resignation as he sits on the edge of his bed almost like he was waiting for you. "We had sex Joel" you repeat, standing there probably looking silly dressed in nothing your underwear with an armful of dirty clothes wrapped on a dirty sheet.

"It happened", You tell him. You say to him, and to the room that bore witness, the room where he took you and where he is now trying to take it back.

You feel a knot in your throat but you've already cried enough tonight for a stupid boy. You're not about to cry for a stupid man.

"Can you please look at me?" You beg almost, letting the sheet and your clothes drop down to the floor, stepping over them and up to him, between his legs. You cradle his face in your hands, but he’s still not looking at you.

"I didn't do anything wrong" Your voice breaks and his head snaps up, a look of so much regret on his face.

"I did!" He says looking up at you, his hands clutching the mattress like he's forcing himself not to move them, not to touch you. "I'm the one who did something wrong" he almost sounds like he's in pain and you're still holding his face and all you want to do is make him see that it's ok, that you wanted him to do it. That you still want him to.

"You didn't!" you drop to your knees almost eager, and you pull his face down towards yours and kiss him. Just a peck, close-mouthed and earnest "You didn't do anything I didn't want you to do..." you bite your lip and you try and say it with courage, that little word that he kept calling you that made you feel so good "Baby"

He snorts and you almost balk at how stupid it sounds coming out of your mouth but, instead, you laugh and he laughs and it's not awkward or dirty or sad anymore. It just is, and now you both have to deal with it.

You smile at him once you've both stopped laughing and kiss him again. He kisses you back just as softly and you decide to let you both off the hook. You're not naive, and you know he's not something you actually get to have.

"Thank you, Mr.Miller”. 

You say it softly, and he almost looks surprised. You let go of him then and stand up taking a couple of steps back. "Is it ok if I crash here? I promise I'll figure something out in the morning", you tell him.

He nods "Yeah", he says “ Yeah, of course”, and stands up. He walks over to his dresser and pulls out a pair of grey sweatpants and a clean t-shirt from a drawer "You can sleep in Sarah's room". He hands you the clean clothes, and just like that, it’s over. You nod at him and walk out. 

And you know he understands.

You don't have to feel dirty and he doesn't have to feel guilty, it happened. No one else needs to know, but it happened.

The bed groans under your combined weight, the headboard slamming ever so slightly against the wall with each push of his hips against yours, you're on your knees, your hands against the wall and your ass bouncing with every thrust. 

Your heat around his cock feels like heaven, a teenage wet dream come alive. His name on your lips sounds like nothing he's ever heard before, and when he spills inside of you it’s like he's born again. Nothing matters then.

He knows what he's doing isn't right, you're 17, and the only reason he knows you is because his daughters are your best friends. You go to high school together for Christ's sake! 

He has a fucking girlfriend that's going to wonder where the scratches on his back came from. She'll ask about the bruises on his knees and the purple marks around his neck. He doesn't care.

There's sweat dripping down the curve of your back and you're clenching around him, soaked in your pleasure along with him, and he knows it's wrong.

But God does it feel so fucking right.

It's the peak before the crash, and he knows the crash is coming fast. So he holds you tight, gives you everything he’s got.

#Mia's fic #Teenage Dream #The Las Of Us #The Last of Us Fanfiction #Joel Miller #Joel Miller Fic #Joel Miller Smut #Joel Miller x Reader #Joel Miller x You #Joel Miller x Ofc #Best Friend's Dad #18+

[psychedelic-ink]

𝑩𝑼𝑹𝑵 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝑴𝑬

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

genre: smut, angst, dark fic

word count: 3.5k

summary: joel looks after you, provides for you, fucks you until the sun comes up; his only ask is that you never leave his apartment, not willing to face another loss. One day when you find the door unlocked, you decide to take stroll, promising yourself that you'll be back before he returns home.

warnings: canon typical violence, possesive!joel, dark!joel, willing captivity, stockholm syndrome, fear kink, dubious consent, rough sex, piv, mention of fingering, mention of oral, physical assault from a stranger, choking, spanking, thigh fucking, creampie

thank you to @inklore who I have been screaming about joel endlessly and helped me come up with this idea and thank you to my brainwave twin @pedrito-friskito for beta-ing ❤️❤️❤️

The air is a warm caress to your skin. 

You feel the flickers of amber licking where your skin shows, the smell of coal and wood heavy. Your nostrils burn at the smell. Your eyes dart around, heart fluttering in your chest in a similar fashion to a curious child. You don’t remember how long it’s been since you’ve been outside of the confinements of Joel’s apartment. 

He found you on the brink of death, skin cut up and torn by hunters. You shudder when you remember how effortlessly he scooped you up, swearing never to let you out of his sight. He brought you back to his apartment, cleaned your wounds. You thought he was joking—but he wasn’t. Joel kept you locked up; loving you, providing for you, and reading to you behind closed doors. You were his secret, the embodiment of all the things he missed and craved to feel under his hands once more. 

You never said a word. After being shattered and put back by the world over and over it felt good to be looked after. For someone else to think about your well-being without you having to. Your mind screamed at you in your dreams. It whispered that you should leave, escape, that this wasn’t a life to live and that you were a prisoner to the whims of a broken man. 

But how could you listen to reason when he filled you up so beautifully? 

It was as if he hears your mind racing at night, dragging you away from thoughts by pressing his fingers into you, stroking you until you woke with a cry of pleasure. You would open your eyes to the oddest of hours, either with the hardness of his cock or the sensual glide of his tongue—it didn’t matter, your body would forever crave him, this much you knew.

You don’t think much when you notice that Joel forgot to lock the main door. Pulling on your boots, you slip outside, curious what the world had become while you were drowning in the blissful ignorance he provided. Joel never allowed you to leave, even with him by your side. 

You kick a small rock, watching it skip ahead with an almost bored look. It doesn’t take you long to realize that the world is still deep in shit, maybe even more so since Joel took you in. There are more soldiers, more bodies burning, warming the sky. It makes you sick, your stomach rolling uncomfortably as bile raises up your throat and stings your tongue. 

“Haven’t seen you before, you lost sweetheart?” 

You flinch at the voice. Slowly turning, you see a man with dirty blond hair and an equally dirty beard, he grins at you with yellow teeth. He takes a step forward and you take a step back, you feel your pulse in your throat. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he purrs, crowding your personal space with two easy steps. “Why don’t you come with me? We could have some fun. You look lonely,” 

“Well, I’m not,” you snap with falsely found confidence. “Leave me alone,” 

He clicks his tongue, an ugly snarl curling over his lips. “Such a big mouth on such a pretty thing…I’m not sure I like that,”

A chill settles at the bottom of your spine. You feel two others rounding you, scowling as they circle you like vultures. You swallow, your demeanor softening at the nearing threat. 

“I’m not alone,” you croak. “Let me go please,” 

The man seems pleased by this. He mulls over what you said, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. With a tilted head he approaches, fingers brushing your cheek. 

“I think you’re mistaken,” he hums. “You’re alone, and we’re here to keep you company.” 

When the same fingers that touch your cheek move to trace your lips, you bite. Your teeth sink into the boney flesh, hard enough to draw blood, he scurries back with a shout. The other two move forward, and one grabs your nape. “You bitch—” he hisses into your ear. 

“Let me go!” you struggle, eyes darting around in hopes to see a god-forsaken soldier but they were none. “Fuck—”

You hurl forward with a punch to your stomach, you nearly empty your stomach all over the concrete. Saliva fills your mouth and you swallow. You feel a painful tug on your hair as your head is forced back. The face of the blond man comes into view, he growls. “You’re gonna fucking regret that,” 

Bare knuckles clashes angrily against your cheekbone— again and again. You taste blood. You spit. Between squinted eyes you see red coloring cold gray, your tongue swipes over your bottom lip, tracing the slash your teeth made into it. 

“We could’ve had a fun time,” the man mutters. Another blow to your face follows, your eye already feels swollen. “But I don’t feel that charitable anymore.” 

Before being buried in darkness, the last thing you think of is Joel. You never should’ve left. 

You wake to a gentle touch—two calloused hands cradling your face, thumbs tracing smoothing lines down your face. Your vision is blurred and you can barely see, but the silhouette in front of you is familiar, it smells of home. 

“Joel?” you call out wincing at the dryness of your voice. “Is that you?” 

Your right eye throbs painfully, warm to the touch, pounding like a beating heart. Joel lets out a breath of relief, his head dropping between his shoulders. 

“Thank god,” he mutters, he hooks his arms under your waist and knees, lifting you up from the cold concrete. “What the hell were you thinkin’?” 

Warm tears roll down your face and you sniffle, the salt burns your skin. “I’m sorry, Joel,” you whisper. “It—It hurts,” 

“I know baby, I know,” he huffs, steps now moving hastily. “I’m going to patch you up, then I’m going to find the fucker who did this to you, alright? Don’t worry. I got you, you’re good, you’re okay…” 

You slip in and out of consciousness on the way back home, and when you finally find yourself leaning into the comfort of the couch, you’re still not quite sure what happened. 

Joel gently presses a wet rag against your eye. He cleans the caked blood on your lips and the rest of your face. He’s not the best at hiding his anger, with every swipe of fabric, you feel rage curling angrily in his belly. You refuse to look at him. Too afraid that as soon as you make eye contact he’s going to scold you. 

Not addressing it makes it worse. Joel grunts, a string of curses following after every dab against your skin. 

Suddenly his hand falls to his knee, “Look at me.” he commands and you do. With his flared nostrils, he glares at you, hot iron pressing into your skin. “Why did you leave?” 

The skin over his muscles is drawn taut when he asks. You blink quickly, nose wrinkling with the stabbing pain spreading through your swollen eye. 

“I was curious,” you say quickly. “I was going to come back but they jumped me—” 

“Do I not fuckin’ give you everything?” he shoots up to his feet, startling you. His voice trembles. “I cook for you, feed you, take care of you, and—and you leave?!” 

You open your mouth to speak but as soon as you do something whirs past your head and shatters against the wall. Shards of glass sprinkle down the couch. With wide eyes you turn back to look at Joel, he’s hysterical, pacing back and forth, crimson red crawling up from his neck to his cheeks. 

“You could’ve fuckin’died if I didn’t find you in time—” he stops, eyes finding yours. He takes a sharp breath and makes his way back to you, sitting on the coffee table. “Fuck look at you. You’re trembling. I’m sorry, I would never hurt you. I was just scared, I can’t bare the thought of losing you,” 

Joel pulls you so you’re straddling his lap, large palm cradles the back of your head while the other lays on your waist. You wrap your arms around him, nails digging into the soft fabric of his flannel. Your chest heaves as you try to breathe, your chest aches. You never wanted to hurt him, or get hurt for that matter. Your body feels on the verge of splitting into two, the physical and emotional pain like knives digging into your skin. 

“Can you tell me who did this?” he mutters, his voice a low rasp. “Do you know who they are?” 

You shake your head as you describe the blond man and his ugly snarl. You tell Joel what the stranger said to you, how many there were of them. His fingers twitch, searing anger floods through his veins. 

“I’m going to take you to bed now. I want you to rest,” 

“Don’t go,” you squeal. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.” 

“Just worry about yourself. I’ll be right back, promise.” 

Right after the door shuts, a jingle of keys and a loud lock echoes in the small apartment. Joel rattles the door for good measure, checking that it’s properly locked just in case you would think of going out again. Not that you would. You don’t even remember why you wanted to leave so badly in the first place. 

You’re not sure how much time passes. You flinch at the sound of the door slamming shut, your curious gaze flicks to the entrance of the bedroom. You’re surprised when Joel staggers through the door, his hand holding the nape of the man who attacked you. The man is heavily bruised, bleeding with a limp to his step. 

You feel a mixture of relief and shock, your mouth opens and closes right after, not knowing what to say. 

“Is this the fuckhead who bruised you?” Joel spits, shaking the man. The blond whines and gives you a pleading look. You stay silent. Joel asks again, louder this time. “Is this him? Answer me.” 

Goosebumps trail over your skin, it’s like needles stabbing into your skin. The man turns white, struggling in Joel’s grasp but there’s no escape for him. 

You look down, hugging your knees close to your chest, “Yes,” you whisper. 

A gunshot. A thud. 

With a sharp gasp, you cover your ears and squeeze your eyes shut. You breathe heavily through your nose—in and out, you try to focus on the way your lungs expand with oxygen. Joel shot him. He actually fucking shot him, tears overflow your lash line. You tremble uncontrollably, your palms clammy and cold with sweat. 

The bed dips and you feel fingers circling your wrists. Joel pulls your hands down to your stomach, still holding you as his eyes trace the tear streaks going down your face. His fingers tighten, blunt nails scratching skin. 

“He hurt you,” he states, no emotion to his voice. “Don’t feel bad for him. He doesn’t deserve it.” 

“I didn’t want you to kill him,” you answer slowly. 

“I know. You’re too good for that, too pure,” he cups your cheek, fingers dropping to hold the point of your chin. “I hope you understand now. There ain’t no limits when it comes to you, I would rather watch the world burn,” 

It’s hard to focus on what he’s saying when there’s a dead body laying on the floor. You sniffle and rub your nose with the back of your hand. He smiling now, a gentle smile. You’re not supposed to mimic the expression but you do, a soft tug at the corner of your lips. Your heart swells. 

“That’s my girl,” he muses, the pad of his thumb following the seam of your lips. “I would kill a thousand more to see that smile,” 

You part your lips, allowing him to slip his finger in between them. He groans when your swirl your tongue, sucking him deeper. He shifts on the bed, cock uncomfortably straining against his jeans. He removes his finger and pulls at your bottom lip. Your eyes meet. 

He’s dangerous, you remember suddenly. The words that were uttered to bring out sympathy bring out fear instead; the lengths he’d go to keep you safe, the promise of more lifeless bodies made as an offering to you. However, that’s not the only thing that makes you shudder. It’s the fact that you enjoy it. Joel protects you from the darkness, a beacon of violently bright light. He’s something that you never thought you’d have. 

A protector. 

You say nothing when he pushes you down onto your back. He strips you slowly, heavy fingers tracing every inch of your naked body. Joel remains clothed, only his jeans unbuttoned and unzipped. You feel like a piece of art that he’s only allowed to touch. The same fingers that pulled the trigger brush the swell of your eye, still pulsing under his touch. 

His lips find yours in a frenzy. The moment of softness gone, leaving only hunger and need in its wake. You feel the clash of teeth, the lick of his tongue. The cut on your lip stings when he nips your bottom lip, you gasp, the blossoming pain forcing your hips up to grind up against him. 

He growls into your mouth and you swallow the sound. Blindly you reach out and pull his hand to your throat, a plea falling from your lips as you beg him to squeeze. He does so with little objection. His thumb smooths over your pulse, feeling it before starting to block the airflow. Your eyes water and a choked moan rips from your throat. Joel shimmies down, brushing his lips down your breasts and drawing a stiff nipple into his mouth. He nips at the stiff peak and flicks his tongue. 

Arousal pools between your legs, cunt dripping and leaving the inside of your thighs wet. He presses two fingers against your clit, a wave of pleasure hits you unexpectedly, you claw at his wrist but he doesn’t loosen his grip, instead, he tightens his hold. 

“You’re never gonna attempt that shit again are you?” he mutters, inhaling your scent. “Don’t force me to do anything I’ll regret, little bird,” 

You feel incredibly cold, the words spoken chill you from the inside out, an icy exterior forming around your skin. But your body reacts independently from the fear. Your breathing hitches, eyes rolling back as your heat chases the pads of his fingers. Joel cups your sex and roughly grinds his palm into your clit, you let out a muffled cry You feel your eyes starting to bug out. 

“I can’t lose anyone else.” your vision starts to fade to black, you can’t breathe. Joel mouths your other nipple, the tip of his tongue drawing soft circles. “I need you to understand that. The only thing you need to fear is what I’m willing to do to keep you with me.” 

You wheeze and your lips go numb, your nails start to tear away at his skin. 

A sharp sting blossoms over your chest, more slick drips from your pussy, he teeths at your nipple again and again, not stopping until your panicked whimpering becomes breathless moans. 

You’re not sure what prompts him to do it but he finally lets go of your throat, the sudden flood of oxygen makes your head spin. 

“Turn over.”

With wobbly arms and legs, you oblige. The rough fabric of his jeans scrapes the back of your thighs, he thrusts forward, pushing his shaft between your legs and coating it with the arousal gathered between your legs. His fingers brush your neck, tracing where he squeezed earlier. Instead of flinching you lean into his touch, aching to feel the warmth of his bare skin. 

He continues to glide his cock between your wet folds, his breathing heavy, he stuffs his fingers into your mouth. You lick eagerly, your walls clenching around nothing. The warm fan of his breath tickles your damp skin, tongue tracing down your shoulder blades. 

“J-Joel— please,” 

“You think you deserve my cock?” 

Your vision dotted, a whine falls from your parted lips. You push back into him. He moans into your skin, nipping over your spine. His hand slices through the air, delivering a sharp hit to the meat of your ass. You cry out and bite the inside of your cheek. 

“I have half a mind to fuck your thighs and leave you wantin’” his chest heaves. “Especially after the scare you gave me,” 

“I’m sorry,” you hiccup. “I really am. I just wanted to look around. I-I never wanted to leave, just needed some air,” 

Your pleas are followed by his sigh, he sounds exasperated but his voice softens nonetheless. He soothes the pain by kneading you like dough. “How about we go out every Friday?” 

You shake your head, trembling when the head of his cock catches against your clit. “I don’t want to—’Just want you,” 

“Is that so,” he hums, nodding. “Good. Maybe you really did learn your lesson,”

“I did, sir. Please,” 

“Fuck, I love hearin’ you beg sweetheart,” he says, delivering a particularly hard thrust between your legs. You keen at the drag of his cock, head falling back with a moan. “Beg me for it.” 

“Please,” you whimper. “Please, sir. I need it so bad. I want your big fat cock,” 

Joel visibly shudders at that, he takes a fistful of your hips and grinds into you. Harder, faster, his cock throbs, balls draw tight. You’re so fucking wet, drooling all over him. He sucks a sharp breath and buries himself into you with one smooth movement. Your pleas rise into a high-pitched whimper. 

The warm heat of your cunt is indescribable. Momentarily he forgets everything; the outbreak, the dead body he needs to dispose of— all of it gone in a blink of an eye. And it’s all thanks to your sweet pussy. 

Joel holds you down, his grip like iron as he pounds into you with hard strokes. You scream but make no sound, your body nothing but a toy for him. Feeling the soft, dark curls that fill the space above his cock gives you a sense of adrenaline and need. Your eyes pinch close, the pillow rubbing your skin raw. Your back arches to support the way he’s tearing you into half, hips lifting up toward him more. 

He smacks you again, the muscle under his heavy palm rippling at the strike. But the pain is welcome, shooting down your back and to your core. You cry out for him, thanking him for fucking you, the words awaken something animalistic in him. Joel moves punishingly, a stark reminder that he’s still angry with you. He jackhammers his hips down into your body. 

He slams his hips, hoarse groans attached to the beating sound of him hard against your ass. Sweat beads at his tailbone, trickling down his tanned skin. 

Forgiveness comes in the form of him trailing open-mouthed kisses across the blades of your shoulders, the trickle of his hair sends goosebumps up your body as he moves. You hear him growl through gritted teeth, your stomach goes taut, legs tense. Joel moves, rocking in and out of you. He knocks the air from your lungs. 

Joel hits that deep soft spot inside of you, stroking over it with the drag of his cock again and again. You feel your skin prickle, your core sucking him needily. You scream in the plush of the pillows, he reaches down and pulls you up so he can see your face, even if it’s from the side. 

“Look at you,” he says, southern drawl thick. “So cock drunk. Good–fucking–girl,” 

Your eyes roll back when he grinds against the deep, soft spot inside of you that makes you see stars. You forget about the swell of your eye, the cut on your bottom lip. His thighs shake as he holds you in place, feeling you squeeze his cock in a way that promises to milk him dry. 

Joel empties himself into you with short, hard thrusts of his hips that your pussy pulls and pulls, throbbing around him. He pulls out, strings of slick stretching between your sweaty bodies. You’re all shiny and swollen, glistening with remnants of him and you. You collapse to your side, breathing heavily. You gasp when he affectionately swats your ass. 

“I’m going to take care of a couple things now,” he rasps, addressing the elephant (body) in the room. “Stay put. Don’t go anywhere. My forgiveness is not a cheap thing, bird.” 

When you nod, he leans over you and presses his lips to your temple. 

You don’t look when Joel drags the body of the man who assaulted you out of the room. You don’t think of the outside when you hear the familiar locking of the door. 

Pleasure still buzzes in your veins, your head floating above it all. You stretch and smile lazily. You wrap yourself with a blanket, ignoring Joel’s seed still dripping down your thighs. 

Sleep is soon to take you, your dreams limited to the inside. 

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x ofc #joel miller x f!reader #dark!joel miller #hbo the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[ohforficsake]

You Brought Me Poison Flowers (on hiatus)

Series Summary: Joel and Ellie settle into life in Jackson, one more easily than the other, until Joel is reminded of what normal feels like. A series of one-shot glimpses into a relationship (no real plot here, people.) Soft!Joel. Two touch-starved babes. Slow-ish burn. * - Denotes smut. WIP - Undetermined amount of chapters.

Pairing: Joel Miller/Herbalist!OFC Lennie. POC OFC. Age-appropriate age gap.

Rating: Explicit 18+ / Minors DNI

Chapter 1: Larkspur Chapter 2: Yarrow Chapter 3: Lettuce *Chapter 4: Echinacea Chapter 5: Onion * Chapter 6: Cherry * Chapter 7: Maple Chapter 8: Beet * *NEW* 1/11

Twenty Questions and Then Some - Poison Flowers Drabbles

Summary: Joel asks a lot of questions. Shorter drabbles. Forthcoming.

How Old Were You? What Was the First Thing You Stole? Lover? Did You Have a Car? Can I Tell You Somethin'?

YBMPF Moodboards

Lennie’s Shop Ad Lennie's Apartment

Author Masterlist

Old chapters are hosted on the OFFS Library page. New chapters will be posted to Ohforficsake - follow me here for future updates.

Shoot me a message @ohforficsake or comment under this post if you would like to be added to the taglist for updates! Thanks so much for reading.

#don't mind me just updating the masterlists #ybmpf #masterlists #joel miller x ofc #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #ohforficsake

[wildemaven]

Fall Apart, Again - Series

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC!Genevieve

Rating: M, 18+ Blog

A seemingly happy life, slowly beginning to fall apart at the seams, only to have a fungal outbreak rip every last bit of it away from you at once.

21 years after the outbreak, you’ve pieced back together a semblance of new life, making do with the world around you. Until your past comes back to haunt you— you’re left to fall apart, again.

Playlist / Inspo Board

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Interlude - A Letter to Joel

Chapter 4

#Joel Miller #joel miller x original character #joel miller x ofc #joel miller x you #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal #wildemaven writes #the last of us #tlou

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

plum, masterlist

a/n: instead of writing this story as one single long fic (because I am working on too many extremely long fics and series already), I decided to simply chop every moment into little blurbs or shorter fics and gradually share it that way. also, this is a pretty dark fic. i didn’t expect to dive into all of the stuff i did, but turned out that i was ready to work on some traumas and work them into this… didn’t expect it, but it just felt natural, especially with a story as special to me as the last of us, so i just rolled with it.

warnings: Joel Miller x reader, MILD SPOILERS for the last of us (both games and the hbo series), DARK content, prior noncon, slow burn, age gap (20 years), violence, heavy angst, ptsd, timeline wise this is set in between the first and second game (so when they live in jackson), former firefly!reader, explicit sexual content, still in progress

masterlist | join my taglist

yeah, I know her

you’re home

why do you call her that?

we square?

hold my hand for a little bit?

the library

you don’t know me

neutral third party

I don’t know where to start

how long have you been sitting out here?

big dipper

only push me away if you really don’t want this

what if I don’t wanna be patient?

sunrise

complicated chords

why do you wanna keep us a secret?

Joel, I’m fine, it’s just a fever

it would be so mean to just leave me like this

i’ve got you

you deserve dibs

numb

incapable of thinking with anything but your fists

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble

#lea’s writing #plum #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal smut #joel miller smut #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller series #pedro pascal fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x ofc #joel miller x f!reader #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal character #joel miller hbo x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x oc #joel miller blurb #joel miller angst #joel miller x female reader