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frannyzooey · 1 year

Text

One Bed

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

A/N: Just shameless "there is only one bed" filth for the amazing beauty who is @jollyrancher87. Thank you for sending me your ask, my lovely - I hope you like it! ❤️

“Goddamn it.”

He sighs, his fingers curled around the straps of his backpack as he shifts his weight to one foot and you step around him to see what he is looking at.

Oh.

“I mean,” you start carefully, “At least there’s one?”

You both look at the set of beds in front of you: one perfectly fine, if not a bit worn and dusty, and the other one covered in a pool of water from a crack in the ceiling above. It’s been dripping on it awhile, long enough for silt and plaster to form a sort of sludge on the top of the comforter and you only imagine how thick the mold is underneath.

“Just take it,” he says, shrugging his pack off and you frown, shaking your head.

“You’re the one with the bad back, you take it. I’ll make do on the floor.”

Impatience and exhaustion flares bright in his reply, his expression one of frustration. “I’m not gonna let you sleep on the fuckin’ floor while I get the bed. Just take it. I’ll be fine.”

He places his pack on the floor, kneeling down to join it. Resting his head on the rough, dirty canvas and folding his tight arms across his chest, he looks so comically uncomfortable that you fight the urge to laugh.

“Jesus, Joel, get up.” You tap the toe of your boot against the heel of his and he looks up at you with a frown. “Look, it’s not huge or anything, but we should both be able to fit. Get up here.”

His eyes narrow, and you roll your eyes, turning away from him. You feel his gaze on you as you set your pack down and toe your boots off, placing them both at the end of the bed. Pulling back the covers, you lay down and tug them up and over you, laying still.

“You coming?”

There is a beat, and then you hear another deep sigh escape him from the floor.

“Fine.”

–

Practically asleep before his head hit the pillow, he wakes in the middle of the night. Not the sort of sudden jolt that he’s used to, but rather a slow, hazy pull from the depths that he’s often not afforded. He’s been sleeping deeply, and what wakes him is that he’s hot – too hot, uncomfortably hot. He moves to push away the covers when he touches something else instead - you.

You’ve wound around each other in your sleep: your face buried in the crook of his neck, your arms curled against the width of his chest, his leg tucked in between your own with his arm slung protectively over the curve of your side. He can tell you’re still asleep from your slow, steady breaths and he tries to carefully extract himself, but for every inch he moves back, you unconsciously press closer.

He tries to rouse you instead, his hand gently shaking your shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispers softly, in the dark. “Hey. Wake up.”

Expecting you to wake with a start, he tries not to think about how the only reason you’re probably so deeply asleep is his close proximity. How he himself slept just as deeply for the same reason.

He shakes you again. “Hey.”

Your eyes still closed, a small frown pulls between your brows. You tilt your face up, still half asleep and when your mouth brushes his, he freezes. He doesn’t move, abandoning the attempt to wake you and he thinks you’ve fallen back asleep when your arm unfurls from his chest, reaching up to cup his cheek. He lets you touch it for a moment, his eyes taking in your face in the dark.

Your mouth is so close to his he can feel warm puffs of your breath skimming over his lips, your face so close that he can see the fan of your thick lashes and your nose brushes against his in a sleepy nuzzle, seeking out his warmth. Your hand slides up into his hair, fingers threading into the thick strands.

He should pull back and stop this, but he doesn’t.

“Joel,” you whisper slowly, your mouth full and soft with sleep.

His eyes drop to it for a moment and it looks so plush and inviting that he can’t help himself.

When his mouth meets yours in a chaste press, you kiss him back with an unconscious purse of your lips, opening them just enough to fit his lower lip neatly between your own. He breathes you in, letting them rest together in a full, lush fit and then you’re giving him another one; a firmer, more conscious pressure. Another one yet, his hand cradling the soft curve of your cheek to keep you in place.

You fit yourself closer to him, your thighs tightening around his own and your nails drag over his scalp, his fingers pressing into the hinge of your jaw in a silent request to open yourself wider for him. You taste sweeter than he thought you would, your sleep-thick mouth warm and inviting and hungry and when he shifts to lean over you, you tug him on top of you instead.

You might have been sleeping before, but he knows you’re fully awake now even if you won’t open your eyes. Your movements are intentional, the width of his body heavy and solid between your legs, comforting in its weight and your head tips back into the pillow, pulling away from the kiss for some air. He doesn’t seem to need any, his mouth molding around the curve of your jaw before sliding down the length of your neck and he gives the sweet skin there open mouthed kisses, a slight suck to them. His teeth catch, and you quietly moan.

Bringing his mouth back to yours, his beard brushes against your skin, your tongue chasing his as you deepen the kiss and when he lets out a low groan into your mouth, you swallow it down, savoring it.

He sounds just like he does in your dreams, just like the way this feels. Slick and needy between your legs, you roll your hips up to meet his in a wordless invitation and he presses his down into you, making room for himself. Soon you’re grinding against each other in desperation: your achingly empty core seeking out the solid heft that you can feel pressed against you, his own need evident.

“Joel, I –,” you whisper into his mouth in between kisses, a pleading creeping into the word and he nods, knowing what you need.

His hand reaches down and fumbles with his belt, another groan pouring into your mouth when he feels the heat of you against the back of his hand and then he’s working on the button of your jeans, trying to work it open. You try to help, but it’s not fast enough for him and with your thumbs still hooked under the waistband to slide them down, he shoves his hand underneath everything to find your slick seam, filling you swiftly with two thick fingers.

“Fuck,” you whine, abandoning your plan and arching your hips into his hand. He curls his fingers and begins a grinding stroke, the digits a snug fit in their slick slide.

“Goddamn,” he groans, muscle memory making him reach for a spot inside. He finds it, rubbing the pads of his fingers against it and is rewarded with your breathless cry, and a tight clench. “You’re so fuckin’ wet for me. So wet. Gonna feel so good around my cock. Gonna make me come, with this sweet little pussy.”

His fingers work, work, work underneath your jeans and you can’t even answer him with how good it feels. You let your thighs drop open wider, your hands reaching down to splay over the curve of his ass and you meet every one of his strokes with your hips, forcing his fingers deeper. He looks down at you with hooded eyes, his mouth parted as he watches you take.

“I want a taste,” he breathes, pushing his fingers in as deep as they can go, down to the base of his bruised knuckles. “I want –” he kisses you greedily, panting into your mouth. “I want to taste it, but I –”

You want him to taste it too - Christ, you do – but you need him to fuck you right now more than you need air to breathe, so you wrap your hand around his wrist with a tug and he slips it out from your pants, your hands already working on shoving your jeans down. He understands, his weight abruptly leaving you to sit up and back on his heels and when he helps you strip them off along with your underwear, his body bows immediately to taste, but you stop him, pulling him back up to cover you.

He reaches between you to pull himself out, aching and thick and stiff in the calloused palm of his hand and since that is the sensation that he is used to, he groans loudly when he finds the dip of your entrance and fills you with a smooth, slick stroke.

You hastily shove the loose band of this jeans down further, needing to feel every inch of skin he’ll afford you and when his hips are a neat, flush fit against your own just like his mouth was earlier, you rock up to encourage him to move.

“You okay?” he asks, knowing just how much he is to take and you nod, your teeth biting into your plush lower lip.

“Yea, just – just move.” You raise your head off the pillow to kiss him, and when he dips his own to reach your mouth, he slides even deeper, his body relaxing on top of yours. The action steals the breath from your lungs, a soft sound catching in the back of your throat and he pulls his hips back just enough to feel the friction of you before sliding home again. Again, again.

Your thighs hitch higher around his waist, your hands slipping under his thick flannel, splaying over his muscles flexing under your hold. His hand curls around the crown of your head, keeping you in place as he feels you shift up the mattress underneath him with every thrust and between the skill of his mouth and his hips, you can’t think of anything but him.

You wish you could feel him wholly: feel his firm, bare body against yours, feel the sparse hair that covers his thighs and trails low over his belly, feel sweat collect where your body is joined as he moves above you - but you’ll take what you can get, in this room in the middle of nowhere, in this bed you were forced to share.

“I knew you would feel this good,” he says lowly, his eyes closing with a frown. “I knew it.”

He’s been thinking about it for ages, waking up hard night after night, finding relief in his hand when he gets a moment alone and now that he has you, he can’t stop himself from going harder, deeper. The damp heat of your mouth rests just under his jaw, your gasps reaching his ears like the sweetest sound he’s ever heard and it makes him swell even more inside you; a bright flare of heat gathering at the base of his spine.

You hook your ankles higher on his back, your hands bracing themselves on the mattress to help you force the angle just right and his hips are a rhythmic pound against the inside of your thighs, his jaw clenching with effort. He switches into a grind the wetter you get, his hand coming up to cup your chin and force your mouth to meet his, and your fingers dig into the meat of his forearm, holding on.

Black skates around the edges of your vision, his scent and his sounds and his weight and strokes and thickness consuming you, and you just like in the shadowed blur of your dreams, you can’t say anything. Instead your body matches his need: your fingers gripping him in their desperate hold, your heels digging into the back of his thighs to push him deeper, your mouth memorizing his taste.

He was never a man of words to begin with, but they have all left him now, and he chases the flutter he feels around him, stoking it until you’re all but gasping underneath him in your breathless warning. He wants to hear you say it just like you do in his dreams and as if you can read his mind, you do.

“Joel,” you cry out, your lips brushing against his. “I’m – you feel too good, I –”

His hand drifts down to hold your hip, and he picks up his pace.

Your fingers twist in his flannel, hanging on as he tips you right over the edge and the frozen, taut lock of your body underneath him makes him spill his own release; some inside, some along the curve of your ass when he tries to pull out. He twitches against you, his cock a wet smear along your skin and even though you can feel him try to immediately pull back, you hang on tight to him, forcing him to stay close.

He’s breathing heavily and so are you, your eyes locked on each other.

He doesn’t know what to say. He shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have encouraged it, shouldn’t have taken advantage of your sleep muddled need and just when he’s about to open his mouth, you beat him to speaking.

A smile curls at the edge of your lips and his eyes drop to watch; he can never look away from your mouth.

“Thank god for one bed.”

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #joel miller smut #joel miller the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic

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toxicanonymity · 10 months

Text

thoughts

1.6k / joel miller x virgin!reader / master

sequel to Aches but can read alone. Next: Needs. WARNINGS: I8+ mdni, big girthy age gap (20/50s) only one sleeping bag, pining, fingering, grinding, jacking off, hand job, mutual masturbation, innocence, pet names. No use of y/n.

🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤

“You don’t have to do it for me,” you whisper.

The problem is, the more Joel relieves you, the more often you seem to ache. The more you think about him and his body - his body pressed against yours, wrapped around yours. Inside yours - It’s what you think about all day, every day now. It’s getting really bad. It’s hard to keep eye contact sometimes.

Earlier, you were both rummaging through an abandoned convenience store. Joel walked up and asked, “Find anything ya like?” You turned around and your eyes instantly fell on his tight jeans. He followed your gaze down, then slowly stepped toward you. “Hmm?” he prompted you.

You stammered, “Sorry. What?”

He smiled to himself. “See anything ya like?”

“I, uh-”

“In the store, honey.” He briefly glanced around the building. “Find anything good?”

“Oh. No, I guess not.” Your whole face was hot.

He cupped your burning cheek and his brow furrowed as he asked, “You okay, sweetie? You’re warm.”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you whispered with your eyes drowning in his. A pool was forming in your panties and his touch on your face made you throb between the legs. It was that moment you realized how out of control your desires were getting. It was a constant distraction.

Now you’re huddled in his sleeping bag as usual. Joel is spooning you with his hard dick pressed against you. Your top leg is back slightly behind you, between his legs, to make room for his hand between your thighs. He’s two knuckles deep and you’re already close to falling apart. He’s been helping you for a couple of weeks now, and it gets easier and easier to let yourself come.

“Course I don’t have to,” he says and pushes another finger into you. You inhale a chest full of air as he pushes his digits to the hilt and curls them. Your hips lift into his hand which was already soaked with your arousal before he inserted a single digit. “Why? Want me to stop?” Your clit rubs against his slick palm as he expertly works his fingers.

“No,” you whisper. “I don’t want you to stop.”

“Good,” he murmurs, moving his fingers rhythmically as you grind into his hand. Then he whispers in your ear, “Cause I kinda like doin’ it.”

You moan softly.

“Ya know,” he says softly, “You might like helpin’ me, too.”

You’ve thought so much about his cock. You’ve felt it pressed hard against you so many times through his boxers and your panties. You’ve never touched it though, not with your hands. You haven’t felt the skin, except one time when it was accidentally peeking through his boxers and the tip touched your lower back, making a wet spot on your shirt. When you flinched, he apologized.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Maybe.”

“Why don’t we find out,” he murmurs. “try just a few seconds?”

You swallow, ashamed of your eagerness for anything involving his cock. “Okay,” you say hesitantly.

“Good girl.” He takes his hand away from between your legs for just long enough to free his aching manhood from his boxers and lube it with your slick. “Gimme your hand, sweetie.”

“I dunno how or anything,” you tell him. You clench your thighs together, still in need of relief. You’re not sure if you’ve ever ached this badly.

“That’s okay. Don’t gotta do anything.”

You slowly reach back, offering him your hand as you crane your neck to look to his eyes for reassurance. It’s too dark to see, but you can still feel what his warm eyes would look like.

“Think you’re gonna like this. But if ya don’t, ya don’t have to, okay?” He wraps your hand around his cock upside down. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Just kinda hold it. That’s all ya gotta do.” His breathing is heavier with your hand touching his stiff cock. It’s larger than you thought it would be. You always imagined you’d easily be able to wrap your hand around one.

Joel thrusts into your slick hand and you feel a stab of need.

“How’s that?” he asks, thrusting slowly into your hand again with a barely audible grunt.

“Good,” you whisper, holding your hand behind you. The skin of his shaft is so smooth. Now more than ever, you’re aching to be filled.

“Attagirl,” he murmurs. “Still want my help, right?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Good girl.” He reaches his arm over yours and slides his hand between your legs again. He softly groans when he feels how much wetter you are than you were just a minute ago. All this, just from touching his cock. “God damn,” he whispers.

“What?”

“Nothin', baby.”

It would be hard to say what you prefer - having his cock thrust into your hand or against your body. But finally feeling it naked, feeling its shape, the softness of the skin, the impossible firmness of the erection – it takes your breath away. He slides two fingers into your cunt and pumps them at the same slow rhythm he’s thrusting into your hand.

Your pleasure builds rapidly, and you badly need release. “Doin’ great, baby,” he says in a deep, gruff whisper. “Just perfect.” He gradually increases the pace, moving his fingers and cock in unison. His cock fills your hand as his fingers fill your dripping cunt. You’re keenly aware of what you’d rather be filled with.

He softly grunts into your hair. “Ohh, yeah,” he sighs as he thrusts into your hand and pumps his fingers.

You whimper at the edge of your climax, your upper back pressing into his chest and your hips grinding desperately into his large hand as his fingers fuck you. Your whole body tenses.

He talks you through it soothingly as usual, lips planted near your ear. “Yeah, baby,” he murmurs, “you’re there, I got ya.” Your hips push desperately into the palm of his hand, and his hand pushes back just right. You whine his name as your core finds its stuttering release. The pleasure is more explosive than ever.

“Good girl,” he whispers. You recover for a few seconds, then turn around to face him. He quickly folds down the unzipped sleeping bag for more space and rolls onto his back. “You wanna keep helpin’?”

You nod and whisper, “yeah.” Then you add “Am I doing okay?”

“'Course you are, baby. Get your hand wet between your legs now,” he says, which embarrasses you.

“Nothin’ to be ashamed of, remember?”

You take his cock in your hand again and he covers it with his, showing you how tight to grip it and how to stroke it over the head.

“Good girl.”

Once you’ve got the hang of it, he asks, “You like helpin’ me?”

You nod as you keep stroking his cock.

Joel says, “Mmm hmm,” and looks at you curiously. “Why’d ya say I don’t have to help?” His breathing is still heavy, but he’s trying to control it as you talk.

You open your mouth but hesitate to answer. Instead, you stare down into the darkness, imagining what his cock must look like based on all the details that are gliding in and out of your hand. He’s soooo hard.

“You can tell me anything, pretty girl.” He takes a deep breath. “We figure stuff out together, remember?” He breathes again. “Always do.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, then you swallow. “I dunno how to say it,” you admit.

“Do your best,” he says.

“Since you’ve been helping me, I’ve been feeling it more often.”

“You have?” he asks. “Like how?” His hips subtly move as you keep stroking his cock.

“Like during the day. Randomly.”

“That’s okay, baby.”

“But it aches, and it’s distracting.”

“Distracting?” His voice becomes more strained.

“I have a lot of thoughts all the time.”

“What kinda thoughts, baby?” His voice has a sense of urgency.

“About you.”

He moans softly. “Uh-huh. Like what?”

“Um-”

“Tell me anything, baby,” he quickly reassures you, nearly out of breath.

“About this,” you whisper. You pause to give his cock a squeeze to make sure he knows that’s what you’re talking about. “Yeah, about this.” Then you continue stroking.

“Ohh baby,” he exhales. “Course ya do.”

“All the time,” you whisper.

“And what about it?” he pants.

“I’m not sure,” you mutter.

“Thinkin’ ‘bout me bein’ inside you?” he asks, still panting. He moans softly.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“Ohhhhhh, God,” he sighs as he begins to pulse into your hand. “God damn, baby,” he breathes as he releases his last hot, sticky rope into your fist.

Joel catches his breath, then says, “'Course ya have those thoughts, sweetie. I have the same thoughts. Everyone does."

“You do?”

“It’s normal,. They teach biology in FEDRA school right?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s biology, honey. Our bodies feel things for each other. They wanna be together in the way they’re meant to. It’s how we work - Nothin’ but science.”

You’re not sure how that’s supposed to help you.

He reaches for his backpack and grabs some paper to wipe off your hand and his stomach.

“So what do I do about it?” you ask him.

He’s quiet for a few seconds. "Let’s think about it, honey. We’ll figure it out together.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll figure it out, sweetie. We always do.”

“Yeah.”

He wraps himself around you and kisses your head, then you say good night. You think about what he said so matter of factly. The thought of it excites you but also scares you. Especially now that you’ve felt how big he is with your hand for scale.

🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤

Thank you so much for reading and engaging. Love you guys <33

if you like this, please check out my dbf x innocent virgin! reader fic Left in Lincoln (dbf x virgin) which has been ongoing since April. Read warnings. Also, my master list has a virginity section on it.

You can subscribe to @toxicfics for notifications and @toxicrecs for my fic recs.

All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @milla-frenchy @switchbladedreamz

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller drabble #joel miller fic #pedro pascal fic #perv!joel miller #dark!joel miller #pedro pascal #pervy!joel miller #pedro pascal smut #toxicanonymity ☠️#joel jacks off #PPCU jacks off #PPCU jacks off ☠️

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devilmademewriteit · 11 months

Note

Drabble request for dbf!joel getting blown under the table or something while he's having a convo with reader's dad?!?! IDK I just love your dbf!joel!!

You Can Be the Boss

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

warnings: rough oral (m receiving); petnames (angel, baby, sweetheart); age gap; choking; hair pulling; (yall this is pure pure daddy issues FILTH, I warned you. I warned you hard).

Hi y’all ty for sending me all ur requests. ummm you guys are insane ! and so am I ! maybe more because I’m actually the one writing these ! this one is so dirty ! don’t say I didn’t warn you !

more to come hehehe. I don’t tag ppl for my smaller drabbles / fics so turn on notifs or whatevs ;)

-em<3

—

“As close as I’ll get to the darkness, he tells me to, ‘Shut up, I got this.’”

- You Can Be the Boss

—

It was still a secret, after all.

Sneaking into his apartment, late nights in alleys, abandoned cars lining the streets of the QZ… you’d managed to keep your joint intoxication with one another under wraps.

Today… today was risky. You usually waited until the wee hours of the morning to even walk by his place, let alone enter, but you’d needed to drop off a sweater that Tess had leant you the previous week, intending to leave it folded up on the doormat before bolting down the hall. Your footsteps were nervous and heavy, which led to the door swinging wide open on its hinges, a gruff “where you runnin’ off to, Angel?” and a set of rough hands pulling you through the doorway.

Then you were spread open against the tattered table cloth of his (busy) kitchen table, underwear shoved to the side, watching a hunched over Joel Fucking Miller spit on his hand and run it up down his heavy, hard length.

“Shouldn’t come here during the day,” as he’d lined himself up, “Can’t fuckin’ help myself.”

That’s when you heard the definite sound of a key twisting inside a lock. Joel’s head shot up — your eyes barely had time to widen before he was shoving you under the table, panties still twisted around your ankles.

A quick zip, then footsteps.

“Oh, sorry man—”

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“—Tess said you wouldn’t be home.”

It’s your father.

You thank God for your his poor observation skills (and the tablecloth) as Joel responds, “ah, no worries,” frustratingly non-chalant as ever.

“While you’re here though,” and your heart sinks, identifying your dad’s intention to stay, “Was wondering if we could go over the plans for our new routes. FEDRA assholes blocked off another south-east one today.”

Your blood turns to ice inside your veins as both men pull out their chairs, settling into a purely-business conversation. Joel barely hesitates, cool as ice.

Not fair that he gets to be so calm while you’re so… not.

Not fair.

If only there was a way to even out the playing field.

Crunched into yourself, you scoot closer to Joel’s calves, clinging onto his denim and doing your best to make as little noise as possible. When it’s clear, however, that your father’s far too invested in the practicalities of the conversation to suspect or inquire into or even notice anything else, your eyes wander towards the slowly softening bulge, still visible underneath Joel’s belt.

And you get an idea.

The man always tortured you, and you were well aware that what made your arrangement especially enticing — for the both of you — was the taboo-ness, the wrongness of it all.

So your pussy drips just thinking about it.

Slowly, delicately, you slide your hands up Joel’s thighs, feeling his every muscle respond, tensing, turning to stone, or jolting with electricity beneath your playful touches.

It’s hard, quietly pulling down his fly. Still, metal tooth by metal tooth, you eventually succeed, unable to hold back a smile of vindication when his cock springs up, swelling and hardening between your fingertips. Joel covers his choke with a cough.

Just as you duck down to lick a fat stripe up his cock’s dark underside, noticing how the lungs above you constrict — freezing — the conversation changes.

“You been seeing a lot of my daughter?”

Joel takes an uncharacteristically long time to grunt out a “here n’ there.”

You hold in a laugh, both at your dad’s timely question and the reaction it causes. Placing a hand at the base of him, you consider this the perfect moment to start teasing his tip with patient, innocent little kitten-licks.

“Been acting weird,” your old man continues, unphased and unassuming, “Worried she’s been gettin’ herself into trouble.”

Trouble? You’re looking at him.

Your dad’s whole “fatherly concern” (not like he’d ever shown any before) angle makes you bold. You want to make it harder for Joel to deny your father’s suspicion.

You want to make him lie through his teeth.

You part your lips, wrapping them adoringly around the entire head of his cock before gliding down, using your hand to assist you as you please every inch of him.

While he mostly manages to keep it together, his legs don’t, gently parting with desire to allow you better access.

“She-she’s a good girl, man,” Joel manages, and while his delivery borders a groan, he stays surprisingly level (your body doesn’t forget to note his praise, either, aching cunt growing wetter and wetter at his every word). “‘Bit juvenile sometimes, and reckless—” he pauses, and it’s very clear he’s not speaking to your father, “—but good—” you work every inch of him with your hands, throat, and mouth, savouring the feel of his ridges and veins, the taste of his salt on your tastebuds, “—so good.”

You freeze, scanning the room for tension as both you and Joel try to figure out if his desire-stricken tone’s given you away.

It hasn’t.

Of course it hasn’t.

Your dad continues on as if everything were normal, as if Joel’s tip wasn’t kissing the back of your throat. “Just not sure if I’m raising her right—or… or if I was much of a father at all.”

Yeah, probably not. You know, given that I’m under the table sucking your best friend’s dick.

You watch, head still slowly bobbing up and down his length, a hand carving a careful path down his leg. Joel’s fingertips breach your shoulder, his palm slowly graduates to cupping the back of your head.

And he shoves you forward, forcing every punishing inch of himself down your little, gasping throat.

“Just needs a little discipline,” your torturer responds, raising his gravelly voice to mask the definite sound of choking.

“A heavy hand.”

You huff against his abdomen. Just like that, Joel’s taken the reins of your little operation.

Like he always did. Like he always does.

“You’re probably right,” your father responds, sighing with concession. Tears begin to well in the corners of your eyes while your lungs burn for oxygen, mouth stuffed and nose pressed into Joel’s skin. He chuckles, slapping the table. “Give ‘em an inch and they take a mile, huh?”

“That’s right,” Joel responds, a soft coo, tightening his grasp in your hair and somehow forcing more of himself between your lips.

Making his point.

You hold back a whimper, nails hopelessly clawing at his jeans.

Your dad raps his knuckles against the wood, pushing his chair back to leave. Unfortunately for you, Joel doesn’t move, holding you there like a prisoner — suffocating you.

He clears his throat. “I’d walk you out, but, you know—” your eyelids grow heavy, little stars beginning to dance in your vision “—been goin’ hard recently. Wearin’ myself out.”

A huff of understanding and concurrence from the other side of the room.

Eventually, after what seems like an eternity, hinges squeak, goodbyes are uttered, and your father’s left you alone with his buddy again.

Joel’s chair scrapes back — he pulls you along with him, attached to him, out from underneath the table.

Finally, finally, he releases his grasp.

You jump off of him, strings of saliva trailing from your lips, gasping for air as if you were seconds from drowning.

You aim to collapse against his knees, but he quickly grabs you by the throat, presses his big thumb under your chin, and forces your wet, tear-lined eyes up to meet his.

They’re filled with a lust so dark, you wonder if just that look might swallow you whole.

“Prouda yourself?” He speaks, voice low.

Dangerous.

And you just smile, dazed, nodding. Nodding because you know where it’ll get you. Nodding because you just know how much it’ll entice him.

“‘Course you are,” he continues, softer, “Shoulda been honest — shoulda told your old man he raised a fuckin’ slut.”

Joel lifts you up, indelicately shoving you down on the table, right back in the position you’d originally started the visit in.

His eyes darken to black when he sees how wet you are, how fucked-out, needy, and unapologetic you are.

“And you know what, baby?” A deceiving coo as he lines himself up at your entrance, using his other hand to squeeze your jaw — tight.

You look at him with big, begging doe eyes, eyebrows already knitting together from the tantalizing contact.

“I’m really fuckin’ glad he did.”

And as Joel Miller roughly sheathes his cock inside your young, tight cunt, you find yourself agreeing with him.

—

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AO3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #Joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #Pedro pascal smut #Pedro pascal x reader #the last of us #tlou #request for em’s answering machine: answered<3

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softlyspector · 8 months

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Summary: All you do is want, while Joel worries he won't ever be enough.

Find out how it started: You put aside your touch aversion for a tattoo from Joel.

Pairing: tattoo artist!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~9.2k

Warnings: slow build, no outbreak tattoo!au, just the barest hint of angst/argument, the ‘believes they’re hard to love, loving them is like breathing’ trope, tattoos and getting tattooed (the process isn’t really described), reader is touch adverse, vague mentions of a past abusive relationship, insecurity, self confidence issues, abandonment issues, anxiety, lots and lots of intimacy and touching, mentions of arousal, Joel gets to have both his daughters in this

A/N: Hello, so here we are at the final part of this lil four part thing. This fic owns a piece of my heart now, and I hope it's found somewhere to live in yours too. It's special for a lot of reasons, but the support its gotten has really been something incredible. Thank you for being so kind and lovely.

Once again, we’re ignoring canon and pretending like Joel can draw for this fic, thank you. Thank you for reading! As always, I would love to know your thoughts! Please please please, be sure to leave feedback!

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

Joel glances up at you from where he’s kneeling on the floor. A lock of gray hair falls to the middle of his forehead. You reach down, without thinking, and push it back into place, letting your fingers trail through his hair. He always wears it so carefully parted to the side, especially now that he’s let it grow out a little longer.

You picture him standing in front of the mirror in his bathroom brushing his hair and feel something warm and fluttery beat against your ribs.

The image comes easily because it’s not something you have to imagine but remember—Joel tilting his chin down, eyes on his reflection in silvery morning light.

Pink stains the tips of his ears when you let his hair slip softly from between your fingers.

“Yeah, I did,” he disagrees before laboring to his feet. You hook one hand beneath his elbow and help him up. His knees pop and he hisses. “It’s past due we fixed it, anyhow. Past time I let you get back to your own life,” he continues, not pulling his arm away from your hand as he stoops down to shove the screwdriver in his hand back into the toolbox on the floor.

You like the way he says we.

You rub your thumb against the inside of his elbow as he straightens again with a groan that means his back is aching again. “Well, now you get your house back to yourself,” you tease.

“Ain’t like you’re trouble to have around,” he grumbles.

You keep a steady pressure on his arm, because you like the way his skin feels under your hand, warm and pliant, like he’s been in the sun. You like the way you can feel the shift of muscle and the micro jump of tendon beneath your fingertips.

You don’t like admitting to yourself that you like touching him, that you like the way he lets you hold on to him but so rarely tries the same with you.

But, you’ve come to realize over the last week, where you shy away from touch, Joel craves it; he’s positively starved for it. He tries his best to hide that he wants for anything at all, but you see it.

He would never ask for anything from you; it’s anathema to who he is, to ask for care. He’s stubborn and a little proud.

When the locks that fit your door weren’t in stock at the local hardware store and Joel insisted on you staying with him until they came in, you saw that want first hand.

He’d been busy for so many years—with work and his kids and his business and his brother. He’d lived in a busy house with a revolving door of people who constantly needed him. And now, he lives alone and away from his kids. His schedule is one he sets for himself, with easy, quiet days. His girls are busy, Tommy has his own family, and his house is empty.

Maybe Joel would never admit it, but he is lonely.

Staying with him for a week had shown you just how much he wanted—touch and companionship and company—and just how absolutely solitary his days were, especially in the evenings. Guilt like a tide had washed over you. How closely he paid attention to you, how cautious and watchful and giving he’s been, and you haven't really done the same. You haven’t tried to give him anything, to meet him somewhere in the middle. You hadn’t even thought of it.

“Thank you for letting me stay with you this week,” you say, releasing his arm to press your hand against his spine, rubbing gently. It’s easier that way, you find, subtly giving, easing hurts he wouldn’t admit to. “And for changing the locks. You’re too good to me.”

“No trouble,” he assures you again, quickly. “It’s too quiet without my girls livin’ with me. It was nice. Havin’ you around.” He clears his throat and bushes past the admission. “Anyhow. I’ll let you get settled back in.”

You frown at him, but Joel only puts an arm around your waist and leans in to press a kiss to your temple and then your cheek. “You call me if you need somethin’. Anything.” He says it against your skin, his lips warm and slightly chapped. “Even for nothin’.”

You close your eyes and absorb that affection, let it sink deep into your body, into your blood and bones, the ventricles of your heart.

For a moment, all you can feel is him breathing against you—the patient, steady rise and fall of his breath—before he starts to pull away. You don’t want him to go, you aren’t ready to be parted from him.

You aren’t ready to let him go.

“Joel,” you say and cup your hand around his wrist to keep him in place. “Wait. Why don’t you come in? For some coffee?”

He meets your eyes, searches your gaze for a long moment there in the doorway of your apartment. His brows relax, his mouth softens, and you know he knows exactly what you’re doing, that he’s been found out. He thinks it’s pity and not cloying sweetness, not needling want and a building codependency that you don’t particularly mind driving your request. “Sweetheart—”

“Please? I don’t want to be alone just yet.”

A few pleading words are all it takes for him to crumble. He nods and relents, “All right. Just for a minute, I have a client this afternoon.”

“Okay,” you nod and pull him inside. You snap the door shut behind you and make a show of locking your brand new locks.

Joel rolls his eyes at you, but doesn’t comment, settling himself at your kitchen table instead, toolbox tucked between his feet on the floor. The morning light paints him in sunburst orange and bumblebee gold, rays falling like a halo around him. He taps his fingers against the muraled, painted surface of the table, tracing the lines with one blunt nail.

Unfamiliar want bubbles up in you again. You want to touch him again.

Already.

You just let go of him.

It’s an ache, right in the center of your chest. It feels like something pulsing and raw, infectious and torn.

You’d like to plant yourself against his side and sit in the brutally warm, fall Texan sun shining so innocently through the slats of your blinds.

Cured. Clean.

That’s what you’d be, if you allowed yourself to reach out and grab it.

Instead, you cup your hands against the sides of his face and stroke your thumbs over his graying beard.

You half expect him to pull away, to jolt out of your hands, like you would. And though he does look startled, he doesn’t pull away. Hazel eyes flick up to meet yours. You trace the scar on the bridge of his nose with one finger. “Thank you,” you say again, just so he’ll hear it even if he won’t respond to it. “You don’t have to worry about me but you do.”

He pulls one of your hands away from his face and nods, staring down at the lines on your palm before he hooks your pointer fingers together. “‘Course I have to.”

You keep stroking his cheek, the soft bristles of his beard catching on your fingertips. “Of course,” you say. “It’s what you do.”

Joel thinks you look beautiful. He also thinks you look wistful, with later October light falling in drafts around your shoulders—merigold, sunshine, sepia.

For once, you aren’t looking back at him. Joel catches you looking at him all the time now, mostly at his hands, chancing glances from the corner of your eyes like he would mind you looking. If he thought more of himself, he’d probably say you look at him with a dreamy cut to your gaze.

Your feet are propped on the porch railing. Your jeans and scuffed sneakers are splattered with bright splotches of paint. His guitar is across your lap and Ellie is next to you, teaching you, he supposes. Or at the very least correcting you occasionally as the two of you talk. You say something and she tilts back with a full bodied laugh.

You’d worked with Sarah and Ellie all day, painting the chicken coop in bright swatches of pastel blush and lavender. It sticks out something awful, but he’d said you could paint it however you wanted and he meant it.

Any way Joel cut it, he was outvoted three to one anyhow.

He thinks you probably let Sarah influence the color palette more than you let on, and that makes something ache deep in his chest.

Joel’s not exactly good at saying what he feels, he knows that. He’s always known it.

But he can build you a chicken coop. He can fix your locks and your door and worry about your safety and drive to get you in the middle of the night. He can sketch out tattoo designs until his wrist aches and make you a million cups of coffee.

And you decided to share part of what he gave you with Sarah and Ellie. Whether you know it or not, it means something to him. It brings a tight feeling to the back of his throat.

Though the afternoon is mild, you’re wrapped up in a flannel over your t-shirt. It’s his flannel from that first night he spent at your kitchen table; the one you haven’t given back and that he doesn’t want back.

Joel keeps his eyes on you as he finishes up the last of the chores that needed doing. His back is aching again, a flare of pain that starts at the base of his spine and ends behind his ears.

It was lucky, maybe, that you’d convinced him, in your offhand way, to get chickens instead of horses, that he decided that was the best thing to give you. He isn’t sure he could keep up with much more than what he has.

“You’re staring again,” Sarah says from behind him.

“I’m not,” he snaps.

“It’s okay to stare at your girlfriend, dad,” she says and he can hear the laughter in her voice, the damn teasing.

Joel winces. “That is not—we ain’t—” Not yet. You aren’t anything yet. Maybe not ever.

You’ve bloomed in the last month or so. Opened up, shiny and blush bright. You’re still that watchful little doe, but now you’re one that recognizes something kind.

Not so skittish, not so afraid.

And that’s good, that’s something. But he worries. Worries you’ll start to see he’s nothing but an old man waiting around for his kids to visit, for his brother not to be busy with his family, for you to pay him any mind.

You surely noticed it weeks ago when you stayed with him those few days, all that painful, solitary loneliness that happened so quickly. Maybe you’d noticed it earlier than that, when you stopped coming by the shop after your first tattoo and his days went lonesome again too. It’s not like he has been subtle about how much your absence smarted.

He’s not sure when his life slowed down so much, when he suddenly looked around and realized he missed the noise.

Maybe he’s been the one to pry you open, but if you wanted something better for yourself, something more, he’d have to let you go. It doesn’t diminish all that time he’d spent gaining your trust, that trust he’s still trying to grasp at some days. He doesn’t want you to be burdened by his loneliness, to feel weighed down with it, to feel trapped by it, to feel like it’s your responsibility.

Joel already worries that’s already the case, with how often you’d ended up at his house in the evenings over the past month. But he isn’t strong enough to make you stop.

Still, he could never live with himself, if he were next in a long line to make you feel helpless and trapped.

Sarah rolls her eyes and herds the second stubborn goat into the barn and shuts the gate. “If you say so,” she says. “I’m gonna get Ellie and head out. Busy day tomorrow.”

“Okay, baby girl,” Joel says. Sarah fits herself into his arms and he presses a kiss to her hair. “Thanks for the help. Be safe.”

She pulls away and nods, jogging across the yard without looking back to hop the little fence that separates it from the driveway. He watches Sarah say goodbye to you, the way your mouth lifts in a smile, the way you move the guitar from your lap and lean forward when she climbs the steps to give you a hug.

Ellie gives you a much briefer hug, one armed and slightly stiff before she follows Sarah. He lifts a hand to her, knowing Ellie won’t come over and say goodbye the way Sarah does. She pulls a face at him and waves back as she climbs in the car.

When they disappear in a cloud of red dust at the end of the drive, you lean back and stare down at the guitar again, adjusting the positioning of your fingers on the strings as though nothing of note just happened.

Maybe, nothing of note has happened.

You’d hugged them so easily, smiled at them so warmly. He’s grateful for it, that ease you have with them, that you feel safe and secure. It makes something warm and protective and territorial for all three of you settle in around his ribs.

His girls and you.

Your mouth pulls down at the corners as he watches you clumsily reposition your other hand along the frets.

He tries to repress a smile and glances away from you to continue his work. A poorly struck chord followed by a frustrated sigh echoes across the yard.

You ain’t exactly a natural with the instrument, though you try.

Joel taught Sarah and Ellie to play when they were young. He taught Tommy, when their mother didn’t have time to. He’s happy to teach you now, too.

More notes float on the air, curl into the whispering leaves that skitter along the drive. You aren’t doing so bad, he thinks, when the music suddenly stops.

He turns to peer over his shoulder at you.

You’ve taken your feet off the railing and have folded your arms along it instead, chin leaning on your forearms, head tipped to the side, guitar propped between your knees. “Joel?”

“Honey?” He answers, and you smile. The effect is like being lit from the inside out. You brighten and there’s sunshine in his soul, in all the dark places in his chest.

“Will you play for me?” You uncross one arm to hold your hand out to him, like you could reach him from there if you tried hard enough.

“You were doin’ just fine at it,” he calls back, escorting the chickens as gently as he can into their newly painted home.

You smile at him again. “I know. But I want to hear you and it’s getting dark anyway.”

“Guess so,” he says, wiping sweat from his brow. “Just a minute, darlin’.”

You nod and grab the guitar again to settle it in your lap.

The evening light is bleeding gold through the boughs of the oak that overhang the driveway, the whispers of autumnal, purpled shadows bruise the horizon as the sun sinks ever lower.

With the other goat and his lone sheep herded into the barn, he crosses back to the porch where you’ve lit a lantern and tucked yourself deep into one of the rocking chairs. The blanket he keeps folded over the back of one of the chairs is now curled over your lap. You look cozy, too warm, in the lingering heat of the day. He takes up residence next to you, picking up the guitar you’ve abandoned in his seat. “What would you like to hear, darlin’?”

It had taken a week’s worth of needling for him to play for you, but now he wants to do it all the time.

“Whatever you want to play for me, Joel,” you say, bracing your elbow on the arm of the chair to lean your chin on your hand, eyes already closed.

He plucks idly at the strings, watching your face. You put yourself in his hands so easily these days, without thought or worry. There’s trust in its purest form in your expression, like you’d laid yourself at his doorstep. He can’t imagine you closing your eyes like that, relaxed and at peace, even a few weeks ago.

Joel says your name, watches your eyes blink open, the peaceful little spell broken. You pull back, sitting up straight. Doe eyes meet his, round with question. “Joel?”

“I just wanted to say how pretty you look this evenin’.”

You transform, bloom, duck your head and say nothing. The air is rose colored, heavy with the scent of magnolia.

You aren’t exactly good at taking compliments, either. But that’s something you’re both working on.

“Hey,” he says. You look up and lean toward him again, like you’re so ready to drop yourself into his waiting hands.

And when he reaches for you, you do.

Joel cups his hands against your jaw, and leans in to kiss you. Your mouth is soft against his. You taste like autumn air, and like the spiked sweet tea at your elbow. When you pull back, your eyes are oceans, like soil, like smooth, dark glass.

You also have a dot of bright paint on your cheek that he hadn’t noticed before.

He sweeps his thumb over it and finds it’s stuck there.

“What?”

“Nothin’. Got a bit a’ paint there.” He presses his thumb over it. “I like it.”

You pout at him, watchful eyes hooked into his. “Are you ever going to play for me or are you just going to make fun of me?”

He chuckles and releases your face. “I would never make fun of you, honey.”

“Good,” you say as he strums the strings again. “Or I’ll never paint another chicken coop for you again. Not even if your girls help.”

He likes that you tease him, that you feel comfortable enough. He smiles, stares down at the toe of his boot. “You know you didn’t have to let ‘em.”

“Let them what?”

“Help. Y’know, create a monstrosity,” he gestures to the monstrosity in question, the pink and purple slightly washed out against the blush of the setting sun. “I built it for you.”

Your foot nudges against his and he looks up to find you already gazing at him. There’s something vulnerable in your eyes, something soft and unafraid. “I know. I wanted them to help. I like spending time with them, Joel.”

He nods and you smile. “Colors are kind of awful, though. Looks like one of Sarah’s old dollhouses. Thought you’d do a mural, like your table.”

You laugh, and the sound is something he wishes he could capture, box up inside him and never release. “But it’s mine, like you said. And chicken dollhouse chic is what we were aiming for.”

He snorts, but he feels better about it. “That so?”

“Yeah. Now, play something for me?” You request again softly.

Joel mentally shifts through the catalog of songs he could play for you before settling on a song. When he glances back at you, you’ve once again closed your eyes. Orange light, flippant and fleeting, has drifted across your face in a fiery bar as the sun sinks lower on the horizon. You glow in that beautiful light.

He itches to do something other than play the guitar for you.

Although he’s painted you as a doe more times than he can count, he’s never attempted to actually capture your likeness. He could never do you justice, so he just shouldn’t try. It would be embarrassing enough, if you ever found out that you’ve been the source of all his creativity the last few months. That you are his muse.

The plum color on the horizon has darkened, the navy of the encroaching night feathering against the tops of the trees.

You’ve settled back into a peaceful position, eyes closed as you listen.

He plays through a couple of songs before he glances up again and finds you watching him, your gaze focused on his hands. “Will you ever sing for me?” You ask softly, eyes flicking up to meet his.

He hasn’t sung since his girls were little, not to anyone anyway, and not to anyone that could tell him his voice was terrible.

Even still, he’s never been more tempted.

“No,” he says, even though denying you anything is hard. “You don’t want to hear me sing, honey.”

“But you have such a pretty voice,” you disagree.

He plucks out a final note, music hovering in the air. “That just ain’t true,” he shakes his head and leans the guitar carefully against the bannister. Night has fully fallen, your face is shaded in shadow when he looks at you. “Do you want to stay with me?”

Joel’s offered a few other times, because he always wants you to stay. That week you’d stayed with him while he waited for your new locks to come in at the hardware store had been kind to him. He’d gotten used to your presence in his house embarrassingly quick, and when he got the call that the locks had been delivered, it was like ice sliding down his spine. He’d forgotten, in just days, that you didn’t actually live with him.

That was weeks ago.

And since then, you haven’t stayed.

You usually, always, decline and then he drives you home.

But today is different.

You reach out a hand to him and fold your fingers around his. “Yes,” you sigh.

“Sure?” He asks, surprised. “It’s no bother to drive you home, honey.”

“I’m sure. If you’ll have me.”

“I’ll always gladly have you.”

Your lips curve up, and you duck your head. “What do you want to do for dinner?”

Joel burns whatever he attempts to make on the stove for dinner. He turns to you, with spatula in hand and an irritated tilt to his brows, and asks if you’d like to ride into town to eat at Flu’s.

You agree, and go, still laughing when Joel pulls onto the main road. He grouses under his breath the entire way to town, but he holds your hand against the center console. And when you get to Flu’s he opens the passenger side door for you, then the diner’s door, his hand held lightly against your spine. He tucks his legs around yours under the table, knees and calves brushing together. The diner’s lights are dim and cozy.

He looks soft, in that buttery light. The hard edges of his face ironed out, smile lines and crow’s feet divoted into his skin. He holds your hand on the table, and you watch his fingers more than his face, the rounded swell of his knuckles, the veins in the back of his hand, the knob of his wrist, on which he always wore an old watch that had long stopped ticking. When you’re apart, you find yourself daydreaming of his hands, scarred and broad and warm.

Joel insists on paying, doesn’t let you even consider doing it.

When you climb back into the truck, he puts one hand on your thigh and you sink back into your seat, warm and full and content. You slide your hand over his and feel the rough calluses on the tips of his fingers.

When you close your eyes, you see him working in the sun, poking fun at you while you and Sarah and Ellie paint the chicken coop, squinting through the bright light. He still smells like sun, like warm skin and his cologne and faintly of sweat and whatever thing he’d burned on the stove earlier.

When Joel kissed you that first time, he opened a door in you, one that’s impossible to shut and that does nothing but want.

You’ve never craved touch like you crave his. Even when you feel like you don’t want to be touched at all, you think his hand would be tolerable, would be okay.

You’re painfully aware that part of his appeal is knowing that he would always let you go, that he always knows when it's time to leave you be. And the times you don’t want him to touch you, have been shrinking.

Lately, all you want is for him to fold his fingers between yours, touch the bare skin at the small of your back, to trace your spine up between your shoulder blades, or cup his palm over the back of your neck and tuck you into him.

When you get back to his place, it’s still pretty early in the evening, and all you can think of is ways to get him to touch you again. He turns on the battery powered radio that sits on the porch, perpetually set low on an oldies station.

You can’t look away from him, something like agony twisting in your chest, like there’s a knife between your lungs. He’s talking about something, gesturing across the yard with one hand, his other tangled with yours. Joel’s thumb strokes little circles against the back of your hand, each pass like a bolt of addictive lightning. It’s not enough. His hand in yours is no longer enough.

Joel doesn’t protest when you pull him to his feet when a new song starts up. He gives what you don’t ask for but desperately want. He drags you into his chest and slides his arm around your back, tucking you in close to him. You can hear his heartbeat, feel it pulsing in his chest. He tilts around the porch with you for a long time, even when the music is interrupted by obnoxious ads.

He hums along under his breath and when you slip your hands beneath his shirt to rest against his bare skin, you can feel the vibrations of his voice against your fingers.

You wish you could sink your hands inside him, just to be a little closer. It feels so strange to want that. You’ve never been held that gently before, it loosens a knot you didn’t know existed in the core of your chest.

And you think, even when things with your ex had been good, when he hadn’t been yelling at you or bruising you with a tattoo you didn’t want, he had never held you gently or with such love.

When you pull back, Joel lets you go. There is no fuss about it; there is no guilt.

Eventually, you go inside.

He lets you shower first, just like he always had when you stayed with him before.

After, you watch him brush his hair and then his teeth and something painfully sharp gets caught up inside your chest. It’s hard to breathe around that feeling, that ache.

You watch him get ready for bed, and you watch him groan when he has to stoop down to pick a pair of socks up off of the floor, and you feel something more than warmth flood your heart. It unravels, spools through your veins, and it's so warm it burns.

Joel catches you looking at him, as he often does these days.

He smiles at you, the lines by his eyes crinkling up. He looks domestic in a heather gray t-shirt that sits loose on his frame, pajama bottoms that look as though they’ve seen a few too many years, and glasses perched on the end of his nose. “You all right?”

You nod. “Really good, Joel.”

That gets a little laugh out of him. “Must be worn out,” he says as he sits on the edge of the bed. You lie back and curl on your side, watching him adjust his pillows, admiring the shape of his hands as he goes, remembering what they looked like sun drenched and warm in the yard. He drags his knuckle over the curve of your cheek and neither you nor your body remembers to flinch away. “After all that paintin’ and gettin’ me to dance.”

“It was fun though, wasn’t it?” You ask, suppressing the urge to trace the length of his spine through his shirt. “You liked dancing with me.” You clutch the pillow tighter to your chest and dip your chin into the fabric.

He takes his glasses off and then finally lies down next to you. Nerves burst in your belly when he turns to look at you. “I enjoyed it very much, sweetheart.”

“Good.” You wriggle a bit closer to him.

He watches you and then offers a place for you to fit yourself against his side. You slide in close to him, tucking your hands between his body and yours, slotting your nose against the dip of his collarbone.

He smells good there, like soap and something that’s purely Joel and so soothing, like sage and pine.

“This what you been wantin’, huh?” He asks, stroking your back slowly. You stiffen but he chuckles into your hair. “I mean that in a nice way.”

You lick your lips, feel the shift of muscle beneath your cheek as he reaches to turn off the lamp. There’s no point in denying it. “Yeah.”

“I know,” he says against your forehead. “Me, too.”

You settle against him, the feeling of his palm sliding over your shirt, up and down, tapping over your spine, soothes you. Your stomach flips when his hand drags along the bare skin at your hip.

If you could dig a trench into his bones, take cover there, you would. And still that wouldn’t be close enough.

“Joel,” you say, tracing your hand over his chest.

For once, your voice seems to encourage more than caution and he doesn’t stop touching you. His hand slides higher again and your breath hitches.

It feels so nice, like all the empty places inside you are slowly being colored in, shaded in emerald green and butter, sunshine yellow, jewel bright blue and blush pink.

You curl into him, shakily pressing the hand on his chest up to his neck. You cup your palm there and Joel turns on his side. His hair is soft and a little damp when you dig your fingers into it, the scent of him wrapping around you, cradling you close and safe. Joel touches his forehead very gently to yours, his breath fanning across your lips.

He waits for you.

You close the distance between you, and press your mouth to his.

He sighs into you, his grip tightening on your waist for a moment, and you push yourself closer to the circle of warmth that is his body.

His fingers graze the edge of your shirt, then push it up, rough palms sliding over your back again. His hand is so big, so warm, it spans your back and then covers your ribs. You gasp into his mouth when the pad of his thumb caresses the curve of your breast.

Goosebumps erupt along your body. “Joel,” you murmur against his mouth.

“Mhm,” he hums. “I know, honey. I got you.”

He touches you there again but doesn’t go any further. You shiver and press your mouth back to his, tasting the mint of his toothpaste when his tongue slips into your mouth.

Moonlight filters pale and bright into his bedroom, and when you pull away his eyes are dark, hungry. You wish you had the courage to feed that gaze, but you aren’t there yet. A stab of guilt pierces your lungs. He’s so patient with you, and you can’t help but wonder if one day that patience might run out.

Instead of lingering on that, on wondering how much time you could possibly ask him to give, you offer him something else. “Can I show you my tattoos?”

He blinks at you, pink, kiss swollen lips parting. “If you want.”

“But do you want to see?”

“Baby,” he touches your cheek, traces the line of your jaw. “I’ve been dreamin’ about it since you told me about ‘em.”

You squirm, embarrassment crawling up the inside of your belly. “You have?”

“Mm.” He kisses you again, his mouth lingering long against yours. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest, his breath against yours. “I think about you all the time.”

You get your knees beneath you and push up from your place beside him. Joel turns on his back when you swing one leg over his waist and find yourself, boldly, very much in his lap. His hands anchor on your hips, thumbs beneath your t-shirt.

“Oh,” you say, pressing your hands over his, something nervous wriggling in your gut. “Sorry. Is—”

You try to move away but his grip doesn’t change. “It’s all right,” he says evenly, the barest hint of something tremulous beneath.

Before you can think about it more, overthink being in his lap or how much of you you’re about to show him or how heavy and uncomfortable his hands might become, you release his wrists and tug your shirt up to just beneath your breasts, so your ribs are visible.

Those feelings don’t come though. You don’t feel anxious or weighed down or wrong.

He’s looking at you and touching you and seeing you and it's fine. It’s fine because it’s Joel. No one had ever understood you before the way he has—not your family or your friends or any previous partner. They try, but Joel just seems to know you, understand, without really trying.

Joel clears his throat, his expression unreadable as he lifts one hand to your tattoo. When he traces the ink, you exhale against his curious fingers. It tickles. “That’s real pretty,” he says. “Antlers. It really suits you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur. “Deer are like good luck, I think. They know things.”

He looks at you like you’re some ancient creature he can hardly believe exists. Embarrassment claws at you but you don’t look away. “That so?” He looks at the ink again, tension slicing through the air. “Jesus you’re somethin’.”

You don’t get a chance to respond because he meets your eyes again and asks, “Where’s the bee?”

You laugh and the acid burn of uncertainty disappears. “How’d you remember about the bee?”

“‘Cause I’ve been wonderin’ about it too.” He’s still absentmindedly tracing the antlers, the moss and the flowers that loop through the branches of the antlers. His expression is open now, curious and needy. “It ain’t on your hip, if I’m rememberin’ right.”

You shift your hand to your sternum and carefully tug your shirt up a bit higher. There, nestled between your breasts, is a tiny, tiny bumblebee. “Well, ain’t that a surprise.” He shifts his hand up and covers the bee with his thumb, the length of his fingers sitting right beneath your breast.

An ocean wells up inside you, threatens to break apart your ribs. You lean into his hand, your chest warm, catching, like fire is spreading from all the places he touches you. The knuckles of his other hand drag up your side.

You shiver under his eye, fighting the urge to look away, to tug yourself out of his grip. But the thought of losing his warm hands against you is worse, it outweighs everything else.

“Where did you think it was?” You ask, hardly able to breathe. Everything in the world narrows down to his dark bedroom, his eyes skating over your newly revealed tattoos, milky moonlight parting the tiny space still left between you.

“I couldn’t get it out of my head that it was on your hip.”

You laugh and Joel keeps looking at you, his eyes flicking between your bared skin and your eyes. The room is warm, his gaze heavy. “You’re real pretty. Did I ever tell you that?”

“Once or twice, maybe,” you smile.

“Mm.”

You cup one hand around his wrist, the pressure of his hand against the swell of your breast sending shockwaves through you. It’s all you can focus on, the slow sweep of his thumb against sensitive skin. You push his hand harder against you until it feels hard to breathe.

You think about how much Joel gives you, how carefully he listens even when you don’t speak.

He deserves to know you hear him, too. That you see what he wants, that you hear what he’s saying, and that you’re trying.

“You show me what you think,” you say. “And I—I get it.”

“I don’t think you do,” he says, eyes dark. He reaches for you slowly, giving you time to tell him to stop or to pull away, but you don’t. You desperately want him to keep touching you with his safe, patient, cautious hands.

Slowly, you’re pressed back into the sheets. Joel goans, a pained sound that means his back or knees hurt and he won’t admit it.

He settles himself against you, his body fitted against the cradle of your hips. Joel is heavy against you, but comforting. His fingers clench around yours, and for a long moment he just looks at you beneath him, starved eyes skittering across your skin.

“You all right?” He asks gruffly, like there’s something tangled in his chest. “You say it. If you aren’t.”

“I’m okay.”

You reach up and touch his cheek, then the tail of his eyebrow, as he assesses you. He tilts his chin down, brows lowered heavily over his eyes. You can’t exactly blame him for being cautious. You warned him that you were hard work, and he meant it when he said he didn’t mind, that he didn’t think you were. Caring comes naturally for him. “Really. I would say it. I trust you.”

He nods once and your chest hitches when he dips his head and presses his mouth softly against the bee and then the antlers.

The rough feeling of his beard against your skin tingles. Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling, and you aren’t sure where to put your hands. Joel’s are pressed to your sides, forearms snugly against your body, warm and twitching. You settle on his shoulders, the wide planes of his back, so reassuringly large against your body.

Then, his tongue, firm and soft, slides over your skin. Over the bee and the tips of the antlers strung through with ivy and flowers, over the underside of your breast.

You gasp and arch against him and you suddenly know exactly where you want your hands. You tuck them against the back of his head, threading through the feathery gray strands to keep his mouth against your skin.

Want tightens between your legs, makes your belly ache. Your nipples tighten painfully hard. A whine catches in your throat that you know he hears because he answers you with a low groan of his own against your throat when he sucks a kiss to the underside of your jaw.

It’s overwhelming. You want to push him away and pull him closer. You want to bury yourself inside him and never look into his eyes again. You want this feeling to last forever. You never want Joel to feel lonesome again. You want him to be able to ask for what he wants, to let you give it to him.

Your ex again, flashes through your mind, an unfair comparison. How rarely he’d kissed you, shown you affection, for just the sake of it.

You want you want you want you want—

You want—

“I want you to tattoo the cover up,” you say suddenly. Tears salt that backs of your eyes, tightness itching at the back of your throat. You hitch your knees up around his ribs, fear that he might pull away swimming to the forefront of your mind. It’s dizzying, because your instinct has always been to move away, to put space between you and things that might hurt you. You’ve given Joel so many pieces of you; he could break every part of you, if he really wanted to. “If you still—if you want—I mean—” you stammer.

His head lifts and your thighs clench because you want him everywhere and nowhere all at once. You want him to want you as badly as you want him, and that just doesn’t seem possible. Not in all the ways you mean anyway, the kind where you tuck yourself inside his ribs, and into the dark places in his mind, like love letters that will never be sent.

You love him, you think. You love Joel.

It doesn’t feel like enough. The word isn’t big enough to encompass what he makes you feel. The feelings worming around in your chest are expansive, wide as the night sky, splattered with stars and distant galaxies that have yet to be found, let alone described.

“‘Course I want to,” he says easily. “Of course, I will.”

“Tomorrow?” You ask breathlessly.

“If that’s what you want, honey.”

You nod. “It is.” You suspect you could say you wanted him to do it right at that moment, and he’d find a way to make it happen. He’d drive you to his studio in the dark. He’d sit with you until morning bruised the sky, until the peach of the sun dripped sticky sweet down the horizon. “I want you to do it. I want it to be from you.”

“All right,” he agrees. “Tomorrow mornin’ we’ll go and do it.” His hand slides down your side to your hip, then your thigh. “You okay?”

You nod.

“You have to talk to me,” he says. “I ain’t a mind reader.”

“I know,” you admit. “I’m sorry I put so much on you to figure out.”

“That ain’t what I meant.”

“But that’s what you do. You figure me out.”

Joel pats your thigh and then presses the pads of his fingers to the hinge of your jaw. His eyes search yours for a long time, black in the low light of the room.

He kisses you until you start to fall asleep, the lazy press of his lips whispering things you can no longer hear.

Morning dawns bright and warm.

Joel gets up long before you even stir. You’re curled as close to him as you can get without actually touching him, hands tucked beneath your face, lips parted softly. You’d migrated to the center of the bed, taking up space he’s not really keen on reclaiming.

The memory of your skin against his mouth, all the other places on your body he’d like to touch and taste, is like nectar, like the sweet promise of a good dream after a long day. You aren’t ready for that though. Not yet, anyway, and that’s all right.

But he’s only a man, and he’s painfully hard.

Before, you were like a deer he’d accidentally come upon, skating around the rim of his peripheral vision. Now, you’re still doe-eyed and watchful, but you’re closer; you’re relaxed, lying in the shade of trees you trust, at ease.

Your hand twitches toward him when he presses a slow kiss against your temple, the jump of tendon beneath his mouth soothing somehow. He pulls the sheet up and tucks it around your shoulders, because without him next to you the draft from the fan overhead is too cool for you.

He takes care of himself in the bathroom without much fuss, and then feels a little bit guilty for it when you’re sleeping on just the other side of the wall. It wasn’t the first time though, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

In the kitchen, he makes coffee just the way you like it, with a little bit of cinnamon in with the coffee grounds. The coffee creamer you like is sweet, so he sets that out with a spoon next to a pale blue mug, pours himself his own cup, and relocates to the back deck.

The trees at the far edge of the property are still dark and skeletal, the thicket full of shadow and the buzz of night insects.

Even at the end of October, it’s still warm. A breeze ruffles his hair, shakes the nearly naked trees and sends a cascade of brown and orange sifting to the ground. Next month it would cool off, just a little.

He hadn’t told you when his birthday passed in September, that you’d inadvertently spent that day with him. Sarah and Ellie had tried to get him to tell you, but he hadn’t been able to stomach it.

Dread accompanies that day.

It hadn’t always, just since Sarah was little, like his body was braced for a tragedy that would never come. He couldn’t have you be a part of that too, though the girls had pointed out you would eventually notice his lack of a birthday, if you were around long enough.

He’d cross that bridge if he ever came to it. It’s hard to imagine he’d get you for that long.

It doesn’t take long for you to find him. The flood of morning sun has passed the tree line and twists dappled green and yellow circles over the deck. When you push open the back door, you have your cup of coffee in one hand and the neck of the guitar in the other.

He’d have to get you your own. Either that, or make one for you.

“Hey,” you smile at him as you set your steaming cup down on the patio table.

“Mornin’. You sleep okay?”

“Mmm.”

Joel expects you to ask him to play, but you settle down in the chair next to his, your bare knee pressed against his, and adjust the instrument in your lap.

The sound is clumsy, but beautiful and careful, when you play. Joel’s glad he decided to teach you. He just listens and watches you. Your expression is thoughtful but closed, like you’re somewhere else. That’s how he thinks too, music in hand, mind far away. He likes that look on you, until you suddenly pause and glance up. You watch him for a long moment with those doe eyes of yours, folding your arms around the body of the guitar.

You lick your lips and his eyes flick briefly to your mouth, the plush curve of your lower lip. He hadn’t kissed you good morning. “I want to figure you out too, you know,” you say.

You hold his gaze for just a second before dropping your eyes to the wooden floorboards instead, fidgeting like you’re repressing the urge to curl in on yourself, fold yourself away. “You got me all figured out, honey,” he assures you.

You shake your head and lift your eyes again, tapping your nails against the wood. “You—” you pause and swallow, “You’re allowed to want things from me, Joel.”

Something falls in his chest, like he’s missed the last step on a long staircase, gravity turned against him.

His heart lurches up into his mouth, tangy with some unknown fear. “I do. Trust me, I do.”

“Why don’t you ask?”

“Honey—”

“I know,” you say softly. “I know. I know how I am and how—” you stop and flounder, frustrated for a moment. “I know I’m not easy to ask. But you. . . I don’t feel that way with you anymore; I’m not afraid anymore. And I want to be enough for you. I hope I’m not too slow about it.” You look away again. “I want you to know you can call on me, too, Joel.”

He clears his throat but the tightness doesn’t go away. “You could never take too long. I don’t mind waitin’.”

“But?”

But, he’s bad at this.

But, he loves too hard, cares too much.

But, part of him is convinced that the loneliness is deserved. Everyone seems to leave him, someway or another. He’s just preparing early for it this time. He’s never held onto a romantic relationship before, so why should this one be any different than all the ones that came before it?

He doesn’t ask for anything, doesn’t want; he gives and cares and that’s why people stay. It really doesn’t have all that much to do with him, or what he wants.

“But you don’t want anything from me?” You ask, your voice noticeably smaller, and the warm morning suddenly feels cold.

“It ain’t that.” He should say more, but nothing else comes out, words trapped like moths inside a lamp.

You swallow and nod, like you’re battering back your instinct to flee, to think the worst. You’ve come so far and it’s hard not to feel a little pride, that you stay, that you aren’t worried, not usually, that he’ll hurt you someway. He’s reminded of the first day he’d tattooed you, how one misplaced word was enough to have you jumping to your feet, fretful and afraid. “I like spending time with you. I like touching you. I can give that to you.”

He doesn’t answer and you eventually continue. “You can’t protect me from the whole wide world. Not even from you. I’m making a choice. To be here with you.” And he knows you’ve seen much more than he wanted you to, that you’ve seen the interior of him, bleeding red, splattered onto everything he touches. You’ve seen the want, the need, and you’re still here.

He’s still not sure letting you care wouldn’t end with you leaving. But he doesn’t see what other choice he has.

“Okay. But you promise me somethin’,” he says. “Just one thing and I’ll try.”

You tilt your head, the picture of a curious little doe, almost nosy, peering into unfamiliar woods. “What?” You ask, looking away as you set the guitar aside.

“If you ever want somethin’ better for yourself. You tell me. And you go.”

Your eyes snap back to his, mouth parted in shock. “Joel—”

“I’m serious,” he snaps and you recoil a little, hurt in your eyes. “You deserve better’n this. Better than a lonely old man.”

You shoot up from your seat in a rare show of anger. And that surge of pride hits him squarely in the chest again. He’s proud of you for that. For standing up for yourself, for letting yourself be angry with him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Your voice doesn’t raise in volume, but it is waspish, venom laced. “Better? What’s better for me than you?”

“Honey,” he says, softens his voice. “Just ‘cause you opened up with me, don’t mean I think I get to keep you.”

Your shoulders loosen and you step closer. When you reach out, God help him, he leans into your hand.

Gentle fingertips run along his shoulders, bite into the knot at the top of his spine. “Keep me,” you scoff lightly. “I want you to keep me.”

You don’t protest when he winds an arm around your waist and tugs you down into his lap. You’re warm and soft and frowning so hard at him. There’s a divot between your eyes that he wants to press his thumb over, to smooth away. Instead he takes your wrist in his hand and traces the tattoo on your forearm. “You’re the only one who’s ever wondered if they should,” you say. “You aren’t keeping anything. I’m giving you something no one else ever even tried to earn.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, a hot fist around his words. He’d rather walk away, not talk about it, not talk about himself. But that would break all that hard won trust.

“I just can’t have you feelin’ like I’m your problem,” he admits, voice graveled and scraping. “Like I’m holdin’ you down.”

“It’s okay to need people,” you answer, ignoring him. “I want to take care of you too. I want to be here with you.” You slide your hand over his shoulder again. “Even if it's just like this. Especially if it's just like this.” You scratch your fingers through his hair. Sun spills around your shoulders, blinds him when he looks up at you. “I know how much you like it. And you can tell me when you need something. I’m still learning your tells.”

He chuckles at that, let’s you keep touching him, because he does want it and you don’t seem to mind so much that he’s just some lonely man. “All right,” he runs his hand up your thigh to your hip. “Promise me anyway.”

“I promise,” you say. “To learn your tells.”

You make breakfast without burning anything, while Joel watches, hip leaned against the counter. His smile is soft, affectionate.

Warmth balloons in your chest, bursts in your veins like champagne bubbles. You managed to reassure him, you managed to say what you want without feeling bad about it.

“Lonely old man,” you burst out with a laugh. “I’m lonely and old.”

Joel rolls his eyes when you dig your elbow into his side. “You ain’t old.”

“Neither are you.”

Joel buys you coffee from the little cafe you always stopped at before visiting him at the studio. He drives with his hand in yours. He opens the passenger side door for you and gestures you ahead of him into the studio.

After going through the usual motions of disinfecting and sanitizing and picking one of the many, many, many coverup designs he’d sketched for you and getting the stencil on right, you find yourself in much the same position as the first time you got tattooed by Joel.

Joel isn’t talking. He’s taking his time looking you over, intense and careful and muttering about that bastard that had dared lay his hands on you. He’s meticulous in everything he does, but especially when it concerns someone he cares about, when it comes to you.

You’re lying down, studying the side of his face. He touches you without asking, and you don’t flinch once. The memory of his body against yours sends a flushed heat over your skin. Your scalp tingles with it, your toes curl with it.

He finally seems satisfied after a few long minutes, his hand on the curve of your elbow. You nod your consent when he looks at you, tattoo gun poised in his other hand over your shoulder. “Sure?”

“Never been surer.” You smile and then cover the hand resting on your elbow. He gives, you give back. “You don’t like it when I say thank you.”

“I don’t,” he grunts. There's a blush beneath his beard.

You sweep your thumb against his knuckles, and think about how different that first time had been. Joel had reassured you, gave you a physical anchor you hadn’t known you needed, kind and steady and already lodged somewhere deep inside your heart.

Now you can give that back to him.

“Okay.”

But he knows. You know he hears it anyway.

Still, you want to say it.

“Thank you, baby. For giving me back to myself.”

He leans over you, and you tilt your chin up so he can kiss you.

“Couple sessions, okay?” He croaks when he pulls away. “Don’t want to wear ya out.”

There is nowhere in the world you’d rather be.

💞 Thank you for reading! Comments and feedback are so appreciated. 💞

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #honeyed fic

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entitled-fangirl · 3 months

Text

They're not gonna hit you.

Joel Miller x reader

Summary: The three travelers find themselves back in the QZ and get attacked. The reader gets injured.

Words: 2,370

Warnings: gunshots, blood, car crash, lots of cursing.

Author's note: I literally went word for word from the scene, adding a few pieces here and there. Enjoy :)

Masterlist <3

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“Don’t look at the state map. Look at the inset.”

“I don’t know where we are in that either!”

Y/N turned to look in the backseat, “Here, El. Let me see.”

“No, no. I got it. I mean… this is my second day in a fucking car, man.” She looked back to the map again, “I think we’re heading north?”

The truck continually moved through the seemingly abandoned road. Y/N looked out of the window, seeing that rusting cars and buildings that can begun to grow vines up each side. It was eerie, seeing a once heavily populated place be left completely untouched.

Joel looks over slightly, “It’s gotta be the right….” He turns the truck wheel gently. “…What the fuck…?”

Ellie’s eyes widen as she looks to the left, “STOP!”

Joel hits the break, the tires screeching slightly. Y/N held out her hand to stabilize herself.

“Is that the QZ?” Ellie asked.

Joel curiously peered over to where she was looking. It was. But it was abandoned.

Her eyebrows furrowed together as she pressed her body up against the glass, “Where the fuck is FEDRA?”

Joel and Y/N’s eyes held a cautious look to them, unsure of what to say.

A voice broke out from outside the car, “Hey!”

All three people stopped, staring out the windshield at the interruption.

A man stumbled towards them, a look of pain on his face, “Please, Help!”

Joel immediately went into action, his face hardening, “Put your seatbelt on.”

Y/N immediately listened, her voice soft, “…Joel..?”

Ellie wondered, too, “Aren’t we gonna help him?”

“No.”

Joel hit the gas, turning the wheel in the man’s direction.

He jumped out of the road with a loud, “Fuck!”

Y/N leans back in her seat, grabbing the handle on the ceiling in a death grip.

Ellie peered out of the window, “Joel!”

A barrel was dropped from on top of a building by someone. It hit the windshield, cracking the entire thing.

Joel swerved, struggling to stabilize the car and get them back on the road in a straight line.

Y/N looked over to him, watching his eyes focus with a murderous glare, one he only saved for serious situations.

It scared her.

The truck hit a small bump, what seemed like nothing. In reality, it was a row of spiked that had flattened their tires.

Joel kept swerving back and forth, determined to get them out of there.

A man steps out with a gun, and Joel began to swear under his breath.

He jerked the wheel, sending the truck drifting to the side. It crashed into a building, the glass shattering loudly.

He leaned down, grabbing Y/N’s thigh, dropping his voice, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah… yeah, I think so.”

“You’re not hurt? Nothin’?”

She placed a hand on his, “…no.”

He relaxed slightly before turning to Ellie in the backseat. She nodded, not even making him ask the questions.

A bullet hit the truck. All three survivors ducked.

“BELTS OFF. FAST!”

She always did what Joel told her to do. He had saved them many times before, and she would be a fool to doubt him now.

Y/N opened the door, carefully getting out. She pulled herself to the ground, reaching a hand out to open Ellie’s door. The girl slid out, joining her on the ground.

Joel got out on her side too, resting his hand on her back in comfort.

“Let’s see you, motherfucker!”

Joel let out a soft breath, controlling himself. He opened Ellie’s door again, reaching in to grab his weapon. He cocked the gun, sitting back down on the ground.

“Give us your shit, you make it through this!”

Joel was slightly panicking now. He wouldn’t let anything happen to them. To her and Ellie. Never.

He looked up, noticing a hole in the wall. He leaned over to Y/N, his voice soft and calm, “Hey, you see that hole? Can you squeeze through..?”

She stared at it in thought, the sound of gunshots being the only noise.

“Hey,” he reprimanded, getting her attention again, “Hey.” He said a little sharper. He grabbed her jaw in his hand, bringing it close to him, “Look at me.”

Her eyes met his.

“When I say go, you crawl to that wall, and you squeeze through and you don’t come out until I say, okay?”

A bullet pierces through the truck window above them, dropping glass on them.

“…and they’re not gonna hit you.”

She looked over to Ellie, grabbing her hand. Joel could feel her anxiety.

“…LOOK AT ME!”

The two look at him, their faces close, “They’re not gonna hit you.”

She could tell how serious this was by the look in his eyes. They were focused, serious, deadly. She didn’t know how this would end up for the three of them.

“You stay down, you stay low, you stay quiet.”

Ellie nodded, tightening her grip on Y/N’s hand. “…okay.”

Joel looked back to Y/N, “…okay?”

She nodded, her voice barely heard, “…okay.”

Joel stood, peering his gun over the top of the truck with a loud, “GO!”

Ellie was the first to move, pulling Y/N behind her. The two dropped to the ground, crawling over the glass, not caring of the scratches it could leave behind.

When they near it, Ellie throws her bag in, crawling in behind it.

When Y/N’s hands touched the wall, she looked back.

Joel was crouched behind the truck, his body pressed against it tightly. He was waiting for the moment to strike, like a panther who had seen its first meal in weeks.

His eyes flickered to hers.

She turned, pushing herself through the hole, disappearing from his view.

The two girls sat against the wall there, listening to the gunshots, praying none of them hit Joel.

It went silent.

And that felt much worse.

The two sat in silence, their eyes wide.

They heard soft footsteps, the glass crunching beneath someone’s feet.

Y/N prayed it was Joel.

She leaned toward the hole, peering through it.

It was not Joel.

Right as she made eye contact with the man, a finally gunshot rang out.

The man dropped dead.

But that joy was short-lived by the sound of the door swinging open and physical fighting beginning.

She could hear Joel’s grunts, her heart calming slightly. But she knew she couldn’t stay that way. They needed to help him.

Ellie peered out, seeing for herself.

Joel was pinned to the ground, a gun pushing down on his neck.

“You’re gonna fucking pay. What you fuckin’ did, you fuckin’ killed yourself, motherfucker!”

Joel’s legs tried to push off the ground, his soft grunts filling the air.

Y/N was unmoving. She didn’t know what to do.

Ellie, however, took matters into her own hands.

She left their safe hiding place.

And Y/N heard another gun shot ring out.

Joel’s soft grunts were heard as he tried to catch his breath.

Y/N peered out of the hole, lightly stepping out.

Ellie stood over the man that attacked him, her gun in his face. He was begging her, his bloody hands out in surrender.

Y/N looked over to Joel, who sat on the ground, watching the interaction himself. He finally stood, staring at the gun in Ellie’s hand angrily. He stepped over to her, holding his hand out. She handed it over to him.

Joel stepped forward, listening to the man continue to beg. He turned back to Ellie, his voice a growl, “Get back behind the wall.”

Ellie hesitated. She knew what would happen if she did so. What Joel would do to him. But she listened anyway.

Joel’s gaze turned to Y/N, who was staring at the man with a compassionate expression. But Joel wouldn’t give it to her. His gaze hardened on her, as if commanding.

Her shoulders slumped slightly, moving her body towards the hole again.

When Joel watched her body disappear from his sight, he leaned down to the man.

On the other side, the woman leaned against the wall, trying to control her breath.

Joel was ruthless. Unforgiving. And Merciless. She knew the man didn’t have a chance. Not a man. He was just a boy. And Joel would kill him for what he did.

Ellie seemed to be thinking the same thing. She wrapped her arms around Y/N for comfort, her head pushed against the woman’s shoulder.

They listened as the boy’s cries were immediately stopped.

Silence filled the room.

“Sweetheart, I gotta get in there. I can’t fit through.”

Ellie pulled away to answer for her, “There’s some stuff against the door.”

“Well, can you move it?”

Y/N wiped the tears that fell from her face, moving towards the door.

…

Once Joel was in the room and the door was re-barricaded, they simply stared at each other.

Ellie broke it, pulling her backpack up, “I’m good. I got some food in here still, and I got your light…still.”

Joel let out a breath, “Let’s go. Up. Hopefully, we spot a clear route out.”

He moved toward the back of the building, stopping in front of Y/N, his hand reaching up to lightly brush the cut on her forehead before moving on.

“Stay close.”

They carefully walked through the alleyways, checking each corner.

…

“As soon as we don’t hear a truck, we move. Fast as we can.”

Joel, Ellie, and Y/N were currently tucked away in a building in a town. Newspapers covered the windows, where they peered through the torn ones carefully. They couldn’t risk getting caught.

All three sat down in thought, the silence falling over the room.

Ellie sat up slightly, “Are you okay?”

Joel turned to her, “I’m alright. Are you?”

“Yeah.”

Joel began to shake his head, “Thing is, I didn’t hear that guy comin’. And you shouldn’t have had to… you know?”

Ellie looked up at him, “Well, you’re glad I did, right?”

Joel sighed, “You’re just a kid. You shouldn’t know what it means to— It’s not like you killed him. But… I know what it’s like the first time that you hurt … someone like that. You shouldn’t have had to. And… I’m sorry.”

Joel turned to Y/N, noticing her silence, “…sweetheart, you alright?”

She stood, leaning against the cold brick wall. “I…uh…yeah,” her hand was pulled into her jacket, her breathing shallow, “…I…I think so.”

Joel didn’t like that answer. He stood up, approaching her. “You sure? You’re… little pale, there.”

She stood up straighter. “Joel… stop. I… I’m fine. Fine..”

His eyes scanned her body, resting on the hand that laid in her jacket. “Let me see.”

She pulled herself all the way up, standing from the wall, “…leave me alone. I… I’m fine.”

He sighed. She wouldn’t like this, but he had to do it anyway. “I said ‘Let me see.’”

She shook her head, her eyes looking anywhere but at him.

He started to get angry now. He rushed forward, grabbing her forearm, pulling it from her jacket.

Her hand was covered in blood.

He stared at it in shock, his body trying to calculate what to do. “Sweetheart… what….?”

Ellie sat up straight, her eyes wide.

Joel wrapped his arm around the woman, pulling her to sit. He kneeled down in front of her. “Alright, baby. Let me see the damage, yeah?”

Her eyes were glossy with tears. Her heart was breaking.

Joel peeled back Y/N’s jacket.

Blood gushed through her shirt. Her stomach was covered in the red liquid.

Joel felt an involuntary breath leave his lungs. Jesus, this was not good. “Oh… okay, honey. It’s gonna be alright. Just…let’s lay you down.”

He gently pulls her down, her body resting on the desk that barricaded the door. He looked over his shoulder, “Ellie. Get my bag.”

Y/N began to panic. She couldn’t handle the look in Joel’s eyes, the horrified look he had given her. Her breath began to pick up, the blood leaving her body faster.

He notices.

“Hey, hey…shh… it’s alright. Listen… you’re gonna be fine. I’ll make sure of that.”

He peeled her shirt up, revealing a huge chunk of glass that resided in his stomach. Thank God it wasn’t a bullet.

Ellie brought his bag, setting it on the desk next to the woman’s head.

“Hold her hand.”

Ellie turned, “…what?”

“Hold her hand. She’s gonna need it.”

Ellie listened, gripping the woman’s hand in her own.

Joel gripped the glass in his fingers, pulling it out slowly.

Y/N yelped slightly, her body jerking.

“Hey, hey…you gotta be quiet now. Shh…”

She grunted, pulling her other hand to cover her mouth.

He pulled it out, quickly pressing one of his spare shirts against her stomach harshly. It hurt her, it hurt him. He hated seeing her in pain.

Especially when she started to cry.

He reaches his other hand down around her back of her neck, pulling her up slightly and dipping his head to make their foreheads meet. He felt her soft breath against his face. “Good… you’re doing so good for me… just… just… stay like that.”

He then wrapped a cloth around her stomach, making sure it was tight against her stomach.

Her eyes began to close.

“Hey. Hey. Stay with me, now.”

But it wasn’t working.

“Listen to me, sweetheart. You gotta stay awake. C’mon.”

She let out a grunt, her eyes now closed.

“Goddamnit. DAMN IT!”

Elie gently touched Joel’s shoulder, a silent reminder to be quiet. “She’ll be fine. She’s still breathing.”

Joel sighed, stepping away, brushing his face with his hands. He sat on a crate, his focus back on Ellie.

She sighed, sitting where she had been before. “…Wasn’t my first time.”

Joel’s eyes hardened, his hand reaching back to take out the gun that he had taken away from her, handing it back. “Show me your grip. Finger off the trigger.”

…

The two spent a few hours in each other’s company, Joel teaching her the rules of gun safety. But they couldn’t help but peer back over to Y/N occasionally, checking her breathing.

........................................................................

Author's note: how do we feel about a part 2????

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller tlou #joel tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller imagine #tlou imagine

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motherofagony · 6 months

Text

A HEART FOR EATING // vol. 2

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: post outbreak!joel x f!reader setting: jackson, wy (think tlou pt. 2 minus the golfing) rating: mature, 18+, minors dni word count: 8.7k series summary: a vicious raider attack robs you of human connection and lights a fire of destruction in your life in jackson. joel's fixated on you, and your lives tangle. revenge becomes a needful thing. chapter summary: you take care of joel after a patrol injury, but you suspect there's more to it than he's telling you. the atmosphere shifts as you and joel grow (begrudgingly) closer. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), protective!joel, brief masturbation (f!reader), praise kink for two seconds, blood, bodily injuries, needles (reader gives joel stitches), dissociation/triggers, alcohol, angst, sexual tension intensifies, The First Kiss™, soft!joel vol. 1 // vol. 2 series playlist a/n: we're picking up speed, folks. world-building is my weakness, so i hope you enjoy this nonetheless. honorable mention goes to the readers in the trenches, waiting patiently for joel to [redacted] reader senseless until she [redacted] all over his [redacted]. thank you for the love on the series so far. taglist: @ghostwritesthings, @widowssbite, @p3rkerr, @eternallyvenus, @punkshort if anyone would like to be added/removed to the taglist (or if i missed anyone), please send me a DM!

You’ve always hated flying.

In the great before, the stone ages of family vacations and things to look forward to, fears were singular and planes were yours.

Your family never had a lot of money, not really, but on the special occasion of a death in the family, you’d find yourself trapped to a seat in a metal tube. Going nowhere but up. Sitting through safety instructions that came from smiling, lipsticked mouths that were only hypotheticals until they weren’t.

It’s like a rollercoaster, your dad would say, amused in the way only a dad can be and sleeping through damn near anything in the same fashion. It did nothing to calm the knocking of your knees, to quell the flip of your stomach as you climbed higher and higher until you couldn’t see anything but cotton ball clouds.

It was always unnatural to you that something so heavy could float, that you were supposed to go on doing human things and drinking your ginger ale and munching your pre-packaged snack option. As if you weren’t being hurled into the sky with no one walking you through it.

As if the plummet onto tarmac meant no harm, just completely normal erratic braking that felt a lot like the moments before a crash.

There was no control — it was in someone else’s hands that you never saw. And as you fell, you were supposed to say thank you, that’s exactly what I paid for.

This is your version of the oxygen mask. This is you putting yours on before you help Joel.

You’re on your knees digging through your med bag, thumbing through bandages, checking for a quick count of gloves, antibiotics, wash cloths. You fumble with the zipper, fighting with the tremor that starts in your forearms and liquifies into your wrists. There isn’t much in the way of supplies unless you ransack what’s kept in storage, but there’s no time, and you’re not sure of what you’re about to walk into.

Waiting any moment for a scream, or the blast of a gun when they realize Joel’s not Joel anymore.

And it isn’t really a big possibility in the grand scheme of things, if you consider that he would’ve likely turned on the route home. But it’s still there, tickling the back of your head, nudging your navel uncomfortably. Nothing’s impossible.

You of all people know that.

You linger in your living room, giving a final sweep. Worst case, you can run back for what’s forgotten, but something about the idea of abandoning a vulnerable Joel – if only for a minute – doesn’t settle right in your stomach.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re shoving a bottle of whiskey into the bag, the only anesthetic on hand. And if you’re being honest with yourself, you need to score back some points.

The steps leading up to Joel’s house are sturdy, and you imagine it’s because of the pride he takes in what’s his. Before this, his house was just another skeleton of roof, foundation, windows, and siding.

The kind of houses you pass by every day that are rife with familiarity but you don’t know what it’s like to see the people inside eat dinner, brush their teeth. Fight. Fuck.

Fresh paint from only two seasons ago, reinforced porch posts. A swing. It’s weird to see permanence in this day and age, but his intention to anchor himself and grow roots here flutters meaningfully inside you.

It’s always been a sacred thing to you, you don’t know why. A place you’d never dreamed of entering, but dreamed about what it would smell like. A pair of boots haphazard by the front door, small piles of organized chaos, of collected tangibles. A you never know if you’ll need this in one corner, a saving that for a rainy day shelved in another.

So when you raise your hand to knock, you feel like an intruder, an unwelcome invasion of privacy. And you don’t know why you knock at all, you nearly think better of it given the circumstances, but you’re testing the atmosphere, hoping for voices inside instead of a struggle.

Ellie’s swinging the door open, relief smoothing out the lines in her forehead when she sees you. Her presence seems to answer any unspoken questions you had about Joel being infected, and you don’t voice them to her when you can see unrest in her antsy legs.

“Hey. Sorry for the wait. He alright?”

Her teeth are worrying her lip, probably more traumatized by the sight of him than anything. A few strands of hair have freed themselves from her lazy half-bun at the base of her neck, caught in the crossfire when she ran her hands through it, you think.

“Yeah,” Ellie breathes, committing to it. “Yeah, he’s okay. Bleeding stopped, nothing seems broken. Just needs stitches, I think.”

It sounds more to convince herself than anything else. There’s a foreign fragility to her, and you hate it.

“He tell you what happened?”

The question strikes a nerve. Ellie’s shaking her bowed head, scoffing in a half-laugh that doesn’t touch her eyes. Her hand wraps around her knuckles, cracking slowly in an effort to alleviate the tension that’s reached a fever pitch inside her.

“He won’t tell me, says it doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t have gone alone anyway, he was bein’ a dick. ‘I wanna think, kiddo - need t’clear my head,’” she mocks in a gruff, rolling pitch, the perfect dosage of Texas.

It levels you, potent. Are you the thing Joel needed to clear his head of?

You’re weirdly longing for it, but being flicked away like a bug, peeled away layer by layer from him isn’t something you want.

There’s hope that you’re contagious. That you’re haunting him and lurking in the darkest corners of his mind like an apparition like he has yours. And maybe there’s hope after all, something left to salvage.

But you play dumb, furrow your brow a little too expertly.

Ellie’s measuring you, and there’s a glimpse of worry but she hides it in a way that you wouldn’t know what you were looking for if you hadn’t already found it.

“Anything you wanna tell me about the other night? He was pissed when he left,” she tacks on quietly.

You go a little slack-jawed. You don’t even know how to put it into words, and you couldn’t tell her what it meant even if you tried.

What’s there to even say?

“You know what, none of my business,” she says, her hands lifting in tired surrender when you don’t answer, ignoring your near-sputter. “But you’re not off the hook, just make sure the old man doesn’t croak. And tell him he scared the shit outta me.”

You exhale and hope it doesn’t read too much as relief. You’ll have to answer to her later, but at least you might have an answer to give.

“Handful of salt in the wound, rub in circular motions – got it. Tell Tommy I’ll catch up later.”

Your shoulders scrape affectionately as you nudge past each other, and you cast a wide look at the periphery of Joel Miller’s house. The feeling of unwelcome disappears, and if anything, you’re being tugged further inside. Imagining what it’s like to be a fixture, an adornment in his weird little life.

Nooks that you assumed would be messy are neat, coiffed even. There’s that unavoidable smudge of secondhand all over the furniture – mottled ever so slightly, aged uneven in places that only an apocalypse can do. But it’s an otherwise tidy existence. Another surprise from Joel that you’d never pick up on if you only witnessed him nursing a drink at the bar.

An oak bookshelf props itself at the bottom of the stairs and it rivals your own, dust gathering in thin lines where he’s repeatedly shelved this, reread that. There are paintings hung decisively on most of the walls, breathtaking rural landscapes of wherever.

You’re lugging the bag upstairs, counting your breaths with each step. The whiskey rattles mutely against the first aid tin, and it’s a toss-up now of who you really brought it for.

The landing mirrors the ground level, a purposeful littering of tchotchkes. Doors line the second floor, some closed, some ajar but not inviting, and you realize you have no idea which one you’re looking for. You sway uninvited by the bannister until you hear the unmistakable hiss of breath between clenched teeth, then a soft moan as his weight shifts.

And you’re stepping inside a room – his bedroom – warmed in the soft beginnings of sunset. Joel’s sprawled asymmetrically on his bed, eyes pinched shut, delirious with blood loss but already looking substantially less like a corpse. A damp rag settles just above his brow, and the handiwork of Ellie.

There’s an unrecognizable hurt in him, wounded in ways that he shouldn’t be capable of.

He doesn’t give any indication that he knows you’re here until he’s rasping out something weak disguised as stern.

“I ain’t bit. Shut the door behind you.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“How did you –?”

Joel just huffs in response, as indignant as his body lets him be.

“You see anyone else here? They might as well’ve jumped out the window, as fast as they dumped me ‘n left. I ain’t stupid.”

You accept that and drop the pretense, pursing your lips with a nod. He doesn’t seem that offended, knows it’s just the nature of the beast.

You move over to his bedside, unpacking the bag quickly on a side table, looping your metaphorical stethoscope around your neck and switching gears into a mode that’s strictly doctoral.

Yet, there’s still that hum beneath your skin, the fizzle of unfinished business. It’s thick in the space between you, in the way he flicks his gaze at you lazily. You’ll let him foster the anger, giving it a home. You can be the martyr he says you are.

This new lens feels calmer, almost professional. Your nerves are still firing rapidly, and your composure is forced, but it’s better than nothing.

You drag a chair from the corner up to Joel’s bed, not letting your eyes wander too far into the depths of the space. You don’t have time to dissect the idiosyncrasies of his life. Not yet.

He still hasn’t opened his eyes, but you get the sense that he’s tracking your every move. His limbs are concrete, the tendons in his forearms so tense and coiled like any and every movement is forbidden.

“Joel.”

He grunts, a pained translation. Still no effort to move.

“I need to take a look at you,” you say patiently, bargaining like you would with a kid. “Wanna tell me what hurts?”

Another grunt, softer this time. He motions vaguely, weakly to his head, then the left flank of his abdomen.

You already know what you’ll find under the rag on his head, and it bodes well that the bleeding looks to have stopped. His stomach wound, on the other hand, was enough to bleed through two layers.

“Alright. Lemme see.”

A muted whimper echoes in his throat, so uncharacteristically that it tugs on your heart. Still statuesque, unmoving.

Your fingers are deft, careful as they unbutton the first, second, third buttons of his flannel. Joel’s stock-still, and his breath comes in sharp, slow waves through his nose. Your own breath kind of sits in the back of your throat, and you pretend with a hurried exhale that you weren’t just holding it.

Your fingers reach his navel on the last button, and you’re gently tucking each panel of his shirt under him on either side, focusing too hard on not touching him. It feels like something is somersaulting low in your stomach.

You can’t even dare yourself to look at his chest, his stomach. The patch of hair leading down to the band of his pants.

Get it together. That’s not what this is.

An angry gash looks up at you, thankfully clotted with dried patches of blood. It’s about two delicate fingers long, a nasty slice. It looks clean, abrupt in shape but suspiciously manmade. Not too deep, but not superficial enough to heal without some assistance.

And thank god, not nearly as bad as you thought it would be.

Joel’s looking at you now through heavy lids, wary of you, but something like fear touches the corners of his eyes. You fight to stay medical, methodical in your diagnosis. No emotion slips out, nothing allowed in.

You sit back calmly, letting loose a sigh. Not letting yourself bathe in the intimacy of the moment, in the way he’s staring.

“You need stitches,” you announce simply.

“Like hell.”

“Joel.”

He’s scowling, a hurt animal pissed at its own vulnerability. Silence passes like a ship between you, and for a moment, you think he’ll really fight you on this. He can’t hide anything when he’s like this, the weighing of his options evident in the tick of his jaw, the pathetic pinch just in the center of his brows.

“Fine,” he grits out. “Make it quick.”

This fucker.

You’re rolling your eyes, unceremoniously tugging the rag from his forehead. The cloth is red but not soaked, just twinged pink around the edges. Joel curses, just an octave above unintelligible.

His hand is shooting to the cut near his hairline and you’re smacking it away before he can pollute it.

“Lay still, fuck’s sake,” you chastise. “An infection’ll put you out longer than a few days. Unless you have a puzzle you been meaning to get around to?”

The faux-threat calms him immediately, and the shift in restraint doesn’t go unchecked. He doesn’t say another word, but you catch a glare and a twitch of his mouth.

You make quick work of cleaning him up, squeezing rubbing alcohol on a clean towel and scrubbing patient circles through the mess of dried blood. Joel releases sharp noises you can only describe as growls when you get too close to the border of his cuts.

It’s primal, a dog asserting dominance with his leg caught in a trap.

You try to lose the attitude, and it’s difficult when your patient hates you, doesn’t hate you, won’t clarify either way.

There’s a hint of purple that’s developing like fresh film on the mountains of his knuckles that doesn’t go unnoticed. Places on the most taut peaks of flesh where his skin has split, marred with scrapes that look like indents of teeth. And in the right light, there’s a discoloration of something in the same family splayed on his ribs.

And that… you know that when you see it. Even if everything else can be explained away.

“You wanna talk about it?” you say quietly.

There’s an intermission where he doesn’t respond. Too long to be the truth, too short to come up with a lie. And you know he’s been waiting for this question, might’ve already thought of a story.

“Got clumsy,” Joel recites. “Tripped on some stairs that were caving in, hit my head.”

“Bullshit.” And it’s a statement, not an insult. It doesn’t cover why he has a certified stab wound in his side.

Another stretch of silence, lack of defensiveness, makes it clear that he knows you know. But he doesn’t elaborate, and for whatever reason, you don’t push it.

And maybe it’s enough to acknowledge this sort of thing for now. You can stow it away, let it keep you up at night. Draw parallels where there possibly aren’t any. If he’d run into a human thing, he’d be much worse off, right?

Just like you were.

You take care in lining up the supplies to stitch in neat order beside you, mulling over each step in your mind. Stalling, maybe.

You pull the whiskey bottle out of your bag by the neck and nudge Joel with the cap.

“Something to take the edge off.”

He kind of hesitates, but there’s a tenderness. Recognizing it as an act of mercy, a peace offering.

There’s nothing said, but he takes the bait, spinning off the top and swallowing a messy mouthful. A drip escapes through the corner of his mouth and slips into his beard.

You can feel the taste of it blossoming on your tongue.

He grunts his thanks and keeps a steady grip on the neck of the bottle, and the network of veins in his forearm unwind.

You clamp the needle, laced through with something thicker than thread but not quite medical grade. Joel exhales a shaky whine when you pierce the skin, and his fist grips the sheets when you twist clockwise to push the needle through to the other side.

“You’re doing great,” you murmur.

The needle weaves over the cut, greeting the other side. You pull it through and up, and his lower lip trembles, sweat beading his forehead.

“First one done,” you say, praising him but also yourself.

Joel’s still clenching the linens on the bed, ignoring you and hiding out in his own mind somewhere.

You don’t tell him that you’ve only ever practiced on fruit, that your suture knowledge comes exclusively from the one medical text you have and endless hours of TV you grew up on.

Silence envelopes you again, heavier than before if possible. The pressure waxes and wanes like nighttime waves, licking the shore between you. And it’s not angry, just something… else.

“Some house you got,” you note casually as a distraction, like you’re commenting on the weather. It comes off relaxed enough, though any conversation between you feels like flossing a crowded mouth.

His eyes sharpen, and you think it’s in excruciation, but there’s a twinge of apprehension. You straighten for a moment, hands fixed mid-stitch, and roll your eyes.

“Okay, cool it, Home Alone, I’m not casing the place.”

Joel takes a turn rolling his eyes. You swear that you see his mouth twitch again, but you hang your head, dabbing a cloth where pinpricks of blood form.

You try again.

“I like your paintings.”

You dare to look up, and his mouth is in a tight line.

“You like my paintings.” he repeats dully, not a question. Joel’s as cynical as you, and he thinks it’s a jab, not sincere.

“You’re not gonna make this easy on me, are you?”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it.”

Now’s as good a time as any. You sigh at that.

“Look, the other night wasn’t my finest moment. It didn’t need to go that way,” you mutter, leaning on the concentration of sewing up Joel’s skin. Otherwise, you might feel too strongly, dissect your word choice with an uncomfortable linger. “Sorry. I know you were trying to help.”

He goes rigid as your second stitch meets a third. The bottle tips to his lips again, and you wonder if it’s an act of liquid courage. You boldly hope so.

“Nah, I shoulda kept my mouth shut. Been thinkin’ I needed to apologize anyway,” he admits, and you know he’s happy you made the first move. You can already feel him loosen, but maybe it’s the alcohol. “You ain’t a martyr, y’know.”

Oh.

The needle hooks into the final sliver of skin, your handiwork tightening into a neat line. You sit back, wiping your brow with the ungloved section of your wrist. It’s a treaty, a handshake at the very least.

“Actually, I think you hit the nail on the head with that one,” you smirk, olive branch fully hanging between your teeth now. “Keeping up the charade is so exhausting.”

Joel presses out a pained half-laugh, and you feel something crumbling between you.

You tie off the last stitch, trimming the excess thread off the knot. The clamp clatters into the tray, and you give it a final once-over before peeling a large rectangle of bandage from your kit and pressing it gently over the wound.

“All done,” you quip, peeling your gloves off. “Didn’t even have to amputate.”

“Not too bad,” he grunts.

“I’ll add it to your tab.”

While you’re riding the high of approval, you stand and move to the foot of the bed. Joel’s boots are still on, laced messily.

And for some reason, you don’t even ask permission, you just start untying, tipping them off and lining them next to one another on the hardwood.

He doesn’t say a word. Out of confusion, maybe.

You scoot your chair and makeshift flatlay along with you, positioning yourself at Joel’s head. That look is back, a side-stare that steals your breath.

That look that knows you could absolutely ruin him, and he’d either thank you or kill you.

The pads of your fingers brush back the hair from his forehead, still slightly matted with blood. It’s a surface cut, but crescent-shaped and easily hidden by a curl of brown, peppered with grey. Butterfly closure it is.

No signs of a concussion show themselves. At least there’s that.

“You might have a scar,” you murmur. Being this close to Joel makes you feel like you’re wearing two layers too many.

And he hasn’t broken the stare, not even minutely.

“Add it to the collection,” he says lowly, not an ounce of self-pity.

Your eyes flash to the scar near his temple. You’re exercising full-on restraint not to ask him about it. But it’s not the time, something you could try to pry out of him later. And knowing there’ll be a later makes you relax your shoulders, unclench your jaw.

He’s nice enough to pretend not to notice, or he’s in too much pain to mention it.

You dab the damp rag around the border of his cut again, mopping up any excess. You reach for the isopropyl.

“You might wanna take another swig,” you warn. And he obeys, down the hatch and white-knuckling through it.

“Good boy,” you’re murmuring automatically, and it just slips out.

Your mouth falls open just so, and Joel’s coughing, clearing his throat against the burn of whiskey. You’re pleading with the universe that his cough was close enough, loud enough to cover the words, but his face has turned a shade of red that’s probably rivaling the heat that reaches your ears.

Good boy? Jesus Christ.

If there was ever a heightened moment of being fucking touch-starved, it’s this.

You make haste with the disinfectant and place the closures over the cut. The bloodied towels and scraps from the DIY surgery are cleaned up, tied neatly into a plastic bag. And now, this is the part where you run and never face him again.

You’re already making plans to board up your windows, maybe have Ellie deliver your meals solely through a slot in the door.

But Joel’s pain is overriding everything, and he’s sunken even further back into the pillow, his head lolling to prop on his shoulder. He’s whispering a weak thanks that’s incoherent at best. You tug the blanket up and over him.

You grab a glass from downstairs, fill it to the brim with water and bring it to him. He groans at the sight, petulant.

“I’m not leaving until you finish this.”

His lifts his arm for it, scowling. “Gimme the damn thing.”

Satisfied, you hand it over and watch him drink it down, his throat bobbing in a hearty gulp. Your gaze can’t help but snag on it.

You have got to get the fuck out of here.

You come back with a refilled glass and sit it on his bedside table, close enough within reach. The medical bag is packed up and ready, sagging slightly in areas where you’ve emptied it. It knocks against your already-knocking knees, and you’re grateful to use its weight as an excuse for how blurred you feel.

“I need to talk to Tommy. You gonna be alright for a bit?”

His eyes are closed again, on the outskirts of rest, but his mouth pulls up in the ghost of smile.

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere, sweetheart.”

And you hope he means it.

—

You track down an unsettled Tommy, finding him pacing in the back of the general store. He’s restocking some shelves but not quite – there’s an gross pairing of tinned fish and fresh eggs sitting on a display that’s unappetizing at best.

“He’s okay. No bite,” you add lowly, acutely aware of how many pairs of ears are in the store. “But he needs to be monitored.”

Tommy slackens, rubbing his eyes that are full of exhaustion and bruised with worry. Index finger and thumb stroking the respective tails of his mustache one, two, three times as the gravity of that strikes him.

He loops you into an embrace, and it’s kind, full of ease. The smell of firewood and smoke tickles your nose. His worry evaporates then, and honestly, so does yours.

“He doin’ alright?”

You chew on that for a moment and nod. There are complications, but nothing to do with Joel’s health.

“He was pissed about the stitches, but I didn’t have a choice. Cut was pretty deep.”

“So… he tell you what happened, then?”

There’s that question again. You feel like you should have an answer, but if he wouldn’t clue in Ellie, you sure as hell wouldn’t be.

Like squeezing blood from a stone, your dad used to say.

“No,” you lie instinctively. You don’t know why.

But it isn’t really. Not if you don’t know the full truth yourself. There’s just something about Joel’s omission that makes you feel entitled to find out first.

“He said he fell down some stairs,” you amend, “just didn’t say where or how.”

Tommy offers you the same look that Ellie gave you – a raised brow coupled with a touch of disbelief.

“If you say so.”

You shrug, playing it as cool as’ll come natural to you. “You know Joel. Doesn’t want to make a fuss.”

He chuckles, shaking his head and rolling out his shoulders that you know have been holding tension. He believes that, at least.

“Sounds like you know him, too.”

—

A few days come and go.

Ellie takes on a lot of the recovery, but she doesn’t like messing with stitches — creeps me the fuck out that you did that without puking all over him, she claims — and she’s eager to substitute for the patrol routes while Joel’s down and out. You offer to step in, with a totally normal and selfless motive.

If she thinks anything else of it, you’d be the last to know.

Your new itinerary consists of changing Joel’s bandages, cleaning up through his hissed breaths and every goddamn it. Twice a day, morning and night and sometimes in closer intervals, but never approaching the cusp of any boundary.

Joel’s fiercely independent, swatting your hands when you try to help. Donning a clean flannel in the space between your lunchtime visit and your nightcap, despite you telling him that he shouldn’t be pushing his mobility.

That said, he’s marginally better about following doctor’s orders, drinking the water you leave on his nightstand but neglecting the pills that would stop him from coiling in on himself like a ready spring. And he doesn’t say it but you know it’s because he thinks it’d be a waste.

You trade regular formalities at first, each of you standing behind your respective walls, daring the other to toe a bit closer.

Joel doesn’t ask, but you bring him some short stories to pass the time and he devours them. You didn’t think much of it other than just straying past the point of being nice, but your heart sings a bit at how he leaves his shell at your coaxing.

You learn Bradbury is his favorite, but when he finishes The Most Dangerous Game, it’s the most he’s ever spoken to you in one sitting, astounded at the perfectly tied bow of an ending, asking you questions that only the author could answer. But it’s a marvel to witness, something you think about when you’re cleaning stables or washing dishes.

He’s unraveling for you, a loose thread tugged too hard on your favorite sweater. He talks of the places in the paintings, sometimes abruptly, like he isn’t sure what his cue is or if he has one.

Mentions of pre-Jackson when there was so much uncertainty and isolation, but it was coupled with those types of watercolor skies that you couldn’t paint if you tried.

These little pieces of him that make him whole – it’s like you’re both in on the same secret. And Joel isn’t doing it to lighten the tension, to be nice; that isn’t his brand of politeness. He just revels in the holy act of confession with you as his witness.

You come to learn that his room is modest, different from the rest of his house. Clues of hobbies sprawled on his desk – leatherworking tools and hand drawn blueprints that you can’t get a good look at with just a sidelong glance.

There’s a dusty stereo tucked at the back towards the wall, and you picture a content Joel, sketching new plans for a porch swing or some small addition while old bluesy country croons from the speakers.

You like this daydream, placing him in something lighthearted where his only worry is that he’s losing daylight on yardwork.

The two of you talk about little bits of everything and nothing. Reminiscing about sending snail mail, discussing what you think places like Italy look like now. How close you came to crossing an ocean in another life.

Tonight, you have a night terror that clings to you like wet denim. Stop-motion, nonsensical. Your head ricocheting into concrete, hitting your temple just so. Flashes of the people that used to be your parents, your friends.

And just as the life drains from you, blood seeping onto the floor and into spidering cracks, you wake up a flailing mess.

You practice your routine, twisting on knobs of lamps and plugging in the twinkling lights hanging around the perimeter of the living room. You press your cheek to the floor, checking under your bed for monsters for good measure.

Bleary-eyed, you’re climbing back under the covers, pulling them snug up to your chin.

There’s a neediness crawling its way through your organs with a one-way ticket south. The juxtaposition of fear mingles with an otherness, and it anchors itself to Joel.

You never cared for a protector, still don’t, but the eagerness that sprouts from him to defend your honor — and for nothing in return — magnetizes you on a cellular level.

Your fingers are dipping into the band of your already-damp underwear, taking inventory of what the thought of him does to you. Body on auto-pilot. A pool of dripping neediness, so slick that you’re coating your clit in excess and rubbing in tight circles.

He doesn’t even have to touch you, and it’s pathetic.

Images of Joel’s beard scratching your thighs swirls behind your eyelids, your hand gliding between the glistening of your folds. Fingers crook inside you, dipping into the last knuckle, and you’re choking on a gasp, already on the edge.

You wish they were more calloused, thicker, with length that can hit the spot that’s desperately out of reach.

You wish they were Joel’s.

It takes only a minute, some curling and pumping of your wrist to make it quick in case it’ll only ever be a fantasy. The wet noises of your arousal are nothing short of obscene, and you’re coming loudly, sharply on a string of moans.

In some ways, you think, you have already died.

And fuck. It’s so poetic it makes you sick.

—

On the fourth day, Maria sends you to Joel’s with some stew — two hearty containers that're meant for the both of you.

She’s been taking her shift at his place, carrying over containers of this and that to keep him fed. You wonder how often she takes on that role anyway, sans injury. You don’t peg Joel as the type to eat three square meals a day of his own accord.

Tell Joel I can’t make it tonight. Gotta do inventory.

She makes no room for elaboration, so you don’t ask. But you thank her with a hug, and you could swear that she’s giving you a conspiratorial smirk.

When you knock on Joel’s bedroom, he gives a new, warm invitation, coated in subtle hospitality. It’s a far stretch from the unaffected what? you might’ve received a week ago.

You place the stew down on the bedside table, along with some bowls and spoons you plucked from his kitchen. He just looks up at you from his bed, uncertainty reaching the lines of his forehead.

“It’s all Maria,” you explain and he hums, catching up.

“Explains a lot,” he mutters.

You eat quietly for a little over ten minutes. Joel’s flannel today boasts a rich navy, buttoned up to the top but not far enough to hide the sprinkling of hair that peeks through.

He catches you staring and pins you with a dark glance.

“You afraid of the dark or somethin’?”

Joel’s ask cuts through the air, and your spoon stops mid-route to your open mouth. It’s so out of the blue that it stuns you momentarily.

“Sorry?”

“You turn the lights on at night.”

What you thought to be private moments of fear were actually on display for all to see.

For Joel to see.

And the memory of your thighs trapping your hand as you came over and over again on your fingers… you’re grateful to at least have had some decorum to draw your bedroom curtains.

“Um.” You dig for a way to say nope, I’m actually just a pussy and I see things that aren’t there. Also, I was touching myself thinking about you last night. “No, just nightmares.”

Every inch of your skin feels like it’s searing. A bead of sweat makes a slow descent down your spine to your tailbone. You laugh lightly to deflect.

Joel’s mouth thins into a tight line.

“It’s nothing,” you promise.

“Ain’t nothin’,” he snaps. His brows are knitted in fury, misdirected. But you get it.

Your stomach is rumbling, but you’ve effectively lost whatever appetite you had. The bowl finds a space on the side table, and you’re pulling your knees to your chest protectively, thumbing at the fray on the cuff of your jeans.

You don’t mean to scowl, but you can’t help it. You can’t even meet his eyes.

Joel’s sighing, his own bowl discarded on the nightstand, grazing the lip of yours.

“Look, it’s not my business,” he starts, choosing his words carefully, “but that kinda shit worries me.”

When you do look up, he’s rubbing his beard with rigid fingers. You should feel nice and fuzzy that he cares enough to point it out, but it’s just embarrassment instead.

That, on top of everything else, you can’t even get through the night without waking up in a cold sweat.

“I know how it looks,” you say in surrender, “but I swear I’m fine.”

You can imagine what it would feel like to really mean it; it’s just on the tip of your tongue. There is a defiance there, it’s just struggling to find a way out.

“You sure about that?”

You let your feet touch the floor, straightening out your legs and busying yourself with smoothing the creases in your pants.

“You worry about everyone else like this?” you muse, hoping to redirect.

Joel’s scratching the back of his neck, eyes fixed anywhere else.

“Always worried about you.”

If you were any farther away, you wouldn’t have heard him.

Outside, kids are yelling, playing tag. You watch in jealousy, can almost hear the crunch of their boots and their tiny, inconsequential conversations. It takes you longer than intended to give a response, and he waits, patiently. Just trickles a look from the crown of your head to your hands to your face. Searching for a reaction.

“You’re about ten months late, Miller.” And you’re smiling briefly. You mean it as playful, but it’s colored with sadness.

His eyes glaze, and the wheels are turning, wondering if that also means too late.

“Didn’t want you to think I was takin’ advantage of the situation. And I thought Max —” Joel bites down on the name.

“Fuck Max,” you spit in disgust. “That was never a thing.”

You don’t have to make eye contact to see that he’s pleased by that. He hums in the back of his throat. Resists a shit-eating grin. From the looks of Joel connecting the dots, you don’t need say much else.

“Yeah, well. We all failed you,” he insists. “I failed you.”

It sets an incredulous spark in some hidden part of you. Nails cut into your palm, your fists balling harshly. Everyone else? Sure, you’d give him that. Jackson spit you out, with the exception of a select few.

But Joel?

“You saved me.”

“Not good enough,” he says under his breath.

—

The next day, you let yourself inside, already learning the language of Joel’s house when you press a little extra weight against the door to seal it shut when it sticks.

It’s quiet, on the cusp of 8, and you wouldn’t be surprised if Joel’s on the brink of sleep.

The sun’s long settled over the mountain, so there’s not much in the way of guidance.

It’s dark, but you expected it to be. You draw the curtains one by one, moving blindly from room to room yet knowing exactly where your feet are. It strikes you as odd, a visitor keeping pace with an unfamiliar house.

But if Joel’s anything, it’s predictable. Unfussy in the way he keeps out of the way, even in his own space. Takes pride in it, sure, but lives in a way that demands nothing but cherishes everything, even the absence of something.

Meaning there’s nothing too unexpected, too risky in its placement. He doesn’t take up too much room in the event that it’s gone tomorrow.

When your hands fumble for the switch of the living room lamp, the bulb springs to life and bathes a wary Joel in light. Sitting on the couch, slouched with residual soreness, but waiting.

For you.

“Jesus, fuck — what the fuck, Joel —”

“You’re late.”

“— sitting in the fucking dark like a lunatic —”

He puts a hand up to stop you, as if to press your mute button.

“I didn’t fall down any stairs.”

Your hands have risen to your chest in the shock of him there, and you’re gripping your shirt in the way he had almost a week ago. You don’t miss that little detail, so much so that you struggle to piece together what he’s saying.

It punches you abnormal; you kept so busy with leaving the subject alone that it slipped your mind that he lied.

“Sit down.”

You’re obedient and you don’t know why. You find a seat across from him, pulling up a stool that’s meant for feet, not your ass. Something crackles beside you, and the embers of a dying fire glow and warm to the left of you.

Your leg crosses over your knee, creating a 45-degree angle that you rest your elbows on. “Yeah, I gathered as much, thanks. You’re a terrible liar.”

Joel’s just eyeing you. And it’s not in a way that sizes you up, more of a calculation of what to say next. What to give away. There’s a beat of this, then another, then another.

“I thought ‘bed rest’ was pretty self-explanatory.”

You’re growing impatient, filling the room just to do it. You both know what happened, and maybe that’s what’s needling at you. That you’re the one person who’d understand the most, but the one person he doesn’t want to know.

It feels wretched and seething, knowing something but not enough.

“I’m gonna need you to cut to the part where you tell me what happened, Joel.”

At that, Joel drags in a breath and leans deeper into the couch. His gaze has moved to somewhere far off, burning into the drawn curtains like he can see outside, can see directly into the window of your kitchen. And with sudden clarity, you realize that he could — it’s a clean diagonal stare.

Are you afraid of the dark?

How many times has he sat in this very spot, taking in the show, watching you make tea, watching you read, watching you stutter and shake with sobs? Witnessing the onslaught of a nightmare?

Touching yourself? Watching you undress?

You aren’t the voyeuristic type, just uncaring to the point of defenseless. But Joel keeping an eye on you in this way is the coup de grâce that does you in. There’s no question now of whether he cares.

“I took Mountain View, headed for the outpost. Not much up that way lately, maybe one or two infected every once ‘n a while,” he says, and it’s unsettling that he’s talking in a way that could be to anyone or no one at all. “Thought I’d stop at the pharmacy on the way up, check that off, too. ‘Cept I wasn’t the only one with that idea.”

He pauses only to crack his knuckles for effect. Fingertips splay on his spread knees, and what seemed so fragile earlier, watercolors of bruises stretching from ligament to tendon, seems threatening now.

“One was lootin’ in the back, didn’t hear me come in. I thought he mighta been alone ‘til his friend followed me in,” he pauses, lost in thought. “Got into it with him.”

As if on cue, the gory split-skin of his hands flexes. Offensive wounds.

You were right, but you wish you weren’t.

“His friend came up from the back, ‘n they took turns for a minute. Long enough for me to get a good look. I ended up takin’ out the shorter one, other one was gone before I could get up.”

Joel doesn’t lift his head, just his eyes. The skin around them crinkles in sinister shapes, lids disappeared, lashes nearly touching brow. You know it’s not anger directed at you, but it’s shrinking you back down into an armchair, your fingers digging and clawing at the fabric without recognizing it.

“Know what’s funny about that?”

You don’t think you can answer with the desert that runs through your mouth. And whatever it is, it’s anything but.

“Not a lot of activity along the outposts this way, unless it’s infected. Everyone else comes straight through to Jackson. The logs say we’ve only run into two groups of raiders in the last five years along the patrol route,” another pause for emphasis. “And one of them was ten months ago.”

Something catches in your chest.

And then there’s a dam that breaks, pure relief. Relief that Joel’s seen the thing you’ve been pointing and screaming at while everyone else shrugs their shoulders and squints.

Then — panic.

Ice sneaks into your veins. The tips of your fingers run numb. It strikes you that you’re standing, that the foot stool is tipped on its side.

He doesn’t move, but there’s a contained rage in his eyes and his voice. A temper bubbling now that you’ve confirmed what he suspected.

“He have any tattoos?” Joel asks roughly.

There’s a flash of stars, hand-poked, bordering on downright sloppy.

“Who?” You say dumbly, but it’s obvious what he’s referring to. He’s seen it, too, and he’s seen it this week.

“You know who.”

You do.

You could draw it from memory if he asked.

Your weight becomes too much for your legs, and you collapse back down, this time into a chair that supports your amoeba-like state as everything in you turns to jelly.

“They’re getting closer. We were in Teton, so if they made it this far —” you jumble out, not sure if it’s just meaningless vomit to his ears. By his solemn nod, it isn’t.

He’s up and out of his seat with a wince that’s not as severe as before, his eyes careful on you, on your hands that you’re gripping together tightly to keep them still.

The isolation of his side is evident in the way he closes the space between you, but he masks the grimace as best he can. There’s a reprimand in you somewhere that he should be resting, lying down at least, but you know it’s pointless.

“Hey.”

He’s kneeling as much as his flank will allow, a pain in his eyes that isn’t for himself. Those fingertips scale the cliff of your jaw, ghosting as if he’s afraid to overstep. They’re prodding you to meet his eyes, and when you do, he drops his hand like he’s been burned.

It connects fiercely to a memory that you try to hold in your hands. A snowy, reminiscent one that slips through like a ribbon of smoke.

“Ain’t gotta worry about him. I’ll take care of it.”

You laugh, a real one that’s stained with sarcasm.

“What does that mean?”

Joel softens now, and the shift startles you. He thinks for a beat before answering.

“Whatever you need it to mean.”

It feels incomprehensible that anyone would willingly put themselves in danger for you, even adjacently, but then who noticed you were missing that day? Who led the pack, found you bleeding out?

The weather was violent, incoherent — a lost cause, a needle in the proverbial haystack. He already toed the line of a dangerous, potentially fruitless rescue mission.

And you never even thanked him.

“Why?” You ask it for the second time in as much as a week. It’s disjointed in conversation, but he knows that you need this answer.

“You remember how you were before?”

And for a split-second, you try.

There are glimpses, a rickety reel of kids tugging on your pant leg as they beg you to join them during recess, a glittering spray of laughter with Ellie as empty beer cans and discarded guitars litter her living room floor.

Of your friends’ faces on too many relaxed, sunny patrols, sometimes forcing them into a detour into the abandoned record store through Alpine so you can see what’s left.

Dinner in warm houses like Tommy and Maria’s, so full to the brim of love and potatoes and mead that you stumble on down to your house with cheeks burning and tuck yourself in with all of the lights off.

Visions of Joel that are fleeting, taped in frames on a film strip, but friendly exchanges.

But it’s a faceless narration. The accident wiped clean of any room for interpretation. Any visitation with these memories. You can place yourself in them, but can’t for the life of you feel tethered to her.

Frustrated, eyes watering, you shake your head.

“That’s why.”

Now he’s holding your jaw like he would some fragile thing, slotting his thumb just under the pulse thrumming in your neck, feeling the echo of it in his hand. There’s a silence, as if he’s straining to hear, to know the sound and syllables of your livelihood. You wish he’d press harder, bring you to the precipice of pleasure and death.

If only to know what it feels to be glass in Joel Miller’s hands, to be given the taste of death after he’d given you the gift of life all those months ago.

Your heart is hammering against your ribs. You know he can feel the adrenaline in your pulse point.

“Joel,” it falls out as a whisper, and you hate how good his name feels in your mouth.

He’s looking at you with empathy, thumbing through the pages of every agony you’ve succumbed to. It’s new and buzzing, knowing that there’s nothing you’d ever have to explain to Joel. No reasoning or fine print for how you are, he just knows. And he stays anyway.

A tear tracks a salty line down your face and it meets the pad of his thumb, an easy swipe.

And there’s a surge low in your throat, seesawing with satisfaction and the tell-tale lump of more tears if you lean in hard enough. Joel never shows his hand, the last to fold, but it feels a lot like you’re the prize he was waiting to throw cards down for.

So, you lean. Concave cheek into his calloused hand, tears without sobs leaking between his fingers down into his sleeve. The weight of only the world — your world, plural and shared — pushing you into him. The cataclysmic release that you’ve been aching for.

Your head is against his chest, cheek pressed against flannel because he’s guided you there. And it’s nice, you think, nice that he’s being a gentleman about the whole thing.

A gentleman just finger-combing through your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

It’s serene, and you’d happily make a home there and fall asleep if it wasn’t for the hammering of your heartbeat. You know he can feel it, and your quickened breath is the cherry on top.

Joel levels your faces, and his fingers are deja vu on the braille of each ridged cheekbone. He’s waiting on a cue, a line to be given to him from offstage, but you see flames licking through each darkened iris.

Something keeps holding him back, keeps holding you back. He’s too careful, afraid of cutting his hands on you. And in exploring every facet of that, it’s because he doesn’t want to bleed on you, not because the sharpest parts of you could hurt him.

You keep telling yourself it’s foreign and you’re strangers to one another.

But is it? Are you?

As if he’s reading your mind, Joel closes the distance in one fell swoop, and he kisses you.

It’s clumsy at first, in the way that clumsy is when you’re learning each other’s mouths. You taste the dregs of whiskey, of something wanton, and every unspoken word that’s ever misted between you. Years of forming smile lines and the prickle of his unkempt beard against your chin, taste the stories of every scar.

You’re tangling with him, lips pressing urgently against Joel. His tongue’s expert but gentle when he dips it inside your mouth, and you’re swapping breathless sighs. You can only imagine what he’s tasting of you, what flavor he’s been dreaming of.

His hands are still at either side of your face, thumbs pressing sweetly into the bony part of your jaw. Joel’s stilling the unrest in you that’s put its bags down and refused to leave. It quiets, tips a hat and walks out, leaving a welcome calm in place.

There’s a chasteness, but you know he’s just as desperate and hungry as you are. Wanting to claim, to devour each other entirely. And it’s not lost on you that he’s on his knees, hands clasping your face in prayer like you’re some communion he’s drinking from.

He engulfs you, and you’re moving together, fitting together like you were poured from the same mold. Joel’s fingers have moved to thread through your hair, one of his hands cradling the back of your head and tugging just barely.

Enough that magma pools in between your hips.

But he slows, letting loose a low groan into the heat of your mouth. It’s helpless, like he’s accepted he can’t swim and has submerged his head underwater.

And when you finally break apart, Joel’s pupils are dilated, on the cusp of black. Your collective breaths are uneven. He looks at you in awe.

“Been wantin’ to do that for a long, long time,” he’s saying, but you can barely hear him. Not when your heart is catching up with the rest of you, roaring above everything else. His thumb skates over your bottom lip, and the instinct to unhinge your jaw for him shouldn’t be there, but it is.

Maybe this sort of suffering is worth it, if it’s Joel you’re suffering for.

If you weren’t in trouble before, you sure as fuck are now.

#my writing #ahfe #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us hbo #jackson!joel #joel miller #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #a heart for eating #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us smut #motherofagony

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chaotic-mystery · 3 months

Text

Pairing: dbf!Joel x reader

Summary: it’s my take on what illicit affairs means. Every time I listened to it I imagined Joel, specifically dbf Joel. I hope the swifties go *easy* on me and pls don’t say anything if you didn’t like it.

Warnings: angst. And more angst. Swearing, forbidden relationship, arguing, fwb, alluded age gap but not specified. Use of nicknames (kid, baby……don’t look at me ok I didn’t do IT), reader is not physically described, no use of y/n. I think that’s everything but tell me if I’ve missed something! || wc: 1.8k || a/n: I love you @planet-marz1 for beta reading this & all my babies who held my balls and pushed me through this <3 thank you thank you thank you. ||

He was someone you should have never been attracted to. Your parents’ friend, a family friend. Someone they trusted to watch over you if they left town, to check on you as if he cared about you. No one noticed the lingering stares frequent more and more with each stop at your parents home. No one noticed the way you returned the gazes at him, the longing feeling of wanting to feel his mouth all over your body with his hands not far behind to get any spot he missed. It all came together when your dad had a party, the champagne coursing inside you and giving a little liquid courage. Joel couldn’t keep his eyes off of you and it didn’t feel wrong, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself it was. Nothing more was going to come from this, it was just a fling for the night and you’d go right back to how things were. At least that’s what you told yourself when you kissed him in the laundry room, the soft orange glow casted over you two from the street lamp outside.

Yet here you are months later, telling everyone you were going out for a walk, already covering up your demeanor for when you return. Joel parked down at the end of the block and you found yourself reciting that you can always stop this whenever you wanted to. He’s careful not to sit there for too long after you get inside his truck.

“Did anyone see you?” He asks, wiping over his mustache quickly while he looks in the rearview mirror about a dozen times.

“No, they didn’t see me.” You mutter from behind your hood. You reached out to grab his hand from his thigh, tucking your fingers between his palm and the fabric of his jeans.

“Okay, good. Good. Missed you.” He says as he pulls into the same vacant lot as last time. It wasn’t always like this, parking here behind the abandoned mall. He used to book hotel rooms for you two so you’d feel safe with him, feel special. The red rose petals scattered everywhere on the floor and the bed no matter how cheesy it was, you liked it. It was a scarlet colored secret between only you two and it was thrilling to keep, in a way. The more you met up with Joel, the less distance he put in between your town and the lucky room for the night. Nights turned into a couple hours, which slowly morphed into quick meetings here, in this empty parking lot to an abandoned mall.

“Thanks for not wearing that perfume this time, doll. Almost got caught last time because I smelled like you.” He tries to lighten the mood as he shakes your thigh gently. It was the perfume he used to love when you’d wear it, the one you had on that night the first glance he took of you started this entire affair.

It became harder and harder to not hide your scent on him when he’d come over to your parents house as if he wasn’t just with you. Your dad would ask why he smelled of your perfume, Joel turning to you so you have to lie and say you greeted him outside before letting him in. Couldn’t leave a trace of you in his little world no matter how badly you wanted to. To desperately leave a subtle token of you on him, that he was yours, that this older man wanted something to do with you.

Joel wastes no time getting your navy blue hoodie off your torso and his lips on your neck, telling you once more that he missed you all day. The same words he spoke before suddenly didn’t make your heart flutter after the hundredth time hearing them. The smile doesn’t form as wide as it once did when he calls you ‘baby’. Funny how that works, finally getting what you wanted to hear him say and it wasn’t holding its weight anymore like in the beginning. They were just words you were taking for what they were; sweet nothings. You two developed a look to share while with others, a little nod of your head towards outside when you needed to speak in private and say what you couldn’t in front of anyone else or just needed to be close to one another. Those moments kept you wanting more from him, every single time.

Behind closed doors seemed like the only time you were everything to Joel, it was the sliver of time you got validation that he even liked you. He grew paranoid and tended to be cold when he was around your parents, no eye contact, hardly any conversation shared with you. When you were alone in the backseat with the sweat drying on your back as you laid against his chest, you were the one he wanted to be with…until it was time to come back to reality and get dressed like nothing happened.

“You don’t even look at me anymore when my parents are around, you’re acting too suspicious, Joel.” You mutter, dragging your thumb across his shoulder as you stared into the fabric of the seat behind him.

Time and time again you so desperately wanted to go public with Joel but every time you mentioned it he got upset, telling you that would be the dumbest thing to do. According to him, it was best to keep meeting in the back of his truck for a half hour and being dropped off with one less piece of you each time. You no longer felt like his baby anymore no matter how many times he called you that. Not a single thing he mutters to you while he’s on top of you in the truck replays later as you try to sleep like the early days. It was becoming more and more diluted with each quick goodbye kiss.

Joel pulls away and sits up straight, moving his hand to your thigh and giving a squeeze.

“Don’t do this right now, kid. C’mon, you know how I feel about ya.” His head hangs for just a moment as if you scolded him. Pulling his head up to look at you in the eye, Joel cups your face softly before speaking again.

“I’d lose so much if I told everyone about us, you know that right? You’re dad would probably beat my ass and never talk to me again, I don’t think any of our friends would honestly. I’d lose so much if everyone knew, not just you.” He sighs tiredly and lets go of your face and sits straight up in his chair before putting a hand over his mouth and the other on the steering wheel as he looks out the window to the empty lot, rain clouds scattered above and turning everything gray.

Was that all he was worried about, losing your dad as his friend and the other so called friends he had? Really?

You wait for what feels like forever before you scoff and sit back in your seat, arms crossed over your chest, feeling like nothing but a godforsaken mess for putting yourself in this situation.

“I thought you liked this..” He waves his hand back and forth between you two without turning back to look at you. “...This works, this is easy and it’s safe. Why do you wanna ruin somethin’ like that, baby?” Joel chews on his cheek waiting for your response, hoping somewhere in his words that it clicked in your mind to keep this between you two.

“I did like this, Joel. I liked being your little secret in the beginning. Learning our little unspoken language and how to find you during parties when you wanted to see me, staying out all those nights with you and we’d talk about everything and you’d drop me off in the morning before my dad woke up to see me sneaking in. I did…like being your secret. We started doing things that couples do, real couples. Why is it so wrong of me to want tha-?” You ask firmly, feeling your heart beating in your throat when he cuts you off with his booming voice.

“Because we can’t! We just can’t! I’m sorry, kid. You know we can’t do more than this. I’m sorry. You’re a beautiful and talented human being, you can g-” Now it was your turn to cut him off.

“Joel, don't even give me that shit. I don’t want to hear that.” You turn in your seat to fully look at him, eyes not leaving his face for a second.

“Do you understand how much I would lose if we went public with this? I’m willing to throw all of that away to be with you. That is how much you mean to me. You mean more to me than my dad potentially not speaking to me ever again, possibly being kicked out, shunned, all of it. I don’t want anyone else but you, okay?” You had found your voice halfway between your counter argument, and damn did it feel good.

“Kid…we just can’t. I’m sorry. We can still be friends and I’ll always be around if you need me. I just, I think I put you in too deep with this.” His eyes flick between himself and you. The only noise audible was the rain pattering down on the windshield, thunder booming softly after a few seconds.

The tears sting your eyes and cascade down your warm cheek.

“Baby..” Joel coos and tries to wipe your tear away but you turn away before he can get close.

“Don’t call me that. Don’t call me kid, don’t call me baby.” He sighs with obvious frustration at your words and tucks his hand back next to his side. The hurt mixes with rage and the tears keep rolling down your face, Joel sits there unsure of what to say.

“Look at me, Joel. Look at this idiotic fool you’ve made me. Sitting here begging someone to be with me and love me so loudly, all the while it’s not reciprocated. You don’t want to show everyone how much you want to be with me, you just want to keep me a secret. Take me home, I’m done.”

You grab your sweater off the backseat and put it back on before buckling up once more.

“Kid, I’m-“

“Don’t call me that! Take me home, or I’ll walk.” You shout, the crack in your voice making your tears flow faster. Joel looks away and turns the truck on, driving back to your street in complete silence. He barely turns the corner at the end of your block and you get out without another word spoken to him. It was the one and only time he watched you get inside the house.

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #illicit affairs #taylor swift #joel miller x reader #dbf!joel #dbf joel miller #dads best friend #dbf!joel miller #tw age gap #tw arguing #tw angst

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from-the-clouds · 1 year

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moonlight on the river - joel miller x reader

masterlist | song inspo

summary: Joel has been many things to you. A dealer, a mentor, a friend, a lover. Lately, it’s the latter. Sometimes he’s none of those things, or a handful of them, or all of them at once. And it’s up to the both of you to decide in the moment which things are true. Takes place during episode one of the TV series. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 2.4k warnings: angst, fluff, good ol' fashioned hurt/comfort. depressive thoughts, reader sort of has a death wish, references to alcohol/drug abuse, death, loss of family members & loved ones. implied age gap, references to casual sex, heavy petting (no smut). a/n: it's been months since i posted a fic on here! some of my best work comes when it’s 2am, i’m emo and touch-deprived and i have an 8am appointment so i stay up until 5am to write. this was actually supposed to be fully a fluff piece but the angst queen had to strike.

You wish you could drown in the pile of blankets you’ve wrapped yourself in. Wish the couch would swallow you whole, like a whale, then drag you down to the deepest depths of the ocean and leave you there until you can’t hold your breath any longer, until the cold pricks the tips of your fingers and toes, until you succumb completely.

But in some ways, you’re already existing like that, in the sea-level equivalent of the Marianas Trench. One of those sea creatures that look not of this Earth, features warped – adapting, evolving, surviving, despite your environment’s best efforts to eradicate. Your mother had once shown them to you in her old textbooks and shown you the photos of anglerfish, frilled sharks, phantom jellyfish. The memory of your mother makes you wince, and you try to think of something else.

How anyone else around you managed to put on a brave face and make their way through each day was beyond your comprehension, even though you do it, too. They probably all feel the same way about it as you do, but no one talks about the collective trauma you’re all slogging through. No one has anything new to add, and it’s foolish to believe that anyone’s insight could somehow take the pain away. Even if you have a chance to tell your story, there is always someone who has it worse.

Get in line.

Exhausted as you are, you don’t sleep much. Most of your nights are spent at the precipice of unconsciousness, and you can never quite make it over the edge, the helicopters, radios, sporadic gunfire always manages to rouse you first. When you do manage to sleep, you’re plagued with nightmares. You prefer perpetual fatigue.

A knock at your door comes suddenly, and you start, sitting up quickly – but quietly – to not alert the unexpected guest that someone might be in the tiny studio you call home. It’s well after dark, which makes you doubt that whoever, or whatever is at the door, isn’t there for a friendly drop-in or a cup of tea, not that friendly drop-ins or cups of tea ever happened.

But before you grow too panicked, your name is muttered, accompanied by another impatient rap of knuckles against the hollow wood. It’s a familiar rasp, even-toned and calm, and your shoulders sag in relief before you abandon your post on the couch.

“Joel?” you ask softly, squinting in the dim light of the hallway through the crack in the door. He doesn’t look any different, though it’s been about a month since you’d last seen him. You’re not sure what to expect, but he’s the same as always, wearing a worn, tight denim shirt and fraying jeans. He looks tired, but you can’t recall a time when he doesn’t. Everyone looks tired all the time, it just only concerns you because it’s him.

Not waiting for an invite, he steps through the small opening you allot for him and into your place, wordlessly.

“What the fuck, Joel, it’s past curfew are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“I’ve done worse,” he says, dismissively, and yanks the door from your hand to close and lock it behind him.

You don’t argue with him. You rarely do – which you think is partly why he likes you – but especially now, you don’t have the energy. And when you do, he’s too stubborn to listen.

Joel has been many things to you. A dealer, a mentor, a friend, a lover. Lately, it’s the latter. Sometimes he’s none of those things, or a handful of them, or all of them at once. And it’s up to the both of you to decide in the moment which things are true.

So when he steps forward, crowding you backwards until your rear hits your kitchen countertop and you have nowhere to go, you don’t ask questions.

His hand cradles your chin, tilting it back to look into his sad eyes, and he kisses you. For a split second, it’s chaste, and you’re almost confused, until it’s suddenly not, and his grip on your jaw tightens, his lips parting. Joel stakes his claim, his free hand winding into your hair and pulling. You sigh, closing your eyes.

He moves both his hands to cup your ass through the flimsy athletic shorts you’re wearing, lifting your hips up and against him, making to carry you to the bed, or maybe even take you on the countertop – it could be one of those days. Everything he’s doing would normally light you on fire, and there’s a primal instinct that’s telling you you like it, but for some reason, you hesitate.

Joel senses it right away. You’re not sure how. And you don’t want him to. You’re prepared to submit, even though you feel numb everywhere, because you hope for the chance to feel something, anything other than what you’ve felt the last few days. He pauses, too, pulls back.

You expect to meet his eyes when you look up at him, but they are fixed on something else. Tugging on the collar of his shirt, you try to kiss him again, but he doesn’t budge, until you follow his eyes. An empty bottle of liquor sits on the bar behind you. Fuck.

“You’re drinking again.” It’s not a question.

“That was actually from yesterday,” you say, like it would make any difference. The remnants of a hangover have been tweaking your temples all day, biting the back of your eyes. It was half empty when I got it. It was just one night. I can have a couple drinks without getting out of control. Your brain cycles through several more excuses before you decide not to waste your breath.

“What did I tell you about this?” He reached behind you and lifted the bottle, holding it in front of your face like you hadn’t been able to see it clearly enough before.

“You should talk,” you don’t like being cruel, but you’re already desperate to end the discussion. He’s probably drunk or high right now, but it’s none of your business, and you’d given up trying to save him a long time ago.

You shift your weight to lower yourself off the counter and move away from him and the once-inviting warmth of his embrace. Joel doesn’t let you make it far, reaching out to grip your upper arm and tugging you back to face him with little-to-no effort on his part. His strength always startled you, even though it shouldn’t, considering his size. It also should’ve scared you, but the manhandling mostly just turned you on. Not enough that you were going to keep letting him lecture you.

“It’s different. You’re still so young.”

“What does that matter?”

He doesn’t have an answer.

You lift your chin, squaring up to him. “That’s what I thought.”

He puts his hand on hip and studies you carefully. Despite your attitude, you’ve never liked disappointing him. He’s the closest thing you have to a father, which you can recognize is an awfully fucked up way to feel about someone you regularly have sex with, but you lived in an awfully fucked up world.

There’s a wistfulness to Joel’s expression you’ve never seen before. He chooses to change the subject, and you’re thankful until what he says registers.

“I’m leaving town tomorrow night. You might not see me again.”

It takes a moment to process, but it hits you like a blow to the gut. So hard, you’re surprised you don’t stagger backwards with the force of it. Even when it settles, you know it hasn’t even sunk in all the way.

“Well…” you take a long, thoughtful pause, and offer the only thing that your brain can come up with, “....stay safe out there, then.”

“Yeah,” he runs his tongue over his teeth and squints at you. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

Snorting, you know it’s important to remain as blase as possible so you don’t cry. Although, you don’t really cry anymore. Even when you want to, the tears never come. At some point, after watching every person you’ve ever cared for die in uniquely devastating ways, you must’ve reached your lifetime limit.

“I know you. Something’s up.”

No, you don’t! You want to scream, but that would be a lie. It’s been three years since you met, maybe one since your….arrangement, or whatever you’d call it, had begun.

How the two of you had become so close was a mystery even to you. It’s not like you were charming or charismatic, or willing to put up the innocent act. You didn’t try to inflate his ego, which most men loved. At first, you didn’t even really like him at all. That changed with time. Somewhere along the way, things just clicked.

“It’s nothing that no one has ever felt before,” you shrug. Joel has his fair….or rather unfair share of demons, and is the last person you want to complain to. Most of the time, he’s unflinchingly guarded, but he’s shared enough – secrets whispered in your ear while tangled in damp sheets, your hand on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart – to make you wonder if you have it so bad. Focusing on a fixed point, a crack in the tiled floor, you avoid his eyes.

“Hey,” his voice pulls you back. “Don’t do that.”

“I’ll be okay,” you say. “I’m just having a d-a week.” A month, a year, a life. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze.

His face softens, his hand reaching to clasp with your own, thumb grazing across your palm. “Come here,” he murmurs. He pulls you against him tightly, tucking your head under his chin, his fingers weaving into your hair.

“You’re going to be alright. You’re a strong girl.” He’s too smart to believe that, you think. But it doesn’t stop you from pressing your lips against his sternum. His broad chest is sturdy, firm, and you close down your eyes.

Neither of you speak, and one of his hands begins to stroke your back in soothing circles. You stay wrapped in his arms for a long time. Long enough to think about how you might never get to do this again, and you suddenly want him in all the ways you never had him, and all the ways you had. Just one last time.

He presses a kiss to your temple. “I can tell you’re exhausted, baby. Let’s get you to bed.”

There’s no reason to protest, he’s right, so you let him lead you to the bed. You’re already in your pajamas, and he draws back the covers and tucks you underneath them carefully.

“You’re staying,” you say. It’s meant to be a question, but it comes out like command, and although you can’t stand the idea of pleading for it, would if you had to. You’re that desperate.

You hear the clunk of his boots landing on the floor, feel the dip of his weight on the opposite side of the bed.

“Of course,” he says softly, voice barely above a whisper as he slides underneath the covers.

Joel’s arm snakes around your waist, and you’re being pulled back against his chest. You wriggle to be closer, even though it’s not possible, his nose resting on the crown of your head, stroking your hair softly. He’s being so tender, so sweet, it makes you feel sick.

“What if I don’t want you to leave?” you turn your head slightly, so you can see him out of the corner of your eye. You want to be able to remember his face, in case you never see him again. He was handsome, you’d always thought that, even despite the years between you.

“It’s my brother. I don’t have much of a choice, baby.”

Joel had told you all about Tommy. You wished you could be resentful at his leaving to find his brother, but you knew you’d risk pretty much anything for the chance to see anyone in your family again.

You shake your head. “This…sucks.”

He offers a rare chuckle, one that vibrates through his chest and straight to the ache in your stomach that started when he told you he’d be leaving. “It does. I’m sorry.”

Joel sighs, his breath on the nape of your neck, and you shiver. “I’ll miss you.” It’s a simple truth you can hear in his voice without even needing to look in his eyes.

“I’ll miss you.” You reach for his hand.

You roll over to face him, his head propped on his opposite hand, looking down at you.

“You remember everything I taught you?” he asks. “Be smart, keep yourself safe.”

Joel had proven to be a pretty valuable resource when it came to survival skills. He’d taught you how to shoot a gun, to load and reload it, how to take it apart, clean it, and put it back together. You recalled the feeling of him leaning over your shoulder, adjusting your grip to shoot at a target. And even if most of his lessons in hand-to-hand combat resulted in him having his way with you on the kitchen floor – you didn’t mind it at all – you knew enough to defend yourself.

“I do,” you answer. “And I will.”

You think of all the time you’ve spent with him the past few years. How it has made things bearable. It’s likely the last time you’ll ever see him, and you know what you’re supposed to say. But for the life of you, you just can’t say it.

Instead, you lean in to kiss him, lazy and lingering, both your hands on the side of his face, palms pressed against the scruff of his beard. You pull away after awhile.

“Tell me about what it was like. Before all this.” When the outbreak began, you were just a child. It felt like a dream, your memory so fuzzy it was hard to recall anything except the worst parts.

Joel does, and you listen, captivated, though it’s not the first time you’ve heard it. For such a gruff man, he paints a pretty picture.

It’s easy to imagine what your life might be like if none of this had ever happened. It would have been better, infinitely better, for yourself, for Joel, for everyone. It would be better, but if it hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t have met him. For some reason, something about that doesn’t feel right.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal #tlou fanfic #tlou hbo #the last of us #fluff #angst #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #hi please read this and say nice things to me i worked really really hard on this #writing #fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst

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thetriumphantpanda · 11 months

Text

Suck It and See | Joel Miller

Authors Note | Alright fuckers, you can blame @swiftispunk for this one. She dropped absolute filth into my inbox last night and it's all I've been able to think about since. Imagine Joel giving you the look from the last gif from here whilst in that position above?! SAY LESS PLEASE. Wrote this in like four hours, so excuse any mistakes.

Warnings | Honestly this is just literal porn. Rough, sloppy blowjob and some cum play at the end and nothing much else. I'm not even sorry. Enjoy.

Pairing | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Main Masterlist

It’s raining yet again. You recoiled into the shiver that went up your spine as you glared out of the window, cursing the fact that it had rained yesterday, and the day before and was likely to rain tomorrow. The dingy apartment in the QZ is so old and damp that nothing has a chance to properly dry out, unless it’s the height of summer, so you’re sat in a pair of cold, damp jeans and a t-shirt, hoping that the blanket wrapped around your shoulders would help for warmth. It didn’t.

It's dark out and there are very few people milling about the streets below you. A few FEDRA assholes patrolling the streets and the last few stragglers trying to make it home before curfew hits, but it doesn’t strike you as an evening that’s going to be memorable. You turn your attention back to the book in your lap. You have no idea what it’s about, if anyone asked you to explain the plot to them, you’d fail, despite being almost three-quarters finished. Joel had brought it back with him from his last smuggling run, he’d tossed it in your direction, mumbling something about ‘the cover lookin’ like somethin’ you’d enjoy.” You had no idea what he was talking about considering the cover featured a scantily clad woman and her hero without his shirt on. Come to think of it, there really wouldn’t be much plot to explain to anyone considering the two main characters spent most of their time fucking. It was something to do with your time though – relegated to being shut in Joel’s apartment whilst he did runs with Tess.

He's been home a few hours now, switching between being bent over some maps on the table, marking points of interest from his last few trips past the fence, to where he is now, sat on the couch, empty glass of contraband whiskey in front of him, eyes settled firmly on you in the windowsill.

“Your staring is making me uncomfortable,” You muse, snapping the book closed, “Can’t concentrate on anything.”

“No it ain’t,” He tilts his head, shifting so he’s leaning back on the couch, legs spread with an arm absentmindedly draped across his lap, “Never made you uncomfortable before, darlin’.”

“Well it’s hard to focus on anything when you’ve got two eyes boring into you like that,” You mumble, looking him in the eye, “If you want something from me just fucking ask for it Miller.”

Your eyes don’t leave his face as you watch his eyes drop to his lap before bouncing back to meet yours – a dangerous smirk is splayed across his lips. Of course, “See, all you had to do was ask.” You murmur, slipping down from the windowsill, blanket and book abandoned.

You’re in front of him in seconds, gathering the hand splayed across his lap so you can settle yourself down, but he’s pressing his other hand to your tummy to stop you, “Why don’t you get on your knees, darlin’?”

You look down at him through lusty eyes, barefoot reaching behind you to push the coffee table further into the middle of the room to give you space before you drop to your knees like he asked. Your palms are resting on his knees through his jeans, hands running tentatively up his thighs and back down and you revel in the way you can see his cock straining through his jeans already.

“Like this?” You ask sweetly, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“Just like that, darlin’,” He praises, shifting in his seat a little so he isn’t sat so straight, you know it’s all preparation for when he’s in your mouth, “Now, how’s about you undo my belt for me? Getting awful tight in my jeans ‘cause of you.”

Your fingers undo the belt buckle – you’ve been here so many times before that it’s just muscle memory for you at this point. It falls to the floor with a clink once you’ve tugged it through his belt loops.

“Good girl,” He croons above you, he’s gripping your chin with his fingers, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, “Now, the button, give me some relief baby.”

He doesn’t let go of your chin, keeping it still, staring into your eyes with the molten chocolate of his own, so you reach out, fumbling slightly, until your fingers find the button of his jeans, undoing it almost as quickly as you had done his belt. He doesn’t tell you to do it, but you pull down the zip and he’s lifting his hips up for you, so you take the cue and drag the denim down his legs, his underwear following, to pool at his ankles.

“See what you do to me?” He asks, tilting your chin down to look at his cock.

If there was a sight you knew you’d never get tired of, it was this. His cock so hard that in his current position it was resting up against his belly, head throbbing with so much arousal you could see the bead of pre-cum already, “Hard as a fuckin’ rock for you, pretty girl.”

You can’t help but smile at his praise, your relationship with Joel with complicated to say the least, usually only involving sex when one of you needed a release from something, but his compliments almost always made up for the lack of label on what this actually was.

“Now, why don’t you use that pretty little mouth, just how I like it, hmm?”

You know he likes it sloppy. Loves when he can hear you gagging on him. Thrives on the sight of ropes of saliva that connect your mouth to his cock when you pull away to fist him instead whilst you catch your breath. It gets him even harder in your mouth when he catches you rubbing your thighs together to relieve your own tension or when you moan with your mouth stuffed full of him.

You look him straight in the eye from between his thighs as you let spit that you’d gathered in your mouth drop from your tongue onto the head of his cock. You bring your hand to him, using feather-light touches of the tips of your fingers drag the spit down his length before your clenching your fist around the base of his length and fisting him, just how you know he likes it. You hear his sharp intake of breath as you start pumping him through your fist, you’ll tease him, even if it is only for a few minutes.

His hand comes to your cheek, it’s almost tender, you think to yourself. You don’t stop the movements of your hand but you do look up at him from your place on your knees, “Come on now darlin’, wrap your lips around my cock.”

You lean down and bring your mouth just out of reach for him, you revel in the way he bucks his hips up to you, he’s just as desperate for this as you are. You reward him by placing the softest kiss you can manage to the tip, salty bead of pre-cum pooling on your bottom lip, you make sure he’s watching you before you dart your tongue out to taste it.

“Fuckin’ hell, you’ll be the death of me.”

You want to tease him just a little more. You bring your tongue out and rest the underside of the head on it, flicking the tip of your tongue against him, the intake of breath from above you is back and you chuckle a little. You pull away and you think he’s almost about to chastise you until you’ve taken the whole tip of his cock into your mouth. Your hand is still working the base of him, whilst you bob your head up and down, teasing the head with a swirl of your tongue.

He lets out a guttural moan. It sounds like pure filth in your ears and it has you doing what you always do, shifting your thighs together to relief the friction at your core. Joel’s hand is wrapped in the hair at the back of your head – he’s just resting his fist in your locks for now, but you know within minutes he’ll be using it as leverage.

“Atta girl,” He’s groaning, “You can take it deeper though, can’t you?”

You can, and you do. You flatten your tongue in your mouth and push your head further down onto him, taking him as far into your mouth as you can before he’s touching the back of your throat. It doesn’t quite make you gag this time, but you know it’s only a matter of time as Joel’s hand fists your hair tighter, pulling you a little way off him before pushing your head back down.

“I can see you clenchin’ those thighs darlin’,” He’s breathless as he speaks, “This turn you on?" You moan around his cock in agreement, “I know it does, always so fuckin’ wet for me after, aren’t ya?” Another moan around his cock. God his voice alone makes you wet, team that up with the way he’s forcing your head down on his cock right now and you can already feel slick dripping from you.

Joel has never been good at lasting when it comes to your mouth, you look up at him and his head is thrown back, the gorgeous line of his neck on show for you as he grits his teeth, bucking his hips up to meet the downward move of your lips. This time you do gag, head of his cock hitting the back of your throat, but he loves it.

“Yes darlin’,” He spits out, “Love it when you choke on me like that.”

It’s almost as if something snaps in him. He’s holding your head still with that fist in your hair, and he’s fucking up into your mouth. You truly love it when Joel loses control like this – any sense of romance or pretense lost, just the rough need to come. He’s rough but you don’t care, tears are filling your eyes, dripping down your cheeks as he seeks his climax. He’s pulling you roughly from his cock, reveling just as you thought he would at the ropes of saliva that connect your mouth to his cock, he gently rubs the tears from your cheeks as he fists his cock.

“You want me to come all over that pretty face’a yours?” He asks.

You nod, settling back on your knees, sticking your tongue out for him as he fists his cock once, twice, three times, before he’s painting your face with his cum. He moans your name as he does, giving you every last drop. Once he’s finished and his breathing is coming back to normal, he looks down at you.

“Pretty as a picture.” He comments, running a finger through the cum on your cheeks before pushing his finger onto your tongue, watching as you suck his spend from it with the same vigor you were just sucking his cock with.

He doesn’t rise to get you a towel to wipe your face with, he just watches as you push him cum from your chin into your mouth, sticking out your tongue to show him before you swallow.

“Carry on like this darlin’ and I’ll be hard again in no time.”

“That’s kinda the point Joel,” You laugh, “I can’t quite put my finger on it but something has me begging to get fucked.”

“That so, hmmm?” You nod, “Well, why don’t you hop on up here and let me taste that pretty pussy for a while?” He’s already pulling at your wrist to switch places, “I think I might just be ready to oblige after that.”

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ahdraftingco · 1 year

Text

Oneshot: Trouble

Pairing: Dark!Joel Miller x Innocent!Reader

AO3 Crosspost: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44157645

Summary: Ellie's gone. She ran away a while ago, after she discovered Joel's lie. It was a lie he had to make for his own sake because he couldn't handle losing her but still, he lost her. Now, he walks the wasteland alone, searching for purpose…and that's when he stumbles onto you. A bright, young woman who had gotten through the worst of it without losing her innocence to a world gone mad. If only you knew what was in store for you now that Joel has found a new person to latch onto…

Word Count: 8.2k+

A/N: As always, please read through ALL the warnings before proceeding: porn with plot, dead dove: do not eat (this story is not for the faint of heart so don't say i didn't warn ya), borderline non-con, dark!joel miller, loss of virginity, dom/sub undertones, age gap, use of the word "daddy"/"baby girl", bondage, forced orgasms, gunplay, praise kink, somnophilia, size difference, genuine fear/peril, death threats, cum play, rough sex, sexual coercion, squirting, breeding kink (unprotected piv, possible pregnancy/pregnancy talk), angst, mentions of violence, degradation, references to death

This fic will contain spoilers to TLOU Part One, so if you haven't played the game, please be aware that I will be referencing canon events. Hope you enjoy the sinister Joel I've made up and yes, I did based the physical description off Pedro Pascal's portrayal of Joel ~ ♡

It's been months since Ellie left Joel. He had gone out to look for supplies, since she had been sick. It wasn't until he got back and saw that she had taken up everything she could carry that he realized it had all been an act to let his guard down.

He had thought they were past what had happened at the hospital, since it's been almost five years, but the truth is…he knew what he had done was unforgivable. She was the cure. She wanted to die for the cause. She knew what she had to do but he was the one who wasn't ready to let her go.

This is the price he will pay for it.

It breaks Joel down more and more every day that passes as he scavenges the east coast, hoping he'll find clues of Ellie's whereabouts somewhere. Though, he taught her well, which meant he was almost certain she'd be hard to find.

If she's smart, which he knows she is, Ellie would've made it to the north before the winter began. That way, there's no chance of Joel ever catching up to her in the snow.

With a heavy sigh, Joel makes his trek up the state highway, weaving through abandoned cars. He'll be in New York soon. There once was a station there, but it quickly grew overcrowded and fell soon after.

Not enough food for people to eat, not enough protection for people to survive.

The infected would be roaming in the city, but Joel knew to avoid the densely populated areas. He didn't want trouble.

And yet, trouble always finds him.

Trouble had a name this time. Your name, though he didn't know it just yet.

Instead, as he watches you from a distance, Joel calls you baby girl in his mind, seeing how much younger you were than him. It was obvious you were older than Ellie though. You were an adult, a young one, but an adult all the same. It makes him wonder how you ended up here all alone.

You're humming to yourself, as if the thought of a threat nearby didn't phase you. It's a song he has heard before. Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks. He can almost hear the guitar riff, but it wasn't anything he could play.

However, at this moment, he wished he could.

Seeing you happily whispering the lyrics to yourself as you take down your laundry fills Joel with a kind of desire that taints his soul. It's dark and twisted, the way he wants to bottle up your joy and keep it all for himself.

How could you be so carefree in a world gone mad? It's as if no one has ever hurt you before.

Maybe…you didn't even know the infected existed.

That's impossible, but it looks like you're completely self-sufficient. You have a lake house and he can see the fishing equipment. You also have a garden with rotating crops that are growing well despite the incoming winter.

Who taught you to live life like this?

Peaceful, alone, without a care.

Joel is almost…disappointed. He'd imagine if anyone else had stumbled upon you, you'd be taken easily. You were like the easiest prey for a hungry predator, since you were clueless to the danger you could be in.

It makes Joel want to protect you…but it also makes him want to own you. There's an insatiable need to show you how much you need him to keep you safe, from people just like him.

So, that's exactly what he's going to do. Joel will make you his. He will weave himself into your life until you can't possibly live without him anymore.

That way, you'd never leave him like Ellie did…

❅❅❅❅❅

Today's catch went swimmingly, as it always does. You reeled in enough to have extra to dry into tasty jerky. Winter is approaching and you start to see your breath in the air, knowing that a storm is brewing. You'll have to start chopping some more firewood to store in the basement in case it's an extra cold winter. The temperature has been dropping every passing year, while the summers have gotten hotter.

You're thankful you won't have to think about summer preparations right now. Having to deal with those forest fires took up so much of your time. Winter is destructive as well, but at least it requires you to stay in instead of slave away all day.

Another winter alone, though. You let out a sigh at the thought. How long has it been since everyone you loved passed away?

You're tired of burying people…

Last month, you had to clean up the house a few miles down the lake. You hated having to do it, but your parents taught you well. The moment someone died, you needed to put them out of their misery or they'd fester and become worse creatures than the resurrected undead.

So, you put a bullet in their head and dug a grave for them. Then, you would spend hours rummaging through their house for any supplies before giving it a good thorough cleaning. It was your way of laying them to rest.

You'll miss that man though. Neither of you exchanged names, but you would trade fish for some of his pepper plants. Sometimes, he'd have canned goods for you that he had made himself. You still have some in your basement now. That'll help for the winter.

All these thoughts help you get through deboning your catch. You light up your wood fire stove so you can make a serving of stew and start the dehydrating process. It isn't until everything is in the pot that you register the rustling outside.

Is that the wind or…no, it can't be.

No one ever comes around these parts. It's so hidden by the trees that only an experienced person would think someone lives out here. That's sort of why your parents bought this house. It was secluded in the best kind of way, which aided a lot when everything went to shit. You were born here, raised here and will likely die here.

However, you weren't expecting that day to come so soon. Whoever is out there…they won't hurt you, will they? Your nerves heighten as you walk towards your door, debating if you should grab your gun.

You don't, because the person knocks.

It's a gentle knock, just three light taps. You calm down a little at that. You figure if it was a malicious person, they'd just break down your door. You haven't ever encountered a malicious person before, since you try not to believe everyone is bad. The people you know have all been kind, despite everything.

You hope this person will be the same.

So, you open your door and…

"Hello there." The older man at your doorstep says in his southern accent. "I was just passing through and I noticed you had a fire going. I don't mean to bother, but would it be alright for me to spend the night here, away from the cold?"

You look the man up and down. He doesn't seem like a threat, though he does have a rifle on his back and a pistol tucked at his belt. He's wearing a brown jacket with a flannel underneath along with several other layers that look like they're getting soaked through from the light snow that's starting already. He has a patchy beard with some grays in it along with soft brown hair that matches his eyes.

The man doesn't look intimidating, besides the weapons he's carrying.

So, you do what your parents had always done when people stumbled upon your little house and tell him, "you can stay the night if you agree to bury your weapons somewhere outside. There's a shovel out back. Choose any spot away from my garden, please."

"I will happily take that offer, thank you." His voice is smooth and gentle, so you ease up a little as you watch him leave to go fulfill your request.

The man returns later with just his bag and as a show of faith, he empties it at the doorstep so you can see what he has in it. You notice how few supplies he has, so you sift through your cabinets for some spare canned goods.

"You can have these." You bring them to him. "I've got plenty."

"You're very kind." He gives you a brief smile before taking the cans from you. "Are you always this welcoming to strangers?"

"I wouldn't call you a stranger. You're simply a traveler passing through. Nothing strange about that in our world."

You quickly leave after you say that to give him a change of clothes, since his are soaked and the spare in his bag doesn't look very warm.

"Would you like to use my bath?" You ask, pointing over at the bathroom down the hall. "I haven't heated any water, so it'll be a minute, but you can take a nice, warm bath if you'd like."

"That sounds wonderful." He seems pleased with your offer. "You're a very good girl, treating me with such hospitality."

"We all deserve some normalcy." You leave him with those words so you can go start the fire for the bath water.

It takes around half an hour to boil enough water in intervals, since your stove is quite small and you can only carry so much water at a time. Though, the man, who lets you know that his name is Joel, helps with that, lugging the pot of water back and forth for you until the tub is filled. You tell him to take his time and that dinner will be ready whenever he's done.

When Joel finishes his bath, he meets you in the kitchen and you pour him a bowl of stew, which you invite him to eat by the fire. You've already eaten your portion so you opt to spend time organizing stock since the storm is coming in stronger than you anticipated. You haven't harvested your winter vegetables yet and you should probably do that now before they get buried.

"Something on your mind?" That southern accent sounds close now and you look up to see Joel standing beside you, empty bowl in his hand. "Thanks for the stew, it was delicious."

You smile, taking it from him so you can quickly wipe it clean and set it aside. Then, you answer his question with a light sigh, "I didn't expect the snow to start falling so quickly. I need to go out and salvage what I can from my garden before I'm snowed in."

"Can I help with that?" Joel offers and you shake your head.

"I can't ask you to do that. You just bathed, plus you're my guest."

"I can always bathe again. You shouldn't be out there alone right now. Let me help." His voice has this tinge of leadership in it that makes you want to follow him, so you eventually agree.

"Alright. In exchange, you can have some of the harvest." You make him a deal.

"Can I ask for something else?" Joel catches you by surprise with that. "Would it be okay if I stayed here until the storm ended?"

"Oh…" He's right. If the storm has started already, he'd be stranded out there if you kicked him out tomorrow.

But, is it really smart to spend an entire storm with a man you've just met?

You can't let him trek through the storm though, so you tell him, "if you help me with some repairs around the house, then you can stay as long as you'd like."

"I'd like that." His smile makes your heart skip a beat.

The rest of the evening is spent shoveling snow and pulling out as many vegetables as you and Joel can carry back and forth to the house before the storm gets significantly worse. You're both soaked head to toe and you're freezing once you both get back into the house. The fire isn't going to warm you up, so you'll definitely need a bath. But, you don't want Joel to get sick, so you offer to have him bathe first, but he declines, since you need to too.

"One of us is going to get sick waiting to bathe." You tell him as you start boiling the water for the bath.

"Then why don't we bathe together?"

Your ears must have been deceiving you and you turn to Joel, who is peeling off his soaked outer layer. He doesn't seem phased at all by what he just said but you're flustered.

"H-how would that work?" You're suddenly feeling warm all over, despite your shivering.

"It'll be like sharing a hot tub." He says with a chuckle. "Just keep your underwear on. I can keep my shirt on too, if you're more comfortable that way."

Now you're embarrassed for a whole other reason. Why did you just assume he meant getting into the bath with him naked? There's no way he'd ask that of you and you feel bad that you even thought such a thing.

"That would work. You don't have to keep your shirt on, but I think I will." You're too shy to be that bare in front of him, but keeping your shirt and underwear on is fine. He doesn't say anything else about it as you both start prepping the bath once again.

When it's ready, you realize there's another problem with this scenario. It's not all that big of a bath. How would you both fit?

"You'll just have to sit between my legs." Joel tells you while he strips. "I'll get in first and guide you into a comfortable position."

You let him take the lead, though you turn away when he pulls off his shirt and don't turn back until you hear him get into the bath. Then, you strip as quickly as you can, leaving yourself in just your shirt and underwear. Joel puts his hand out and you take it, letting him help you in. He has you sitting between his legs, with your back against his chest, and…it's oddly nice.

The bath water is very warm and your shirt rises a little since there's air under it, so you try your best to smooth it out, though that doesn't help much.

"Do you want to take it off?" Joel asks you, his warm breath tickling the back of your ear.

"I…" You would but… "I'm not wearing anything underneath."

You aren't the biggest fan of bras. They're only good when you're exercising or doing some heavy lifting and don't want your breasts to get in the way. So, you don't wear them regularly unless you feel the need to.

"I won't look." He rests his chin on your head. "I'll keep my eyes up so you can get comfy."

That would be nice. It's odd how easy things are around Joel because you feel like you can trust him to do as he says, so you opt to pull off your shirt, tossing it aside. It hits the floor, the wet sound echoing through the room. You adjust yourself so that your breasts are submerged beneath the water and when you tilt your head up, Joel has his lifted to the ceiling, not stealing any glances at you.

Though, it wasn't his eyes you should've been worried about. You hadn't noticed where his hands were resting until you felt one of them slide up to cup your breast and the other slips down into your underwear. You're about to say something but then Joel rolls his thumb over your nipple and you can't stop the light moan that leaves your lips at the sudden sensation.

"Does that feel good, baby girl?" He whispers right into your ear with such sultry affection. "Do you want daddy to keep touching you like this?"

Before you can reply, Joel presses a finger against your entrance and forces his way into you, making you gasp. Your toes curl when his finger does, filling you up so much out of nowhere. It's nothing like when you touch yourself and in combination with his other hand teasing your breasts, you can't hold in the soft whimpers from how good it feels.

You need to tell him to stop, but then he thrusts another finger inside of you and you cry out from how much he's stretching you out. You've never been this full before.

"You're so tight." That word lingers in the air and you're getting dizzy from his seductive tone. "Has no one ever touched you before?"

You shake your head, not knowing why you're able to answer him but not able to tell him to stop…

"Are you telling me this is all mine?" He pushes up against a spot inside of you with his fingers that makes your whole body shiver in reaction. "You're sucking me in, baby girl. I'm jealous of my own fingers."

There's so many questions you want to ask him, like why he's doing this to you and why it feels good even though you shouldn't want a random man you just met to touch you, but none of those questions can be asked when every breath you take is stolen by a moan or whimper.

Something's building inside of you, that tension you've only felt on occasion when you've been bored and masturbated. However, this is even more intense than those times, because you're not the one setting the pace.

Joel is aggressive with his touch, fingering you at a pace you wouldn't be able to. Then, every now and then, he spreads them, reminding you of how big his fingers are as they stretch you out.

You're on the cusp of your orgasm and that scares you.

Why are you about to cum from this?

Why aren't you stopping him!

"Don't hold it in." He urges you to let go. "Cum for your daddy."

You're not my—you can't seem to finish your own thoughts because he's forcing your orgasm onto you, his fingers ruthlessly grinding against that spot inside of you that makes you cum hard. You're thankful you're in the bath right now because you swore, you squirted for the first time. You've never came that much before, tears streaming down your eyes from the intensity of it.

The pleasure sears every inch of your skin, making it hotter than before and the steam from the bath isn't helping your mind calm down. You're getting lost in that daze and it's not ending.

Especially not when Joel keeps going and he adds another finger, spreading you wide open. You're gasping for air from how filled you feel and he must not like that because he takes his other hand and shoves his fingers into your mouth. You gag on them, not expecting to have his fingers invade your mouth, but he doesn't care that you feel that way.

Instead, he goes, "be a good girl and enjoy yourself."

You wonder how you're supposed to enjoy yourself when your mouth is as full as your pussy is but soon enough, you understand. Every moan you want to make is forced back down your throat by his fingers and it's hard to breathe like this but that just causes your body to tense up more around his fingers. They're hitting you so deep inside that you're going to cum again all too quickly.

You try to tell him to stop but your words come out all gurgled up from the saliva pooling up in your mouth since his fingers are playing with your tongue. You're practically drooling and you try to swallow, but that means you have to suck on his fingers to do so, which only riles him up more.

"That's good practice, baby girl." He encourages you to keep doing that to prepare yourself for something else. "I can't wait to bury my cock in this pretty little mouth and your tight wet pussy."

You're on the verge of tears again and you don't know if it's out of fear or arousal as you get closer and closer to your next orgasm. You don't want his cock anywhere near you but you realize then that he's been pressing his hard cock up against your back this whole time. If you thought his fingers filled you up, you were certain his cock would break you.

You start to panic, trying to shove his arm away from you so he can stop fingering you but that only angers him. So, Joel retaliates by pulling his fingers out of your mouth and wrapping his hand around your throat, squeezing it hard.

"Don't make me kill you." He threatens and you go completely still. "I don't want to, but if you keep misbehaving, I will."

"Please…" You sob out of pure fear. "Don't hurt me."

"I would never want to hurt you. You're my precious girl, so don't make me do anything I don't want to, okay?" He lightens his hold on your neck then and you inhale as much air as you can, trying to find your composure. "You're going to cum for me again and then I'm going to take you to bed. Understood?"

You don't want to say it but he'll kill you if you don't so you nod and tell him, "I understand."

"Address me correctly when you're talking to me." His fingers press into your neck, as a little warning.

You swallow your nerves then go, "I understand, daddy."

"Good girl. Daddy likes it when you listen." He gives you a soft kiss on the cheek, changing his tone all too easily. "Now, let me spoil my baby girl."

You brace yourself as his fingers curl their way back inside of you, going much more gently this time. Strangely, it's not enough to get you close. His pace is too slow, too soft, and you're trembling from how much you want him to be rougher with you.

"Say what you want." It's like he can read your thoughts. "Tell me and I'll do it for you."

You shouldn't say anything but your body is craving that feeling too much, so you give in and say, "more, please. I want more."

"Do you want me to go faster?" He asks as he does exactly that and you nod profusely. He suddenly slows though, so you know what you have to do.

"Yes, daddy, please go faster." You say what he wants to hear and he ramps up the speed again, giving you what you need. "Please don't stop, I'm so close…"

"I want to see it." Joel growls in your ear before you hear a pop and the plug in the tub is no longer in place. The water suddenly drains out rapidly and you stiffen at the cold air hitting your warm skin. "You better cum a lot for me."

You don't know what he means until he starts to move his fingers side by side inside of you and you squirt uncontrollably, screaming from how forceful he is at drawing your orgasm out of you. You can't think straight because you can't stop cumming, every orgasm gushing out of you against your will.

"Stop!" You shout because it's too much, you're too sensitive now and you're going to pass out. "I keep cumming, I keep–"

"That's good." He slowly corrupts you. "You want to keep cumming. You want to drown in the pleasure only I can give you. Enjoy it, baby girl."

And you do.

You hate how much you end up enjoying it, bathing in such bliss. It consumes you completely…and you faint somewhere along the way. You've never felt so good before. Your body can't handle it and you pass out from the high…

❅❅❅❅❅

Joel dries your hair for you while you're unconscious. He likes how peaceful you look, having fallen asleep to the orgasms he gave you. He wants you to look like this everyday and he'll make sure it happens.

A sweet girl like you deserves to be treated well.

Maybe that's why he can't resist touching you in your sleep. Joel watches as your chest begins to rise and fall more and more with every gentle stroke of his fingers. You're getting so wet for him now. He wonders what you're dreaming of and if he's in it.

He'd like to be. He wants you to only think of him. He's the only one that you need. He's the only one that matters. No one else will take you from him.

Joel refuses to make the same mistake twice. He loved Ellie like a daughter, raising her to be a strong woman. A woman strong enough to leave him in the dust because of a lie he made.

So, he has to be more careful with you. You're malleable, he's certain of that. You'll need some persuading, but you'll listen to him. First, out of fear, but eventually, out of love.

All he needs to do is tie you to him the only way he knows will work…by making you fall for him.

❅❅❅❅❅

It isn't until you wake that you realize your body is still heated from all the orgasms. You're aching from the waist down and you wonder why…until you see Joel between your legs, his tongue dragging up and down your pussy like he's starved for your taste.

How long has he been…you can't even formulate the sentence because he flicks your clit with his tongue and you squirt just a little from how overstimulated you are. A whimper leaves your lips because of it that draws Joel's attention to you and he smiles, happy to see you awake.

"How did you sleep?" His voice is so eerily calm…

You're unsure of how to answer that, so you ask back, "did you sleep?"

He nods. "I slept great, holding you in my arms."

"How long have I been asleep?" You're confused…

"A little over two days."

Your eyes widen at his words. Have you really been passed out for that long?

"Why are you down there?" If you've been asleep, why is he touching you?

"I needed to make sure whenever you were awake that you'd be nice and ready for me." He teases your entrance with three of his fingers before slipping each one inside of you slowly.

You brace yourself, expecting for the sudden stretch to hurt but…it doesn't. His fingers feel thick inside of you, but it's not anything you can't handle.

What did he do to you while you were asleep…

"You're almost ready for me, baby girl." His thumb presses lightly on your clit when he says that, sending shivers through you. "I've opened you up as best I could."

"Please, Joel…" You plead to him. "I don't want this."

"Your body says otherwise." He tells you as he curls his fingers and you nearly cum just from that. "See, you want this. Why are you running from it?"

"You're not giving me a choice." He's throwing himself at you and you're unable to stop him.

"I did give you a choice." Your breath catches in your throat when you hear the safety of your pistol flick off and Joel presses the barrel against your bare chest, right where your heart is. You only notice then that you're completely naked. "Either I kill you, or you enjoy my touch. I had assumed you'd chosen the latter, but if I'm wrong…"

His finger hovers over the trigger and you shake your head profusely, not wanting to die like this, not when his fingers are still teasing your insides. It's unbearable, the weight of the gun on your chest while his fingertips drag along that spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

So, you succumb to the scenario you've found yourself in, "you're not wrong. I want this. I'll enjoy myself. I promise."

"Then, cum." He commands, keeping the gun steady on your chest. "Show me you're being honest."

You bite your lip and choke back your own dignity as you grind your hips against his hand, thrusting his fingers inside of you the way you need them to. You gasp when he starts to follow your rhythm, pushing you closer to the edge. It's a great distraction, because you barely notice the way he's trailing the pistol up your chest, but you're well aware of it when it brushes against your lips, forcing you to part them open.

Before you can beg him not to, Joel rests the barrel of the pistol in your mouth, the cold metal coating every one of your taste buds. You gag a little when he drags it against your tongue, but you can't focus on it while his fingers are inside of you. Tears start to stream from your eyes out of sheer terror and the most warped and frightening smile curves on Joel's face the moment he sees you.

That's when he undoes the safety of the pistol yet again and rests his finger on the trigger, his voice more menacing than ever as he goes, "cum for me right now or I'll blow your brains out, baby girl."

Every muscle in your body tightens at the threat and that's all it takes for the tension in your body to explode. You can't tell if you're screaming or moaning as your orgasm ripples through you violently, locking up every sense with nothing but pleasure. You can't feel, you can't see, you can't think.

All you can do is cum because that's what he wants from you.

Relief washes over you when Joel pulls the gun out of your mouth and tucks it away behind his back. His fingers release you from their hold and an empty feeling is tainting your mind. You've been so full for so long that it feels…wrong to be hollow.

How much has he corrupted you? How long is he going to stay until you're exactly what he needs you to be?

His baby girl…

You need to get out of here. You need to run. You need to fight Joel for your life back because you can't be his.

And yet, you can't find it in yourself to shove him away.

Not when he's whispering so softly to you, "good girl, that must've felt great. Let me make you feel even better now."

It isn't until you feel the tip of his cock press against your pussy that you snap back to the reality of it all. You're going to have your first time right now and he's going to fuck you raw.

The last bit of rationality courses through you as you plead, "please, don't do this. I don't have any condoms, I don't want to–"

"It's okay, darlin'." His southern accent sends shivers down your spine. "This is what you were meant for. This is what your body craves. Just let it happen and I'll take care of you."

You claw at his chest the moment he starts to force his way inside of you, his cock stretching you out more than his fingers did. You've never felt this kind of pressure before as he opens you up with every thrust. He doesn't like that you're trying to fight him, so the next time you shove at him, he smacks you right across the face. You gasp at the feeling and he pushes more of himself inside your swollen pussy then, smiling.

"You're so tight and yet you're taking every inch of me." Joel suddenly grabs you by your hair, pulling you forward so you can stare at the way his cock is slowly disappearing inside of you. "Almost there, just a bit more."

"Let me go." You cry out, wanting him to take his hand out of your hair. "Please, it hurts."

"Grab onto the headboard and I will." He makes you a deal and you listen, wrapping your hands around the metal.

His hand leaves your hair, letting your head drop back onto your pillow, and you relax just a bit. It doesn't last though, not when he pulls out a piece of fabric from his pocket and binds your wrists.

"Now, hold on tight, baby girl." His hands rest at your hips now, gripping your flesh. "I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

You don't understand what he means until he pulls his cock out of you and rams it back inside, hilting all of a sudden. He's too deep, too big and all too much for you.

You try to say something but he raises his hand at you before you can, instructing, "if you want to speak, you better address me correctly or I will have to teach you a lesson."

You swallow at his threat, your throat going dry. Goosebumps rise on your skin and you're scared to say anything but you want him to be gentle. He'll break you if he keeps being this rough.

So, you stuff your pride away and beg, "please go slowly, daddy."

His smile softens then, liking how you've listened, and he rewards you by rolling his hips, letting you get used to him being inside of you, grinding himself back and forth against every spot that makes your pussy tingle.

It's starting to feel good and that's frightening because you're biting back your whimpers. You can't enjoy this. It's wrong. He's taking you by force and yet your body is desperate enough to meet him halfway, wanting more.

"Does my baby girl enjoy being fucked?" Joel adjusts a bit so that he can thrust upwards into you, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. "Tell me you do."

You keep your mouth shut, not wanting to say a word, and he doesn't like that at all. So, when you're right at the cusp of your orgasm, he pulls out of you, leaving you struggling against your restraints.

"If you want it, say it." He starts to rub his hard cock against your pussy, teasing your sensitive clit with the tip of it. It's torture because it's not enough to get you there.

You need more. You need him inside of you.

Joel takes his time to torment you, dipping into you just a bit before pulling out, dropping his cock over and over again on your pussy, rubbing circles around your clit.

Eventually, you can't handle the denial anymore so you cave and go, "please fuck me. I want to cum."

"Say it again." He wants you to embarrass yourself further and your skin burns from it.

"I want to cum. Please fuck me. I need you, daddy." You add on, hoping that's enough.

It is, because the moment he thrusts inside of you, you cum. You cum all over his cock and he rewards you by fucking you harder, making your orgasm even more intense. You're gasping for air because it doesn't seem to stop. You're throbbing inside and every thrust sends such waves of pleasure through you.

"You're milking my cock so well." He praises you. "Someone's desperate for my cum."

Your eyes widen when you realize he must be close from the way he's pumping into you and you panic, "please cum outside, don't cum in me."

"How am I supposed to cum outside when you're not letting me go?" He tries to pull out but your pussy is gripping onto him too tightly.

"No, don't, please." You can't get pregnant. You can't have a baby with a man you've just met. You can't…but he won't let you decide otherwise.

"You'll feel so much better once you're all filled up." Joel reassures you in the worst way possible. "Soon, you'll beg for it."

There's no way you would. Why would you ever want such a thing?

"Enjoy it." He says sweetly to you, looking at you with such affection. "We won't be able to fuck much when you're pregnant, so it's best to make every time count."

You want to ask why he wants you of all people, a random girl he met in the middle of the woods in the winter, but you're certain he won't have an answer. Perhaps this was all just bad timing and even worse luck.

It doesn't feel like much at first, when he finishes inside of you. It's hot and it spills out of you when he pulls away. Joel takes his time, pushing as much cum as he can back inside of you. You hate the orgasms you have from that simple action.

It isn't until the second time that it feels…primal. You can't explain it, but when he's fucking you like a feral animal, you find yourself leaning into it. Your body isn't in tune with your mind anymore. It's not listening to your pleas because it knows it feels good to be taken by him. He never hurts you unless you do something he doesn't like, which is rare. He only ever wants you to feel pleasure.

Days go by of this, of just…constant breeding. You will sleep, then wake up, fuck, have breakfast, fuck, have lunch, fuck, do house chores then fuck in the shower afterwards, then eat dinner which always ends with you bend over the dining table because you're the meal he's actually hungry for. This cycle repeats until you get your period.

The disappointment on Joel's face stings. It's like you failed him. You couldn't give him what he wanted. You don't like the feeling…but a tiny voice in your head reminds you that you shouldn't want to please him anyways.

During your period, Joel teaches you how to suck his cock, since he can't fuck you. As a reward for learning, he caters to you, helping you with your cramps, rubbing your belly when it aches, cuddling you like you're the love of his life. It's…jarring, to say the least. You'll go from him fucking your face to him caressing your back and whispering sweet words to you.

Run. That tiny voice yells into the abyss that is your mind right now. Run far away from here.

You want to listen but…where would you go? You grew up here. You don't know anywhere else. This is your home and he's the intruder.

An intruder who's making himself at home.

"Does your stomach still hurt?" Joel asks because you've tensed up against him, your thoughts influencing your nerves.

"A little." You lean into his chest, not because you want to, but because he's warm and the winter has been cold. "I'll be okay."

"You'll always be okay, baby girl." He presses a soft kiss on your forehead, taking in a long breath before saying, "I'll keep you safe."

Safe from who? You wonder, because you aren't safe from him…

❅❅❅❅❅

Another month passes and you're late. You counted the days, mainly because Joel made you, and you're late. You've never been late before, which can only mean…

"We won't know for sure, but we can find out." You suggest. "There's a convenience store a few miles up. There's no food there, but there's plenty of pregnancy tests. I remember seeing them."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, hoping he'll take the bait. Please say yes.

You need to get him away from your house. You need to kill him but you can't do it here. You need to do it somewhere he isn't familiar with.

A place where you know a gun is hidden.

"Better to be sure." Joel agrees to the trip. "But you're coming with me."

"Okay." You knew you'd have to. "I'd like to walk with you. It's a nice hike, now that the snow has melted."

The rest of the day is spent preparing for the day trip. When it's finally time to sleep, you're surprised to feel Joel's cock harden behind you as he spoons you. He rubs himself against you and you hate how your body reacts to it, leaning into the feeling.

"Just to be sure." He whispers to you and you know what he means. He doesn't have to say much else.

You feel him nudge you until you're on your hands and knees and he's situated behind you, pulling down your pajama pants. Joel lines his cock up at your entrance and in one single motion, he fills you to the very brim. You can't hold in your moan, not when his body is pressing down onto you, engulfing you completely as he starts to pound into you.

"How does it feel to be mine, my sweet baby girl?" He asks, his hips meeting your ass perfectly.

"So good." You don't lie because you know it'll be the last time you do this with him. "Please don't stop, daddy."

"Never." He says, grabbing you by your hair so that he can kiss the back of your head. "I wouldn't dream of letting you go."

With his hand still in your hair, Joel continues to fuck you from behind, tugging you back to meet him. His lips on yours are sloppy, but you kiss him back, feeling connected with him on all levels. Your body moves against his in perfect harmony and you drown in the moment

It isn't until he whispers the words "I love you" that your heart pinches just a bit, remembering the reality. You're going to kill him tomorrow, this man who loves you in a sick and twisted way.

"Fill me up." You whisper back, giving him something else, since you can't give him your love. "I need you, Joel."

That's enough for him to finish inside of you, the heat spilling into you in waves. His cock pulses inside of you for a few moments before he pulls out and lays back beside you.

You go back to the way you were laying before, and he spoons you to sleep. You wonder what it'll feel like to sleep alone, now that you've slept with someone for this long.

You're going to miss it…maybe even him too…

❅❅❅❅❅

Now that the snow has thawed, the ground is much less muddy. You still had to wear your boots, which aren't uncomfortable but they're harder to run in. You don't think you'll need to run but…you want to stay prepared.

Joel tells you a bit more about himself on the walk to the convenience store. You're unsure if you want to know more about the man you're about to kill, but you can't refuse him, so you listen.

You don't expect him to tell you about Sarah…but now everything makes sense. Perhaps, he's been waiting for a chance to make things right. To raise a child who won't end up dying in his arms and leaving him forever.

You clutch your stomach when he's not looking, scared of your own mind. Scared that the tiny voice in your head is now whispering guilty thoughts…

You can't. It's not reasonable to have a child in a world like this. Especially not with a man like him.

You say that, but Joel has warped you in a different way. You won't lie and say you won't miss him when he's gone. It's hard not to miss someone you've spent the last two months getting to know in more intimate ways than two normal strangers would.

As a war breaks out in your mind, you and Joel get to the convenience store. The front glass is shattered, but it's always been like that. Looters at the very beginning of it all broke it, which is why there's moss going on the shards that were left behind. That's what your parents told you.

You miss them more and more with each passing day. They were well-prepared to have you, knowing they've set up a little oasis in the middle of disaster.

You can't have this child with Joel. You're ill-prepared to be a mother. You're unsure if Joel would even be a good father, even if he claims that's all he wants to be.

Would a good father taint someone else's daughter the way he has tainted you?

You hold back your sigh as you and Joel walk over the glass to get into the store. It's a small store, so it's not difficult to find what you're looking for. You wonder if these will even work, since they probably have an expiration date, but you just have to know.

For your own sake, more than Joel's.

Once you've packed a fair amount of pregnancy tests into your bag, you tell Joel that you've stashed some canned goods behind the counter in the off chance you might get stuck out and about, and you wanted to check if they were still there. It's not a lie, but you stashed a gun there too.

So, you go to the floorboard you hid everything under and pull it open and—

The sound of a gun's safety flicking off freezes you in your tracks. You swallow, hard.

Fuck, did Joel figure it out? You're too frightened to look up, scared that you'll be staring into the barrel of a gun.

But then, a new voice appears and she goes, "step away from her, Joel."

You glance up then and your eyes meet the girl's for a second. She's young, maybe barely eighteen, and yet she wields the gun you had hidden in the floorboards like she's used to handling them. That thought should worry you, but you're more worried about how she knows Joel.

Did he…do something to her too?

"Ellie, please." Joel pleads, his hands up. "Don't take her away from me."

"I know what you did to her." Ellie has her finger on the trigger, ready to shoot him. "I saw what she put in her bag."

"She's pregnant. We're going to be a family." He tries to reason with her. "Come back with us. We have a home. You'll have a little brother or sister soon. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"You're sick, Joel." She gestures for you to come over to her and even though Joel's eyes pierce into yours to stop you, you still make the trek over to her. Once you're securely behind her, she continues her harsh words to Joel, "you don't know what it means to be family. Family wouldn't do this, wouldn't do the things you've done."

"I can change. I can do better. I'm sorry."

You've never seen Joel so weak before. The once scary man that held you captive is now cowering before this girl.

"Sorry won't bring them back." Ellie tells him and you wonder what she means by that. "So, don't come looking for us. I'm taking her and I'm leaving now."

"Please, don't take her." He begs, his voice cracking as he goes, "I love her."

You open your mouth to say something, but Ellie stops you. Maybe she knows what you're about to say, or maybe she just doesn't want you to say it back to him. Not that you would…right?

"This isn't love, Joel." She tells him for you. "Whatever this is…it sure as fuck isn't love. I'm sorry. You did this to yourself."

The moment those words leave her mouth, she shoots Joel. You cover your ears at the sudden sound as it echoes through the quiet.

You hear Joel scream and you realize then that Ellie didn't shoot him in the head. She shot him in the leg, so he couldn't catch up to you two.

"We have to go, now." She grabs your hand and you both start to run.

Run, that voice comes back in your mind, run and don't look back.

❅❅❅❅❅

You and Ellie take a break once you're a good distance away from the convenience store. You give her some of your water, since it looks like she's low on supplies. She asks you about what happened and…you tell her. Not in full detail, but enough.

"That fucker." She seems angry at Joel for more than just what he did to you, but you won't pry about what exactly.

"Who is he to you?" You ask Ellie, wanting to know that instead.

"He's trouble. The kind of trouble I need the strength to take care of before he hurts anyone else…" She says, the anger leaving her voice as a sadness seeps in, "but I'm not strong enough yet. I couldn't kill him…but I will one day."

You can tell she doesn't want to, and you understand why. You might be the only one out there who understands her because you feel the same way.

There's no way Joel isn't looking for you two.

So, your journey with Ellie begins. You're both on the run from Joel, but also finding the will to hunt him too. All while wondering if he's imprinting himself onto you the way he wanted to.

You press your hand on your stomach and chills run through you.

You should've known Joel was trouble the moment he walked through your front door…

A/N: I've always wanted to write a villain!joel since I feel like it actually fits his character a lot, if he was given the right set of circumstances. I also am a big fan of the "I need to kill him before he kills me" trope, but with a twist! The addition of Ellie in this part makes me really happy and gets my mind rolling. The latter half of this one-shot is very plot-heavy, which is new for me but I kind of like it? It really builds up to a possible sequel! So, if you're interested in a sequel, please let me know! This really does have the potential to be a whole series ♡

#the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #the last of us

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alloftheimagines · 1 year

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joel miller | shelter

masterlist | taglist | ko-fi

note: this can be read as part two of survive

words: 2.4k

warnings: 18+. please do not continue if you're uncomfortable with discussions surrounding rape/sexual assault, violence, blood, and cannibalism. spoilers.

synopsis: after the events of episode eight in which reader takes ellie's place as david's hostage, joel finds a cabin where he can take care of you in the middle of the woods. hurt, comfort, and fluff ensues. reader x joel, reader x ellie, and joel x ellie interactions, but mostly joel cleaning you up after a horrific experience.

tags: @sweetbabygirlsworld @m4tthewmurd0ck

It feels like you’re walking for miles before you find the abandoned, dusty cabin in the middle of the woods.

Your teeth chatter as Joel leads you inside, Ellie following behind. The smell is stale and it isn’t much warmer, but you’re out of the snow and that’s enough for now. When you see snow, you see blood, too.

“Alright, here we go,” Joel says, propping his gun against a ratty couch and looking around.

Ellie shuts the door on the howling wind, raising her brows. “Not bad.”

“Let’s see if we can find anything to clean up with.” Joel begins searching the small cupboards above a sink still stacked with plates.

You don’t know what to do, don’t know how to think about anything but the blood in your hair. His blood. You need it off you, need to rid yourself of any hint that he ever existed, ever hurt you. Absently, you scratch your arms and wander over to the fireplace. Charred tinder and ash sit in the hearth, and beside it, a pile of logs have been stacked haphazardly. You throw a couple in and shrug off your backpack, your fingers trembling as you find a lighter. Anything to help you feel something other than this yawning emptiness, this black hole, this disgust and this fear.

“Fuck, yeah!” Ellie exclaims, yanking her gloves off and warming her hands. You offer a wry smile, perching on the closest couch and trying to focus on the orange glow.

But then you think of the candles in the restaurant. The way you set David alight with them. The stench of burning clothes and hair as you walked away.

You close your eyes, your fingers curling so tightly into your palms that they leave marks behind.

“Hey,” Ellie says softly, kneeling in front of you. “You’re safe now, y’know?”

“I know, kiddo.” You put on a brave face for her benefit, though she’s smart enough to know you’re not okay. “Thanks.”

“What did… What did he do to you?”

Before you can answer, Joel’s stern voice echoes around the cabin. “Ellie, go see what you can find. There should be a bathroom, washcloths, somethin’.”

Sighing, Ellie offers you a kind expression, which you return, and then she disappears into the next room.

You cast Joel an impatient look. “You don’t have to do that.” You push off the couch and wander over to him. “How’s your wound? Any pain?”

His jaw ticks, and he shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

“You need to rest.” It was hard to believe he was still standing at all, and you hadn’t missed his bloody knuckles. You wonder what he’d done, who he’d beat just to get to you. James, maybe, and the men David threatened would find them. It’s a miracle any of you are here.

“You need to drink.” Joel pulls a bottle of water from his pack and hands it to you, watching you carefully like he’s just waiting for you to break. “I’ll go hunting first thing tomorrow. Get you some food.”

You think of the ear in the kitchen, the meat on the plate David offered you, and your stomach turns. Using the counter for support, you take a steady breath.

“Baby…” Joel is there in an instant, his hand caressing the small of your back.

“I’m okay,” you lie.

He hesitates a moment. “Did he…?”

You know what he’s asking. Did he rape you? “No. No. He tried.” A wave of anguish rolls up in you, so thick in your throat that you feel like you might throw up again. “I slaughtered him, Joel. I… I couldn’t stop. There was so much blood.”

Joel’s nostrils flare with suppressed anger, but he pulls you closer, smoothing down your matted, tangled hair. “He deserved it.”

“I didn’t think I was getting out of there,” you admit, voice cracking with tears.

“You did, darlin’.” He sighs, wrapping his arms around you. “You got out. I've got you now. You’re safe.”

You’ve never accepted comfort so readily before, always desperate to prove to Joel that you can be just as strong as him, that you can carry his burdens as well as your own. But you’re losing your grip tonight; on yourself and on everything that you know. Something has changed in you after seeing the monstrosities that men like David can commit. It’s like he’s poisoned you, and you can feel it creeping beneath your skin.

Ellie reappears from the other room, waving a bottle of what looks to be shampoo in her hand. “The bathroom’s well-stocked. And I’m calling dibs on the bed, by the way.”

“Like hell you are,” Joel grumbles, giving you a final squeeze before urging you forward. “C’mon. We’ll clean you up now.”

***

You look in the grimy mirror and don’t recognise yourself. Blood is splattered all over your face, clothes, hair. Your wrists are blistered, angry red welts covering your skin where you tried to wriggle out of your rope ties.

Joel has sent Ellie back into the other room to warm up more water, and you’re glad for that.

“You mind if I check that cut on the back of your head first?” Joel asks gently.

You shake your head, watching his reflection as he moves behind you and separates through your hair to see your injury. You don’t remember how you got it now. You were knocked out by James, but David gave you a beating too before you…

You give a sharp intake of breath as the memories flood back again, and Joel pulls away quickly. “Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“No. You didn’t.” You swallow. “I was just… remembering.”

Understanding crosses his features. “Sit down,” he offers, as though he knows that you can’t bear to be haunted by your reflection for a moment longer. You do, perching on the edge of the bath. He goes back to checking your injury.

“It’s not too deep,” he murmurs, his touch feather-light. “Should be okay once we get it clean. ‘S it hurt a lot?”

“No.” Nothing hurts, though you know it should. You can barely focus on anything but the aching heaviness in your chest, the unease in your stomach, the thought that you’ll have to live with this now. Knowing that the world is even more broken than you thought, and it almost killed you.

“Gonna clean your face first. That okay?”

You nod, and he rolls up his sleeves as he kneels in front of you, wringing out a washcloth in the sink of water he’d warmed by the fire. You want to tell him you can do it yourself, but you can’t. You don’t want to be left alone in this bathroom. You don’t want to watch the blood drip into the water. You don’t want Joel to leave you when you thought you’d lost him for good not too long ago.

Carefully, he runs his thumb over the bruise on your cheek. “I should'a got there quicker.”

“You were a little busy trying not to die,” you remind him. You take his hand, finally allowing yourself to acknowledge his bruised and bloody knuckles. “They came for you, too?”

He grimaces, pulling away as though ashamed. “Don’t you worry about that. I took care of it.”

“You always do,” you say, throat feeling raw. “You always take care of us.”

He softens, brushing your hair behind your ear. “You took care of yourself just fine today, baby You shouldn’t have had to, and I’m so… I’m so sorry.”

“Stop saying that. Please.” Tears slip down your cheeks. “It isn’t your fault. Please don’t make this your burden, Joel. This one… this is all mine, and I’ll gladly take it if it means you and Ellie’re okay.”

“We ain’t okay if you’re not.” He wipes your tears away. “I thought… I thought I’d lost you.” Now it’s his voice that fractures, and it leaves you sinking with pain. His pain and your own. “I was so scared. Could barely breathe. I’m never letting that happen again, you hear?”

You can only dip your head as you choke on a sob, wishing you could be stronger. Wishing all of this was easier.

Joel begins dabbing your face with the washcloth, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger. You close your eyes when you see it come away red, trying to focus on the water lapping in the sink when he rinses it and squeezes it out.

“That’s it, baby girl. Close your eyes. Let me take care of it.”

You do, and his touch keeps you grounded, keeps you from slipping back into that cage, or worse, back into David’s arms. For a moment, you’re not in an abandoned cabin, twenty years into a pandemic. For a moment, you’re home, letting the man you love take care of you without guns or threat; with only a washcloth and a tender hand.

He’s careful against your bruise, and he doesn’t leave any spot unclean; your jaw, your neck, behind your ears.

“Almost done,” he promises, but you wouldn’t mind if it took all night.

He lets the water swirl down the drain when he’s done, and Ellie comes in soon after with another heated pan.

“Thanks, kiddo,” you say, blinking the droplets from your eyelashes.

“Is there anything else I can do to help?”

Joel gives her a warm smile and squeezes her shoulder. “We got it covered. Go get the couch ready. You know, since you’re sleeping there tonight.”

She groans in a very teenagerly way, trudging out of the bathroom as though she hasn’t spent many a night on forest floors. You can’t help but let out a small laugh, and Joel smirks at the sound.

“Pain in the ass," he comments with more adoration than annoyance.

“You love her and you know it.”

He only hums, grabbing a cup. “Lean your head back for me.”

You do, feeling renewed when the water trickles down your scalp and into the dirty bathtub. It reminds you of being a kid again, not yet old enough to wash your own hair. Somehow, the nostalgia leaves you emotional, and you’re trying not to cry again.

“Hey, hey,” Joel says, putting the cup down. When you sob, he breathes, “I know. I know. C’mere.”

He pulls you into his chest without caring about how you dampen his shirt, and you clutch onto him as the grief, the terror, all rush through you. You can’t control it. It’s been pent up for too long, and this is your last straw. The thing that has pushed you over the rocky edge.

Joel only whispers again and again: “I know. You’re okay, baby. I got you.”

***

Later, after you have stopped crying for long enough to let Joel shampoo your hair and the fire has died to embers you can’t risk rekindling, you crawl into your sleeping bed on top of the double mattress that Ellie so desperately wanted to sleep in. You smell like strawberries, and your skin is brand new, having scrubbed it top to bottom once Joel left the bathroom. You’re wearing one of the shirts he picked up at Bill and Frank’s over your own sweater, and it carries his musk, his warmth.

Joel is looking out of the windows. After so much danger, you know it’s hard for him to settle. To believe that you might just be okay for one night.

“Joel?”

“Hmm?” The room is dark, but you see him glance your way, eyes shiny in the moonlight.

“Come to bed. Please.”

His brows furrow, and he sits on the mattress slowly. “I can take the floor if you don’t want—”

“I do. I do want.”

“You don’t think I should keep watch?”

“I think we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere. Only things that’ll be bothering us here are the birds and the deer.” You regret bringing that up as soon as it leaves your mouth. You think of the deer you hunted, the thing that brought you to David, and stiffen.

Joel must sense it, because he slouches in resignation and kicks off his boots. “Okay. Just for a little bit.”

You scooch over in your sleeping bag in the hopes he’ll understand what you need.

He does. He slips in, holding an arm out so you can curl into him, so you do. His chest is warm, breaths steady, and if you can just stay like this for a while, maybe you’ll be okay again.

“Sleep, darlin’,” he whispers into your hair. “I’ll be right here.”

“Do you think we’ll make it through this in the end?” you wonder aloud. “Ellie, the cure… if we make it out alive, if all this turns out to be worth it, what will we do afterwards? Where will it leave us? We can’t go back to Boston.”

“We don’t have to worry about that now.” He strokes your arm, and goosebumps rise on your skin.

“I need something to hold onto, Joel,” you admit. “I need to imagine it won’t always be this bad.”

Moments pass, the silence a cold, unwelcome blanket across you. But then Joel folds it away. “When this is over, we’ll go back to Jackson. You, me, and Ellie. We’ll get us a real house, live a boring life with Tommy. Go watch movies and yell at Ellie for being a little shit.”

You snort at that, and her voice echoes from the front room: “I can hear you!”

“Go to sleep!” Joel yells back.

“I would if I wasn’t lying on an old uncomfortable couch with the fucking fleas!”

You roll your eyes, rubbing his chest lovingly. “Just get in here and stop complaining!”

“Seriously?” he murmurs, though there is no surprise there; only something warm, amused. If you can find that after a day like today, you can find it anywhere, you think.

Before you can reply, Ellie’s hopeful face appears in the shadows. She clutches her sleeping bag, a cheeky grin on her face. “Shift over, old man.”

Joel glares, but he pulls you closer so that Ellie can lie on the other side of you. You wrinkle your nose as she jumps onto the bed, kicking herself into her sleeping bag with little grace. He huffs and puffs, murmuring into your ear, “Regret it yet?”

“No,” you say, and you’re not just talking about the offer for Ellie to join you anymore. You pull her into you so that you’re sandwiched by the two people you love most in the world, and finally, with Joel’s warmth at your back and Ellie’s ponytail in your face, you feel safe.

Joel’s fingers trail up and down your spine as Ellie settles, and they stay there as you slowly fall asleep.

If this is what Joel’s boring life will be like, you’re ready for Jackson. You’re ready to go home with your family.

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jksprincess10 · 6 months

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Devour || Joel Miller x reader Halloween special

You make the grumpy Joel Miller wear a matching couple costume with you on Halloween. He takes it a little too seriously and tries to eat the little red riding hood.

CW: p with very minimal plot, Joel is a grumpy boyfriend, rough sex, dom!joel, brat!reader, bites, spanking, slight pain kink, oral sex (f receiving), rimming and a bit of ass play, pussy slapping and thigh slapping, begging, pet names (darling, little girl), dumb roleplay as teasing.

Divider by saradika

Notification blog

Masterlist

"I look fucking ridiculous."

"No, you don't."

He's wearing one of his red flannels, except it's opened slightly to show some of his chest hair. Joel also has torn up pants that you DIYed and he wears a headband with fuzzy ears on his head. There's also a tail somewhere on his behind glued to a belt.

You, on the other hand, are wearing a short white dress with puffy sleeves and a red hood. You have black socks that go up to your thighs. There's a basket of candy on your arm to hand out to the kids.

Sarah had gone out trick or treating with a friend. So, you both decided to give out candy to the neighborhood kids. What Joel didn't agree to, though, was to dress up.

"Come on, big bad wolf, let's give candy." You tease him.

"You will pay for it." He grumbles.

"Looking forward to it." You wink.

"See? Wasn't too bad. And the kids liked it."

The basket was emptied in a matter of hours. Sarah had also come by and asked if she could stay at her friend's. Joel accepted after lecturing her on how she shouldn't eat too much candy.

Joel sighs and finally starts peeling off his costume like the ridiculousness of it all was physically hurting him. But you stop him, holding his big hands in yours.

"Let me take it off, please." He grumbles.

"No, you're too cute." You tease him.

He pushes you to the nearest wall, holding your hands up your head to stop you. Your breath catches in your throat under the impact.

"You're such a fucking brat." Joel says gruffly. "Maybe I should devour you."

"Nooo, please mister wolf. Don't eat me." You respond in fake panic, trying to hide your smile.

"Shut up."

His teeth scrape against your jaw, your neck. He bites down on your skin softly, making you squirm. Joel presses you harder against the wall, trapping you with his weight.

"I dress up to make you happy. And you're still. Not. Satisfied." He growls, his lips sliding to your cleavage.

A veiny hand tears open the top of your cheap dress, revealing your lacey bra. He pulls your breasts out of their prison, and he lowers his head to lick and bite your nipples. His calloused hands hold your tits up as he curses under his breath.

"So naughty, darlin'." His fingers play with your hard nipples, and you whine under his touch as you press your hips against his, desperate for friction. "So fuckin' easy to please."

You lose it when he falls to his knees in front of you, his fingers sliding down your socks as he leaves kisses and bites on the sensitive skin of your thighs.

"Pull up your skirt." He orders.

You feel ridiculous like this, your breasts falling out and half of your clothes thorn, but you know better than to refuse. You lift the bottom of your dress, looking down at Joel. You see, from the corner of your eye, the shape of his teeth sunken in your flesh in a few places.

He cups your pussy through your panties, feeling just how soaked you are for him.

"You like bein' my meal, baby?"

When you don't respond right away, he slaps your thigh. You yelp, before responding shakily.

"Y-Yes."

"Good. 'Cause I'm far from being done eating."

Joel tears your panties like it's nothing for him, leaving you bare to the air.

"Now, where should I enjoy my meal? Do you wanna lay down, darlin'?"

"Please."

He lifts you up and brings you to the room you share together. He abandons you on your bed. Before you can do anything, he's on his knees again, pulling on your legs to bring you closer to him. Joel licks a long stripe up your pussy and you're so relieved to finally being touched where you needed him most.

"F-fuck, Joel..."

You want to tug on his hair, but you're stopped by his ridiculous fuzzy ears, that you throw on the floor. You tug on his curls, keeping him close. He laps and drinks at you like a man stranded in a desert without water.

“So fucking delicious.” He growls against your cunt, the hot air coming out of his mouth making you shiver.

You’re sweeter than candy and the sounds you make drown him in lust. You protest when you feel the warmth of his mouth leaving you.

“Don’t complain’.” Joel says harshly with a little slap to your swollen pussy. You yelp in surprise and bite your lip as you look down at him.

“M’sorry Mister wolf, please don’t hurt me…”

“Then stop bein’ a fucking brat, darlin’.”

With his strong arms, he manoeuvres your body just like you’re a weightless doll and suddenly, you’re laying on your stomach. He settles behind you and puts his hands under your hips to lift your ass up in the air. Without restraint, he bites into the sensitive flesh of your left cheek, and you can’t help the cry coming out of your mouth. Joel caresses the pain away, before spanking your other cheek harshly. Your eyes roll in the back of your head, all you can feel is the sharp pain and the overwhelming pleasure. You feel yourself getting wetter, and you know he can see it too. With his thick fingers, he spreads your ass and spits in your hole, watching as his saliva slides down to your pussy.

“J-Joel, please…” you whine pathetically. “Please, fuck me with your tongue.”

“You beg so nicely.”

He obliges, the tip of his tongue plunging in your tight pussy hole. He fucks you with it, in and out, tasting your nectar directly from the source. Your legs start shaking and he digs his fingers in the flesh of your thighs to keep you from falling. You come undone ridiculously fast, both from the electric pain from earlier and the pleasure he’s procuring with his mouth.

“Doin’ so good little girl, might spare ya.” He groans against your heat.

He doesn’t stop licking and sticking his tongue in your hole occasionally, his hand going around your thigh so he can draw tight circles on your clit at the same time. You feel dizzy from pleasure.

“F-Fuck…” You curse as you come again in seconds.

You feel him moving away slightly. “Gonna eat your other greedy little hole, baby.”

You know he’s telling you so you can always refuse. Joel never proceeds with anything if he feels you even getting slightly uncomfortable.

“It’s all yours, Joel.”

“Yeah?” He lands a harsh slap on your ass, leaving a bright red trace behind. You moan a little too loudly. Thank God you’re both alone. “You’re just gonna take everythin’ I’m gonna give you.”

He spreads your butt cheeks and plunges without restraint. It feels different, but pleasant. His tongue alternates between circling your tight ring of muscle and licking up and down your crack. Joel inserts two fingers in your pooling heat without much difficulty since you’re so obscenely wet, and he fucks you with his digits relentlessly as he keeps devouring your ass. You’re soaking his fingers in no time in a third blinding orgasm. He lets go of you and your body goes limp. You give yourself a few moments to calm your breathing down, before you get up. Joel looks wild; hair tousled in all directions and his lips swollen and shiny with your juices. You push him down on the bed and straddle his thighs. Your hands undo his shirt with haste, kissing every piece of skin you’re uncovering.

“My turn to eat.” You smile against his skin.

#joel miller #jksprincess10's spooktober #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x yn #joel miller x y/n #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #tlou #tlou fic

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irb-pascalito-99 · 2 months

Text

Let Me Paint You

Pairing: Joel x f!reader

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: After posing for a painting Joel decides he needs to do some painting of his own.

Warnings: oral f!receiving and m!receiving, edging, unprotected p in v sex, riding, sex on a canvas

A/N: This is an excerpt from chapter thirteen of my fic Always an Angel, Never a God. To read more please visit a03.

After dinner we wash the dishes and settle in the living room to pick a movie for the night. Joel is thumbing through our collection of DvDs when a knock sounds on the front door. Both of us freeze, unsure of who could be stopping by right now.

We exchange a look as the visitor knocks again. I go to the door while Joel makes his way up the stairs. I wait until I hear a door close upstairs before I open the one in front of me.

On the front step Maria stands with her hands in her pockets. The evening sun casts an orange glow upon her as it starts to sink in the sky.

“So you are alive,” Maria jests, a smirk spreading across her face. “I’ve been texting you all day. I was trying to see if you wanted to hang out since Ellie is off on that school trip, but I got worried when I didn’t hear anything back. Why haven’t you responded?”

My chest tightens. I haven’t even looked at my phone since I got home last night, abandoning it with my purse and keys in the doorway the second I got home. I try to think of an excuse as to why I couldn’t respond while Maria peers into the house behind me.

“I’ve just been really busy with things today,” I say, fiddling with my fingers. I pull the door closer to me so she can’t see inside. “I’ve been cleaning and painting. Just enjoying the alone time, totally spaced my phone I guess.”

Maria’s eyebrows scrunch together. She tries to look behind me again and then looks back at my face as though she’s trying to decipher whether or not I’m lying.

“So there’s nobody else here?” Maria asks. I try to keep my reaction small so she can’t catch on to anything. “Because normally your car is in the garage but it’s in the driveway now, and you’re acting kind of strange…”

I see my car in the driveway behind her. We had moved it out there to make room fit the truck in the garage. I put a palm to my forehead and feign a reaction as if I’m just now remembering it’s out there.

“I must have forgot to move it back. I was cleaning the garage earlier and had to move it out there.” I can tell Maria doesn’t buy the lie.

I don’t know why I’m trying so hard. Out of anyone Maria is probably the one person I can tell about us, but there’s something I like about hiding it. It’s like in keeping this secret, I keep a piece of Joel for just myself. Keeping it a secret may have started as a way of protecting Ellie, but it feels as though I’m protecting Joel and I as well.

From my experience, love is hardly ever simple or kind. Love is heartbreak, and the outside world can only break what we have. I like our secret, and even though it’s just Maria on my doorstep I will do whatever I can to keep our small piece of the world separate.

“Well, I’m sorry you drove all the way out here but I’m kind of in the groove right now with this painting,” I say.

Maria’s eyes flick up to the stairs. She doesn’t ask any other questions though. She nods, says her goodbyes, and drives away. When her car disappears I close the door again. Joel is silent upstairs.

I go to my bedroom first, expecting him to be laying on my bed or standing by the window, but he isn’t there. I check the bathroom as well. When I find no trace of him I make my way to the art studio.

I find him standing there, observing some artwork stashed away in the closet. His fingers gently brush against the top of the canvases as he moves from one to the other. I tread lightly across the room and brush my hands softly against his back. He jumps at the touch, quickly putting the paintings back in their place.

“You’re being nosy,” I say playfully as I wrap my arms around his chest. He stiffens under my touch, clearly feeling guilty for being caught snooping through my stuff.

“Sorry, saw Maria through the window and then the closet door was open so I was just curious. Figured you’d be talkin’ for a bit.” I peek my head around his shoulder to see what he’s looking at.

The first painting in the stack is a woman in a rowboat with a faint lantern glowing in the distance. I forgot this is where I chose to store my mother’s work. I still have a hard time looking at it.

“Did you do these?” Joel asks. I shake my head.

“Those were my mom’s actually.” I bury my face in Joel’s back, trying to seem as unbothered as possible.

Joel hums in response and looks at the paintings again. I suppose this is Joel’s first interaction with who my mother truly was. He knows she died in the accident. He knows she was an artist and Frank’s friend, but I never really talk about her life.

“She was really talented,” Joel says.

“Yeah, she was,” I say. I rest my chin on his shoulder, looking for a way to change the subject.

Joel ponders a thought for a moment as I admire the way the evening sun casts a beautiful glow on his tan skin through the open window.

“Can I paint you?” I ask. I feel Joel’s body jolt as he chuckles beneath me.

“You already have,” he says with a smirk. He points to a couple of paintings hidden in the back of the closet.

Anything I paint of Joel has to either be obscure, or hidden so Ellie doesn't find it. I’ve been able to paint him from memory, but it would be nice to have a visual for once.

“No, I want you to model for me.” Joel shifts uncomfortably as I run my hands along his arms. “Please, just for a little bit. The lighting is so good right now.”

Joel huffs, but nods his head. I happily grab the chair from Ellie’s desk and place it in front of the window. He grumpily sits down and allows me to position him the way I want. I put one of his arms around the back of the chair and the other resting on his knee.

He stays still as I pick out my colors and get the canvas ready. It isn’t until after I’ve painted his form and begun to work on the details that he starts to get antsy. He moves slightly in the chair, apologizing when I shoot him a look. His eyes wander the room as I paint the highlight of the golden sun on his cheek.

“What was she like?” Joel asks, breaking the silence in the room.

“Who?” I ask, keeping my focus on my painting.

“Your mom,” he responds. I freeze with the brush against the canvas.

It’s not that my mom was a bad person, but I find it hard to talk about her now. Talking about her is a reminder of what I’ve lost, and I hate to dwell in those feelings for long which is why I’ve been avoiding the topic.

This time there’s no way out. Joel waits patiently for my response, not moving from the position I’ve sat him in. I shift in my seat and clear my throat as I try to think of a way to explain who she was.

“She was really creative,” I start. “She never found something she couldn’t make herself. She was funny, and smart, and very supportive of Ellie and I in whatever we wanted to do.”

I smile at the memories of her, picturing the way she would pick Ellie up after a fall and sweep her into her arms.

“She loved deeply,” I continue. “She was strong in whatever she did. Which also meant she felt emotions really strongly, whether that was love or sadness or anger. I saw a lot more of that when I got older. After Ellie was born, her and my dad started fighting a lot more…”

My throat begins to become thick with emotion, so I clear it and focus on the light again. I work on getting the shadows correctly on his jaw, trying to ignore the way his eyes linger on my reaction.

“What about your dad?” I drop my paintbrush on the floor as Joel speaks again. I curse under my breath as I go to pick it up.

Talking about my mom is hard enough, but I wouldn’t know where to begin with my dad. I don’t know how to understand, let alone explain the two versions of him that exist in my mind. When I was small he was kind and playful, gone a lot but always present when he was there. Later in life, after he stopped traveling for work, he was irritable and withdrawn. He wasn’t mean, but he dampened the mood in the room.

“Can we just,” I take a breath as I stand up to paint again. “I’m sorry, I’m trying to focus right now.”

Joel’s eyes soften, noting that the mention of my father must have been too far. He remains silent as he watches me work for a little longer, but something is off now. The art becomes more mechanical and methodical than before. The brush doesn’t flow as it did. Joel must notice the difference too, because he shifts in his chair.

I begin to protest when he stands up from the chair I’ve sat him in. The lighting will be gone before he settles again. He tunes me out as he grabs the biggest empty canvas he can find and lays it flat on the ground.

“What are you-“ Joel grabs my palette from my hands next, placing it on the cart next to my easel. He cuts me off by placing a gentle kiss to my lips as his hands grab the hem of my shirt.

“It’s my turn,” he says. “Let me paint you.”

He pulls my shirt over my head, sucking in a breath when he exposes my bare chest and stomach, and then continues to undress me. His fingers grasp the waistband of my leggings. He pulls them down my legs, waiting on his knees for me to step out of them.

He puts my leggings in a pile on top of my shirt before kissing up my bare legs. I throw my head back and sigh at the feeling while his fingers climb up to my hips. He pulls my underwear down as well, leaving me completely bare in the middle of the room. Something about this feels more vulnerable than when we were on the stairs or in the kitchen. I’m suddenly aware of how exposed I am.

I shiver as he kisses his way back up my body. When he’s standing again he kisses my lips and then pulls back to look me over. His eyes gleam with desire as they graze over every inch of my body.

Joel is still wearing all his clothes. My hands reach forward to grip his shirt. I need us to be even. I can’t have everything focused on me right now, but that’s what Joel has decided.

He pushes my hands away and picks up a paintbrush. I watch him anxiously as he dips the brush in the bright yellow paint on my palette before turning back to me. I pinch my eyebrows together as he walks behind me.

My body jolts at the feeling of the cold liquid trailing down my skin. I can’t see what he’s doing, but I can feel the tickling sensation of a paint brush against my skin. He spends a while doing it, coating my entire back in an assortment of colors. When he’s done he walks me back to the canvas he placed on the floor.

“On your knees darlin’” he says, the paintbrush in his hands. I follow his instructions embarrassingly quickly.

Once I’m on my knees he delicately directs me backwards so I’m laying on top of the canvas on the floor, then he stands again. I begin to pant as I watch him load the palette up with colors again. He glances back in my direction quickly and then takes his shirt off. A tension builds in my pelvis as he takes off all of his clothes except for his boxers.

He brings the palette and brush back over to where I lay on the floor, putting them on the ground before kneeling in front of me. His eyes wander slowly over my body again. He mutters something I can’t quite hear under his breath while he picks up the paint brush again.

Gently he strokes the brush down the middle of my chest. I squirm at the feeling, the paint on my back smearing along the canvas as I do. A devious look appears in his eyes as he continues to run the brush along my chest and stomach until it runs out of paint. He loads the brush up with red next then starts with my left breast.

The bristles brush along the top of my breast until he reaches my nipple. I let out a whine as he swirls the brush along the sensitive nub. When he’s satisfied he chooses another color for the other breast, bright purple illuminating my skin as my chest begins to heave. I can feel the slick collecting between my thighs. I desperately need his hands on me which only makes him go slower.

When I’m completely covered in paint Joel puts the brush back down on the palette and sits on his knees to admire his work. I squirm again and desperately attempt to squeeze my legs together to ease the tension. My desperation only seems to darken the lust in his eyes. I try to sit up and reach for him, but he grabs my wrists and pins them above my head.

“Joel, please,” I whimper. His face hovers above mine, a cruel smirk spreading across it.

“Stay there babygirl,” he whispers and releases my hands.

I watch with heavy breaths as he moves back on the floor. His hands push my knees apart to expose my core to him. He groans at the sight of my glistening center.

“So fuckin’ wet baby,” he growls. He swipes his thumb across my folds causing me to jump. “You keep your hands up there sweetheart, don’t move ‘em or I’ll stop.”

I nod my head quickly, my hips gliding back and forth on the canvas as I wait for him to touch me again. He licks his lips before laying on the ground. His hands grip my thighs as he pulls himself up to my center. I feel his breath against me first, a rush of warm air causing the tension in my stomach to jump.

He presses a delicate kiss to my clit, teasing the sensitive bud, and then licks a stripe up my center. I moan and squirm again. His lips smile against my core as he pulls himself closer and thrusts his tongue inside me.

A loud guttural moan escapes my lips as he begins to feast between my thighs. I desperately grasp the edge of the canvas to keep my hands from grabbing him as he curls his tongue inside me. I could almost come from that alone, all the tension from his teasing building into a pit of pleasure in my core. I can’t control the way my body thrashes against the canvas as he moves his tongue to flick against my clit.

“God, Joel,” I moan. He picks up his speed, eating me as though it’s his last meal on earth. I’m already so close to the edge when he moves one hand from my thigh to press two fingers inside me.

I scream as he thrusts them in and out, my grip on the canvas tightening. I squeeze my eyes shut as the pressure builds. He crooks his fingers so they press against the sensitive part inside me. The rush of sensitivity as he does so is what causes me to break my resolve. Without thinking, my hands release the canvas and bury themselves in his hair.

Joel immediately pulls away, tutting his tongue as he crawls back to his knees. I whine again and attempt to pull him back to me as I squirm.

“Please, I’m sorry. Please, don’t stop,” I beg. Tears escape my eyes while I squeeze my thighs again, so desperate for the release that just barely escaped me.

“Oh princess, you make this so hard.” Joel says. He reaches a thumb to my cheek to wipe the tears away. “One more chance sweet girl, roll over.”

I look at him questioningly, but I’m too far gone to argue. I roll onto my hands and knees, the paint causing me to slide a bit on the canvas. He leans back and watches as I get myself ready for whatever he has planned next. I hear him shuffle behind me, but I can no longer see what he is doing.

When I’ve stopped moving his hand moves up my leg, gripping my ass for a moment before pulling away. I gasp when I feel his hands return with a sharp smack to my ass. Then he pulls my cheeks apart and moves forward.

He must have taken off his boxers when I turned around because I can feel his bare length push against my dripping folds. I bite my lip as he slides it against my center.

“You want this baby?” I nod, biting my lip so hard I can taste the blood filling my mouth. He moans as he presses himself forward, filling me once again.

I stay completely still while he pushes into me, focusing on the burning stretch until I feel his hips flush with my ass. I keep my hands rooted on the canvas as he pulls back again, but when he thrusts in harder than before I slide and collapse on my stomach. Joel goes down with me.

His chest is pressed against my back, his hands keeping mine pressed against the slippery canvas as he pulls back and thrusts into me again. We moan in unison as he continues his thrusts. My body sides across the canvas with each one and his slides against mine.

The whole thing is messy and slippery, a combination of sweat and paint with loud moans echoing down the halls. He kisses my neck, leaving marks on the skin, as my climax begins to build again. My walls clench around him, signaling how close I am. He thrusts harder, his fingers intertwined with mine as he slides my body up and down.

I’m staring out at the pink and purple sky through the window when orgasm crashes over me. My walls flutter around Joel as I scream. His low moans rumbling through his chest while he continues to thrust into me. When I come down he pulls out and directs me to get up.

He lays down on his back, moving me to climb on top of him. I position my knees on either side of his hips and watch his face twist in pleasure as I sink down on his length. The both of us are covered in paint now, a smattering of colors bleeding together on his chest as he grips my hips.

I throw my head back as I bounce in his lap. He feels so good at this angle. I can feel every vein and ridge of his cock as I slowly rise and lower my body onto him. It’s my turn to tease now.

I try to keep my pace slow, to torture him just a little bit, but it becomes difficult when I feel the pleasure bubbling up inside me again. I can see in his eyes he can tell I’m close again.

His hands move up to squeeze my breasts as I ride him. I feel his fingers pinching my paint covered nipples and moan. I’m not going to last long. He starts to thrust up as well, meeting me halfway as my hips start to lose momentum. My hands press against the canvas as I attempt to keep my pace with my climax looming over me.

“It’s okay sweet girl, come here,” he says. I lower my chest into his and let him take over. He thrusts hard into me a couple of times before I shudder again. “That’s right, let go. Come on.”

I clench around him one more time before letting go completely. He swallows my moans, kissing me deeply while he continues his thrusts until he can’t any longer.

“God, I’m gonna-“ he thrusts again and then stills. “Get up, you gotta-“

Joel pulls me off of him quickly. I climb down his body to take his pulsing member in my mouth. I swirl my tongue around the head, and that’s all he needs to release his load into my mouth with a deep moan. His hips twitch as he lets go, spilling into my mouth. When he finishes I sit up and swallow his load.

“Fuck,” he groans. I smile back at him. He carefully stands up, doing his best not to slip on the canvas.

We both stand back and look at what we created. It’s a mess of color, still wet with no clear reasoning behind any of it. There are places where the colors blend so much that they’ve become a muddled brown or gray. In other areas bright shades of color shine through virtually untouched.

“Damn, I really thought I did something there,” Joel says with his hands on his hips. “Kinda just looks like a mess though.”

I lean forward and kiss a patch of skin on his shoulder untouched by the paint.

“I don’t know, I kinda like it.” I say. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close.

“Well, you’re the artist,” he says before pressing a kiss to my hair.

We abandon the idea of a movie completely, choosing instead to bathe together so we can wash the paint off our skin. Joel’s hands are gentle as they wash my body, the colorful water pooling at our feet. He let the water run cold against his back as he pushed his fingers inside me again, slowly working me up until my body spasms again.

The rest of the night we stayed in bed, talking and fucking until we fell asleep.

Read more on a03: Always an Angel, Never a God

#pedro pascal #smut #fanfic #joel miller smut #joel smut #joel tlou #joel miller #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #a03 writer #a03 fanfic

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entitled-fangirl · 2 months

Text

Two idiots in love. (P9)

Joel Miller x anemic!reader

Summary: The reader is determined to care for Ellie and Joel as he recovers. She meets a seemingly kind man named David, and she struggles with whether to trust him or not.

Masterlist

Part 1 and 10

Author's note: God forbid I ever get straight to the point.

...........................................................

Y/N let out a gasp at Joel's bruising grip on her wrist.

Maybe she should've warned the man before applying that much pressure to the wound.

But she was panicking, and didn't know what to do with herself.

The strings of hardly heard curses that came from Joel's mouth were like angelic sounds to the woman.

It meant he was still alive.

And that was enough for her.

The basement of an abandoned house in the middle of nowhere was not exactly the place Y/N wanted to be, but they needed to give Joel time to heal.

And she was more than willing to do anything for him.

For her Joel.

"Come on, come on, Joel. You gotta help me." She muttered under her breath to him.

He barely tilted his head up to her, "Leave."

Ellie looked over the woman's shoulder, "Shut up, Joel."

"And take the gun."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Ellie screamed.

He reached out and grabbed Y/N's collar. With what strength he had left, he pulled her close to his face, "You go north. You go to Tommy."

She shook her head at him hurriedly, only making the man panic further. "S..sweet girl, please."

"You… you just let me stay. How am I supposed to just leave you?"

"Go. GO!" And he pushed her shoulder, making her stumble back onto the floor.

Ellie was frustrated, and went outside to give herself time to breathe.

Y/N moved back towards Joel, letting her fingers gently brush his messy curls from his face, "Honey, I'm not going anywhere. I'm gonna… stay as long as I need to. Until you're ready to go again."

The gently prodding of her fingers in his hair was whisking him to sleep.

But she needed to hear his voice more before she let him finally succumb, "Joel…?"

She barely heard his replied hum.

"What um… you said you had left a note for me? Well… I was just thinking about it… What did it say?"

"You…" he swallowed, struggling to talk, "You read it when… when you get back to Jackson…"

She shook her head again, "I'm not going. I told you that."

His lips pulled into a very small smile, "You're so pretty. So… so beautiful…"

She watched his eyes close and his body finally relax as he fell asleep.

She let out a sigh, pulling Joel's jacket over his body to give him warmth.

…

Ellie let out a small cry as she tried to give Joel water.

He was still passed out cold, and she had resorted to dripping water from her fingers onto his lips in hopes that he'd take it.

Y/N walked by the sight with a sigh, before leaning down behind the girl, "You're doing alright, baby."

And she kissed Ellie on the top of the head.

Ellie couldn't remember the last time someone did that.

Or even ANY time somebody had done that for her.

"I'm gonna go out… try to hunt." Y/N said. "We're gonna need something if we stay here. Think you can hold down the fort for me, El?"

Ellie nodded. "I can do that."

She smiled, "Good. I'll be back in a few hours. Hopefully with dinner. I won't lie to you, though. I'm not as good of a shot as Joel."

Only then did Ellie finally smile. "Just… promise you'll come back?"

"Don't worry. I'm not gonna leave you, baby."

And Y/N kissed the unconscious Joel on the forehead before heading upstairs.

…

God, Y/N forgot how much she hated the cold.

Especially knowing that Joel wouldn't be able to warm her up when she got back like he always used to.

But as luck would have it, a beautiful deer was only 20 yards from her.

She smiled, and knelt down to crouch with the gun.

She remembered Joel's words.

Slow and steady. Gently.

Gunshot.

Right in its head.

But as luck would have it, someone was ready to take it back with them instead.

…

David sighed, "What do you think?"

James shrugged, "Seems fine to me."

"Alright. Well, let's get it now. I reckon that whoever shot it is not far off."

David kneeled down to grab the deer.

And hear the click of a handgun against his head.

"Don't. Move."

Y/N faked bravery with her words and actions, but inside, she was terrified.

"Drop your fucking rifles."

The men did so, and Y/N let David stand.

The two men turned around to face her.

They could see the quick rise and fall of her chest even through her heavy coat. The panic in her eyes.

"You're quite a hunter." David reasoned. "We didn't even hear you coming."

"Where the hell did you come from?" She retaliated.

"We're not here to hurt you." David reasoned again, "Let us have 10 seconds of your time."

"Just answer the goddamn question!"

"I'm David, this is my friend James. We're from a larger group: women, children, and we're all very, very hungry…"

"Weird," Y/N lied. "I'm from a large group, too. But, I don't steal others' game."

"Well, even so," David tried again, "ya can't drag this back on your own."

"I can fucking try."

The man sighed, "We're not asking for charity. We can trade you for some of the deer. We have… well, what do you need?"

Y/N was actually considering his offer. Her gun lowered just barely. "…Medicine?"

She didn't notice the way James' jaw clenched.

"We do," David nodded, "Back in our village. You're welcome to follow us."

"I'm not stupid," she scoffed. "You stay with me." She nodded towards James, "He can go get it and come back. Half the deer."

David nodded, "What kind of medicine?"

She let out a shuddered breathe, watching it show in the cold air, "Uh… penicillin? For infections?"

"Alright." He turned to James, "Go talk to Howard. Bring back two bottles and a syringe. It's not code. Do as I say."

Y/N let the barrel of the gun follow James as he stepped away.

"Now, step away from the rifle."

David did so immediately. "Whose gun is that? Your husbands?"

Y/N let out a scoff. She picked up David's rifle and slung it over to shoulder along with Joel's.

"None of your fucking business."

"Is he sick? Is that why you're out here instead of him?"

Y/N just shook her head and his antics.

"Well, look. It's a four-mile round trip back to our settlement. It's gonna be a while before James gets back. I have some oil and matches in my pack. We could.. uh… take shelter. Start a fire."

She pursed her lips.

The man seemed sincere.

"Alright. But you drag the deer."

…

"So, what's your name?"

Y/N scrunched up her nose as she looked down to her gun that rested on the floor near her crossed legs.

"It's hard to trust strangers. I know," David nodded. "But, I honestly mean you no harm."

She was cursing herself for her big fucking heart.

David seems to notice her internal battle. "For what it's worth, there's room for you in our group."

She shook her head, "I'm not interested in your… hunger club or whatever."

"I'm just a man tryna take care of the people who rely on me. Like… whoever is sick that's relying on you now."

"So, you're their leader?"

"Wasn't my choice. It was theirs. But… yeah."

"What… what do you mean?"

"Well, I'm a preacher. It's not a cult thing… just standard Bible stuff."

Her eyebrows furrowed, "After all this, you still believe in that?"

He smiled, "I actually started believing after the world ended."

A hint of a smile rested on the woman's face. "Interesting. Well, I'm sorry to have crossed paths with you like this. Maybe in another life, I would've joined your group. But I have my own."

David nods, "Well, I believe everything happens for a reason."

She scoffed slightly.

"It's true!" He laughed. "It does. I can prove it to you!"

She laughed, "Alright. Shoot."

"Well, we didn't expect this winter to be so harsh. Hard to find game. So, I sent four of our people to a nearby town to scavenge what they could. And… only three of them came back."

Oh fuck.

She tried to keep her face from showing any emotion.

"Turns out," David continued, "He was murdered by this crazy man. And get this: That crazy man was traveling with a little family. A wife and a girl."

Y/N leaned back, letting her hand slowly wander back to her gun on the floor.

"See?" David smiled. "Everything happens for a reason. James, lower the gun."

Her body went into flight mode, jumping up and pointing her handgun at James. But his rifle was already aimed at her.

"She's the one that killed Alec, isn't she?" James asked.

"She didn't kill anybody," David smiled. "Lower the gun."

James hesitantly did so.

Y/N felt like she was suffocating.

"Did you being the medicine?" David asked.

James nodded, "I did, but-"

"-Give it to her."

He held the medicine out, and Y/N slowly approached him and took it.

She then began to back away, deciding to go without the deer.

"I know you're not with a group," David said. "You won't survive long. I can protect you."

She shook her head. "I don't need your help. We're fine on our own."

Then, she took off in a sprint.

…

"Ellie? ELLIE!" Y/N screamed as she ran into the house.

Ellie immediately ran up the stairs to the woman, pulling her into a hug. "Did you get it?"

She shook her head, "No… I… I'm sorry. But, I got something for Joel." She pulled out the penicillin.

"What is that?"

Y/N smiled widely, "It's medicine. I got him medicine."

…

The next day, Y/N had volunteered to go out to scoop snow for Joel.

She was trying to not freak out Ellie about what had happened the previous day.

Which meant she didn't tell Ellie about it at all, and volunteered for anything that was outside of the house.

So, when a few of David's men showed up in the neighborhood, she was thankful that she was the one out there instead of her girl.

"Stay alert," David said, "If this man's not already dead, he's dangerous."

"And the girl and the woman?"

"We bring them back with us."

James sighed, "I don't mean to question your sense of mercy, David. We can let them go. But, we bring them back with us, they're just more mouths to feed."

"If we leave them out here, they'll die."

"Yeah," James retaliated, "Well, maybe that's God's will."

David turned to look at James, but didn't say a word.

…

"Ellie. Joel." Y/N whispered when she finally made it back to the house.

"What the fuck is happening?" Ellie worried.

"You need to stay here. Stay quiet. There are… fuck… there are men outside. I have to go."

Y/N kneeled by Joel's head, taking it in her hands, "Wake up. Joel, honey, wake up."

She smiled as his eyelids barely opened to reveal his dark eyes.

"There are men that are coming, okay? I'm gonna lead them away from you two but if anybody makes it down here, you…" she looks up at Ellie in exasperation. "…you gotta fucking kill them. Don't… don't hesitate."

She stood, "And don't let Joel sleep."

She wanted to hold Ellie and tell her it would be okay.

She wanted to kiss Joel again and feel his warm breath on her face.

She wanted a lot of things.

But wants weren't allowed anymore.

She hurried upstairs.

…

She knew she couldn't fight them.

And she couldn't outrun them.

Maybe she would just have to surrender herself to save them.

Then Ellie and Joel could find her.

Or they could die in the cold.

Better than dying at the hands of these men.

She wandered down a few street, as far as she could to keep them from looking in the house that Joel slept in.

She had to fake confusion.

Her plan was in action.

When the man rounded the corner, she pretended to be tying her horse to a tree.

And she feigned surprise when she heard the clicking of their guns.

She turned around with a worried expression, "oh, shit." She murmured. "…David?"

He smiled, "You know, I never caught your name."

"Why do you want it so bad?"

He shrugged, "I just… like ya or something. You have this… way about you. You draw people in."

She shook her head, "Well… I guess you came in time."

He tilted his head in confusion, "In time… for what?"

She had to pinch herself to make the tears come, "They… they're dead."

David's face turned to one of remorse, "Oh, sweetheart. I'm sorry. That can't be an easy feeling. A now childless widow. But don't worry." He smiled at her as he approached, "We'll take care of you."

"David…?" James asked.

He turned to look over his shoulder, "What's one more mouth, James?"

But when David turned back to Y/N, she punched him as hard as she could in his jaw.

And she ran.

It threw the men off, and they weren't sure what to do.

But as they ran after her, David's voice traveled through the cold air, "ALIVE!"

It was harder to run in the snow than she thought.

But those thoughts stopped when she hit a brick wall.

James.

He grabbed her throat, cutting off her air supply.

She gasped under his grip until her face started to lose color.

Now real tears were falling from her eyes.

Especially when she felt her body give way.

David made his way over to the unconscious body. He picked her up gently before turning to the men. "You want vengeance? Go door to door. Find him. Deliver it."

And the preacher began to walk back to camp with Joel's most delicate and precious possession in his arms.

...............................................................

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guess-my-next-obsession · 1 year

Text

Breaking Up Slowly: Chapter One

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: M (breakups, angst, mentions of death/loss, love triangle sort of (tess is dead in this but still), closed off!joel)

word count: 2.8k

series masterlist

Relationships are hard.

Breakups are harder.

Especially in an apocalypse.

Especially when you’re still traveling with your ex-boyfriend and his newfound teenage ward.

You and Joel had been through hell and back together in Boston over the last five or so years, and you credited yourself for getting him out of the hunter life and into the less violent, though nowhere near wholesome, life of smuggling.

You spent five years beside him, a couple of them as a distant acquaintance, one of them as a good friend, but the last two were spent in a far more complicated relationship.

Everyone in the quarantine zone knew that you and Joel had something going on, however vaguely defined it was. He was yours and you were his, and for a while that was all that mattered. But over time, his ever-growing closeness to Tess had started to get to you. Both of them swore that nothing had gone down between them, but no one could deny their unspoken connection, including you.

Not wanting to lose him and not wanting to be betrayed by him, you offered him the freedom and space to pursue her, secretly praying that he would decline your offer and finally tell you those three words that you had practically been begging to hear from him for the last year, but to your shock and horror, he agreed to the break.

So, here you found yourself a couple months later, caught up in Joel and Tess’s mess, smuggling an allegedly immune fourteen-year old out of the city with your ex-boyfriend mourning the very recent loss of the woman he left you for.

Sound like a good time, right?

“It’s dead ‘round here. Might as well sleep here tonight,” Joel announced artlessly as the three of you entered an abandoned motel on the side of the highway.

The three of you carefully inspected the tiny motel for infected or spores, most of the rooms too destroyed to sleep soundly in, but no trace of anything dangerous.

“Alright, kid,” Joel pointed at the inside of the casino themed room he’d just cleared. “You can stay there tonight. Looks like you might even have some pillows and blankets.”

“Hell yeah.” She smiled as she ran past you and into the room, her approval loud enough to hear from outside in the parking lot where you stood kicking rocks.

“Hey.” Joel’s voice was both a balm and a dagger to your heart.

“Yeah?” You turned your head to look at him. His head was tilted, brows creased with concern, thumbs tucked into his backpack straps, looking at you as though he was disappointed. “What, Joel?”

“I just…just wanted to check on ya,” his eyes dropped to the pavement beneath his feet, a clear tell of his deceit. “Make sure you’re okay.”

“Joel,” you sighed, your entire body filled with an emotion that felt closest to hatred, though you longed for him too much to hate him. “We don’t have to be friends. It doesn’t…take away from whatever it was we used to be.” He lifted his eyes to meet yours, the crease between his brows deepening. “It’s not about us anymore, it’s about Ellie. So…let’s just do what we have to do to keep her safe and not worry about whatever—“

“You keep sayin’ that damn word. Whatever. Nothin’ you and I have been through has been whatever.” You were shocked by his outrage and your face didn’t shy away from showing it. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen him visibly emote this way before—that had also been a major point of contention on your relationship.

“Okay…I’m just saying we don’t have to try and force this—“

“Right, you wanna talk about forcin’ people into things…that’s rich.” You narrowed your eyes at his scoff, wondering what on earth he was talking about. “You’re right. I won’t force you to talk to me anymore. You do what you want.”

Leaving you stunned, Joel walked off into his own room, slamming the door behind him. You had no idea what had gotten into him to make him act this way. He’d always been so level headed in your relationship, rarely giving into the little fights you liked to pick, but here he was throwing a tantrum because you didn’t want to talk to him?

Whatever was going on with him didn’t matter to you any longer. He’d made his choice the day he agreed to end your relationship so that he could pursue one with someone else.

Walking into the only half-decent room left, you let out a chuckle at the sheer irony of landing on the motel’s honeymoon suite.

The bed was shaped into a heart, the red satin sheets now tattered and dusty but still in decent enough condition to look like a paradise compared to what you’d been sleeping on before. Setting your bag down by the door, you kept your pistol in hand as you double and then triple checked the room for any signs of spores, the room clean as far as your thorough eyes could tell. Allowing yourself a moment to catch your breath, you laid down on the dusty mattress and let out a sigh.

It had been a hasty decision, deciding to join Joel and Tess’s mission. You’d bumped into them on accident while trying to find Robert for yourself, the man having owed you a hefty amount of supplies. It was an awkward meeting, your eyes unable to meet either of theirs knowing that everything you ever wanted was right in front of you but you couldn’t have him because he wanted someone else more.

Getting roped into their business was a complete misstep by you, the allure of some of their guns and ammo in return for your help too good to pass up. It wasn’t until the three of you discovered Ellie’s secret that you really started to panic, the stakes now higher than you could’ve ever prepared yourself for. But then everything at the capitol happened, and as much as you didn’t want to stay here with the man you loved who didn’t love you back, you felt an obligation to both the little girl he was tasked with protecting and the woman that gave her life for Ellie’s cause.

“Hey,” the fourteen year old interrupted your thinking, knocking on your door. “We’re heating up some beans if you want any.”

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat, sitting up and rubbing your palms over your face in an attempt to rid yourself of the stress brought on by that beautiful man a few doors down. “I’ll be right out.”

With one last moment to sulk over the yearning in your heart mixed with the resentment you held for the choice he had made, you stood up and tucked your pistol into the back of your jeans, rolling your neck before opening your door.

Ellie was leaning up against the outside of the motel, spooning a can of warmed up pinto beans into her mouth while Joel sat on a curb, hunched over an open flame heating up another can. You swallowed your feelings and approached him, sitting down on the opposite side of the fire.

“I can make my own,” you offered, hoping that the gesture would be seen as one of kindness, but the scowl on his face as he looked at you proved otherwise.

“Don’t wanna talk, don’t want me to cook your damn food…” He mumbled to himself, your eyes rolling at the sound of his gruff tone—the same one that used to part your legs and make you drip with need.

“Joel,” you sighed, rubbing your temples. “I was just trying to be polite.”

“Polite?” He snapped, as though it was the most offensive thing in the world.

“Yes! Polite. Something you could strive to be every now and again.” You snapped back, instantly transported to your relationship, the constant bickering and back and forth. You suddenly felt dizzy, your mind and body split into two different moments in time and leaving you nauseous. Standing up, you decided you’d starve before continuing to put yourself through this sort of cruelty, his mere existence too much for your fragile heart to handle.

“Damn it, hold on now,” Joel stood up and left the fire, following you into your room before you had the chance to tell him to fuck off. “Why are you bein’ like this?”

“Why am I being like this? Are you kidding me?” You turned around and shouted, the door wide open with Ellie right outside listening in on the drama. “Joel, why do you think I’m being like this? I was in love with you and you left me for someone else!”

“You told me to leave!” He shouted back, his voice booming. “You were so goddamned convinced that I didn’t want you. You never even gave me the choice to stay, not when you were already pushin’ me away.”

“You…you didn’t love Tess?” You asked, your voice closer to a whisper. Joel rolled his eyes and sighed at your question.

“What the hell does that matter?” You scoffed, waving your hand at him. You could understand his loving two people at the same time, but his refusal to admit that Tess meant a lot to him was insulting to not only her, but you too.

Would he be so cavalier if you were to die in front of him? Would he struggle to admit that he loved you like he struggles to admit he loved her?

“Joel, it’s late. We’ve been running all fucking day. Can we please just try and get some rest?” You pled, knowing the chance of sleep coming easily to you tonight was slim but needing a bit of reprieve from his presence.

“Sure. Whatever you want. Always whatever you want.” He huffed, waving his hand at you as he turned to walk out of your room, Ellie not subtle in her eavesdropping. “Come on, Ellie. Go get some rest. The queen demands it.”

You rolled your eyes and shut the door, not that it offered an insane amount of privacy given the shattered windows, but still, you needed a fucking moment. Just one.

One moment of necessary seclusion turned into a few hours of good rest, your body and mind more exhausted than you realized.

You woke up in the middle of the heart shaped bed, the moon high in the sky, the night peaceful until a soft rustle outside forced your body into fight or flight, your heart racing as you reached for your pistol. You cocked the gun, holding it out as you pressed your back against the wall by the broken window, carefully turning your head to scan the dark scene around you.

Seeing nothing but a lit campfire and your ex sitting down in front of it, you allowed yourself to breathe out your panic, the safety of your pistol being switched back on before you tucked it into the back of your jeans. You took in a slow inhale as you debated whether or not to go back to bed or to join him, the quietness of the night promising a less hostile interaction. With a bit of necessary courage, you opened your door and watched as his head whipped over in the direction of the scraping sound, his hand gripping his shotgun instinctively until he locked his eyes on yours.

“Didn’t know you were awake,” he mumbled, his eyes returning to the burning orange of the fire. You said nothing as you approached it, sitting down beside him, giving the two of you a foot of space between your bodies.

A few minutes of silence washed over the two of you, the only sounds being the crackling of the fire and some faint cricket chirping in the distance. It almost felt peaceful, but one glance over to Joel’s profile reminded you that things couldn’t be further from.

You wanted to reach out, stroke his jaw like you used to, maybe rest your head on his shoulder and ask him to distract you with a song, but he wasn’t that man anymore—not to you, at least. This man…this body of ice and chill and anger…you didn’t know him. You had no right to act as though you did.

“You were the first person I ever let myself forget myself with,” he confessed as though he could read your mind. Your lips parted as you watched him clench his jaw, his head shaking and eyes pointed at the flames as though they were his enemy. “Let myself forget too much about this world when I was with you.”

“That was the part I liked best,” you added, voice small like a child. Joel turned his pointed glare to you, his eyes softening as he took in the way the shadows played upon your face.

“I did love Tess. Wanted to love her more than I loved you. She…didn’t want me soft. It was easier.” You felt your eyes welling with tears as he continued looking deep into them, as though he was trying to speak directly to your soul. “You needed me to be the kind of soft that gets people killed out here. And for a while, I let it happen. I guess I started pullin’ away because I knew how it would all end. I’ve seen it a thousand times over. People get comfortable and people die. But sometimes I think…if I could do it all over again…I think I woulda never left you. Woulda fought for you, woulda…woulda been soft like you needed me to be. Because losing Tess…that hurt ain’t nothin’ compared to sittin’ here havin’ you look at me like I’m a stranger.”

“I only look at you like that because I don’t recognize…the way you look at me. I don’t recognize it.” You gestured to him. “I was used to something so much…more tender, I guess.”

“I know,” he sighed and nodded his head, finally taking his eyes off you. “I don’t…don’t feel any different about you than I used to, but…it ain’t smart to do this all over again. Especially now that we got Ellie to look out for. I can’t—I won’t risk all our lives over me and you.”

“You’ve always been better at shutting off your feelings than me,” you let out a breathy chuckle, not amused in the slightest but needing to hide the fact that you actually wanted to sob until you couldn’t breathe anymore.

With a sharp inhale and a sigh, you stood up, swallowing the lump in your throat at you mumbled a “good night”. Before you could leave the warmth surrounding the fire, Joel stood up and grabbed your wrist with just enough force to stop you, your eyes locked on the contact before slowly lifting to his. You could see the need in them, the desire to fuck his feelings away, but it only made you sadder.

“Joel, I can’t…” Your strong exterior crumbled a bit under his dark, needy gaze. “You may be able to separate everything…to shut your feelings off, but I…” You choked on your emotions, your throat swelling so much that your voice grew deeper, raspier. “I love you.”

He froze for a moment, his hazel eyes studying the sincerity in yours until it became to much for him to take.

“Alright,” he pulled his hand away swiftly, his eyes dropping to the gravel beneath your feet. “I’ll, uh, see you in the mornin’.”

Your chest ached with the desire to have him fight for you, to rewire his brain into loving you the way you needed him to.

“Just…you don’t have to say it, you don’t need to become soft for me and risk your fucking survival, Joel, but just, please…I need to know that I’m not crazy. That I didn’t fucking make this all up in my head. I need to know that you loved me.” You pled in a broken whisper, tears streaming down your face regardless of how hard you tried to will them not to. Joel lifted his eyes back up to yours, taking a moment before parting his lips.

You could see the old Joel somewhere in the soft green of his irises, the affection he used to freely pour over you distant, but not absent. You allowed yourself to imagine things from his perspective, to lose so much so long ago, for survival to be the only thing he’s known, to have someone come along and threaten to disrupt that. For a split second, not even long enough to be considered a moment in time, you no longer ached. You understood him, understood why he couldn’t love you like you wanted him to—like you needed him to. You didn’t hate him anymore, you weren’t jealous or yearning, you simply understood.

“Course I loved you,” he finally confessed, almost angry with you. “I love you everyday. I love you…right now. But…love will only get us killed out here.”

Joel walked back to his fire after that, not bothering to offer something soft to help cushion the blow of his harsh truths. You bit your quivering lip and nodded, your eyes flickering up to the moon hanging up in the sky.

You almost felt embarrassed that it had to witness your rejection, but something about that white ball in the sky looking down at you offered you a comfort nothing else in this world could. You wished it a goodnight instead of Joel out of spite before retiring to your room, determined to get at least a few more hours of rest before the sun rose and you had to face reality again, this time in brutal daylight.

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