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typingcorgi · 1 year

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unexpected (part i of a two-part series)

rating: e (minors, please shoo. you will be blocked) word count: 1.7k+ pairing: joel miller x f!reader warnings: pre-outbreak timeline, canon divergent timeline, hint of vague age difference (if he's 36 I'm thinking like the reader is 5-10 years younger but honestly insert whatever age you want), tipsy sex, fingering, creampie, protected p in v sex (yay for responsible joel), praise kink makes brain go brrr, porn with plot, quasi-public sex, soft-ish!joel, no use of y/n story summary: a one-night stand with a handsome stranger doesn't go as planned. chapter summary: you and joel meet at a bar and fuck in the bathroom. author's notes: no apocalypse, yay! this is part one of a multi-part series. excited to get this new ball rolling. this is just going to be a fun romp away from the mushroom zombies, okay? have fun getting yours ;) and as always, please feel free to reblog or leave a comment! your feedback is so very appreciated.

“I don’t normally do this.”

You admit it through a panting breath, during the one rare moments in which this perfect stranger isn’t capturing your lips against his. In a languid motion, he turns the lock of the door behind your head, ensuring your stolen moment won’t be sorely interrupted.

You’re not so drunk that you don’t remember his name: Joel. Of course, he hadn’t shared his daughter’s name, but just hearing that he had one to take care of at home—and she seemed reasonably responsible, attesting to her father’s clear grip on parenthood—caused something to stir beneath your navel.

“That makes two of us,” he rumbles against the shell of your ear. His fingers press against the flesh of your hips, and he adjusts his stance so that one of his feet stands between either of yours. He hitches up his knee against the locked door, encouraging you to ride it if you want to.

And holy fuck, you want to.

You’d met the guy at the bar a couple of hours ago. He’d been moving past you and nearly spilled your drink right out of your hand. He apologized profusely and chalked it up to not having been thrown into Austin nightlife in a while, but then he also mentioned he got nervous around pretty women, and you were sort of a goner.

You didn’t want to show your hand so readily, though. “Uh-huh,” you nodded, arching a brow. “How many girls have you tried that line on tonight?”

“None,” he shouted over the thrumming guitar of some country band playing over the bar speakers. “Just you. I’ve been out of the game for so long, I figured I’d try my luck. How’d I do?”

He was grinning, the smile beneath an unkept and patchy beard wide and almost cheeky, meeting the edges of his tired eyes. You couldn’t fight him on his charm, but you’d challenge him on being a good conversationalist.

He bought you your next drink. He told you his name: Joel, and that damn knucklehead over there that I came with is named Tommy. Joel explained his situation: his brother tricked him into enjoying a rare guys’ night out. He worked like a dog all damn week, and the week before that, and the one before that, too. And even though his preferred Saturday nights comprised of passing out to late-night Simpsons reruns, his daughter had been babysitting a neighbor’s kid before heading off to a sleepover with her friends. It seemed as though a night out had fallen into his lap, and he wouldn’t have heard the end of it from Tommy had he passed on such a perfect opportunity.

You people watch together, guessing what conversations were shared between the obvious first-daters or commiserating coworkers. You’d started out the night as one of them: two of your friends from work joined you for dinner and drinks, but once they’d realized your attention was occupied elsewhere, they gracefully whispered their goodbyes into your ear as they headed out for the evening.

“Who’re they?” Joel asked over the edge of his Corona bottle.

“My colleagues,” you said. “Friends. We got dinner next door earlier tonight at that little Italian place.”

Joel hummed as he took a swig of his beer. “Yeah, and what is it the three of you do? You supermodels or somethin’?”

You tried not to giggle at the obvious line. “No, we’re teachers. I teach English. High school.”

Joel gave an appreciative whistle. “God bless you,” he commented, shaking his head. “Never had the patience for kids to deal with them in mass numbers. Thank god mine is a good one, otherwise, I’d be in real trouble.”

It wasn’t one singular moment that called on you to beckon Joel into the single ladies' bathroom at twelve-thirty in the morning, but instead a compilation of smaller ones. It was the way he caught eye contact with you once or twice when he thought you weren’t looking. It was the way his flirting caught you off guard, because he didn’t strike you as a player, a serial dater, but fuck, he was good at keeping your attention. It was the way he continued to ask you about your career, and if you liked it, and what you liked about it. It was the way he asked you what you did for fun, and if you ever got your thrill from kissing older guys in crowded bars. It was the way he kissed you when you said you didn’t.

“Come with me,” you cooed into his ear, tugging the shirt collar of his plaid button-down. He was helpless.

And now you’re here, beneath the dim lighting of this bar’s bathroom. Joel’s tongue sweeps against yours as you ride his thigh. You revel in the friction of your panties against your clit, the path of his free hand, sliding up the hem of your dress before kneading the meat of your ass. He moans against your lips, removing them from yours if only to catch his breath and praise you for being such a goddamn good girl.

He calls you that and you nearly melt. He calls you that and you wonder where in the hell he learned game like that, if what he says is true; he’s been out of the game for quite some time.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he drawls. The hand massaging your ass now slides toward your front, slipping beneath your underwear. Two thick fingers tease your entrance, and while you’d normally feel a little pathetic for getting so wet for a perfect stranger so damn fast, Joel doesn’t seem to mind at all. He groans as he slips one finger in, curling and releasing it against your walls while your hips begin to buck in time with his motions.

Joel chuckles darkly at your obvious enthusiasm. “That’s right. You like that? You like ridin’ my hand underneath this pretty dress?”

You groan a yes as slips a second finger into you, and you’re damn near ready to come, but as you feel your upward crest begin to settle beneath your skin, Joel retreats.

“Wh—what are you doing?” You ask, chasing his kiss while your hand finds his wrist. “No, you need to keep going, keep go—”

“Greedy,” Joel hums, the smile on his face one of unbridled satisfaction. “Yeah, I will, but unfortunately for us, we don’t exactly have the luxury of time.”

You notice him palm the back pocket of his raw denim, pulling out a worn leather wallet. And from there, you want to laugh at him for still being the sort of man that carries condoms around in his wallet, as if sex could happen at any of life’s junctures, but instead, you silently thank god that he has one, because you don’t, and holy fucking shit, you need him to fill you up right now.

The drinks you’ve had in his presence give you an unusual sort of confidence. You normally wouldn’t be the type of woman to ask a guy to fuck you in a public bathroom, nor are you the type to get your fingers on his belt buckle and help him slide his jeans down his legs. You aren’t the type to hold onto the edge of the bathroom sink while the guy at the bar fucks you from behind, filling you up to near pain, causing tears to form along the corners of your eyes.

“Holy—holy shit, Joel,” you pant. “You’re s—so, so fucking—”

“Take it,” Joel grunts, his pace punishing, sweat forming along his furrowed brow. “I wanna see the way you look when you’re freshly fucked.”

You gasp, careful not to give away your delicate position to anyone who might be waiting outside the locked door (although the music is so damn loud, you’re fairly confident they’d be none the wiser).

He collects your hair in a gentle fist, planting a kiss against the hot skin of your neck. Your fingertips are bone-white from their grip on the edge of the sink, and Joel continues to fuck into you, steady and sure with every thrust that he makes to the hilt.

Your vision damn near blurs when your walls clench. It’s enough of a signal for Joel to move a little faster, bring you to your climax sooner because he can’t get enough of your body, and he can’t fathom you leaving this little space without you singing his name.

“J—Joel,” you stammer. “I’m gonna—”

“Me too,” he interrupts you, and you know it through the nearly pained tone that falls from his lips. His fingers on your hips draw tight, pressing each digit into your flesh as he groans into the back of your shoulder, meeting his own edge.

And then, in the midst of the comedown, in between his heavy breaths beneath his broad chest, Joel retreats from his goddamn spectacular space inside of you. Joel retreats, and turns you around, and kisses you.

“Fuck, that was hot,” he admits, clammy forehead pressed along yours. “I don’t—I don’t mean to presume or anythin’ like that, but—could I see you again? Another night?”

You’re shocked.

You’re fucking shocked.

This had all of the makings of a one-night stand: two strangers drunkenly crossing paths on a busy Saturday night, they meet, they flirt, they fuck, they go home. Why the hell would Joel want to see you again? Sex, obviously. Sure. But couldn’t he do this again with another nameless woman, another pretty face he meets in a different bar on Main Street?

Your surprise must be evident because Joel quickly backpedals. “Forget it,” he says, suddenly sheepish. “Was a risk, I know. This was probably just a one-off for you, too, I get it. I just—”

You’d interrupt him with words, but kissing him is so much hotter.

“You’re thinking too much,” you whisper with a sincere smile. It’s only then you give yourself a minute to straighten yourself up, pulling your panties back over your hipbones and turning to unzip the tote bag you’d discarded onto the tile floor earlier.

Of course you come prepared. Of course you have a pen. You grab a paper towel from the stack resting at the edge of the counter, scribbling your phone number in crisp purple ink.

“Call me the next time you’re looking for a night out,” you say, offering up the napkin to him. And holy fucking shit, you feel so fucking cool, because this doesn’t happen in real life. Women like you don’t meet hot strangers in dimly lit bars and let them fuck you in the bathroom.

Except, now you do. Joel’s smile is awkward and shy when you kiss him on the cheek right before you leave.

#this is a little slow start but it willll pick up ;) stick with it babes #heheheehe #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #no y/n

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