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spookykoolkat · 6 months

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kinktober | pretty mama - j.m.

kinktober day eleven - breeding

pairing: joel miller x plus size!reader

wc: 3.48k

summary: after the beginning years of telling your husband you weren't ready for a baby, your four year marriage anniversary came up in the fall and you were having a little bit of baby fever.

warnings: 18+ ONLY! NO MINORS ALLOWED!! teasing, fingering, slight car sex if you squint, pregnancy kink, breeding kink, creampie, u protected penetration (p in v), dirty talk, talks of being a mother, pet names, talks of getting you pregnant.

reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated and loved! THANK U SO MUCH FOR 500 FOLLOWERS OMG!!! this ones for u guys!

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YOU DIDN'T REALIZE HOW MUCH joel craved to see you pregnant. something you found was a bit odd but after being married to joel for a few years, you realized it was more endearing than anything.

it was like clockwork — every time you and joel had sex, he craved to fill you up. you always told him no, that you didn’t want him to cum inside of you even though you yourself wondered of the outcome.

not only did he have a small kink for wanting to watch his cum leak out of you, to think about you finding out you’re carrying a mini you and him in your womb – he ached for it. he imagined you walking around, swollen and round, achy feet and coming to him to make you feel better. to console you, to take care of you, to love you.

but tonight, your four year marriage anniversary, you felt something different. something that you’d never felt before, something that you couldn’t even imagine wanting.

joel couldn’t even wait before getting inside the house he fixed up for you, kissing you against the front door with his key jiggling in the doorknob.

he took you to your favorite restaurant to celebrate, having a couple of glasses of wine and mindlessly laughing with each other, like a normal married couple. but you were feeling particularly needy.

rubbing your heeled feet against his calf, rubbing up and resting your chin on your palm as his eyes grew dark. it was an exciting scene, and feeling your heel press into the thick of his thigh, he couldn’t wait to get you home any longer.

you were dressed in a deep red dress that cinched at your waist and acted as a corset, flowing out down your hips. paired with your black pumps with the thick heel and your skin scented with your sweet perfume he loved - he couldn’t stop staring at you.

“quit it,” he mumbled behind the wine glass, still letting you rub up to his crotch under the table.

too dim to notice movement underneath, everyone too deep in conversation to acknowledge the couple next to them.

“i’m not doing anything,” you said, using your fork to scrape against the plate.

“i’m serious, honey.”

and he was. because the minute the two of you left, he had your leg thrown over his thigh while he drove, his fingers curling up inside of your hole that leaked for him.

“joel please,” you cried, gripping onto the seat as your pretty red dress sat above the thick of your thighs.

“what is it, baby? what do ya need?” his condescending voice only made you clench harder around his fingers, feeling your cunt throb in response.

“you! i need you, please,” he only curled his fingers at a relentless pace, the only thing being heard was the light sound of the radio and your cunt gushing around his fingers.

“oh? you need me? ‘s that why you were actin’ all needy in there?” he smirked, coming to a red light and being able to watch himself finger your hole, watching you sink into the leather seat and prop yourself against the door.

luckily for you, joel had just the perfect amount of tint to prevent anyone from really seeing how you get for him. even though he wouldn’t mind, he liked the thought of claiming you in every way.

but now, joel opened the door finally and pushed you inside to aim for the bedroom.

“what do you need from me, sweetheart?” he asked, fingers tugging at the buttons of his white dress shirt after shucking off his shoes and blazer.

your fingers were tugging at your panties already, still walking backwards to the main hall of your home. as you watched him walk towards you while taking off his top, you shook your heels off to take off a few inches of your height and finally reach the bedroom that was lit by the fairy lights you hung up — ones that joel fought you on, but you won anyways.

the back of your knees hit the bed when you felt a cool breeze from the autumn wind blow through the open window, and you sat on the mattress while leaning on your palms.

he stood in front of you, shirtless and unbuckling his pants as he stared you down:

“i think,” you sighed dramatically, “i think i need you to fill me up.”

he wasted no time to strip off his clothes and yours, leaving both of you bare as he crawled on top of you and spread your legs with his calloused hands. you might say that his hands are your favorite thing about him, but it seemed like every part of him drove you mad without trying.

“do ya know what you’re sayin’ right now, baby?” joel asked, humming into your neck as he kissed and licked over the skin.

you stared at the ceiling, a smile on your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your cheek into his.

“mhm, i know. i need it, joel. need to know how it feels when you cum inside of me,” you said lowly into his ear, and you swore you heard him practically growl as his hand snaked between your bodies.

“you want me t’ knock you up? you gonna let me put my babies right here,” he asked, pressing down on the fat of your lower tummy before inching his way to your mound.

you just nodded, whining as you felt his hand start to spread your cunt.

“joel, please, need you to breed me, please,” before you could cry for him again, his hand swiftly goes to grab you by your jaw and chin, squeezing the chub of your cheeks together so he can graze his nose against your ear.

“say it again, tell me again,” he growled, and you bucked your hips up to try to rub your cunt against his bare cock, but he kept you down.

“fuck, cum inside of me please, please knock me up,”

you heard something animal like come from his throat, grabbing you harshly and pulling you up to lay back on a few pillows. he grabbed you by your thighs and pushed them up, exposing your sex to him so he could see every detail.

he needed to admire you like this, the way your tummy bulges more than usual because of your knees near your chest, the way your thighs pushed the lips of your cunt together — covered in your slick. he loved watching you like this, seeing how you let him maneuver you however he wanted.

still, with your legs pressed together against your chest as far as they could reach, joel sat on his knees and guided his tip between the thick lips of your cunt. he watched as your pussy covered him in your arousal, only watching as he slid between the lips, up your cunt and between your thighs.

“such a pretty baby, gonna let me pump you full? full of me?” he huffed as he fucked between your thighs, rubbing his shaft and balls over your cunt.

your arms wrapped around the back of your thighs to hold yourself for him, and he smiled, kissing your calf and up your feet. moving his cock from rubbing between the fat of your thighs, he slowly let his member spread your cunt generously to rub over your hooded clit, down to prod at your tight hole.

“yes, please, fill me baby,” you whined, feeling him start to sink into you, inducing you to stretch and mold around him.

“mmm, fuck, always thinkin’ of fillin’ you up, always thinkin’ what you’d look like carryin’ my babies,” he grunted, taking over where you held your legs for him, spreading them wide and slotting between them.

“fuck, joel please, please,” you were begging, aimlessly, but he only gave you more inches as he maneuvered his hips to slide further inside of your warmth.

you could feel the way his cock made its way into your cervix, the way he pumped in and out of you slowly after finally bottoming out made you feel every curve, every vein, the way his head nudged the spot you couldn’t reach with your fingers.

his mouth was everywhere, all over you as he pumped in and out of you kissing over your hot skin and the birth marks you had on your shoulders and neck. the dark freckles you hated, the stretch marks you thought you had too many of past the acceptable amount, the hair you tried to shave on your arms when you were a child — he worshiped all of you at every given moment.

his arms snaked under your body, hooking over your shoulders to have leverage to keep his pace relentless. he held you close to his body, using every ounce of strength he had to make sure you didn’t have to lift a single limb to do any of the work.

another thing about joel — he loved to just watch you take everything he had to give you.

“that’s right baby, hold on to me, let me make you feel good, gonna make sure i put a baby in ya,” he whispered in your ear over the wet slaps that bounced off the walls, and you listened.

you wrapped your thick legs around his waist, locking him in a hold with your calves as your arms wrapped around his, still holding you by your shoulders to keep you on his cock. your moans and whimpers would sound desperate, like you’d never be able to have him like this again, and you gripped at his forearms with your manicured nails.

he loved when you were like this. desperately trying to get him closer, anymore closer to you than he already was, trying to grip onto him, to ground yourself with him. but it was never enough, you could never get enough of joel. no matter how many times he’s fucked you, or had you like this — you needed more.

the thought of joel being a father to your kids never failed to make you swell with warmth, it never failed to make you fuzzy at the thought of joel claiming you in another sense. to make you a mother, the mother of his children, to have that tie forever and so everyone can know who you are made for — it sent a different type of pride in you.

he wanted to get you pregnant, show the world that he had you to create and hold a life that you both had something to do with. to show everyone that he is the only one who could give you the world and more, to know that he’s practically locked you down in every way gave him a sense of security.

the thought only sent your cunt to clench around the girth of his cock, something you’d never get used to be thoroughly enjoyed every time he gave himself to you.

“fuck, fuck joel, fuck! so good, so so so good, wanna have your baby so bad,” you cried, and joel grunted at the thought as he situated himself on his knees.

his hands were sunken into your plush tummy, hands gripping the fat of your body to hold up half of his weight and hold you down, as if you were going to slip away from him. he held you to the bed with his hands, pulling back and watching your legs unwrap around his waist to being held in the air, bent at the knee. without missing a beat, joel’s mouth hangs open a little at the sight and moved his hands from holding you by your waist, to grabbing your legs and holding you spread open by your thighs.

this way, he could see every bit of you, the way your cunt sucked him in and made obscene sounds of squelching, how your tits looked pressed together, bouncing with fervor to each thrust. he imagined how they’d look when you were pregnant, how they’d fatten and round up as a response to your hormones and child-bearing body.

“i know honey,” he cooed, licking his lips as he watches his cock disappear in and out of your cunt, “such a pretty pussy, ain’t lettin’ no on else have ya, you’re mine baby, all fuckin’ mine,”

his southern accent came out more in his grunts and moans, losing concentration of anything else but you.

he couldn’t imagine you getting any sexier, more desirable until he thought about you with his baby. after, especially. seeing you in a rocking chair with the baby in your arms, reading a story or cuddling them until they fell asleep. he remembered when he first met you. so outgoing, couldn’t get you to stay home, partying and doing all types of drugs. to be frank, he wasn’t approving of your way of life.

he always worried about you, had to pick you up shitfaced at clubs, wanting to make sure you weren’t getting into any trouble. of course you did, there was a time joel had to bail you and tommy out of jail together because the two of you thought it was smart to get into a tussle at the bar with an obnoxious couple. joel never trusted tommy after that, mad at him for letting you do that, but you had to step in and tell him it was your decision.

after that night, joel let you know how he felt. how your reckless ways weren’t fair for him, how he worried about you constantly, hoping you don’t end up drunk in a ditch somewhere. thinking about you now, asking him to make you a mother, only going out when joel went with you because you got tired of going out every night with your friends as you got older. now when you get drunk you aren’t crazy and sloppy, you were giggly or emotional. he admired your growth, and it even made him smile with pride realizing even though you changed some of your ways, you were still you at heart.

he just knows you’re going to be the cool mom, the fun, exciting mom. he didn’t mind taking the burden of being the one to discipline and being not so fun to be around, it just made him flutter at the thought. knowing you went from crazy, wild and a party girl to wanting to be the mother of his kids made him warm. he had never loved anything as much as he loved you.

“gonna be such a pretty mama, ain’t you? my perfect fuckin’ wife,” he growled, almost to himself as he stared down at you.

no matter what, every time joel looked at you, you felt heat rush into your cheeks. this doesn’t change, not even when your bare underneath him.

your eyes focus on his, watching his hair tousle and sweat form on his body. you couldn’t think, not even what to do with the rest of your limbs he wasn’t gripping onto, so you just hooked your arms under your calf, and held yourself open for him.

“good fuckin’ girl, already knows what to do for me,” he smirked, watching you hold your folded position as far back as you can to open your cunt for him, just so he can see the hood of your clit between your lips and watch your hole flutter around his cock as you watched him.

every time he soaked you in, you couldn’t help but clench. joel enjoyed watching you almost as much as you enjoyed watching him watch you.

he smacked you on your ass a couple of times, stinging with every thrust he began to speed up with. your breath was being knocked out of you, no air in your lungs as he fucks into you to try to angle himself to hit your g-spot. it didn’t take much at all, especially not even he bent his knee to plant one foot on the bed and burying himself to a hilt.

watching him like this, have so much desire and want for you enough to scrounge up any way to just be further pressed into you made the bundle of heat in your lower tummy nearly explode.

“please, please, please cum in me, please, want your cum so bad, make me yours, wanna be good for you,” you rambled, breathy sentences coming out and not completely clear to you, but very clear to joel.

he felt himself losing control watching you take his length, watching the ring of your arousal build on his cock. he couldn’t get used to how drenched you became at the sight of him, how slick you felt every time he slid between your folds. how his face and the scruff of his grown out beard would always be soaked coming up for air from your cunt — it was addicting.

because he could be between your legs for hours, until you finally begged him to stop, to let up on your sore sex.

“always so wet f’me, always ready to take my cock, always ready f’ me to plant my seed right,” he trailed, grabbing one of your hands from the backs of your thighs and using it to push onto your lower tummy that slightly hung over your mound, “here,”

his hand rested on yours, and watched as your eyebrows furrowed into pleasure, your eyes fluttering and felt as if they were going cross eyed. vision blurred as you felt the undeniable pressure of your release threatening to spill over. you could feel him in your stomach, you could feel him everywhere.

“such a pretty mess, ready for me to make her a mama, wantin’ t’ be mine forever, let me breed her pretty cunt whenever i want,” he whispered, and moved his hand down to your cunt to gather your juices that was covering his cock and spread it to your clit.

he stuttered a moment, enjoying the way your hips tried to fuck back onto him, wanting to meet his thrusts with persistence. when you finally got into the rhythm, joel used his two fingers to rub firmly onto your clit.

“gonna look so pretty filled with my cum, ain’t that right? cum for me, baby, make a mess on my cock pretty girl, let me feel you,” his words were too much for you, wanting to hold on for him, to cum together but it looked like you couldn’t help yourself.

“gonna cum, gonna cum, joel, m’ c-cumming for you,” you moaned, followed by a heavy gasp caused by the jolts of your body after the knot in your tummy pulled apart and unraveled under him.

he was the only one that could pull that reaction from you, the only one who got to see you shake under his hold, and god did he love it. he loved how you milked his cock until he felt his hips go sloppy, grabbing you harder than he knows, his mouth hanging open as he winced from the overstimulation of your cunt not letting go.

he could do this over and over again, except this time, cumming inside of you was an entirely new situation. not only were you dripping down his shaft, but his last few thrusts into you and he came with a gravelly moan, one that made you throb around his cock.

it was almost beautiful the way he made you feel warm, inside and out. the ropes of his hot release coated your walls entirely, and his hips slowly kept gliding in and out of you very softly. in his mind he was making sure you had a chance of carrying his baby, and even if not, he’d have the chance to do it over and over again until then.

it’s all he could dream of really, filling you up with the purpose of making you a mother.

“baby,” he breathes, letting your legs lay straight on the bed, his weight falling onto your body and he traps you.

your bodies are sticky, covered in sweat and spit, your juices coating his entire groin and the bed. it was lovely, something that wasn’t at all sexual given how unflattering it is to be sweaty, disheveled and out of breath, but still you had a sense of lust and desire for him. love, is what you felt. and love was sensual, sexual, emotional, spiritual — it was everything.

and as you laid there under joel while he gave small kisses over the skin exposed to him, playing with his hair and joel whispering to tell you how you are going to be the most amazing, beautiful mother there is — you couldn’t have imagined having a kid, being a mother, especially not to anyone else’s child. anyone but joel.

TAGLIST

@awilderi @nerdieforpedro @cyb3rluvvxx @joelmillers-girl @pedritoferg @bethanymccauley @subconsciouscollapse @teyamsgrl

i hope u enjoyed! thank u so much for the support and for reading!

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javispunk · 10 months

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Handsome

Summary: After spending the last 8 months with Joel and Ellie trying to survive every single day out in this post out-break chaotic world, you find yourself seeing Joel in a much different light.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Content/Warnings: Joel being a HUNK, 18+ smut (minors don’t interact!), masturbation (female and male), fingering, unprotected sex (p in v).

Notes: Please excuse any mistakes, as english is not my first language! If you have any requests you’d like me to write please let me know! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! Thank you!

After arriving at Bill and Frank’s, as Joel had intended a few weeks ago, you all noticed the house was quiet, still. Joel called out both their names, but got no answer. Quickly he looked at the dining table, plates filled with rotting food still on top of it. He reached for a piece of paper left behind. A note. His eyes analysed it with care, hoping this wasn’t what he thought it to be. Both you and Ellie read the expression on his face, rapidly imagining that the worse had happened.

“So, what does it say?” Ellie pushed. She knew, but wanted confirmation.

Joel folded the piece of paper on his hand, and you could notice the defeat in his expression. “Girls, stay right here please.”

You nodded immediately. Ellie did the same. Of course he would go in first, that’s what he always did. Always looking out for Ellie’s protection. It was sweet. You watched him do this for the course of 8 months, without ever getting frustrated. You could tell he just wanted her to be safe.

With Joel already at the end of the main hall, you looked over at Ellie. “Let’s get on the front yard for a second, I need to get some fresh air.”

“We’ve been getting fresh air for the last few weeks, what do you mea-“ you cut her off.

“Please. Just keep me company.” You put your arm around her shoulder, half hugging her and guiding her outside.

“You two are the same, you know?” You heard her start. “You don’t always have to protect me that way. I can handle a lot.”

“Oh I know you can.” You paused. “Shit, you’re better than me at that. That’s why I’m asking you for company. I’m the one that needs it.”

She looked up at you with a small smile, realising your request. You both sat on the still neatly cut green grass, as you looked over the other side of the road. You noticed Ellie slightly plucking at the pieces of grass that had outgrown the care they’d receive in the past.

“This doesn’t bother you in the slightest?” You asked her.

“Well, it does. But I didn’t know them. I guess that helps.” You nodded back. “But I just wish Joe would let me explore more.”

You sighed. “He just doesn’t want you to find something you don’t have to see.”

“Then why are we both here?”

“Well, probably because he thinks we can’t handle something like that. I know I couldn’t.” You replied. Death was a hard topic for you, how ironic that sounded in the world you were in right now.

“I think he has you on a bigger clutch than me.”

“What? No he doesn’t. He just probably got the idea that I have a light stomach or something. You’re like his kid.” You insisted.

Ellie looked at you from the side with a slight smile. “And you’re like his girlfriend.”

You looked at her with raised highbrows, pure confusion on your expression. “Ellie, that’s not true.”

“Oh please, have you not noticed the way he looks at you sometimes?” She continued. Your face still equal to a question mark. “A few months back, at the museum, when you got stuck on the other side of the wrecked wall, out of his sight, he killed 7 clickers in less than a minute just to get over to you.”

“Ellie, I’m sure he just wanted to protect you the best he could.”

She interrupted you, just to continue proving her point. “Just the other day, at the bay, when you fell over in the water.”

“That was a huge fall, anyone would be concerned, Ellie.”

“No. You didn’t see the way he plunged himself into the water, the fear in his eyes. And you know how to swim!” She laughed.

Her laugh was contagious, so you ended up doing the same. “C’mon Ellie, quit that. It’s not true.”

“Honestly, a blind person could see it. The way he talks to you. He like-” the voice behind you both made her stop abruptly.

“Girls, there’s hot water upstairs.” You saw his figure at the door frame.

“What?” Ellie shouted excitedly. She got up from your side and ran upstairs quickly.

“Second door to your right at the top of the stairs! In and out, Ellie!” Joel made sure she got in the right room. You both heard her reply with a “alright” from the top of the stairs. You also noticed how Joel smiled when she ran past him. She was like his kid, truly. Joel didn’t do that to you, so you pushed Ellie’s words to the back of your mind. Just to prove that, you watched Joel’s expression change from a smile to a slightly more serious face when he noticed your eyes were on him. Your gaze connected for a couple seconds before you broke it.

“There’s another bathroom, you can go now. Second door to your left. I’ll try to look for the car’s battery so we can be on our way.” He offered.

You nodded after smiling his way. “You go. I’ll explore the village a bit, I just feel like walking for a bit. I’ll go after you.”

“You sure?” He insisted.

“I’m sure. I’ll meet you both at the garage.”

***

You haven’t felt hot water washing down your body in months. This shower felt like a miracle to you. You looked down as the water covered your face, seeing the water turn slightly brown at your feet. You tried to hurry, but you also tried to indulge in some time for yourself. When was the last time in 8 months where you could actually spend time completely alone. When was the last time you pleasured yourself? You couldn’t waste this opportunity. They’d both be down at the garage, and you’d have time.

You ran your hand down between your closed legs, still unsure if you should do it. But you thought the release would be good for you. When would be the next time an opportunity like this one would come? You finally indulged, passing your fingers through your slick folds, already wet from the arousal suddenly awoken in you. Your mind wandered off to Joel and the fact that he’d been in the same tub as you were now rubbing yourself. You imagined his naked figure, skin hot from the warm water falling off his body, washing the dirt from weeks before.

In an instant, as you kept your hand between your legs, rubbing soft circles on your bundle of nerves, your mind visualised him standing there, tall and naked, head pulled back as he took advantage of the shower head over him. Would he have also taken advantage of his alone time and pleasured himself? You weren’t made of steel, and you were sure Joel wasn’t as well. You indulged in the thought of him reaching for his hard cock with his hand, pumping it slightly at first. You tried to stop your thoughts, you didn’t want to objectify Joel like this, but you didn’t touch yourself in months, your core aching for some release. And Joel was all that popped up on your mind. You could almost hear his soft whimpers, his needy grunts as he would pump his length faster.

You didn’t even notice, but your fingers were now inside your pussy, eyes still shut, as the sounds of your wetness were muffled by the water running on the shower.

A moan escaped your mouth, as you imagined Joel looking at you, lying there, legs open for him to take you. Would he even like that? What would he even think about to get him off? Some porn magazine he’d find laying around somewhere? Could he get off thinking about you? Was that so strange? Would what Ellie said be true, that he actually might like you or crave you in some way? Your mind was out of sense, as you imagined him close to his edge, as your own also started to form in your stomach.

His breath hissing, his chest moving up and down. Your name slipping from his mouth. Even your head could trick you, but you were so close to your orgasm that you indulged. You curled your fingers inside your core rhythmically, and the knot in your stomach starting to tighten. As a wave of heat crept on you, so did your orgasm and Joel’s name sounded out of your lips, as you rode your high for a few seconds.

***

You ran down the stairs, still adjusting the jacket on your body. As soon as you got into the garage you saw Ellie inside the car, mesmerised by the mechanics of it. Joel out of sight, behind the lifted hood of the vehicle.

“What did I miss?” You questioned.

You heard Joel close the hood. “I don’t think we’ll have the battery ready today.” He rubbed his forehead lightly. “But let’s get in the car, let’s try it.”

Ellie already in the front seat, moved to the passenger’s side, as Joel asked her to. You opened the back door and got in, behind Ellie.

You observed Joel enter the driver’s seat. His hair was clean, still slightly damp from the shower, neatly combed to the back. His silver strands were somewhat less prominent now in some areas, in others more. His skin now clean from any dirt collected in the last few days, his scar on the high of his right cheekbone now more prominent. He was tan, his eyebrows still furrowed in worry. Your view of his profile was perfectly placed, his angular nose seeming more beautiful than it ever did.

He looked over at Ellie beside him. “Put your seatbelt on.” She looked at him confused. “Here.” He gestured to her right, grabbing it and buckling it for her.

“But we’re not even moving!” She protested.

“Just do it.” His worried gaze still plastered on his face. He quickly put on his too. You saw his gaze wonder from Ellie to the steering wheel, where he rested his hands, before finally looking at you through the rearview mirror. You saw his eyes soften, his eyebrows relax. “Are you okay back there?” He asked you.

You took a second to answer him, still caught up in him. You shook your head, humming a timid ‘yes’. God, you could only think about how handsome he was.

He nodded your way, before turning the key on the ignition. The car sounded in a roar, getting started.

“That’s good news.” You said from the back seat.

“It’s not fully charged.” Joel spoke. “Do you girls mind if we stay here tonight? We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

Ellie nodded her head, just happy to be inside a car. You didn’t say a word, but Joel seemed to read your expression without you even noticing, as he spoke next.

“You guys can get going, eat something or rest. I just need to do something first.” He looked you in the eye as he said his last sentence. You quickly understood.

You looked back at him. The air was still inside the car, until Ellie opened the door and got out.

“I’ll go and try to make something to eat.” She said.

You watched her close the door. You opened yours and yelled. “Wait Ellie, I’ll help you.” After that your gaze flew on Joel, who was still clutching the steering wheel. “You don’t need help?”

He turned to you fully. “No, of course not.” His eyebrows closed in worry. “You don’t have to see any of that. But they deserve a proper burial.”

“Of course.”

“Just keep Ellie busy, please. I’ll be in and out through the back door. Please don’t let her see anything.”

You nodded rapidly. “Of course not!” You assured him.

“Thank you.” He spoke softly, before you left to enter the house.

***

It was surprising how Bill and Frank had a fully stoked kitchen, from the essentials, to meat, vegetables, fruits, everything. The air in the kitchen smelled wonderful, eventually spreading out to the next rooms. It was surprisingly easy to keep Ellie in the kitchen, she was probably just hungry, or maybe she understood everything and didn’t tell you.

After a few hours, dinner was ready and while Ellie checked on the oven, you made sure to set the table for three. She started serving her plate, running to the table on the dinning room you had cleaned before. You followed her action, still in the kitchen. Joel appeared on the door frame, you with a still empty plate in your hand.

“Hi.” You said softly. “Dinner’s ready.”

He replied to your greeting before continuing. “It smells great but I’m not very hungry.” He said while holding on to a cloth where he kept cleaning his hand slightly. “I’ll just have a shower. Again. And I’ll probably get to bed. Is that alright?”

“Of course.” You paused. “There’s clean clothes on the bathroom if you want them. I’m sure they fit you.”

“Thank you, for everything.” He looked at the floor for a second, before gesturing to the plate you had in your hand. “There’s three spare bedrooms, upstairs. You know, besides theirs down here. They’re all pretty much the same but I’ll take the smallest one.”

“Okay.” Your voice came out as a whisper.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” You repeated, as you watched him turn his back afterwards, and head upstairs.

You filled your plate and joined Ellie in the dining room. You sighed as you sat down next to her.

“Is he okay?” She asked you.

You looked over at her. “I don’t think so. He will be tomorrow though. Just needs a good night rest.”

She understood everything. She was one of the smartest girls you’ve ever encountered. I don’t know why Joel tried to hide anything from her.

“He does that a lot, you know?” She spoke, her fork now down, resting on the plate, now almost empty.

“What?”

“Close himself off when something’s wrong.” She continued to play with her food. “He won’t talk to me about it. But he would with you. He probably thinks you’d handle it better.”

“I’ll stop by later. Make sure he’s okay.” You looked down at her freshly washed hair, running a hand over it. “Now eat and then choose a room upstairs. We have to gather energy for tomorrow.”

***

You tossed and turned on your bed, hoping the sleep would come creeping on you. It never did. You stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, deciding wether you’d let the sheets stay over your body, or check up on Joel. He was a grown man, but still grieving some old friends, you reminded yourself.

You knew he was on the room at the far end of the corridor, the smallest as he’d said. You carried yourself to the door, before knocking lightly on the dark wood material. The sound echoed slightly through the corridor. Joel took only a few seconds to open the door, emerging with only a t-shirt and some pyjama pants that hang slightly loose on his waist.

“Hey.” You said as you saw him. Hair dishevelled from probably lack of rest.

“Hey, you okay?” His voice low.

“Am I okay? Joel, are you okay?” You insisted.

He shrugged his shoulders slowly. “I’m okay.”

“Can I come in?”

He didn’t say anything, just looked at you and opened the door wider for you.

“How’s Ellie?”

“She’s well. Asleep I presume.”

“Some of us have to.” He slightly laughed at his comment.

He smelled good. The effect of two showers in the same day. You decided to tease him.

“So, taking advantage of that shower today, right?” You spoke.

His eyes shot at you, somewhat scared. “What do you mean?”

You looked at him confused. “Oh nothing, just because you used it two times today. For how long haven’t you had a double shower in the same day?” As you spoke the last words, you understood how insensible that came out. He took a second shower because he had to bury two of his friends, stupid. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s oka-”

“No it’s not. Shit, I’m so fucking stupid sometimes.” You insisted.

“Don’t say that.” He spoke softly, but his eyes were worried. His voice showed a sign of hurt somehow.

“But I am. I can’t even help you and now I say this.”

“I didn’t want your help. I know you don’t take death very well.” You paused your worried thinking, looking at him properly. “Just didn’t want you to go through that unnecessarily.”

You looked at him, giving him a slight smile. “How do you know that?”

He shook his head. “I hear you. Your conversations with Ellie as well.” He paused. “I also know you.”

Your heart began beating faster.

“I’m glad someone does.” You admitted, scoffing at the floor.

The two of you on your feet on opposite sides of the room, the distance between the both of you killing you, no matter how small the actual room was. The silence was not uncomfortable, but you decided to break it abruptly.

“You know, Ellie told me something today. I don’t think it’s true but I might as well ask you now.” You paused and his eyes looked at you intently. “She told me you liked me.” You kind of rushed your words. “I don’t know, she spoke about the incident at the bay and how you jumped right in the water. Or that day at the museum- I don’t know.” You sighed, closing your eyes and looking at him after. “Is it true?”

Your heart was pounding on your chest.

“I care about you. A lot.”

“But that’s it, right?” You asked. “You also care about Ellie, very much.”

He looked at you, one hand roaming free, scratching at his lower belly underneath his tshirt, just above the waistband of his pants. You could tell it was a gesture of frustration. You were ready for a rejection. “Not in the same way, no.”

You were not ready for the response he gave you. Your heart almost breaking your ribcage to get itself free from your body.

“In what way, then?” Your body language couldn’t fool anybody. You naturally, without even realising it, gravitated towards him, ever so slightly.

He did the same. “In the way that I would rather die, than to lose you for that goddamn decease.” His eyes stayed on your expression. He was getting closer to you. “But also in the way of making your safety a priority to me. Your happiness.”

“My happiness?” You mumbled under your breath, as he reached a hand to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“Happiness, amusement, pleasure. Whatever you want me to. I’ll do it for you.”

Your bodies were glued to each other, Joel was just waiting for your approval.

“Good.” You said before jumping onto him, mouths connected, his arms rapidly catching the behind of your thighs, holding you in place. Your legs wrapped around his center. His hands felt huge on your legs, securing you. You had zero fear of falling, you knew he got you. His tongue asking permission to enter your mouth, which you gladly accepted. The sounds you both made were almost animalistic. 8 months of no physical contact whatsoever, left you hungry for each other.

He sat on the edge of the bed, letting you straddle his lap. You felt your core pulsing when you felt the bulge in his thin pyjama pants. They might as well not even be there. You looked down and could see the entire outline of his length.

Still supported by his hands, you reached over to the hem of your t-shirt and lifted it up, discarding it over your head, throwing it on the bedroom floor. Your breasts hung perfectly a little lower than his eye level. His mouth immediately attacking your right nipple, like he was hungry for you. You moaned, your head thrown back in pleasure.

“Fuck.” He looked up at you with awe in his eyes. “The woman you are.”

“Shit, Joel.” Your mouth hungry for his, hovering his lips. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I’ll make up for it, sweetheart.” He started kissing your neck. “Is that okay?”

“For fuck’s sake, just fuck me Joel.” You didn’t have sex in over 8 months. You couldn’t even be ashamed of asking for it like this.

“Is that what you want, sweet girl?” He grabbed your hair that hang low your back, caressing it from top to bottom.

“Please.”

“You don’t have to beg. You don’t ever have to beg with me.” His hand separated your legs further apart and travelled to your core, pulling your panties to the side, rubbing soft circles on your clit.

You moaned at his touch. “This feels so much better.”

“Much better than what?” He continued his efforts.

“Than me touching myself over the thought of you under that shower.”

“Oh, is that right?” His cocky smile under you, alternating his look between your face and your core, scared he might miss any of them. He slid two fingers inside you slowly but deeply. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Profanities rolling off your tongue like warm honey to his ears. “Do you like that, gorgeous?”

“Shit Joel, yes, yes.”

His fingers picked up their pace, shocks of heat from the top of your head to your feet. He lifted you up a bit so he could have a better angle to curl his fingers inside you.

“You’re so wet, baby.” His voice was low, dragging itself word after word. He took his fingers out of your cunt, only to suck on them as he looked up at you.

You looked down at him, immediately kissing him passionately. Applying pressure on his bulge with your core, you heard him moan underneath you.

You pushed him into the bed, him hitting his back on the centre of it. You got up, taking your panties off with urgency. You moved on to take his pants off, as he took his t-shirt at the same time. His boxers were restraining his length, it seemed almost painful. He noticed you looking over at it, removing them himself, as he sat up, his back on the headboard of the bed.

“How do you want me?” You asked him.

“Any way. I just wanna see your pretty face when you cum. C’m here” his voice sounded deliciously inviting. His cock painfully hard and propped in the air. He was huge, and you were not sure if he would even fit. But you wanted to try to so badly. You quickly straddled him hoping he would take it easy on you. And that’s exactly what he did. He wanted to please you so bad for the longest time possible, but just as you, he hadn’t shared physical touch with anyone in months. You were both famished for it.

You propped yourself on his entrance as he looked at you in awe. You were dripping on top of his head, as if his pre cum wasn’t enough to lube your insides already. You sat down on his cock, the girth like something you’ve never experienced before. The sounds your two sexes made in contact with each other were pornographic. Your moans also didn’t help your case. Joel put a hand over your mouth as you pushed yourself down his cock, all the way down.

“I wanna hear your moans so badly, sweet girl. But we shouldn’t make much noise.”

“Fuck, I know.” Your voice muffed by his hand, covering half of your face.

He removed it, just to help you get your rhythm up and down his cock. After a few seconds of him stretching you out, your walls became accustomed to him. Your fluids making it easy for him to glide in and out of you.

With a faster pace you began to grab at the back of his neck, as he kissed your breasts once again. “Fuck Joel, you feel so fucking good.”

He couldn’t even get the words out of his mouth for the first few seconds of thrusting. “You’re so fucking tight around me, baby.”

And in fact, you could feel every single pulsing vein inside you, with every thrust he gave you. You began to bounce on top of him, applying strength on your feet so you wouldn’t grow so tired as fast. You wanted this to last. It felt like you were made for each other, the way his cock fit inside you so right, the way his hands grabbed each of your hips with just the right amount of strength. The rhythm never slowed down, Joel made sure of it.

You began to feel the knot in your stomach tighten. “Joel…” you moaned.

“I know, sweet girl. You’re so close.” He paused to kiss you. “Use me to ride your high, c’mon.”

“Fuck, I’m so fucking close.” You continued.

“Let me hear my name out of that pretty fucking mouth.” He kept you bouncing on his length.

“Hum…” you paused as you closed your eyes. “Joel, shit. Joel, Joel…”

“Cum for me, gorgeous. Let me see your pretty face.”

Your mouth opened to an O, as the knot in your stomach released in an explosion. You let out a cry, but you rapidly muffled it with your own hand. He removed it immediately, just to kiss you while still riding your high. As you began to pant, trying to regain your strength, Joel grabbed your torso on his arm, in an embrace, and quickly but surprisingly softly, put you under him. Now on top, with his cock still inside you, he continued to thrust into you. You were so sensitive and he knew, but you wanted to let him have his orgasm. His breath became quicker with the urgency of his release.

“Fuck…” his thrusts became more sloppy as he reached his climax.

“Cum, Joel.” Your voice like music to his hears.

He kissed your mouth one last time before pulling out and cum on your belly. His warm release all over you, spilling onto the bed sheets.

“Fuck.” His voice lower than usual. His mouth travelled to your forehead, leaving a kiss there.

Both of you panting, Joel on top of you, pressure that would always be seeked from you. Once you caught your breath, you pulled the covers on top of you both, as Joel pushed you into his chest, your face nuzzled on his neck.

A few minutes of silence were much needed.

“Do you mind if I stay here tonight?” You asked him, hope in your voice.

“Oh, I wouldn’t have let you out anyway.”

2K notes · View notes

flightlessangelwings · 2 months

Text

Could I Have This Kiss Forever?

Joel Miller x fem!reader

Important Note: This blog supports Palestine and does not condone or share the views of the creator of TLOU. Please interact with tlou critically and be aware of the zionistic views of its creator.

Word count-4.5k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), Valentine's Day fic, fluff, mutual pining, set in Jackson after the first game/season, reader is a baker/cook, reader can remember life before the outbreak but no age specified, food mention, oral (f receiving), praise, unprotected, soft pleasure dom Joel, squirting, feelings, no use of y/n

Notes- Happy Valentine's Day @saradika I'm your secret Valentine!!! I loved the prompt you gave and the idea came to me almost immediately! And I tried to fit as many things as you mentioned in this as I could! I hope you like it! Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on when I post new things!

Joel could see his breath as he walked down the street. There was a nip in the air, and it stung his face as the cold hit what little exposed skin he had. Wrapping his jacket a little tighter, Joel huffed as the light layer of snow crunched beneath his feet. It wasn’t unusual for there to be cold and snow in mid February in Jackson, yet the glistening white in the trees always made its residents awestruck. The setting sun illuminated the land in a way that made the surrounding look like a painting. Even Joel had to appreciate the beauty of it all.

It reminded them of a simpler time, a more peaceful time. It reminded everyone of a time before the world collapsed, before there was the daily worry for their lives. Joel used to push those thoughts down. He used to try to ignore the sting of Sarah’s absence. But, the longer he was in Jackson with Tommy and Ellie and others who he would soon call friends, the more he allowed himself to think about his lost daughter and how much she would have loved the snow.

But, a tantalizing smell broke Joel out of his thoughts. As he passed the little building on the corner which had become a bakery slash bar, his thoughts turned to someone else: you.

You brought a new light to Jackson the day you arrived, and Joel was immediately taken with you. From the way your eyes captivated him to the way your smile made his heart flutter in a way no one else did, Joel was a goner from the moment he laid eyes on you. He kept it a secret, though. Life was hard enough as it was, even for those lucky enough to find their way to Jackson.

If Joel only knew you harbored the same secret he did…

Inside the building was the complete opposite of the chilly outside. It was warm and bright and the smells of various cakes and desserts permeated the space as you worked. You actually felt hot enough to shed your outer layers and rolled up your sleeves. You were so focused on the task in front of you that you didn’t hear the door open until a gruff voice cleared his throat.

Jumping up with a gasp, you looked up and locked eyes with… “Joel,” you breathed as you relaxed, “You startled me!”

“Sorry,” he helped his hands up in mock surrender, “I just wanted to check in on ya,” he continued, “It’s gettin’ late and you’re still here workin’ hard.”

“Oh,” you replied in a daze as you noticed the lack of sun from behind where Joel stood in the doorway, “Lost track of time, I guess,” you murmured, “I wanted to finish all these tonight for the big Valentine’s dance tomorrow night so I can enjoy the party too.”

Valentine’s Day… Joel didn’t even realize that was tomorrow. “Want a little help?” he offered, “I ain’t much good in the kitchen, but you can tell me what to do.”

You smirked as your mind ran with the thought of telling big strong Joel what to do, “Go wash your hands and you can help me with these last few cakes.”

“Yes ma’am,” Joel replied with a smirk of his own and both of you felt like the room just got a lot warmer.

Joel shrugged off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt before he went to the sink to wash his hands and made his way back to you. He was positive Ellie would give him a hard time if she caught him like this- working with little sweets and desserts, following your orders instead of taking the lead. But, Joel also found he didn’t mind. He enjoyed the feeling of domestic bliss, even if it was only for this one evening.

“You’re really good at this,” Joel commented as he watched you meticulously decorate the various cakes you spent all afternoon baking.

“Thanks,” your heart fluttered at the compliment from Joel Miller, “I’ve always been creative since I was a kid. I liked making things… art and stuff. I actually wanted to be some kind of artist when I was younger, before…” you trailed off as you stopped and raised your eyes to meet his.

Both of you froze for a moment as you gazed into the other’s eyes. Time stopped, as did your breathing. The roughness around Joel’s eyes framed the softness that lay hidden there. Scars on his face told you he had been through a lot, but then again so had you. As you looked at him, studying his face, you completely forgot to breathe, losing yourself in his features.

Joel felt himself tense as he stared back at you. The warmth that surrounded him felt like it came from you, not the heat in the room. He wasn’t too good with the whole comforting thing, but Joel wanted nothing more than to take you in his arms and hold you close, protecting you from everything around. Normally, he was good at burying his feelings, but he slipped when his eyes flashed down to your lips for just the briefest moment.

Clearing his throat right away, Joel leaned back, breaking the trance you both were in, “Yeah,” he finally said, filling the silence, “You are an artist that’s for sure. You’re certainly better than me anyway,” he muttered as he held up the messily decorated cake in his hands.

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter, “Joel,” you covered your face with your hands, “I’m sorry, I…” you wheezed as your laughter became uncontrollable.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Joel rolled his eyes. It didn’t bother him though, he knew he had many strengths and even before the outbreak, he couldn’t decorate a cake to save his life. Plus, the sound of your laughter was music to his eyes, and Joel loved to hear it whenever he could.

“Here,” you took a few breaths to gather yourself, “Let me show you a trick.”

You moved over to sit next to him and took the spatula from his hand, brushing it ever so slightly as you did so. A chill ran up your spine at the slight contact, but you swallowed hard and fought to keep your composure.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Joel asked, noticing the slight change in your demeanor.

“Fine,” you replied back right away, “Here,” you used the spatula to scoop some icing and ran it along the cake, “Just like painting a picture.”

“Beautiful,” Joel mumbled under his breath, completely ignoring the cake you were decorating.

Luckily, or unluckily, for Joel, you didn’t notice as you became too enthralled with what you were doing.

“There!” you sounded triumphant as you put the finishing touches on what cake Joel had worked on, “Ta da!” you held it up with pride and beamed at him for a moment before you set it down and turned to the far table, “Now just a few more to go…”

“I ain’t going nowhere,” Joel said, “As long as you won’t shit on my decorating anymore, I’ll stay and help… If you’ll have me.”

A mix of emotions ran though you. You wanted to laugh at him again for his poor decorating skills, but you also didn’t want him to leave your side. So, biting your lip to stifle a giggle, you replied, “Ok I promise I won’t laugh at you again.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Joel smirked, sending a wave of heat through your body.

Hours passed and it was well into the night before you and Joel finally finished. You enjoyed his company, and the two of you filled the time shooting the shit while you worked. It took some time, but Joel finally let his guard down around you, and you loved that he trusted you enough to relax. And you trusted him too, and felt safe around him.

“Well I think that does it,” you sighed heavily as you wiped you face, “That was the last one!”

Joel looked at you with pure admiration on his face, as if he were a lovestruck teenager and the world was normal again. Then as he studied your face closer, he couldn’t help but let out a single soft laugh.

“What is it?” you asked, puzzled.

“Ya got a little…” Before he realized what he was doing, Joel reached out and brushed your face with his hand, wiping a smudge of frosting off your cheek, “There.”

You gasped softly as you stood there stunned, frozen in place as you felt a tingle where Joel touched your skin. Absentmindedly, you touched your cheek with your fingers, relishing in the lingering warmth of his touch.

Joel was about to apologize, but he also found himself in a trance. You just looked so beautiful, and he wasn’t sure what to make of your reaction to his touch.

But, before he could say hating, you broke the silence. “Hey Joel…” you started, suddenly feeling nervous as your skin warmed so much that you were sure the reminanta of the frosting on your face were about to sizzle.

“Yeah?”

“I uhh…” you fumbled over your words, your gaze dropping to the ground as you felt his eyes on you, “Thank you,” you breathed as you looked at Joel again, “I would have been here all night if you weren’t helping me.”

A flash of disappointment showed on Joel’s face before he glanced over your shoulder and noticed the hint of sun in the horizon, “It looks like we still did,” he muttered as he motioned toward the window.

You let out a heavy sigh, “Well fuck I guess we did,” you chuckled nervously, still feeling the lingering tension in the air between the two of you.

It hung in the air unspoken between the two of you: It’s Valentine’s Day.

You fiddled with your fingers nervously as you weren’t sure what to say. The air suddenly felt thick between the two of you, as if there was so much you both had to say. Yet, neither of you had the courage to break what you already had.

Joel cleared his throat as he closed the gap between your bodies and mumbled your name, “Listen I…” he rested a hand on your shoulder.

“Yes?” you looked at him with a hopeful expression, your lips parted as you breathed heavily.

“I uhh,” Joel stuttered. He scanned your face, taking in every inch of your beauty as the words were right on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he said, “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”

A brief flash of disappointment showed on your face before you gathered yourself, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Joel,” you replied in a hushed tone.

“Why don’t we go get some sleep before the big party tonight?” he offered, “I’ll put this all away for ya.”

“Yeah, ok,” you sounded distant, “See you tonight then?”

Joel smiled, “I wouldn’t miss it.”

That lifted your spirits, “See you tonight, Joel.”

The Valentine’s Day dance was a huge success, as were your cakes. Everyone made sure to stop and compliment you before they went back to dancing and enjoying their time. Some even asked you for a dance themselves, but you turned them all down. No, there was only one person you wanted to dance with, and he stood on the other end of the room.

“Go on, ask her to dance,” Ellie nudged Joel, “Or are you too fuckin’ scared?” she added with a tease, “Chicken!”

“Ellie,” Joel sighed as he rolled his eyes, “Just stay out of it, alright.”

Knowing when to back down, she raised her hands in surrender, “Alright, alright,” she slid her hands in her pockets and started to walked away before she glanced over her shoulder, “But don’t come crying to me when someone else asks her to dance cause you were too chickshit to.”

“Ellie!” Joel snapped, but she ran off and disappeared into the crowd, presumably to find Dina. Joel knew about Ellie’s little crush on her, but he decided to let her come to him on her own terms about it. He just wanted his kid to be happy after all…

Joel’s thought turned from Ellie to you as he scanned the room and found you again. You had moved slightly, but you still stood at the edge of the crowd, not dancing with anyone. You looked stunning as you found yourself right under a light as if it was a spotlight just for you. Your smile lit up the room as yet another person came up to compliment you, and Joel’s chest tightened as the person was obviously asking you to dance.

“Shit…” he mumbled under his breath, thinking he missed his chance.

But, Joel was surprised to see them walk away with a disappointed look on their face while you stayed in that same spot. You fiddled with your fingers for a moment before you scanned the room and locked eyes with Joel. Freezing in place, your mouth parted to let out a deep exhale.

“Fuck it,” Joel muttered to himself, thinking it was now to never. He crossed the room, greeting his brother on the way before he walked up to you. Joel tried to act calm and smooth to hide the nerves he secretly harbored, “Howdy ma’am,” he nodded his head once in a greeting as you giggled, “May I have this dance?” He extended a hand to you.

“Joel Miller,” you breathed, “I thought you’d never ask,” you grinned as you slid your hand in his.

You knew he didn’t usually dance, and your heart pounded in your chest as you wondered why he broke his streak. And the warmth of his large hand in yours radiated throughout your body, making you a little dizzy. But, Joel was there to catch you, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close as the tune changed to a slower ballad.

Leaning against his sturdy chest, you swayed with Joel to the rhythm of the song. But, you could barely hear it over the pounding of your heart. You barely even heard when Joel said something to you, or said your name when you didn’t respond.

“What?” you blinked as you focused your eyes.

“I said them desserts seem to be a hit,” Joel repeated himself as he adjusted his grip on your body.

“Yeah,” you replied, “Even those messy looking ones,” you smirked.

“Hey you promised,” he quipped back with no malice in his tone and a soft grin on his face.

“I know, I know,” you laughed softly, “I’m sorry. They still taste good though.”

“They do,” Joel’s tone dropped, as did his gaze.

“Joel…” you breathed as you felt the burning heat of his gaze on you.

“Listen, I uhhh,” he murmured your name in a low tone, “I wanna kiss you so fuckin’ bad right now,” the moan you let out went right to Joel’s cock, “But I don’t wanna share ya with all these people.”

Another moan escaped your lips and time felt frozen around you and heat rose from your pussy all throughout your body, “Joel…” you whined his name again as desperation took over you.

Joel leaned in closer to you, his lips hovering over yours as the slow sway of your bodies slowed down. He wanted to kiss you so badly. He wanted this for so long. But, Joel was also secretly a romantic, and he didn’t want his first kiss with you to be witnessed. He wanted to selfishly keep that to himself. So, instead of closing the gap, he murmured in a low tone, “Wanna get out of here?”

“Yes,” you breathed immediately as you pulled away enough to look into his eyes. You gasped softly when you saw the deep need that burned behind his eyes, and you knew exactly what he was thinking. “Let’s go, Joel.” you slipped your hand into his and let him lead you out the door and away from the party and wandering eyes.

From the other side of the room, Ellie grinned widely as she watched the two of you slip away from the party.

The moment the door to Joel’s house closed, it was like a flip switched in his head. “Can I kiss you now, baby?” he asked in a low tone as he backed you up against the door.

“You better,” you smirked back as you grabbed his collar, “And call me that again,” you groaned as you bucked your hips against his.

Joel grunted as he grinned against your cheek, “Baby…” his low grumble went right to your core as he took your lips with his in a heated kiss.

His beard tickled your skin as his lips warmed yours. Joel’s strong hands gripped you tightly as he pulled you against his body. You clung to his shirt as his kiss warmed you from the inside while his chest warmed your own as you felt yourself pressed flush against him. Despite the dizzying feeling in your head, you knew you were safe in his arms and that Joel wouldn’t let you fall.

“Shall we take this to the bedroom?” you purred against his lips between kisses.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Joel smirked back.

You erupted into giggles as Joel yanked you enthusiastically down the hall. Hands roamed all over each other’s bodies as you each tugged at the other’s clothing. Joel closed the gap between your lips over and over again, desperately kissing you between shoving clothes off.

A trail of clothing led the way to Joel’s room until neither of you had anything on. You felt like you were in a whirlwind as you allowed Joel to guide you though his house until your legs hit the edge of his bed. A gasp escaped your lips as you realized where you were, but you quickly gathered yourself. Grabbing his broad shoulders, you flung yourself back onto his bed, both of you exhaling sharply as you landed with Joel on top of you.

“Shit, baby,” Joel muttered as he took a moment to study your naked figure beneath him, “You’re so fuckin’ pretty.”

“So are you, Joel,” you breathed as you cupped his face, burying your hands in his hair.

Joel let out another sharp breath, “Well don’t you know how to make a man feel special?”

“Just like you know how to treat a lady,” you smirked back.

“Oh you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Joel’s tone dropped as he dipped his head down and took your lips once more. He swallowed the moan you let out and bucked his hips against yours, relishing the feeling on your skin against his after so many nights imagining this.

Joel broke away from the kiss to make his way down your neck, licking and nibbling your sensitive skin along the way. Your mouth dropped open as your mind swam in the pleasure that was Joel’s kisses. But, the sensations only heightened when he reached your breast and wrapped his lips around your nipple.

The cry you let out went right to Joel’s cock, and every moan from you only made him need you more. Joel’s tongue swirled around your nipple as he kneaded your other breast with his calloused hand. You arched your back to allow him more access to your body and buried your hand in his hair, tugging slightly every time he sucked at your nipple just a little bit harder.

“Joel… Fuck…” you whined as he kissed his way to your other breast with a low groan and gave it the same treatment.

He hummed against your skin, rocking his hips against your already soaking wet pussy as he showered you with devotion. As much as Joel wanted to take his time and savor the moment, savor you, his need was too great.

“Shit baby,” Joel breathed as he kissed his way down the front of your body, “You taste to fuckin’ good,” he growled as he eyed your pussy and settled between your parted legs, “But I bet your pussy tastes even better.”

Before you could laugh at his antics, or even appreciate his humor, Joel’s tongue swirled around your clit and licked up and down your folds, shoving every other thought from your body. You cried out in pleasure as your body already trembled under his touch.

“Fuck!” you screamed as you gripped the sheets tightly.

“Fuck me, you do taste good, baby,” Joel groaned as he came up for air for a moment before he dove back into you.

You cried out even louder as you moved your hands to his shoulders for support. Joel growled into you as he hiked one of your legs over his shoulder, opening your body up to him more. Tears filled your eyes as his tongue hit your clit perfectly, and you knew you weren’t going to last.

Especially then Joel pushed two tick fingers inside of you while his tongue contoured tracing patterns on your clit.

“Joel! Fuck!” you screamed, “Yes!”

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” he murmured, his lips hovering over your pussy just for a moment.

“Yes, Joel,” you whimpered, “You’re gonna make he cum if you keep doing that,” your hips bucked on their own as his fingers pumped in and out of you in a steady rhythm.

“Good,” he grinned before he covered your cunt with his lips once more and sucked harder.

The moans you let out echoed in the room as you felt your climax quickly build. Your core tightened as you gasped when his fingers hit that sweet spot inside of you. And before you could warn him, you came hard into Joel’s mouth. You gushed as your body felt like it was floating in the pleasure Joel gave you and you screamed his name loudly as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through your body.

Joel kept going until he heard you whimper, determined to pull every punch of your claim from you and lap up every drop of your release. When he finally broke away, both of you gasped loudly. You flopped down flat, limp from exhaustion, and Joel sat up to admire how beautiful you looked.

“Shit, baby,” Joel groaned, “That was better than them cakes.”

You blinked your eyes open and met Joel’s gaze. The two of you froze for a moment before you burst into laughter, “I never knew you were so funny, Joel.”

He leaned forward, covering your body with his own, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, sugar,” he hummed in amusement as his lips hovered over yours.

“Then I want to learn them all,” you whispered against his lips.

“Me too, baby,” he murmured before he took your lips in a slow kiss.

You moaned into his mouth as you wrapped your arms and legs around him, “Joel,” you breathed, “I need you to fuck me now.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied with a huff as he positioned himself at your entrance.

Both of you gasped as the tip of his cock poked at your pussy. Joel broke away just enough to watch your face as he slowly started to push in, feeling the warmth of your wetness around him. Your eyes snapped shut as you savored the stretch of his cock as you clawed at his back. Joel tried to keep his own eyes open, not wanting to miss a moment, but you felt too good that he couldn’t help but close them.

Joel mumbled your name as he bottomed out inside you, “Shit you feel so fuckin’ good, sweetehart.”

“Joel…” was all you could say, too lost in the bliss to form any coherent thought.

The bed creaked as Joel started a slow rhythm, rocking himself in and out of you. Once again, your moans filled the room in a beautiful melody as Joel fucked you. Only this time, his own grunts and groans harmonized with yours, creating an all new song.

Heat rose in the room despite the chilly air outside as Joel picked up his pace. Feeling you engulf him made him forget about the ache in his back as he thrust his hips back and forth over and over again. Joel was just as lost in you as you were in him, and he was sure neither of you were going to last much longer.

After so long of wanting you, finally having you almost made Joel cry. He murmured your name over and over again as he mumbled how beautiful you looked on his cock, “So fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he grunted, “Fuck…”

“Fuck… Yes… Joel…” was all you could form as you felt another orgasm quickly approach, “Gonna cum…”

“Show me how pretty you are when you cum on my cock, sweetheart,” he growled as he picked up his pace, his hips slapping against yours as he chased his own climax.

“Fuck!” you screamed as you tightened your grip on Joel and trembled under his body as your second peak hit.

“That’s it baby,” Joel groaned, “That’s my girl,” he gasped as he felt your inner muscles squeeze him tightly.

Your climax triggered his own and with a moan of your name, Joel spilled himself deep inside of you, filling you to the brim. Chills ran up your spine as you felt him cum in you, and you moaned softly as the aftershocks of your own climax pulsed through your body at the same time.

Joel kept his pace as long as he could until he pulled back once last time, pulling out of you, before he collapsed on the bed next to you. You gasped as you felt a sudden emptiness, but Joel immediately wrapped you in his arms and pulled you close.

No words were spoken as the two of you came down from your highs. But this time, it was a comforting silence in the air. The tension from the day before was gone now that the two of you finally showed your true feelings for the other. Joel breathed deeply as he stroked you back comfortingly, and you smiled against his chest as you felt the beat of his heart.

You stayed like that for some time before you broke the silence, “Hey Joel,” you wriggled out of his embrace and straddled him, “Can I ask you something?”

“Shit, lookin’ like that you can have anything you want, baby,” Joel joked as he admired your naked form on top of him.

You grinned back at him as you rested your hands on his chest, “Will you be my Valentine?”

Joel’s face lit up as he grabbed you and yanked you down, crashing your lips together, “Always, baby,” he murmured between kisses. When you broke away for air, Joel gazed lovingly up at you, “Now why don’t you show me how pretty you are when you ride me?”

The moan you let out went right to both of your cores and it began a second sleepless night in a row for you and Joel. But, neither of you would complain at all.

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dungeonpuppykai · 1 month

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Dating Joel Miller

Pairing: Bf!Joel Miller | Reader.

Warning(s): Age gap (reader is in their 20's), allusions to mature activities, mild d/s dynamics, fluff, cg!Joel, Daddy kink, begging, making out. I'll be safe and say minors do not interact.

Setting: TLOU 2.

He's definitely an experience.

Single-handedly rocks your world in more ways than one.

So, so laid-back it's fucking sexy.

Definitely tames the brat out of you.

What he says goes because he's older and knows better.

Or?

You live to learn he was right.

So smug when that happens.

Not very vocal about his feelings but cares for you so much.

The littlest of things that can easily be missed, Joel makes a point of remembering.

Won't ever openly admit it though.

Tough love in an endearing way.

From your favorite snacks to your preferred clothing, to the kinds of flowers or things you like to collect to getting you food whenever he does for himself and picking out the condiments you dislike to being mindful of the drink you prefer with it, he's got it all covered.

A total ass when it comes to training and you best believe he doesn't hold back on it. After everything that's happened, he wants you to be prepared for anything and everything.

Only rolls his eyes and shakes his head when you're being the kid that you are with Ellie and Co.

Simply snorts when you all tease him for being a geezer.

Because he knows that all it takes him is one certain look if it goes too far.

And you are whimpering into your place like a puppy yanked by their leash.

Besides, you can act all high and mighty as you want, Joel knows that the one who will have you all whiny, grabby and mushy underneath them will be him.

Whenever he wants.

You're down so bad for him, oh my God.

He knows it, and that's exactly why he doesn't get riled up when foolish little boys try their luck on you.

Well, that is, not usually.

Loves to tease you and make you beg after you've acted out all day.

"Oh, but I thought I was an old man who 'just didn't get' y'all, huh baby?" And you're a quivering, panting mess with your limbs tangled in his.

Great. Fucking. Kisser.

Hot, sloppy, wet, sense melting, passionate kisses while his calloused hands roam all over you, occasionally squeezing the parts that cause you to make such a huge mess in your pants that he tuts when he feels it through your clothes.

"Noooo, Daddy…" You're literally aching.

"Tell me what you want, baby. Say it for Daddy and he will give it to ya" you are a writhing mess as your hips grind against his and you hump yourself on one of his thighs.

"Please, Daddy… Need you so bad, Daddy… Please use me~" it depends on his mood how he treats you in bed though.

Some days he could be the most tender lover with gentle caresses, featherlight touches, cotton-soft pecks and passionate love making.

Other days include him pressing your face down into the mattress as his huge cock hammers in and out of your leaking slit, rough bites littering your skin as you struggle to breathe through the animalistic fucking.

Nothing gets you to cum harder than when he sometimes wraps his hand around your throat, features stern with all that's taking him not to just obliterate you.

Some days though, he likes to combine the two styles.

Eats you out like a starved wolf.

But can take his sweet time with that as well.

Lets out the deepest, most throaty grunts when you suck his dick.

Has a couple ways of reprimanding you if you're too clumsy and neglectful with yourself.

No one else is allowed to give you any shit though.

Isn't overbearingly domineering at all.

He knows you're young and dumb and will need to make some of your own mistakes to learn.

Always there for you with open arms to console you when you do.

Your silly little friend group definitely knows when to make themselves gone when Joel decides that he's had enough of sharing you for the day and wants you all for himself.

It's always subtle; like a gentle caress on your shoulder or a soft nudge in your side. Sometimes it can be a claiming hand on your lap. And then everyone knows that it's time to scurry out.

Doesn't always play voluntarily.

But when he does, it's for you.

Especially if there's a storm, or you're extra sensitive from playtime, or just emotional in general. Sometimes he's just feeling affectionate.

Will usually deny it like his life depends on it but there are certain songs, a specific range of lyrics and a peculiar sort of tunes that he plays only for you.

Every now and then you crawl into his lap after an intimate session and ask him to teach you how to play a song or two.

Then hours pass with you two just huddled into each other, strumming melodies to life as your naked back presses into his strong chest, your ass fitting perfectly in the crook of his abdomen as he rests his chin on your head and revels in your scent.

Sometimes he slowly cockwarms you in that position as well.

Cannot sleep without you.

He wasn't always like this.

But there's no going back now.

Joel is sure to keep tossing and turning until you're locked up close in his arms.

Your safety and well-being is his top priority.

Always.

Playing TLOU again and boy am I needy for this grizzly bear. Also I haven't watched the show but I love Pedro so yeah. Feedback and reblogs are much appreciated <3

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obscureao3tags · 1 year

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#i do too #love that man #daddy is a state of mind #pedro pascal #the last of us #tlou #joel tlou #joel #joel the last of us #fanfic #ao3 #tags #pedro pascal x reader #joel tlou x reader #joel x reader

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granolawriting · 8 months

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A change in fate ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

pairing: no breakout!Joel x fem reader

Summary: Your toxic ex kicks you out of your place without another word. Only hiring a mover to get your stuff somewhere else. And when Joel finds you in a state of disarray, and stays indifferent, you butt heads until it comes to a head when your paths cross again after that night. That time, much more complicated.

Content warning: age gap, you're 21 and Joel is mid 30s to early 40s. Enemies to lovers.

word count: 4k

A/N: this is the first of a two-part series inspired by an old movie I grew up with. If you can recognize it, I'll like, give you a really big treat. no nsfw this chapter, but the next one will. And as always, let me know if you like my work or if you have any suggestions for anything else I could write :)

Part 2 out now!!: to make you forget

“NO. No. No no no no no no no NO!!!”

Your fist hits solid wood once more. Every slam that pounds upon its impenetrable front leaves a mark on your hand in the shape of bruises and soreness-- you try the door once more. It's locked, as it had been the last ten times you attempted to open it. Desperation laced in the fruitless fervor that played its sound of metal clanking on metal as the knob refused to turn.

The thump on the ground follows a fall of your knees. Defeated, hopeless, in a dress that isn't even yours. Tears stream from your face in such passion you can't even feel them anymore as more of you is wet than it is dry. You imagine you look a mess, hair disheveled as you held it as you screamed at him-- makeup once beautiful and elegant streams down and across your face in the motion your hands chose to wipe away your tears.

A screeching of tires followed by the shutting of a door is what knocks you out of this pathetic display. A man walks over to you and begins to pick up the boxes right beside you, carrying them to the back of his truck that has the title “MOVERS” painted on its side. You clamor to your feet, disorientation doesn't help the heels strapped to your feet as you chase after him;

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going with those? Who the hell are you?”

Rancor coats your tongue as your anger spits out onto him, He stands in the middle of an empty parking lot with only the light emanating from houses and lamps decorating the street are you able to take him in.

He was tall, perhaps 6ft, an older man. Salt and pepper hair covered just above his forehead and a stern face was complimented by equally gruff facial hair of similar color, and a frown that seemed natural for him. He wore an old jacket-- probably made in the same year you were born with plaid linings on its inside to support a Carhartt branded outside. All the clothes upon his body seemed worn, from the stained jeans and a belt fitted so many times it might as well have been made for the exact curve of his body, to the heavy worker's boots with every scratch telling a story beyond your years. He looks at you. Up and down his eyes register curiously the woman that stood before him. He scoffs, and with a low Texan drawl he replies in kind;

“Well princess, looks here like someone was kind enough to get yourself a mover for all them boxes outside the house. ‘Supose you know where i'm to drop em off?”

“They can stay right here.”

It comes out of you not in a literal sense, but you guess a plea of desperation. You can't imagine that this is actually happening. You can't just leave. After all the years you spent with him, all the hours you poured into his care and the best he can do is call up some old guy to take your shit somewhere else?

“Now you know I can't do that. I ain't come all the way down here just for’ nothin. Now, I was hired to move, least you can let me do is my job.”

His palms outstretched to you as he finishes putting the first box in the back of his truck, looking to you with little care for what you’re properly going through, moreso just a plea to let him go home sometime before 1 in the morning.

your breath grows uneven again, you feel something build up in you again as you just refuse to accept this. Turning your back to him, you storm over to another box untouched by him and kick it, screaming and crying and truly just making a mess of yourself as you collapse once again on the curb of the sidewalk. Folding your arms across your knees, and with a head buried deep in your chest you sit there for a moment as you listen to the crunch of his boots against the loose gravel along the pavement trail back and forth past you as each box is stored into the vehicle.

“Still haven't given me an address. Or were ya’ thinkin' of just sitting here and lettin' me take yer’ things?”

Irritation follows his tone as he becomes increasingly impatient about your behavior.

“I don't have anywhere to go.”

“Surely you got someplace. Now get a move on, I'm bout damn tired of all this.”

He drags you up by your upper arms, feeling his calloused hands hold onto the smoothness of your body as he lifts you to your feet. Shocked though, you push him away from you in haste;

“I can get up by myself. Thank you very much.”

You dust yourself off for just a moment before continuing, he looks at you with impatience.

“And I need a ride.”

He stammers a bit as he begins to speak,

“A- fucking,? Damn. alright then. Just get the hell on alright? Sure you wouldn't want em’ having to pay me extra.”

He walks back to his truck as you follow, The two footsteps upon the concrete road are all that can be heard in the neighborhood as your pain slowly wells into your chest, and the outbursts cease.

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

“Now, listen here. We've been drivin' for damn near an hour now, and ain't nothing come of it. Where the hell am I takin you? Or I'm about to leave ya on the side of the damn road. I've got a kid at home.”

“Just take me to the other side of town.”

“Are you fuckin kidding me? Now, I don't know what you've got goin on and I truly, don't want to. But you're real damn selfish ya know that? Makin me drive all over town like this like I'm some goddamn taxi. This place best got some money to pay me for.”

His voice is deep, gruff, and when laced with the anger of a despondent woman who seems as if she has all the time in the world he's not keen to hold back judgment anymore. His hand grips the steering wheel firmly and doesn't look at you for a moment as he speaks to you.

You're taken aback, to say the least. After the pain you've felt, the torment you've faced the only thing to greet you is the unwanted mouth of some old man who doesn't know what he's talking about.

“I'm selfish? You don't know the night I've had. How can you call me selfish? You were hired for a reason so why don't you just do your fucking job okay? As long as you’re getting paid it shouldn't matter a damn to you.”

You shrug your shoulders and cross your arms in his passenger seat, watching him with disdain as he grips the wheel and drives relatively carelessly through the empty streets just to get you out.

After a few minutes more, and by a few you mean around 30, you find yourself in front of a home you’d never think to see again truthfully. As you take in the sight of it, a simple house facing an otherwise unimpactful street, but you held memories of all your years within the confines of these blocks. You were home, after so many years away.

“Get out.”

He says bluntly. The clock shines a bright 1:47 on its dash, signifying that you definitely didn't meet his “before 1” pleas. But damn, could he have been any nicer about it?

You watch as he hops out of the car himself, to the sound of a hard opening of the back that held all your belongings. And as you made your way ever so slowly out of his truck, trying to not fall as the step was coated in the darkness of the night that was no longer politely illuminated by street lights. As you made your way to the concrete below you, rounding his truck was he almost done putting your stuff back out, only on a different curb this time. And without a second to spare, he gets back into his truck, and leaves. Not a word said to you, not even an exchange.

What an asshole.

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

“So you’re telling me, that the man you were with for how many years, kicked you out for what?”

The voice of your childhood friend rang once more through the old walls of the house, in the kitchen where you two sat. this was her family home, one that she now inherited, and one that after many years of silence on your part, she gladly opened up to you as well.

“We were together almost 3 years. And he just, found another girl I guess. But she was in my closet, filled with her clothes. It's as if he’d moved me out overnight. He didn't have a word to say to me, it's like I never even mattered to him. But I've told you this time and time again, what more can I even do at this point?”

She repositions herself with her legs crossing over one another as she looks for a response, taking a sip of coffee before having it dawn on her.

“Today. 3 pm. Uncles holding a barbeque. You remember my uncle right? Everyone will be there. Maybe we could find you a good little rebound to bring you down to earth.”

“Are you- a rebound? Seriously? Is that all you can think of right now?”

“Listen. The only thing you can do with a broken heart is fix it. And that doesn't happen in a day. Least you can do is get something tasty to chase the pain with. Like hot old guys. You’re only 21! This is the prime time to do whatever you want.”

You think for a second. Letting this wash over you as you try and figure out the next thing to do. Do you really doll yourself up after the most traumatic evening of your life is not even 24 hours in your past, just to eye all of your friends older relatives, and family friends that you’ve been ogling at since you were 16?

I mean fuck it, what else are you going to do.

Following your friend up the stairs, she lets out an excited giggle at the prospect of having you back after so many years. There's so many things to tell, different people to see, and subsequently laugh at, but the best of all her skills with a brush have gotten much better since the last time she helped you look good. Much better, apparently for as you looked at yourself in the mirror you could barely recognize the woman looking back at you-- let alone any trace of the girl sat in a torn dress the night before screaming outside her ex’s house.

You put on a pretty yellow dress, adorned with flowers It's hemmed all properly frilled to some level, and the flow of the skirt portion barely getting over your back end does the top also treat you well; a low neck cup to shape your chest perfectly as the daintiness of your outfit, paired with little yellow heels, made you look properly irresistible.

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

“Guess whos backkk!!!”

The excited shrills of your friend beside you make everyone who'd arrived at the party thus far to crane their heads back to look, all of which subsequently smiled with shock as they looked upon you. None of them had seen you since you were 17, about 18 years old. That's when you left, the moment you could. Looking back you missed all of this so much, the community, the story told in every face that looked upon you. But all is lost now and the most you can do is make the best out of the time you have right now-- and as it stands you’re at the center of it all.

They approach you by the droves, asking every question they can that have undoubtedly had rumored answers to in your absence; detailing from where you've been, what you’re doing, where you go to school, where you work, and most hurtful-- how your ex was doing. You briefly told them all that you and him had since parted, and that you were just getting back on track, spending some time at your friend's house in the meantime. They all looked upon you in sympathy, but as more people entered the party the more they dispersed to greet other guests.

“Oh my god, is that who I think it is?”

A low, familiar tone enters the backyard where you stand, and turning around to face you is your friend's father. Who, for most of your life was like a father to you as well. He opens his arms and you follow suit, embracing him in what feels like a much-needed hug, before setting you down again to continue talking to you.

“Oh, honey if, if I'd known you were coming I'd have brought you something. How long has it been since I last saw you? God, you seem so grown up now. It's like I barely even know you.”

His head moves to look behind him for a second, and soon he ushers someone forward to join in the conversation.

“Ah, there's something I'd love for you to meet. This is a good friend of mine, Joel. I haven't had him around any of these much, he just moved back here from Texas a couple weeks back. But he's someone I've known my whole life. Kinda like you and my daughter in a way!”

Though as the man who emerged behind him reared his head, you couldn't believe your eyes. It was him, of course, it was him. That asshole that drove you home like you were the greatest burden he's ever had to carry.

“Yer fuckin kidding me.”

He looks at you in shock. Nothing more. However, you see that to his side is a young girl, no older than 12 who seems to be in awe over you. Her hair was tucked into each side of her face to illuminate it in a crown of curls that came to her shoulder and stretched all the way to her ears in volume. She wore a small shark tooth necklace, and some form of singer on her shirt that you didn't recognize.

He-, Joel, looks down at her;

“Sarah how bout you go say hi to your friends for me. I'm gonna be busy a moment”

She runs off, and your friend's dad begins to speak again.

“Do you, know each other from somewhere? I can't imagine you do.”

“She's that insane little girl I told you ‘bout. The one kickin n’ screaming all over the place. Reason why Sarah hadta’ stay the night at your place.”

“The insane little girl?”

You chime in.

“There's no way- Joel, you’ve probably got the wrong girl”

“No, he has the right one.”

You stare directly at him, sending daggers into each of the brown eyes that look back at you.

“He kicked me out of his car at almost 2 in the morning without a single word. Isn't that right?”

Though no matter how piercing your gaze it fails to impact him as it should, for with equal level tone he snipes back;

“Yep, after makin me drive all the way cross’ town just cause she wanted to. Knowin I got someone waitin’ for me. Clearly, something she don't understand all too much anymore.”

That was unnecessary.

Something brews inside of you as you glance upon his finger void of a ring, even a tan that would indicate its recent removal. Though as the only sane-minded person seemingly left to observe watches your eyes as you make such a connection, he swiftly puts an end to it.

“Now, Joel. you know how young girls are they-”

“I'm not that young.”

“Alright well, they. Are just passionate, that's all. She was with him for how many was it now? Three years? Left the moment she turned of age. Clearly she just doesn't know how a mans supposed to be. This is all she really knows.”

This is all she really knows.

That's all that rang through your head as the conversation died and Joel exchanged brief apology. That in a way, he was all you really knew. And now you’re back home, and you don't know what to do with yourself, really. You don't know what you like, or what you don't like. It was all just, him. For so long. You vowed to yourself that day that, no matter what went on you would say yes to anything. To embrace kind of, anything that came your way as some divine fate, or at the very least a fun experience.

As the night droned on, and you fielded the barrage of squeals, hugs from people you don't remember, and a bit more liquor you could've accounted for, the night came to a slow end. Feeling eyes on you constantly was one thing, but feeling the eyes on the man with who’d you'd had a comfortable reunion was even worse in a way. Although, as you looked upon him in your own moments you saw in him something unveiled after the veil of hatred and sorrow fell off of you. Something, interesting about him. Attractive. Obviously nothing you were going to personally indulge in, but an interesting assertion nonetheless. He stood in the light of the evening, fairy lights covering the backyard as it illuminated his now more time-appropriate outfit; one of marginally better jeans and a plaid shirt, rolled to his elbows to reveal what were impressive forearms, and with the proper fit of his shirt, showed an impressive physique for a single dad.

… … …

Thats stupid. Anyways, the night drew to a close and as you saw your friend too wrapped up in the conversation of someone relatively older than her, you decided to take the few blocks walk home, especially since you didn't have a car anymore either. Though as you exit the front door to travel down the sidewalk you hear a familiar accent call out to you after only a few feet have been made distance between you and the doorframe;

“Ya’ walking home this late at night?”

“Yeah, I am. Not like I've got a car do I?”

You turn your body to look at him, but only after you've finished your sentence, using the body language of someone unequipped for any more stupid banter to cue him into leaving you alone.

“How’s about I drive you home. Least I can do after what I’d said today. It wasent quite my place.”

His voice has an unfamiliar tune of sympathy as he lets out that apology of sorts, so you engage. Though, begrudgingly.

“Don’t you have a daughter to take care of? That seemed what got you so mad before.”

He sighs a little, you notice you've hit a bit of a nerve.

“Well, she’ll be stayin' at a friend's place for a few days, really hit it off. Got nothin but time on my hands now.”

“Well in that case I'm not gonna say no to a free ride. Obviously.”

You smile a bit, a first with him. Other than ones of sarcasm, every interaction you've had with him thus far hasn't been all that pleasant. And he smiles back. And, as the light of the moon shines down upon his weathered face, the smirk on his makes your smile grow even more.

Hopping into his car once more, you take the road to your place with a little more enjoyment than how it transpired the night before. This time, the sound of his music accompanied by a hum through his car is what played to fill the silence of the atmosphere. Something old, country, of course. You’d never heard it, and it sounded well beyond even his years. But despite that, there was a comforting air that was shared in the car-- cool air blowing in from the windows rolled down, watching as his arm held on to the side of the car door from the open window, tapping its side in unison to the beat.

“This here is it right?”

Pulling up to your shared home you felt almost a little reluctant to respond with a yes. Though when you do, he steps out of the car as you do as well. You watch as he awaits your circle to the front where he stood, as a means to walk with you to the front of your door. Looking at him curiously as you reach the entrance, he gives response to your motions, though you watch as his fingers fiddle with one another ever so slightly as he poses such a response;

“It ain’t right leaving a lady to walk all by herself after dropping her off. And, I just wanted to say again that it ain't my place makin assumptions about you like that. Wanted to know if I could make it up to ya’. Kinda seems like lifes dealt you a bad hand right now, thought to offer you a drink over it.”

A drink?

You thought about that for a second. The man that kicked you out of his car, literally less than 24 hours ago, is now offering to take you out for a drink. Well, it was as a means for apology. So that's something. Nothing more to it, it's a Southern thing. They drink to anything. Especially sorrow.

“I think I’ll have to take you up on that. You’ll know where I’ll be.”

You reply with a smile that grows just large enough to show your teeth. He gazed at you for a bit longer, as his eyes grew brighter at the prospect of an invitation accepted. He was a lot less harsh than meets the eye, it seemed. But you still weren't properly convinced. And, there was still much a mystery about him that although intimidated you, enticed you even more. You cock your hip to the side of the doorframe, leaning up against it as he spoke to you as a means to accentuate your figure just a bit as he looked at you. Just to see what would happen.

“Oh, alright then. 7 alright with you? I’ll come pick you up course’.”

“Seven’s more than alright with me. I'll see you then, Joel.”

As you bid farewell to him, you watched as his eyes tracked your movements as you did so. The way your hips have shifted place, the tone at which your voice shifted ever so slightly. He took in your gaze, a small cat eye that sharpened your eyes paired with the sly smile of a woman your age was enough to catch his stare for a moments longer than it should've. You relished in that.

He leaves you off with a nod and a smile, though you take the time that he walks back to his truck as a means to take in all that he was without interruption. He was handsome, to say the least. There was something to be said about a man with southern hospitality and an ass made from manual labor that reached deeper into a realm of attraction that was often untapped by the men of your age range. And you enjoyed greatly that you’d discovered such a thing.

Tomorrow, 7pm, Joel.

#joel #joel miller smut #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel smut #joel fanfic #joel miller #joel miller x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #pedro x reader #pedro pascal #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfic #joel tlou x reader

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alien-magnolia · 10 months

Note

please could i request a joel miller x female reader smut where they’re playing 21 questions and they’ve always flirted and she asks him awkward/sexual questions like “which way does your cock bend” and “what turns him on” etc etc, and it end with hella smut, lots of daddy usage and maybe squirting i’m a sucker for squirting 🫶

A/n: Hey :) sorry it took me a while to get back to you, but we here now. Hope u enjoy :) and feel free to send more requests

21 Questions

Tw: dom!coded Joel miller, subby!fem reader, innocence, corruption kink, bj, squirting, age gap

18+ minors DNI. Wc: 1.8k

A late evening in early June. 8 o’clock, and the sun shines over a rich dark green lawn, paired with a light blue suburban ranch home. The wind gently pushes the colorful windchimes near the oak door, on a porch entrance. Inside, a young woman. Outside, an older man, shuffling upon the porch.

—————————————————

The doorbell rings throughout the house, you rush quickly to open it. Tonight you had on a pure white mini-skirt, a lacy top to match, that showed off your cleavage perfectly. You were still a Virgin, yet something changed when you first met Joel. You wanted him, in a way that you haven’t wanted any guy you’ve met before. Besides, Joel was not just some guy. He was a man. With your meet-up with him tonight, you wanted him to know how you really felt. You just didn’t know how to do it.

Your small, dainty, hand opens the door. There he is. “Heya, sweetheart,” his thick Southern voice drawls across the living room. Your eyes fixate on his Adam’s Apple, you watch it with curiosity and intent. He catches your glance, chuckling, as you shyly invite him in.

He sits down on the couch, manspread. You gulp, telling your eyes not to draw over to his crotch. “How about a beer, Mr. Miller?,” you offer. “Please, sweetie. Call me Joel. Yeah, I’d like one.” You nod, as you scurry over to the kitchen to bring him a beer. You bend over as you are by the fridge, reaching in for a nice, cold beer for this incredibly attractive man in your living room.

You bring him the beer, and he thanks you, patting the spot next to him, on the couch. A cue for you to sit. You cross your legs, folding your hands over your lap, your diamond ring on your one hand shining. You were quite different from Joel. You did not spend all day in the dirt like he did. This aspect of him, only made you want him more.

“Hey. Um. Can we play twenty-one questions? Maybe get to know each other a little better?,” you gingerly ask. “Sure, hon. How about I start, yeah?”

You nod. “How old are you again?,” he asks. “I’m twenty-two. I know you’re a lot older than me,” you chuckle, looking at him. “Fifty-six,” he replies. You are in awe of this. This was a huge age gap. You start to feel a bit of wetness growing, spreading across your pink lacy thong.

You giggle, crossing your legs together to ease some of that tension. His chiseled arms, the brown — gray stubble on his face, his deep brown eyes, those soft, pink lips. You wanted to kiss him right then and there. You restrained yourself. “Can it be my turn now?,” you ask, batting your eyes at him, while your manicured fingers tap on your smooth, soft, thighs. “Sure, hon. Ask away,” his deep southern drawl just excites you even more.

“What’s your type? Do you like it if someone is younger than you?,” you pose the question as innocently as possible. He chokes on his beer, nervously chuckling, and wiping his mouth with a napkin. You beg him to tell you the truth. Something tells you that you would like the answer you find. “I do, yeah. Frankly, to be honest, hon, someone as young and sweet as you, is exactly my type.”

Your heart rate begins to quicken. You looked into his eyes, it felt as if they were pulling you in. You smile a bit, confessing that you were into him as well. More questions begin to arise, as he downs the beer you gave him, even tilting the bottle towards your mouth so you can have a little sip.

“What turns you on, Mr Miller?,” you say, out of the blue. The both of you were a little tipsy on the beer at this point. He chuckles. “You really wanna know, sweetie?” You nod eagerly. “Well, you see, I like good girls. Obedient, sweet, good girls that listen, wear nice lingerie, and know how to suck cock the right way,” he states, matter of factly.

Your face began to burn as you squirmed around in your seat on the couch. You failed to notice that he had moved a bit closer to you. “I can do that,” you whisper, now noticing how close he was to you.

He smiles, and then brings his face closer to yours, two pairs of lips meeting for a kiss. A long, gentle yet passionate kiss, you felt his tongue slip inside your mouth, his stubble tickling your cheeks in the most wonderful way.

“How about another question, sweetheart,” he starts. You nod. “Ya think that tonight, I can see what’s under that pretty skirt of yours?”

This was it. It was actually happening. “Yes. Please,” you moan a bit, breathily. “My good girl, using her manners. C’mon now. On your knees f’me,” he commands, sternly but softly. Fuck — you loved it.

Your tiny hand palms him through his jeans, feeling the bulge grow bigger and bigger with every stroke of your fingers. Soon enough, a tent in his jeans appears, and you want nothing more than to put your face in it. You look up at him. “Can I?” He nods. You begin to unzip his jeans, your small hands around his belt. Both jeans and belt fall to the floor, and you stare with hungry eyes at his tent in his boxers.

Your small hands gingerly pull off his boxers, revealing his already erect cock, with a good bush to match. You run your hands all over his v-line, tracing spots there, feeling his coarse hair. You shift around on your knees a bit. “Come up, sweetie. I got something better for ya.”

You get back onto the couch, as he lays down, his big arms behind his head, you couldn’t keep your eyes off him. His coarse hand comes up to hold your cheek. “Look at you. Gorgeous. Ready to suck my cock, sweetie?,” he asks, gentle. You nod.

Nervously, you move yourself closer to his cockhead, giving it little kisses, as you make eye contact with him. His deep moans can be heard, softly, like music to your ears.

You give his cock a bit of kisses, before taking it in your mouth, God — it was so soft, so warm, it sat perfectly in your throat!!! Periodically, his cock became firmer, harder, as you took it deep down your throat. You looked up at him for approval.

His eyes were closed, head up high, moaning, softly, you watched those little hairs on his chest slightly move with every of his motions.

His eyes meet yours. A toothy smile. You smile back, as you pamper his cock with some kisses. “Fuck, hun. Jus’ like that. Being such a good girl for me, yeah?,” his raspy voice startled you.

You shook your head, giggling, as his large and hairy hand came up to give your face a few reassuring rubs and nods. You continue your gentle kisses and licks on his cockhead, tracing all three, bulging, prominent veins on the sides.

He stops you. You are confused —- what if he didn’t like your head anymore?! Could you have done something wrong?

“Sweets. Hows about I put it in, yeah? Wanna see how nice and tight and pussy this is,” he gruffly says, waiting for your approval.

You nod, looking at him with those sweet, doe, eyes, as he stands up, towering over you. With one big knee pressing into your thigh, his hands grab onto your thighs and roughly pull you forward. One hand on each side, caging you into him. You’re brought in for yet another kiss, longer this time, sweeter, the both of you smile into it.

You feel his bearded, rough cheek, against yours. Heaven. With that, you see him pull out a box of condoms.

“Joel. No need. I’m on the pill,” you softly say. He looks up, in shock. “Gonna let me, uh…,” he was about to start, then hesitates. “Breed me?,” you finish for him. There was that toothy smile again.

“Open f’me, sweets.” You do as said, your plump thighs spreading on the bed, ready for him to inspect. You were his little cow, all ready to be bred and pumped full of cum, until she couldn’t walk!!

“Fuck. Lemme see how good this cunt’s gonna take me, yeah?,” he asks, a predatory gaze in his eyes. Well, you certainly did feel like his prey. You feel his hard length slide into you, pulsing, hot. It felt like you were filled up to the brim. He was around eight inches, it felt like. You could feel that warm, round sack against your puffy lips. He starts slow, reaching in deep, causing you to shudder as his tip touches the tip of your cervix :)

Soon enough, his hairy thighs slap against yours, as he moves at a bit of a quicker pace. You feel his cock pulsating and twitching inside you, it just turns you on so much!! You squeeze tighter and tighter around him. You feel his veiny hands trail around your front to grip at your soft breasts momentarily, before returning to their guiding place on your hips, his grip so tight on you. Oh God — he was strong.

His grip tightened, rough, calloused fingers on the plush of your hips, tracing over those stretch marks :) You were glad that he liked them.

“Feel you squeezin’ me, princess. Tell me what ya want. Go on,” you hear his deep and a bit slurred voice above you. He must have been absolutely delirious by how tight you were around him. “Want you to breed me, Joel …please,” you whisper out in a breathy moan. You hear his chuckle — you loved how deep his voice was.

“Stay still, babygirl. Gonna give you my cum, gonna - fuck, make you mine, gonna fill you up,” he barely moans out, he was so close, you felt it. You both came at the same time, you were seeing white, hot pleasure, he was seeing the same. You felt a bit of cum spray out onto him, onto those brown, curly hairs all over him, that you loved so much. “Honey. Did you just squirt?,” you hear him ask.

You blush. What if he didn’t like it!? “Hey. Princess.” He must’ve felt your anxiety. “Calm down, yeah? I think it’s cute. Reckon, I’m glad I came over here tonight. You showed me a good time,” he gently says, as you smile up at him, closing your eyes as he gives you a little forehead kiss.

“Can we do this again?,” you sheepishly ask, as he wipes you down with a towel, and then leaning back onto the couch, patting his thigh as a signal for you to come cuddle. You oblige, laying your head on his hairy chest.

“‘’Course, hun. We definitely will.”

#liz’s masterlist #liz writes 🖤#joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #dom!joel miller #joel tlou x reader #joel miller x hyperfem!reader #joel miller hot #joel miller self insert

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yeyinde · 1 year

Text

ATROPHY | Joel Miller x F!Reader

》 SUMMARY: It's her, him, and the beats in between. A slow simmer of sex to something more. Something he isn't quite ready for, yet knows he can't let go of. 》 WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT (mild); allusions to death, assault; female gendered reader, female gendered anatomy; minor game spoilers; Joel isn't bad at feelings – he just doesn't want them. Joel is tired™ 》 WORD COUNT: 10,9k

His grief, sorrow, the ones that he tries to shove into a box marked apathy, are worn in the crevasses that line his weathered face. Deep canyons make him look ages older than he is. He wonders if she can see them. If she can peel the divots back and uncover the festering sickness, the rot, that sits in the folds.

It's his own fault, he thinks, for stuffing his grief in the same place he keeps his worry.

》 NOTES: I did something different with my writing. It's still a Reader insert, but. I tried third person instead of the usual second. also, how this ballooned up to nearly 10k is lost to me since it was just supposed to be smut?? I had this clear image of older Joel laying in bed, his guitar leaning against the wall, catching the light of the sun as you slowly rode him, and now? I don't even know. ⤑The gif is mine. Please don't take or repost without permission

MASTERLIST | FAQ | AO3

Complacency is a death sentence in a world like this.

Lazy Sundays spent between the warm, damp sheets. Boredom. Afternoons strumming his guitar on the front porch. Sleeping in. Drinking at a saloon in town. Music. Laughter.

It doesn't exist.

Shouldn't.

And yet—

His guitar sits, abandoned, in the corner of the bedroom. The wood still carries the heat from his thumb this morning when he played a song alone on the porch. Eyes bleary, full of sleep, of rest, as he took in the varicoloured dawn cresting through the indigo sky.

Those same weathered, beaten hands that strummed the chords to Hurt are now occupied again. One perched on her hip, skin sateen soft and plush, full and warm and clean from the shower last night as she bears down on top of him in a quiet cadence, a muted, languid dance. The other cups the swell of her breast in his palm, nipple still damp from his hungry mouth, and flushed red from his teeth.

This should just be a fantasy.

A dirty thing in the recess of his mind when he has a moment to himself breathe. A thought, a whim. Something to needle away at the last vestiges of his consciousness when he sees her in the wild—vibrant, young, and free—and then sullied in the back of his head when he leans against a tree, and thinks of the dirt on her skin, the blood on her delicate hands, and how they'd taste under his tongue.

But this isn't a dream.

When he sleeps, he dreams in black and white. The only colour that bleeds through is red. Blood red. Pulpy and vicious. Ugly. Garish. It splatters across the pavement where he laid Sarah down, where he lost Tess, and everyone else he never promised to save and still couldn't.

He knows this isn't a dream when he blinks his eyes open, and she's there. Sitting atop him in a kaleidoscope of colour, drenched in ochre from the still rising sun. The only red is her blistered lips, the rough burn between her thighs from the scrape of his beard, and that sinful little tongue that slips between her teeth when he slides in deep.

And then—his eyes drop to her side—that ugly wound that cuts her flesh, ripped over the seam of her ribs.

He's awake. Lucid.

She's much too heavy to be something carved from fantasy.

He doesn't say this, of course—Joel isn't stupid, and for someone so considerably smaller than he is, she packs a hefty punch in those slender fingers that curl into a fist barely the size of an apple. The sharp jab of a rusted, blunt knife. Knows where to hit him, too.

He tucks it away, and lets his hands explore, feeling the tangibility of her weight, her presence, under the tips of his bloodied fingers.

(Broken on the same teeth that caused her to hurt.)

The knob of her hip bone juts out through her flesh, and he grazes it with his thumb, feeling the soft curve.

Real, he thinks. Flesh and bone.

He can feel the flutter of her racing pulse under his hand when he kneads her breast in his hand, and lets her nipple graze teasingly over the rough skin of his weathered palm.

The tight clench of her around him—pussy a perfect knot around the base of his cock, all pretty and tied tight like a bow—is another stroke of realism his dreams, nightmares, fantasies, could never imbue.

It's a present he's sullied more times than he can count, each touch another tally to the neverending number of sins that pile higher than the hollow skyscrapers in Boston.

Joel feels each breath that leaves her heaving chest. Each gasping hiccup of his name when she raises her full hips up, and then slide back down the length of him in a slow, languorous roll until he nudges against the seal of her womb, and steals the air in her lungs.

It's real.

A paradox, then.

One of those things that shouldn't happen, but is. Like her, and him, and everything else in between.

He knows what the others in town say when they see her—pretty and soft with a ginger touch and a sweet curl of a voice when she whispers his name. It doesn't make sense for her to be all wrapped up in him, following along behind like a shadow to a man who's cut from ashlar, and reeking of rot. Ruin.

He's calamity in ageing grey, and she's the ripe, forbidden fruit he's not allowed to bite. Poisoned apple. Cherry sweet.

(He wonders if they'd recoil once they saw that her insides were gnarled; acrid and sour; bitter melon. Lemon drops.

That she is far more like him than they could ever dream.)

They glare at him from the corner of their eyes when she swells like a lighthouse in the midnight gloam at the sight of him wandering back from patrol, eyes all bright and beaming, and beautiful—Christ.

She's a picture, he thinks.

One of those pinup girls he'd find in dirty magazines as a kid. When he and Tommy would sneak a peek behind the barn, away from prying eyes. A portrait of lust. Desire in high gloss.

A classical beauty—the type that would make men drown themselves at sea. A starlet in the golden age back when it mattered.

Writers' muse, maybe: she would have been the girl everyone talked about—the one that eluded the tortured artist, made him pine.

Hemingway would call her brutal.

Cat in the Rain.

(She liked his old, heavy face and big hands.)

He doesn't know much about poetry but he knows she's the type who could make a man want to stain his fingers in ink just to capture the curve of her lips when she smiled.

A vixen. Hellion. Lilith.

Her voice is a song when she says his name. A hymn.

Dangerous.

He doesn't know when this started.

Maybe, when they brought her in with the rest of the group she was travelling with. Beaten down, hungry. Clinging to life with frostbitten fingers.

Her eyes were flat; a stagnant pond. Lips a grim, blue line. Placid. Gone. She'd been out there for too long to ever find comfort behind walls, and he knows the feeling of trying to crawl out of your own skin when people stand too close.

She scoffed at the idea of this place, of sanctuary. Resentful and derisive. He could see the distrust in her clenched jaw, balled fists. This world was a whim—evanescent—and what they gathered from the rest of the group, survival hadn't been easy outside of safe zones.

Wall after wall fell, she said, tone flat. Blank. Haunted by ghosts still lingering in the canyons of her eyes. Stopped believing in stuff like this after a while.

Her eyes were stained—jaundiced and red, filled with burst blood vessels—and raw from how hard the edges of her knuckles had dug into the flesh of her eyelids. They spoke of sleepless nights. Ones interrupted by her own sense of survival, hyperarousal.

He knows the feeling of jerking awake whenever his brain starts to lull, to slip into that dangerous facsimile of security.

Pipe dreams. She wears her fatigue like its armour, wielding the brunt of her exhaustion like a shield.

(Sleep often feels like a bad habit for people like her, like him.)

But like him, it waned slowly.

The chips in her veneer cracked, split, and he saw the incipient filament start to seep in. Complacency. Comfort.

A few months in, she stopped being so defensive when they invited her out for drinks, and when they talked about dinner parties, and birthday celebrations. Derision was still a heavy weight in her distant gaze, clutched in bleached knuckles like a claymore, when she looked at them, a touch incredulous.

Joel understands the feeling.

The itch in your guts, the discomfort in your chest. It festers, doesn't it?

Children play close to the fences, making up games of tag, and hide and seek, as if those things with broken, pustulous faces weren't skulking within arm's reach just a breath away.

This whole place is a vacuum. The interior is covered in thick molasses; stuck in stasis. They pretend that birthdays and holidays matter. Dance around the saloon at night with drinks in hand. Pale ale. Old booze.

It's rigid in its structure: patrols that span the entirety of a day—from dusk to dusk in three shift increments—and daily checks of the fences, the gates. Trading with other communities. Rules. Regulations.

It gives the idea of safety. Of security.

(But the bruises on his hands and the gash in her side are proof that it's sometimes not enough.)

Slowly, though, as the days wore on and the fences stood proud and tall and secure, she softened. Tucked it away with a smile, and started saying, I'll think about it instead of clipped jerks of her chin, or nothing at all.

Joel doesn't know if she ever really did think about it like she said she would.

Broken promises carry a distinct sound. One he knows all too well.

She never showed up despite the invitations. Never came to celebrate.

She stood by the fence, and looked out, eyes wide, mouth flat. The coil in her shoulders, the tremble in her hands, reminded him of a trapped animal. Cornered, and tense.

She'll bite someone eventually.

(He just never expected it to be him.)

The tension didn't flee the crease of her eyes, but she tried to integrate herself into the fold, the community. Slowly. Slowly.

He took stock of her in the same measure he does everyone new who wanders in. Assessing. Watching. Cautious.

He could tell right away that she was a wildcard. A lit match slowly burning down the wick in a sea of gasoline.

Pretty, he finds, despite himself. Drawn in by her allure; a coruscating light in the middle of endless, unfathomable grey.

He catches sight of the weathered face that blinks back at him from the frosted windows, hazy and thick with condensation that make the grey in his hair, his beard, look startlingly whiter than it was ten seconds ago. It's a jarring reminder of who he is. What he's done.

It's not insecurity that keeps him from seeking her out, but self-preservation. Some people, he finds, just have this magnetism about them. A beacon. A light. A gravitational pull that drags you closer and closer.

And hers is purely primal. Animalistic. She smells of sex and sin and makes him think of object permanence when everything around him had been clouded in the sharp shade of ephemeral grey.

She's a fractured mirror. Medusa in the making.

Joel's always avoided broken glass.

(Ladders. Black cats. Cracks in the pavement. Pretty girls who swallow everything like a black hole—)

Too sweet, he finds. Forbidden fruit. Tart, ripe, and sugar dipped.

(He never had much of a sweet tooth, anyway.)

Through his observations—necessary, he tells Tommy when he catches the way Joel's gaze follows her around when she moves; limbs ballerina lithe, swan songs after dark: just because we let them in, doesn't mean we can trust them—he finds out everything he needs to know.

A rusted sign on the side of the road says, stay away. Danger in dulcet. Soft and sweet. A perfunctory bow in battle before the deadly blows come.

He oscillates between finding her both too soft and too hard, and it's the unknown that makes him wary.

She's a caged animal. Everyone is just kidding themselves if they think she's domesticated.

Somewhere in the throng of people milling about, drinking and dancing like the world wasn't in shambles, she finds his gaze, matches his stare.

Most people looked away.

But she's not most people, is she?

No, she's dangerous. Pretty in a way that's entirely too ethereal for the broken remnants of what remains. Left behind. Mouldering until death claims its victims. Until the spores released from the earth itself burrow in the rucked lines of your head, sprouting up like flowering buds.

She makes men want.

And while the pickings might have been slim, Joel knows there are several (and maybe a little more) above him in terms of desirability. He's older. Gruff. Rough around the edges without any whim of changing, or scouring himself down so that his jagged pieces don't pop something as tender and sweet as her.

He doesn't put himself in the same bracket. Despite Maria's insistence, Tommy's needling, he isn't a bachelor.

Hasn't made himself available.

And he isn't.

Not since Tess. Not since—

None of that matters. He's too old to think about romance, about skin and sex, and warmth. And more.

The thought of it all leaves something sour twisting in the gnarled rot of what remains inside his chest.

Despite that, or maybe in spite of it, she comes to him.

(Somehow. Somehow.)

She asks him to dance, and the breathy tone of her voice tastes like a lit cigarette; it plumes nicotine in the air. Second-hand smoke. A contact high.

He finds it disarming when she laughs after he says no. Firm. Hard. Dismissive.

Not in your lifetime, sweetheart.

The unspoken stay away rang clearer than the echo of her laughter.

And that was that.

But she came back.

("If not a dance, then how about a drink?"

"Wastin' your time, sweetheart."

She grins, then, soft and coy. "Not much else to do with it these days besides chatting up a handsome stranger."

He pretends she didn't make him choke on his drink, and eyes her warily instead. Dangerous, he thinks. The type that just doesn't quit. One who is just small and malleable enough to slip inside the tiniest splinter.

Just like a raspberry, she'd rot fast. Festering. Clouded white and infectious. Worse, in many ways, than the parasites outside of the walls.

"Just don't get your hopes up." He settles on after a moment, a lull, that makes her blood-red lips curl up like the curve of those stupid hearts dangling overhead.

And hates that he doesn't really know if he's still just talking to her or the wandering eyes in his own skull when he says it.)

He doesn't know why she takes a liking to him of all people. Of all men. He might be out of touch with the reality they live in now, always on the fringes of waiting for things to buckle at the knee, and collapse into ash, but he isn't stupid. Oblivious.

Joel sees the way she stares at him. Open, wanting. Curious.

She shouldn't be. There's nothing in him—nothing left. His insides are polluted, gnarled. Ugly. A gurgling cesspit that doesn't know how to fix, only dissolve. Consume. He's acidic. Caustic.

Bad for anyone's health.

He can't keep anyone safe, and all he knows how to do anymore is push people away, and lie (and, lately, make Ellie so incensed with anger, she cuts him to the core and spills his choleric blood out onto the pavement where it hisses and sounds just like Tess).

He's a patchwork mess of a man sewn together with a churlish hand. The broken pieces are borrowed and maligned, but they sometimes feel like they fit when he shifts, and spits enough contempt to keep everyone else from getting too close, and—

It's enough.

(He likes it that way.)

But she—

His hands grip her tight sometimes—too tight—and the stains he leaves on her skin set his teeth on edge. It's too much like ownership. Possession.

(And he finds the colour that blooms on her flesh to be too fucking pretty to ever sit comfortably in the gnarled pit of his guts.)

"Don't worry, Joel," she whispers when she catches him staring at the marks he left behind. Dark and ugly. Contrition tastes of old nickels. "You won't break me that easily."

It's a bad decision.

But he was never known for his good choices, and when she fluttered her eyes at him, hand pressed to his chest like she were allowed to touch him, he crumbled.

She didn't give him much of a choice to fight back when all she asked for nothing but the warmth of his skin, and the taste of him on her tongue.

Pleasures of the flesh. It's easy. Simple. He fucks her behind the saloon, rough and dirty, and swallows the sounds she makes against the brick like they're just for him. He takes her home, and knows that when he's nestled between her thighs, it's as close to heaven as a man like him will ever get.

And then—it's over. She leaves. He pretends to sleep.

Rinse. Repeat.

It carries on this way for nearly two years. Distant, cold. He can't remember the last time he had anyone warm his bed, but it takes the edge off, the stress and pain of Ellie's distance, her mistrust, and hatred, and she asks for nothing.

She lets him grab her when he wants. Lets him bend her body into whichever shape suits him best, and says nothing about the fingerprints that he leaves behind, the astringent tang of rot when she slides out of his bed, his hands, and out the door.

He lays back, the same hand he used to grip the back of her neck when he fucked her into the mattress now resting under his head, and he pretends doesn't feel colder now than he did before.

There is no promise of forever. There's no promise of exclusivity, or monogamy, but he knows that she hasn't fucked anyone else since she got here, that those pretty thighs only ever parted for him, and he's too worn down to entice anyone else who wasn't looking for a sleazy fuck against a tree into his bed, anyway.

Complacency begets comfort, security, wants.

They settle down in their borrowed homes, in their borrowed beds, and think about making the most of their borrowed time.

In that, they yearn. Family. Togetherness. Everything they had before they tried to drag into the now. Forcing a square through a round hole. A mismatched puzzle piece into the slot it wasn't made for.

Sometimes, they get lucky and it slips through. It distorts itself into something different, and new, just to fit through the preconstructed crack.

Joel doesn't think about then. He thinks about now. A broken world no closer to resolution, absolution, than it was thirteen, fourteen years ago. There is no roseate veil over his eyes; everyone else can see it.

He isn't the type of man someone brings home. The one you push and push until he fits through the front door, and back into normalcy. Stagnancy.

And she's not the type of woman who'd ever try.

He likes that about her.

Poisoned candy apple. Pretty on the outside and rotted within.

There is no future outside of the way he fits inside of her, and this is as permanent as the blemishes he leaves on her pretty skin.

Then he dreams, and it's of her.

Lifeless, blue. The way her head splits open is beautiful in that macabre sort of way horrible things sometimes are. Flowers burst behind her eyes, petals budding out of the hollowed space that once made his chest stutter when the sun caught the crevasse of black that split from her pupil and bled into her iris. A small stream of ink.

The canyons of gradient colours are now filled with blooms of enoki. Red amanita curls out from her ears.

Where he once laid his palm over her chest is now a gaping hole flowering with a pulsing mass of candlesnuff and staghorn.

Death cap where her heart once beat.

Beautiful, he thinks, even as he howls her name.

He wakes up drenched in a cold sweat, and the curve of her name heavy on his tongue. His knuckles pop when he fists the damp sheets between his trembling fingers, but the ache feels good. The sting reminds him he's alive. Whole.

He's awake, but the nightmare doesn't end. The sight of her body lingers in the back of his head when he strums his guitar and plays a song for the demons within. He thinks of her when he forks over the expired box of condoms he found on a run, and listens to Jesse ramble about how Ellie is doing in exchange for the loot.

It's her he sees.

She blinks at him, eyes that same shade that sometimes makes his breath hiss between his teeth, and then her crown caves in. Forehead splits down the middle. One half stands where it was as the other falls over on her shoulder.

Fractals spill from the plumule that was once her brain stem until the two halves are bleached white like dead corals on a ruined reef.

The flowering toadstool quivers. What was once her—wit, charm; that uncanny ability to make him feel like the ground beneath his feet was crumbling—is a mass of spores. Polluted. Rotted.

Where she once stood is a puppet. Dead. Gone.

Her head tips. Ink spills from the putrefying blood vessels, congealing in the air. It spools into a circle. A black hole.

He lifts the gun, and feels nothing at all.

Everything he could have felt, feels, is syphoned into the needlepoint of no return, the place where she once looked at him, and said, I don't want anything from you, Joel. I just want you.

He wakes before he can see the aftermath of pulling the trigger.

A fluke, maybe. But it happens each night after that.

He knows, then, that there's no turning back.

Permanence doesn't belong in this borrowed home, but she somehow drags it through the foyer and into his bed, anyway.

She stayed over last night.

Joel doesn't think he tried to let go when he collapsed into the bed beside her, arms woven around her sweat-slicked back, locked tight like a pair of shackles that mean about as much as a prison or the law these days.

It was cold. Late. He didn't want her to walk back in the snow all alone.

That's all.

But Joel isn't a gentleman, and despite how much he wishes he wasn't, he's egregiously self-aware.

He knows he's in trouble when it just makes sense to keep her close. When it's easier to have her within arm's reach than it is to meet at the front door, and let her in.

(When he sleeps better if he can feel her burning skin on his.)

"You're thinking too much," she gasps, eyes lidded and heavy. Drinking him in.

Joel doesn't know what a pretty thing like her sees in a man like him.

He can't offer her anything except the cold comfort of a warm body, but even that is null. He knows there are younger men prowling outside her door, just itching for an opportunity to make her look their way.

(She never does.)

"Yeah," he rasps, the word sticking to his teeth. "Never been much of a thinker."

"Really? Ain't that a surprise."

His hand slips from her hip, palm swatting at the soft flesh of her ass. The sting makes her tighten around him like a vice.

"Watch your mouth."

The way she gasps his name, breathy and aching, makes him stifle a groan between clenched teeth, her voice rolling over him like warm sea breeze.

She's a lot, he thinks, and yet—she asks for nothing.

(Nothing but him. One of the things he can't give her. Won't.)

Still.

Her nails press into his damp chest, catching on the smoked dusted patch of coarse charcoal hair. Bracing herself against the swell of his ribs, and slowly rocked back into him, taking him deeper and deeper into her soaked, tight cunt.

The pulse in his neck throbs out of his skin, a tick she likes to press the flat of her tongue against and drink up the briny droplets of his sweat. He can see the want in her eyes when he catches her staring at the column of his throat, the way she bites her lip like it's a substitute for how badly she wants to sink those same teeth into his flesh. Mark him as her own.

Possession. Ownership.

Sometimes, he catches the glossy, rotund image of himself in the inky puddles of her pupils, blown wide with feverish desire, and he can see the same expression, the mien, captured in her startling hue.

Mutual want.

It's easier to give in sometimes. To let go.

He can't, though, and selfishly, he knows she'll never ask. She will bite your lip, the inside of her cheeks, and your tongue until it's raw and bloody before she lets the words slip through the gap of her teeth.

(He feels the rough, chewed ridges on velveteen flesh when he rolls his tongue between her ivory teeth, swiping over the insides of her cheeks; broken skin split and metallic—a testament to her own selfless desires.

He tastes it on his tongue long after she's gone. Wet pennies. Dandelion sour.)

It knots inside of him. She'd ruin herself before she asked him for more.

Maybe somewhere in his avoidance, his distance, she knows he's ruining himself by just giving her this much. Nothing, and yet—

Everything to him.

An impasse, then. Uncrossable when he's already two feet out the door.

"Joel—"

"I know, sweetheart," he murmurs, low. Rucked gravel. Falling rocks. It jars him how easily he responds to her. She says his name, and he'll drop anything in his hands to get to her quickly enough. "I know."

The wound on her side pulls taut when she moves. It draws his eye like a beacon. Makes him grind his teeth together until it sparks pain down his jaw, the enamel sawed to the raw nerve.

His hand slides over her molten flesh, trailing over the soft curve of her waist, until his thumb brushes the seam that keeps her insides from spilling out. The swollen, bruised skin is warmer than the rest of her body. Glossy where it tugs against the black threads keeping her whole.

Joel didn't go with her on this particular trade. She went with some new kid they'd picked up, all varsity grins and clean hands. He seemed so damned eager to get her attention in the pub. Her age, too.

Made a pretty couple, Ron said. Fucking loud mouth Ron.

He was supposed to go, but when the kid caught him in the corner, nursing a beer that sat in his guts like a stomach ache, and said, hey, man, can I take your spot? he didn't know how he was supposed to say no and still cling to the degrees of separation he wedged between himself and the world.

So, he raised his mug to his mouth, and forced himself to drink, to nod.

Knock yourself out.

The flash of sadness that flickered over her face meant nothing at all—nothing—but he felt something churn inside of his rotted guts. Atrophy, he thinks. He isn't meant for this. Doesn't want it. Need it.

She's a bigger liability the closer she gets. A slow-moving black hole consuming all of the counterscarps he dug until nothing is left but crossable rubble.

It's better, then, to cut it at the root before it infects the rest.

So, he does.

Maybe, he expected something different. For her to call this thing what it was, and then demand more of him, yell and scream and beg for the things he wouldn't give her—if only so he could break her heart into pieces, and force her to let go. To stop.

Force himself to do the same.

But she doesn't

It's a quiet acquiesce; a little more than a nod, and a grim line of her pretty mouth. Okay, it says. If that's what you want.

And that's what she always says, isn't it? If that's what you want, Joel. Whatever you say, Joel. Sure, Joel. Okay, Joel.

A spitfire in ochre. A bright lighthouse in the middle of the grey sea.

(The only person she dims for is him.)

Joel doesn't see her off. Doesn't say be careful or come back safe because words like those don't fit between his teeth. They aren't meant for the nothing between them. The chasm of everything she can't pry from his gnarled fingers.

She leaves with him.

He drinks alone.

Despite whatever nonsense Tommy says, spouted over rationed potatoes and deer meat stew, he isn't sulking.

"Let your girl go out alone? Unlike you, brother."

The way the words sat in his chest felt like an anvil.

"Ain't my girl," he muttered. He wanted to be angry but all he felt was numbness. "Ain't my anything."

It's Maria who gets under his skin when she scoffs.

"Joel Miller, you're the biggest dumbass I ever met, save for your damned brother. Gonna push a good thing away and die alone."

"No one asked you."

Maria tries to fill in the blanks of something that doesn't exist.

It peels back the gossamer from his eyes, and he sees, then, the way they skirt around him and her like it's something. As if his name is permanently attached to hers.

He pretends he doesn't feel the burn in Maria's glare when he doesn't see her off at the gate.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't.

He isn't there when she comes back, and hates, even more, that he feels something prickle inside his chest when Maria catches him near the stables, and says, I expected more from you, Joel.

It doesn't feel good when he bites back, that's your problem, Maria. Shouldn't have gotten your hopes up.

Joel lives in his vindication, in his pettily forced indifference. She hasn't come to see him, anyway, and he's sure that she and Varsity jacket are meeting at the pub for that date he'll never give her.

Doesn't matter, he thinks. And then, if only to burn himself in the flames, he adds: better this way.

She'll know when he's not there. She's smart like that. Know him in ways he doesn't think anyone else ever could. Ever wanted to.

(He hates it, and her, sometimes, for it.)

She'll understand. She might corner him one day with that dry ire dripping from the corners of her mouth, patronising and grim, and she'll do what she does best when she strips him bare and leaves him to rot.

Her eyes are cobra pits. Her teeth leak venom.

But she won't push.

It'll simmer out when she blinks, knowing that this is it, and she'll say: okay, Joel.

Okay.

He braces for it—hates that has to because that means something, something he isn't ready to acknowledge—and—

And it's all moot.

She never shows up at the gate.

It punctures something in his lungs when Tommy looks up at him, face ashen and worried, and says: "she didn't come back. They didn't come back."

It takes an hour to find her, left for dead and beaten within an inch of her life by the side of the road. A wound in her side—a gaping hole he swears he can see through. Milky bones poke through, drenched in red, and—

His heart doesn't stop, but a piece of it breaks off and lodges itself in his throat. He can't swallow. Can't breathe.

Something curls out from the moon-white line of her rib.

A bud, he thinks. Distant. Warbled. A saprophyte.

He has the image of her in his head. The same one he sees when he closes his eyes and falls into a fitful sleep.

Beautiful even as the cordyceps split her skull into blooming monkshood in hideous grey and plum. Pale and lifeless; a marionette on toadstool strings. A puppet in fluorescence.

"She's—"

Tommy's hand reaches down, fingers curling around the sprout.

Don't— not Tommy, too—

He pulls back, and Joel catches the tremble in his joints, the whites of his knuckles, when he spreads his fingers.

In the palm of his hand sits a leaf.

A leaf.

The bark that leaves his chest tears right through the clot in his throat. Rips him open from the inside out.

"A fucking leaf—"

He carries her back, and doesn't let go until the doctor is there, urging him out of the room.

"You'll get in the way."

He sees the looks they give him when he passes, but Joel never cared what people think.

Doesn't plan on starting now, either.

He's on the wrong side of fifty, and has more blood on his hands than the looted bars of soap could ever scour clean. He knows who he is, and maybe, maybe, knows what he wants, and Ron's loud mouth never meant much to him, anyway.

Joel gets a name when she's sleeping after surgery—lucky, he overhears, got there in the knick of time, any later and—and brings nothing with him when he leaves. He won't need it. Doesn't want it.

He finds them chatting over an open fire, and beats them to death with nothing but his bare hands.

He doesn't burn them. Doesn't bury them.

When he's finished, covered in blood and aching, and satisfied, he drives an ice pick through their skulls (the same thing, he finds, that caused the hole in her side), and leaves them to rot.

They say nothing about the blood on his shirt, or the broken, mangled fingers of his hand. He's content to leave them. To feel the agony as his broken bones split through cracked skin.

(He thinks of her—broken, blue—and clenches his hands so tight, the pain makes him blackout.)

He only lets Maria patch him up when she hisses about infection, and blood poisoning.

Says nothing at all about what he'd done, where he'd gone.

She doesn't ask.

When she's finished, she says: "woke up yesterday."

He knows. Still: "that right?"

"Gonna go see her?"

"Don't need me crowding around her bed."

"Maybe she, for some reason, wants to see your ugly mug."

"She tell you that?"

"Didn't ask about you, if that's what you're asking." She snorts. Shakes her head. "Both a'you are really perfect for each other, you know?"

"We ain't."

Her brow raises. Something prickles across her expression. "Huh."

"What?"

"Nothing," she shakes her head with a small smirk. "Just… didn't know you knew the word we, is all."

"We done here?"

He doesn't go to her.

Stubborn as an ox, she comes to him.

She says nothing about the bandages on his black and blue hands. Nothing about the way he can't make a fist through all the swelling. Her hands are soft, and warm, when they wrap around his. Small, delicate. A baby deer cupping the paws of a grizzly bear.

His eyes flash with something that tastes of the same rotten satisfaction he felt gnarled inside of his chest when the man who left her for dead on the side of a road wheezed as Joel broke his nose, and then battered the broken bulb into a messy, mushy pulp.

He didn't stop until grey matter leaked through the holes.

She knows what he did. He feels it in the way she stares at the black, swollen mess of his fingers. Bones broke on teeth, on a fractured skull.

He doesn't regret it. He doesn't even think he enjoyed it much, really.

It had to be done. Had to.

They took a life. Varsity Jack, she tells him. Stabbed in the heart when he tried to defend her with the same ice pick that ripped through her flesh.

Her tone is flat. Empty.

He sees bruises on her knuckles, those little fists were her only defence against them, and the red welt on the man's face makes sense now.

He feels proud.

She's not broken—battered, beaten, torn to pieces—but she still stands, whole, intact. Resilient. Strong.

(A survivalist. The only time she ever alluded to more was to tell him that he was worrying for nothing. That, above all, she would survive. Outlive him, even.

"What are you so afraid of, old man?" A cheeky wink. Her tongue dips out, and touches the upper corner of her lip. "I'm gonna outlive you, anyway."

God, he thought, he really hopes she fucking does.)

It doesn't surprise him to see her eyes cloud with anger, arsenic white, when she brings his hands to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. Anyone else might have asked why. Said thank you, even.

She just murmurs, "I hope they suffered."

Saccharine sweet.

Rotten to the core.

He saw the same shade of calamity in her eyes when she wandered in, grim and distant, as the one that stared back at him in the mirror. Her complicity in this doesn't surprise him. If anything, he wonders if she's angry he left nothing behind for her.

The thought makes his lips quirk in a needle of something he hasn't felt in a long time.

"They did."

The words are uttered like a promise. His busted pinky twitches, and it makes her smile. A bloom of petal pink flowering across her face. Soft and tender. The swell of a sea mark burgeoning out in the gloom of grey.

And all for him.

Joel pulled her in close. Closer still.

(Too close, maybe, because now he doesn't know how he'll sleep without her by his side)

His thumb slips over the tumid skin poking out from tight, black sutures. The threads are the only thing keeping her together.

Beneath it is a bruise. Black. The tip of his thumb presses against the cresting peak. Knuckle to skin, it's a perfect fit.

(In all the same ways he and she aren't.)

"I'm okay, Joel," she whispers, and the thick, dulcified tone of her voice shakes him from the labyrinth of his mind.

It's his own fault, he thinks, for stuffing his grief in the same place he keeps his worry.

"Yeah," he intones, and he isn't sure if he's speaking to her, himself, or a god he hasn't spoken to since he was eighteen and Sarah got sick for the first time. Maybe everyone, all of them, all at once.

It makes her huff. "Am I losing you already, old man?"

"Ain't that old," he bites back, hips lifting when she slides down. It makes him nudge something that has her eyes fluttering, mouth dropping, slack. Her nails catch skin when they rake over his chest.

Sex has always been an outlet. A comfort. It blankets that part of his head that never quiets—failures, failings—and offers a respite from it all. Her weight on his hips, chest, thighs doesn't dull it all but buffers it.

White noise in his ears when her nails rake over his skin. The scent of her clings in the air around them—sex, kerosene, cinder, ash: the scent of a wet forest after a wildfire scorched the earth—and clots out the fetor of decay, of mildew, and moss, the earthy tang that reminds them of death. Of them.

It's a distraction. Distance in skin, sweat, and heat.

It's just sex, just—

"God, Joel," she gasps loud, sharp, when he pitches his hips into her, blunt and unforgiving, and hits deep. Carves out the shape of him in her soft, fluttering flesh, and tries not to get lost in the thick scent of her.

It dusts over everything until he still smells her even when she isn't here.

Temporary made permanent.

It's the very thing he runs from finally catching up. He feels the graze of fingers ghosting over the nape of his neck when he looks at her, poised and centred above him. Aphrodite in flesh and bone. Her fingers prickle his skin with their sharp tips, and the indents left behind are soothed over when she gasps his name like it's something special. Meaningful. An orison murmured in the quiet box of a confessional booth.

The curtain rustles.

"Yeah," he grunts, low and filthy; the noise sticks in the back of his throat when he feels her tighten up around him. A little apple-sized fist of pleasure. He flexes his thighs, hands grasping her tight, and knows he's going to keep her here again tonight. "Fuck, sweetheart—"

The way she moves is liquid. Mercury. He watches, eagle-eyed and enraptured, as she squares her shoulders, and takes him to the root. The base.

Her presence in his life atrophied his defences until they lay scattered on the sheets that reek of her. In the folds of his pillow where he rests his head at night. The featherlight wood of his guitar when she leans over his shoulder, and says, play me another one, Joel.

He's a dog without an owner. A stray mutt on the outskirts of town, wandering through the city in search of sustenance.

She's the one who keeps feeding him. Lays out a dish just for him, and scratches her nails behind his ears until the curl of his lips subsides. A slow broiled trust. He stops showing her his canines, his claws, when she shows him the vulnerable curve of her neck, and lets him mark her skin with his touch.

Joel will mourn her the same way he does everyone else—achingly empty, and tearless—but he thinks, now, that he might think of her once, and then never again. He's selfish. Always has been.

(Can't afford not to be when she looks better bearing his mark. When he sleeps easier with her breath in his ear.)

Just sex. The words are weak in the back of his head, and he feels the shaky resolve begin to crumble, chossy wobbling under unsteady feet, when her head falls back in a mockery of prayer, the utterance of his name heavier than the sins on his shoulders. Just sex. Just—

The grille falls, and shatters into smelted pig iron at their feet.

—it's just her, him, and the beats in between. A slow simmer of sex to something more. Something he isn't quite ready for, yet knows he can't let go of. Won't. Not now, not ever. He won't give her anything, nothing but the touch of his hands, and the weight of his body, but it's juxtaposed to the worry heavy in his chest, the anger still lacing the broken bones in his fingers when his thumb brushes the curve of her wound.

It splits in her ardour. The bottom scab tugged too much, lifting from broken flesh.

Ichor pebbles on the seam. It pools an angry merlot against the indigo scab, but when it slides down her flesh, it's Phlegethon red.

His thumb catches it. It's warm, and sticky. He smears it over her quivering belly, and fights the urge to try and lick it clean. Knows, somehow, it would taste of Lethe.

Joel's teeth ache when he grinds them together, tongue lashing across the ivory seal. He's thinking too much—abstracts, concretes; they blur together in a cacophony of want, take, run, hide—

Keep.

"It's okay," she says again, as if all his secrets laid bare. As if the talons digging into his flesh somehow tapped a vein, an artery, that leads directly to his stem, and she's syphoning the thoughts in his head with the same ease that she steals the breath from his lungs. "It's okay, Joel. It's—"

She doesn't finish. Her words are shorn, bitten at the grain when he reaches up, holding her around the waist, and brutally fucks into her weeping cunt with the finesse of a starving man invited to a feast fit for a King.

It jostles her. Breasts swaying, head bobbing back and forth as he nearly lifts her off the bed with the force of his thrusts.

The brutality of it screams one shrill echo of it isn't. None of this is okay. None of it.

She's chiselling him open until he's a raw wound exposed to the unforgiving air. Until he bleeds and thinks of her. Until the only sound that drowns out the terror raking across his synapses is her voice when she murmurs his name.

"We're fine, Joel—," it carries the flavour of axiom. Aphorism when she says: "we'll be okay."

She trembles over him, muscles straining to keep up. This isn't her taking; despite being perched above him like a queen astride her throne, she gives. Lowers herself the way he likes. Circles her hips until he sees white behind his eyelids.

The weight of her feels like an anvil. The heat is enough to liquefy his bones.

"Keep goin'," he rasps the words out—a strange limbo of being both an encouragement and a demand. It lacks the bite it had before, when he'd bend her over and fuck her until he was satisfied, until the howling in his head, and the ache in his bones was eased with the soporific gossamer only sex could give him. "Just like that, pretty thing—"

It's a slip. An accident.

Her rhythm stutters. Her ribs expand wide under his palms; ballooning up so much he wonders if she's trying to burst them at the seams or float away. Irrational, of course. Sex makes him stupid. Makes him hungry and needy, and has him feeling like he's almost, almost human, and—

He holds on a little tighter.

Pretty thing. Her lips form the words in a soundless exhale. Pretty thing. She's used to him calling her all sorts of sobriquets smeared in a palpable stroke of derision. It's not contemptuous, but he makes his mockery of it clear with the flout in his tone. Sarcastic, caustic.

Sure thing, beautiful. If that's what you want, sweetheart. Go on then, gorgeous.

She always wore the same sour twist to her lips, the exaggerated eye roll. The heavy huff.

It was never flirtatious, never complimentary.

This—pretty thing—is the softest he'd ever regarded her.

He watches her throat bob when she swallows, eyes tracing the nervous flutter as she struggles to grasp the concurrency of his words, the way he said them. Their meaning. It flickers through those depths that threaten consumption whenever they dust over the length of him. Thinking. Thinking.

They were always abstract, but his words are concrete, and she isn't sure how to carry the heavy cinder he drops on her. Her fingers are used to the ephemeral weight of his scorn; the delineation of distance—unspoken but unignorable. Unequivocal in its separation.

"Wow," she breathes, tremulous. She grasps at normalcy but he can see how much those two words have rattled her. She swallows again. Eyes narrowing. Viper pits. "Getting soft in your old age, huh?"

Joel isn't ready to acquiesce.

He pitches his hips up, letting her feel the solid length of him—blunt, burning iron—and feels his chest flutter when she whines, head dropping back as he bludgeons into her core.

"Fuck, Joel—"

He isn't soft. Isn't malleable. He's made of carbonised grief, anguish, despair. Reinforced with volcanic clinkers running rivets of apoplectic fury.

He isn't soft. Isn't what she deserves, or needs, or should even want—

But the way she says his name is pyrolysing.

Cinder. Soot. Ash.

He spent so much time holding firm against the walls to keep her out, he never bothered to filter the air he breathed. She clots in his lungs. The scent of her builds. A mass forms. Metastasises inside of him.

Her hands fall there, palms drawn to the steady thump of his beating heart. It drums under her skin, a stuttering rhythm that makes her own chest swell with her shaky inhale.

His slide, rough skin scraping over her soft flesh. She burns hotter than the acorn stove in the corner of the room, and he feels the heat simmering in his veins. Scents the sulphur and volcanic ash in the air when she leans down, bending at the elbows to press her lips against his. It's chaste, as far as their usual kisses go. Biting and vitriolic. As if being sweet, tender, was forbidden.

Maybe it was. He doesn't know what he'd have done if she kissed him like this back then. Honeyed rich, and molasses slow. It tastes like smoke but reminds him of the rock candy he'd make at home with Tommy when he was young.

She moans into his mouth when his hands slip around her waist, her thigh. He holds her steady, and rocks up into her to the same tremulous beat as her clumsy, fragile kisses. The vibrations buzz on his bruised lips, and the tingle of her voice washing over him makes his cock twitch inside of her.

The press of him, unyielding and firm, against her soft, soft walls makes him grunt. Another noise pulled into the cacophony of them. It's lower than anything he's ever made before. New. Novice.

Fucking her now feels marginally different than it had only yesterday. It's raw. Vulnerable.

He thinks of a slow burn. A candle wick.

Wonders, then, if she feels it, too. This rawness that sits in his thundering chest; a scraped-out, hollow feeling that draws in more and more of her until the crater is filled with the essence of her sweat, the heavy breaths she tries to stifle in her throat to keep kissing him like she'll never get the chance to again.

And that must be it.

This isn't what he normally gives her—bruises and bites, beard burns over the delicate softness of her flesh; he leaves her kiss-bruised and drunk off of the taste of him, malt-heavy and whisky sour.

Intimacy is saved for moments when she cums around him, tightening up like a strung bow in his archer's hold; when she squeezes herself into the nook of his shoulder, whimpering as he fucks her through her high, and chases his release in the spasming clutch of her willing body. When he cums, painting her stomach, her thighs, her ass, with the stain of his spend, the only physical proof he'd been inside of her, and smears the wet mixture of them on her heated flesh, still buzzing with the aftershocks of her orgasmic haze.

It's reserved for the microcosm carved from their shared release, drenched in the glow of the chemical slurry that saturates their brains, releasing endorphins until they feel nothing but the buzz of each other. Skin to sweaty skin. Each breath a gasp.

He lets her linger in these soft moments. This singular dissonance sits incongruously with everything else between them. But then she shifts. The microcosm that filmed around them bursts.

She slips away after he does, slowly leaning over to pull on her discarded clothes, and wipe the stain of him from her body.

His fingers itch for a cigarette when he watches her through lidded eyes as she stumbles around on fawn legs.

She always hesitates for a moment. Joel often wonders if she's waiting for him to ask her to stay.

He never does. She leaves.

(Rinse. Repeat.)

But now—

"Easy, now," he murmurs, tongue slipping through the gap of her teeth to chase her taste. "Don't rush this, sweetheart."

Everything about this is unlike him, and she moans her disquietude into the scant space between them, brow knotting together when her stitches pull, and he leaves a bloodied trail across her waist, knuckles split and bleeding anew.

They're both bloodied, he finds. Drenched in each other's sweat, spittle, and blood.

It makes dizzy. Makes his fingers dig into her flesh, holding her closer to his heaving chest as he takes. His hips raise off the bed—a clumsy slant into her welcoming sex, and he feels her shudder when he hits deep, cock nudging that soft place inside of her that always makes her forehead crease.

He can't see it when she leans down, peppering wet kisses across his grey beard, and painting hard through her nose when he presses the flat of his palm against the base of her spine and fucks into her with sharp, unrhythmical thrusts.

"That's it, take it just like that—," he grinds the words off, and tastes the condescension in his tone.

In response, she bites down on his pulse point.

Another break in the routine. The rules lay scattered around them, smouldering embers of this incipient beginning to something neither of them is ready for.

Her hands wiggle out from between their chests, bringing them closer together than before, and when she tangles her fingers in the damp curls behind his ears, he swears he can feel her heartbeat echoing through his ribs.

He spears himself into her faster, seeking that place he knows will make her melt—

"Joel, oh—ah, fuck—"

—and once found, he cruelly angles the head of his cock into it, rasping out words of patronisation into her ear.

Good girl, he says, and groans when her cunt tightens around him like a nautical bow. Taking me so good. Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum around my cock—

He can feel his release brimming up like a fever in his veins. White-hot and arctic cold. It sets his nerves on fire, and the pressure of her around him makes him see pure white.

He thinks of church on Sundays when she chants his name like a hymnal—Joel, Joel, Joel—and finds nirvana when she sinks her teeth deeper into his flesh, unmarked and unclaimed until now. He'll have the perfect impression of her teeth embedded in his skin, and thought alone makes that gnarled spool inside of him loosen.

Joel is taken by surprise when she cums—voice a shaky, shrill howl of his name, and the sound of it, the blood that stains his beard when she turns, baring her teeth and pressing them flat to his jaw, makes him grunt. It's raw. An oozing wound.

She flutters around him like the beat that echoes through his bones, and feels a hunger inside of him grow.

The uncoiled knot inside of him rears, once dormant and dead to the world, now gnashing its jowls at the hands that prodded it from its slumber. Rapacious. A black hole when it yawns.

The town knows she's his. Has since she sidled up to him, all soft smiles and viper eyes, and asked him to dance, for a drink, and what's a handsome man like you doing in a place like this? Got anyone I should worry about, Joel? Wanna dance? Wanna fuck—

And they know, now, that he's hers when he carries her in his arms, and knocked his forearm into the necks of anyone who tried to pry her from his clutch.

They know. They know, but it's not enough.

He wants to mark her, stain her. Leave her with the permanent smear of him on her pretty skin.

Fuck—

This wasn't supposed to happen, but the keen awareness comes much too late.

He fucks the frustration into the tight clutch of her willing, forgiving, body, and tries not to come apart at the seams when she mewls his name like he's just as much of a burden to her as she is to him. Bankrupt. Bereft of the walls and the rationale that kept him lightyears away from everyone else around him (until Ellie, the hospital—this place that reeks of stagnancy and burrowed into his marrow), he crumbles in her hold once more.

His release hits him like a sucker punch to his gut, and the force of it makes him ache.

He doesn't pull out like he always, always, does despite the contraceptive she has, and spilling inside of her spasming cunt feels too much like heaven for him not to come apart at the seams. For him not to shatter into pieces when she pulls him closer, and murmurs, that's it, Joel. That's it—cum for me. Just let go, I got you—

And for the first time in a long time, he does.

It's an awkward assemblage of limbs that don't fit together, bodies that are too incompatible, but he tugs her down onto the mattress beside him, and makes it work. She rests the flat of her palm over his sweat-slicked chest, nails raking through the dusted grey smatter of hair on his chest. The inside of her thigh is wet with him, with her, them, when she slides it over his hip.

Her head rests on soft tissue where his arm and shoulder meet, ear nestled into his armpit. His arm around her back, fingers resting on the curve of her elbow. It's then, when he finds his thumb brushing small circles into her dewy skin, that he realises what this is.

Cuddling, he thinks, a touch derisively, in the apocalypse.

It was never a burning release, the aftermath of that intoxicating chemical bath of endorphins, oxytocin, and then a quick until next time.

Being trade partners for most of the scheduled shifts—his brutality, and her knowledge of survival made them a perfect match outside of this clumsy moment of intimacy—meant that she often stayed for a few hours afterwards discussing plans, and who to barter with next or the places they haven't yet scavenged. Lying naked beside each other, shoulders sometimes brushing as they spoke—that was the extent of their post-sex ritual.

This, he knows, is new. Different.

It has the same cadence as last night when his massive hand swallowed her wrist in his palm, and he said, just sleep here, but it's a syncopation. Lighter, somehow, than the gruff way he demanded her company, the brutal divot between his brow.

She moves, slow and languid, and for a moment he thinks about letting her leave. Repairing the chasm that crumbled between them into heaps of broken ruination and anguish, her hand brushes his when she pulls away, and he knows he won't.

For such a massive presence, she's surprisingly small in his grasp. The bump of her wrist bone fits snug against the broken, swollen knuckle of his middle finger when he folds his hand around hers.

The hitch in her breath, the rapid flutter of her pulse beating against his too rough, too worn palm are the only measure of her hesitation, her confusion.

They're not themselves in this moment.

The moor around him collapses. A sinkhole forms.

He clings to her and drags her under with him.

The words won't form on his lips. His throat is bereft of what he feels in his marrow, unable to utter them aloud, to make them real. As if speaking his burgeoning desires is somehow worse than a death sentence.

Wanting in this world is dangerous, and ruinous, but when Joel sees the dawning realisation buoying to the surface in those unfathomable black holes, he knows there's nothing more worrisome, more deadly, to him than her insatiable appetite. Her desire for more.

More—

And just him.

Something in her gaze splinters. Cracks. Her shoulder slump in something that tastes of the same defeat that taints the pinch in his brow.

"You are getting softer, Joel Miller," she takes a stab at a joke but her hands shake too much for it to land properly. "Who'd have thought all it would take is old age and mortality—"

"Shut up," he grumbles, and fights the thrum of satisfaction that spumes in his veins when she lays back down beside him. "Didn't hear you complainin' this much five minutes ago."

"Yeah, well—" her hands settle on his chest, fingers carting through the damp, matted hair. "There's a reason I'm always on top, you know. Worried you might throw your back out."

"You say that like I haven't already."

Her chin scraps over the soft flesh where his bicep meets the curve of his shoulder, eyes bright in the morning sun that smears rays of ochre across the bridge of her nose.

She's pretty, he thinks, and feels that same gnawing in his guts, that same hunger, when she dips, and presses a kiss to his skin.

"Poor baby," she coos, brows drawing together in mock sympathy. "I can't believe a little missionary ruined you so badly. Guess I should take better care of the elderly."

"Wasn't the missionary," he huffs. Her skin is soft, tacky, when he runs his fingers over her shoulder. "It was carrying your heavy ass home."

"Did my heavy ass snap your hips, too—"

"Christ," he bites out, but it lacks any heat. "You just never shut up, do you?"

He hears the click in her throat when she swallows.

"Guess you'll just have to shut me up, won't you, old—"

He presses his lips to hers, and steals the goading words from her quivering mouth.

"Call me an old man again, and I'll spank your ass, little girl."

The condescending tone is thick, but where he expects her indignation over the same words spoken to her by everyone else when she said she wanted to go with him on runs—stay here where it's safe, little girl—it instead makes her suck in a sharp breath between her teeth. He feels the vacuum of it against his lips, and blinks up at her.

"Did you like that—"

"No," she snaps, and drops her head to his chest. "God, Joel, you really know how to ruin a moment."

"Is that what this was? A moment?"

"Yes," she volleys back. "You don't think it was?"

He swallows down the tang of panic that salts his tongue, and presses his lips to her crown instead.

"Ain't much of one, was it?"

"We'll make a better one," she murmurs, the lilt of a promise heavy in her words.

When she settles in his fold, cheek laying flat against his chest—hiding her embarrassment he tones with a particular thrum of fondness so sweet it makes his teeth ache—he folds his arm over her shoulder, keeping her tucked into the bracket of his body.

She's too small for him to ever be a perfect fit. Too hard inside that pretty little head for him to ever wiggle through. Too soft for him not to ruin her completely when he holds her too tight in his hands that overlap in a way that sometimes makes him dizzy, feverish with want, with fear.

She doesn't click in the same way Tess does—did.

A silent agreement of unspoken distance. Never ask for more, it hissed because you'll be brutally disappointed. Never hunger because you won't ever be satiated. Don't yearn. Don't want. Don't, don't, don't—

No, she doesn't click. She doesn't fit. Not with him. Not at all.

(Tess left him whole.

She devours.)

Consumes.

Her eyes are black holes, and ever since she looked at him through the fanned ring of her lashes, and said: you won't break me that easily, he's been standing on the edge of her event horizon waiting for that perfect singularity to swallow him whole.

(He thought her pull would happen quickly. Instantaneous.

But she's been ripping him apart the entire time; morsel after morsel until all that remains is raw nerve. Scraps.)

A slow descent into comfort, kinship.

She's on the same plane of existence as Tommy, Ellie. Maria, too, he supposes, a touch begrudgingly. His circle widens, expands. The bubble encompassing her, too, and he knows that he'd mourn her in the same hushed breath as the rest.

I'll outlive you, old man.

(He's never wanted something more in his life right now than for those words to come to fruition.)

For the first time since the walls reared, since the gunshot that still echoes in his ears like a reminder of his sins, his failures, Joel thinks of tomorrow. And the one after that. And after that.

He thinks of her, and them, this, in the afternoon. Over old stew. Tommy's laughter. Maria's knowing glances. Ellie's anger. Her scorn. Distrust.

Wasting the night away in the bar that's always several octaves too loud not to make him tense, antsy. Watching her dance around the room, ballerina nimble with a sprinter's pace. Listen to her joke and laugh with the men who look at her a touch too long, and a shade too intense, and—

Bringing her home after. Back here in this small house where he rots. Where he plays his guitar as if the chords of Hurt would ever be enough to drown out the bullets and the bloodshed. The clicks, the groans. The scent of moss, and fungus.

Taking her to bed in the sheets that hasn't stopped smelling like her since he fucked her three times over Christmas until she sobbed into his pillow, and begged him for respite. When she brushed the grey hair from his temple with fingers that wouldn't stop trembling despite the ease in her grin, and the polynya in her eyes as she regarded him with more than just desire. More than just sex and sweat and the comfort that comes with losing yourself to the chemical high of another body tucked into the crevasse of your own.

She doesn't fit. She doesn't belong.

But fuck—

He knows he's gone when he can't imagine her anywhere else.

"Sure," he says, and wonders when she let herself into his life, into the gnarled remanants of his chest. "Whatever you say, sweetheart."

(He only dreams in black and white, but when he closes his eyes and dreams of her, it's in a startling palette of browns, reds, and blues.)

#UMMMMMMM #this ended up becoming bigger than i expected #it was honestly supposed to just be super quick smut as an intro to me writing Joel and now it's a Thing #Joel Miller #Joel Miller TLOU #joel tlou #tlou #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel tlou x reader

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plus-belle-poubelle · 1 year

Text

been thinking thoughts lately…

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

just.... uhh..... joel's fingers. thick and long, with calloused tips from hard work combined with guitar-playing. making your cheeks heat up when he places one under your chin to tilt your head up and make you look him in the eye. the way they move when he loads a gun. the way you can see the tendons on the back of his hand when he moves them.

and let’s not forget his hands. big and strong and warm. rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand in little eights when they gently hold yours. gripping the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles lightening, his fist next to engulfing the gear shift that looks so big under your palm. placing his hand firmly on your thigh when ellie’s finally fallen asleep in the backseat.

joel’s hands and fingers are probably the part of him that you are the most familiar with. you can see them at next to all times, and you know what they’re capable of. the reassurance and protection they provide for you and ellie. the destruction and pain he could cause when he needs to.

but when he doesn’t need to, he’d much rather cause pleasure. for you.

joel’s hands on your cheeks when you kiss him, tilting your head back a ‘lil to let his tongue in your mouth. one of them straying, moving to the back of your neck. giving a light squeeze at your soft flesh before moving on. tracing his fingers over your collarbone, across your sternum.

light touches skimming right over your tits, continuing downwards. but teasing you always winds up causing almost as much frustration in him as it does in you, and he’ll cave quickly. sliding his hand under your shirt, up the softness of your belly, pushing the cups of your bra out of the way. rolling your sensitive nipple between his index and his thumb, feeling it harden under his touch.

joel’s big hands pushing your shirt up to bunch over your breasts, baring your torso to him. with his fingers, tracing patterns only he can see over your skin. goosebumps and an almost ticklish sensation erupting in their wake.

undoing your pants, not bothering to pull them down but just slipping his hand down the front and into your panties as soon as there’s room. spreading your pussy lips, dexterous fingers smearing your slick from your hole up to your clit. coating his fingers in it and rubbing them over the sensitive nub, swallowing down your moans and whimpers with kiss after kiss.

placing his thumb over it, sliding his fingers back downwards. tracing his ring finger around your entrance before sliding it in as far as he can reach, bumping into that spot that makes your eyes roll back into your head. pumping his finger into you, making you writhe under him. thrusting his middle finger inside you, too, to start stretching you. scissoring his fingers apart, feeling the tightness of your walls give way for his touch. grinding the calloused palm of his hand into your clit, licking at your throat when you break the kiss to breathe. the roughness of his calluses rubbing over the velvet of your walls and the friction on your clit finally proving too much; thighs trembling around his wrist and insides clenching around his fingers as you cum.

annnnnd he’s not stopping. when you finally come down, he’s slipping a third finger inside you. you’re whining and pushing at his chest, but he’s just shushing you. saying that you can take it as the overstimulation sets in. saying that you can be good for me, yeah? as you sob from pleasure.

and, well, how can you say no to that?

I TRIED TO POST THIS A MILLION TIMES BUT THE LAST PARAGRAPHS KEPT DISAPPEARING SO, HAVE A FEW DOTS AT THE END LMAO.

#the last of us #tlou #hbo tlou #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel tlou x reader #joel tlou smut #tlou x reader #tlou smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal smut #the last of us smut #the last of us x reader #the last of us x you

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mushrubes · 1 year

Text

Admit it

Masterlist | The last of us Masterlist |

Requested : no!

Prompt 53. “Why won’t you admit it!” + 85. “I’ve seen how much you really care–don’t pretend like you don’t.”

Pairing : Joel Miller x (they/them) reader (No use of Y/n!)

Type : Tiny angst and fluff :)

Warnings : Age gap, swearing

Word count : 1k

have a great day/night!! <3

this was incredibly rushed i am sorry in advance

—————————–

“What do you mean they went outside by themself?” Joel asked, Ellie biting her cheek as she heard the mix of anger and concern in his voice. “They said they needed to go get something and that they’d be back. I’m sorry - they told me not to tell you.” she rambled, following Joel as he got up, putting his muddy boots on and standing back up.

“You stay here, do not even move out of this house until I’m back with them.” he instructed, the girl nodding as he walked out, Ellie immediately locking the door behind him. He jogged out of the drive, looking around for some sort of indication you were around but there was nothing. “Shit.” he grumbled under his breath, trying to think of where you could have gone.

A slight scream in the distance alerted him, his breath hitching as he ran over to the direction. He shot at the infected, giving you more time to run. When you got close enough, he shot the rest, pulling you behind him as he held a hand in front of you protectively.

Once he was sure they were all dead, he grabbed your hand, walking back to the house you were staying at, stopping when you were stood just outside the door in the drive. He didn’t say anything, pulling you into a hug which caught you off guard. “Don’t ever do that again.” he lectured; his voice muffled as he rested his head in the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry.” you apologised, rubbing your hand up and down his back.

When you both pulled away, he pressed a kiss to your temple before knocking on the door in the code you had taught Ellie. You waited a few minutes before she unlocked it, letting both of you in. “You’re okay!” she grinned, hugging you as you laughed softly, returning it. “You’re not stuck with just the old man yet, don’t worry.” you teased, looking up and Joel who rolled his eyes and smirked at you.

----

The next few days confused you; Joel was either ignoring you or he’d snap over any tiny thing you said or did. Ellie looked between the pair of adults, able to feel the tension and felt like she had to tip toe around. “Alright, what’s going on?” she huffed, tired of having to walk on eggshells around them constantly.

You had walked out a few minutes ago, going to get ready to sleep and having a quick shower. The pair of you needed to blow steam off after the argument you had (which he started). Ellie took the chance to sit with Joel, trying to find out what was wrong

“Nothing.” he shrugged, not even sending a glance in her direction. Ellie got up groaning, rubbing her forehead as she looked at the immature adults in front of her. “I’m going to go to bed now, you two need to sort out whatever is going on.” she warned, a slight red tint rushing to Joel’s cheeks as he knew she was right, annoyed she was giving him advice for once.

You walked back out, sitting back in your place as you looked around for Ellie. “Where did Ellie go?” you asked softly, scared he was going to snap in response. “She’s uh...gone to bed.” he responded, his leg bouncing slightly as he played with his hands.

He decided against Ellie’s advice, getting up and stretching, walking towards the stairs. “What’s going on with you?” you spat out, slightly regretting your tone of voice. “What do you mean?” he responded bluntly, turning and raising an eyebrow as his face hardened up. “You’ve been so...so different! You’re snapping over everything I do.” you huffed, turning to face him, trying to ignore the loud thump of your heart.

“I’ve got better stuff to do than this, this is the last of our concerns at the moment.” he said coldly, turning his back and starting to walk up the stairs. He tried to ignore the growing guilt in his stomach but he couldn’t help it. As much as he hated it, it was the only way he was able to supress the feelings he had. Joel had convinced himself that it wouldn’t be fair on you to act on his feelings, believing how you deserved someone better, someone more your age compared to him.

“I’ve seen how much you really care - don’t pretend like you don’t.” You raised your voice, the male stopping in his tracks. “Please, Joel.” you asked, your voice small and cracking slightly. You looked down at the ground, your vision misted and blurry. The only indicator that he was listening was the creak of the floor, signifying he was moving. The room went silent, making you assume he had walked away, your body now racking with sobs.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around you, pressing your head into his chest. “Why won’t you admit it!” you shouted, thankful it was muffled by him so it didn’t wake Ellie. He didn’t respond, comforting you as you got out your anger and sobs, the occasional punch to his chest but it didn’t hurt him. “Because I’m too scared.” he mumbled after a while, almost talking into the top of your head.

“I’m scared if I admit I care for you, that I... I love you, something will happen to you, and I’d never forgive myself. And I know it’s selfish, you deserve someone your age but I need you.” he confessed, his cheeks heating up as he pulled out the embrace, eyes on the ground as he refused to meet yours.

“Joel, look at me.” you breathed out, your stomach filled of butterflies as you tried to process the words, praying it wasn’t a hallucination. “Sweets, you don’t have to-” he started, getting cut off by your lips being pressed to his, your hand running through his salt and peppered hair.

“I love you too.”

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shesalwaysthere · 8 months

Text

Waiting Room

Joel x F!Reader

Chapter One: My Poor Parents’ Teenage Daughter

pairing: dbf!joel x f!reader

genre: no outbreak, explicit, fluff, angst, eventual smut

word count: 3.7k

summary: You come home from your term at UT for the summer to visit your parents. It’s your last summer close to home before you go up north and leave your family behind- but what happens when a teenage wet dream turns into something that could challenge your future?

warnings: 18+ EXPLICIT MINORS DNI, age gap, mentions of attraction when reader is younger (Joel is NOT attracted to reader when they are younger than 18), swearing, drunkenness, tommy being an asshole, no use of y/n

a/n: hey guys!! this is my first fic on here so if u have any tips please let me know! this was such a joy to write and i absolutely cannot wait to continue this story!! pls lmk what u think! <3

“be easy.

take your time.

you are coming

home

to yourself.”

— the becoming

Every day until you come home each June seems longer and longer until the departure day arrives. You love your school, UT has brought you so many new experiences and you truly feel like you’re ready for this new chapter in your life. But the long stretches of day that seem to go on forever don’t treat you kindly like home did.

Your journey home is, thankfully, a short one.

When you were younger, you dreaded going to college so close to home, your mind always so full of wanderlust, fantasizing about what the big, blue world would bring you. Austin was big, to be sure, but not big enough for you. You needed to soak up the Earth and everything it had to offer.

At twenty-two, you’re glad fifteen-year-old you didn’t make the decisions anymore. Within the first week of your freshman year, you missed your bed. You missed your mom blasting her songs through the house, and seeing your dad floating in the pool on the sweltering Texas days. Your family was crazy, loud, and crass, but the quiet of university gave you hives.

This summer was going to be the last before you traveled further north to Dallas to pursue the last leg of your degree. You were offered free room and board to finish your master's degree at a smaller school, and you were even granted an internship at which your mother screeched in excitement. You were thrilled to start your future, certainly, but this trip was expected to be a little… melancholy.

Your dad tried to convince you to let him drive you, but you insisted a two-way trip was a waste of gas, and you’d see him at home anyways. Home, you thought. Not for much longer, but home. Your old, rickety car sputtered on the half-hour drive, and you patted the poor steed’s dashboard reassuringly, almost as if it could be calmed by your hand. You did push the car’s limits by driving a bit too fast on the main roads, but you were just so, so eager to be home.

Once you finally reached the driveway, your parents were already rushing out the door, attacking you with an embrace, and you giggled happily, letting their warmth take over you. When they finally released you, you took notice of the massive – and very poorly painted – banner above the door, welcoming you home, with your name in big, messy letters drawn for the whole neighborhood to see. As you approached the door, you heard telltale sounds of… oh, God.

A party.

Before you could even protest, or remind your parents of the fact that you were a mess in nothing but a t-shirt and shorts, your hair was all messy, and your face made you look like the underside of a dumpster, they promptly shoved you inside as a cheer erupted from the crowd. Waves of family members shoved through to try and greet you first – aunts and uncles, cousins you’d missed, your sweet little nephew who’d been born four months before. There were even a few family friends you hadn’t seen in years, friends who must have traveled much too far just to see you. Your anxieties about your appearance faded as the energy in the room shifted. How silly you were to be so nervous. You felt surrounded by so much love, and honestly, it was just what you needed.

You almost don’t notice one of your childhood friends, Hannah, standing off to the side, as if she was patiently waiting for you to find her. You had wondered why she hadn’t been answering your texts for the past couple of weeks, then remembered fondly how she can’t keep a secret. You both share a look that nearly brings you to tears, overwhelmed by just the sight of her. You both look so… grown up.

You rush to her with arms outstretched, wrapping her in a tight embrace and laughing, overcome with joy. She pulls away to scan your face, nodding approvingly. “Damn, college did some good to you,” she laughs, holding your face for a moment, “maybe I should have followed you to UT, huh? Could’ve got this glow you have.”

Hannah is three years older than you. She was always so smart in school, and while it made you feel a little inferior, it also filled you with so much pride. She even tested into a program that earned her an associate’s degree when she graduated high school. She finished up her BA at community college even though she was offered several scholarships at many different colleges, all amounting to a number you could never dream of having. No full rides, though, and that was a dealbreaker for her parents. She’s down at the library, now, which you can only hope is something she loves.

You talk for a while, letting other folks come up to greet you and show praise for a few moments before you get too embarrassed and shoo them away. At one point, someone approaches from behind, covering your eyes. You feel them lean in all too close, their breath on your neck.

“Guess who,” they whisper, and you shiver.

If you didn’t know by the hands alone, the voice gives it all away. You pull away and smile wide, wrapping your arms around your dad’s closest friend for as long as you can remember, Joel Miller. Being the man he is, he lifts you up and spins you around, chuckling as you scream. He sets you back down and affectionately puts a hand on your shoulder. “Heya, kid. I’m real proud of you. I know how much this means to you. We’ll miss you down here.” You smile, your cheeks turning a light pink color as he walks away.

Your feelings for Joel are… complicated. He’s been around as far back as your memory goes, always there for your family when you needed him. Hell, he’d even come over when your dog ran out the door and you had to comb through the whole neighborhood to find her. You’d hop in the bed of his truck and shout her name until she came bounding towards you. He was there for birthdays, holidays, funerals…

He also made an occasional appearance in your teenage wet dreams.

It really isn’t your fault. He was consistently fit, handsome, caring, funny… he was the whole damn package and you couldn’t really ignore that as a teenage girl dreaming about prince charming. Joel wasn’t perfect, you knew that, but you loved that even more.

As you and Hannah watch him leave, she pokes you with her clawed finger, making you yelp and playfully slap her, pouting. She shakes her head at you. “What?” You cry, rubbing your arm where she poked you.

“You’re unbelievable,” she says, looking back at Joel. “He’s basically your uncle.”

“Ew, Hannah! Don’t say that, god, that’s so gross,” you say, shaking your head and covering your face. “Don’t make me feel worse! I can’t help this.”

Hannah, of course, knew all about your little crush on Joel and relentlessly teased you throughout the years for it. The teasing was well deserved, as it was silly to feel that way towards someone around 20 years your senior, but sometimes it got to you. It wasn’t like you were going to pursue him, he was just… one delicious fantasy that was stuck in your head.

“So, how’s Kevin?” you ask, trying to change the subject. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Hannah, but you know boy talk is her weakness, and you breathe a deep sigh of relief when she begins her ramble. The gossip doesn’t last too much longer, though, as your dad approaches you with a big smile, and you could tell by the look in his eyes he had some sort of surprise for you.

“Hey, nugget,” he smiles, making you roll your eyes at the nickname. “Come over here, I wanna talk to you about something.” You nod, giving Hannah’s hand a squeeze and smiling before walking away with your dad, intuiting that whatever he wants to talk about will take quite a while. You love him, but he’s something of a talker. He guides you through the sea of people in your living room to the back door, where more people have slowly gathered as the grill begins to work its magic and the crowd gets hungrier. Manning the grill was, of course, Joel.

Your dad leads you over to where he stands, Joel’s eyes not leaving the grill. ‘So serious about his hamburgers’, you think, smiling to yourself. Your dad claps him on the back and Joel jumps slightly, smiling at how surprised he was. He shoves your dad’s shoulder and your dad shakes his head. “This old fucker… well, he’s in desperate need of your help. See, the legal side of his contracting business is frankly a mess, and he won’t hire anyone thinkin’ it’s one big waste o’ money, or whatever.”

The two of them share a laugh, and despite how adorable your two favorite old men are, you find yourself growing increasingly impatient at their lack of to-the-pointness. You nod your head, crossing your legs in agitation. Your dad sighs and points to you knowingly.

“You’re good with that law aspect though, aren’t you? Making sure the… y’know, labor’s fair and the whole thing’s all up to code,” your dad says, scratching his nose. You know he has absolutely no clue what the hell he’s talking about, but he’s trying, and it gives you some semblance of warm joy at the thought. “I thought maybe… you could work for Joel this summer. Few months of real-world experience under your belt, get some decent pay… plus, the old man won’t be too hard on you, will ya, Joel?”

You bring your eyes back over to Joel, who’s clearly been a bit more affected by the alcohol than your dear old dad. His cheeks are red, his brow a bit sweaty (though that could be from the grill) and his lips pursed. You stop to wonder if someone so clearly messed up should be manning a grill, but the thought is stopped in its tracks as you notice something.

Joel is looking at you. I mean, really looking. Not in your eyes, no, at your face. Scanning you, drinking you in, like he’s looking at you for the first time. You feel your face get hot as his eyes go lower before slowly rolling their way back up, and he locks eyes with you, making you smile. He smiles back, which surprises you. It’s a smile that speaks to you. It tells you to be quiet, shushing you, keeping it a secret. You bite your lip, stifling a giggle as you look back at your dad.

You shrug. “I guess. As long as Joel knows the basics of everything, or has kept a file. You did have a lawyer when you started Miller Contracting, right?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at Joel playfully. He laughs too loud, taking another sip of his beer and nodding. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure he kept the files somewhere around, I’ll get ‘em for you. As long as you’re comfortable workin’ with me.”

Your dad shoves him a bit. “Oh, c’mon, Miller, she’s fine. She’s known you most of ‘er life, long as you just treat her right and don’t saddle her with work like you do Tommy, she’ll be alright. And make sure Tommy keeps his hands to himself!” He half-shouts, busting out into more laughter as you turn red again.

You snap your eyes over to Joel who quickly averts his gaze to the floor, and you bite your lip in frustration.

“Yeah, I’m sure we’ll get along just fine,” you say. “And don’t worry, Dad. We’re both good with our hands in different ways.”

You couldn’t be certain, but you thought you saw Joel choke on his drink.

You decided to go formal. First day, new job, might as well look nice, right? Your little… outfit was a little form-fitting, but you’d go for it anyways. You gathered what you figured would be first-day essentials and rushed out the door before your parents woke up. You knew your parents would either make you late by celebrating it as if it was some massive deal, or they’d force you to stay until they were ready to take you themselves, and you couldn’t bear the embarrassment of either.

As you start your car, your phone dings with a little notification. You check, pleasantly surprised, as it’s a text from Joel.

ミ★

(9:08 am) Joel: Hey kid, here’s the address for the office.

(9:08 am) You: look at you, joel, all tech-savvy!

(9:10 am) Joel: Gotta remind me I’m old huh?

(9:11 am) You: now do an emoji for me

(9:11 am) Joel: I am not doing tricks for your pleasure.

(9:12 am) You: i’ll bring you a coffee.

(9:12 am) Joel: 🎪🤹🤡

☆彡

You smile, shaking your head at your goofy, old boss. You punch in the directions to your GPS app and begin the 15-minute (turned to a 25-minute to stop for coffee) trip to your new job. And with around 20 minutes to spare, you pat yourself on the back. Joel is already waiting for you when you walk in, giving you a look you cannot place, especially being distracted by carrying coffee with you. You shove your folders into Joel’s chest momentarily to regain your balance.

“Hey, sorry, hold this for a sec,” you say, pulling out Joel’s coffee and setting it on the desk behind him and sighing, grabbing your papers back. “Thanks. Um… you okay?” Your question is prompted by you taking notice of the look on his face – a sort of slack-jawed, wide-eyed look, like you’d walked in wearing nothing. You feel something tighten inside of you, cursing yourself for feeling so weak at a man looking at you like some kind of meal. You clear your throat, trying to push out a little awkward laugh. “What, you never seen me in nice clothes before?”

Joel clears his throat, smiling a little at himself. “Not since your prom dress,” he says, clearly poking fun at you, since you decided at seventeen that the best thing to wear to prom would be a bright pink dress that looked WAY better in the store than it did the day of, and you had to go in one of your mom’s old dresses. You grimace at the reminder, shoving Joel playfully for bringing it up. “Thanks for reopening that wound, asshole. To think that wasn’t even the worst part of prom,” you say, shaking your head at the memory. He gives you a confused look, making you shrug.

“You know, because I went with Harrison.” you say, gesturing for Joel to catch on. “He… was an asshole? He left me alone all night and made out with my friend when we got to Hannah’s house. Did Dad not tell you?”

Joel nods as if he understands, but he just looks more confused. “Really? Ken’s kid acted that way? Shit, that fuckin’ bonehead’s married now. Can’t imagine what that woman’s goin’ through now. If I’d known, woulda kicked the shit out of him.” He smirks, taking a sip of his coffee.

You laugh, covering your mouth like someone’s going to hear you. “Yeah, I bet you would have. All you would’ve had to do is look at him and he’d run, the pussy. Speaking of, I bet his wife’s real frustrated that he can’t make a woman come.” Joel chokes on his coffee a bit.

As if on cue, Tommy walks in, a customary Joel resting frown on his face that quickly turns to a smile when he sees you. His walk picks up into a jog as he approaches you, wrapping you up into a hug that is purely Tommy. He smells like he just got out of the shower, which is comforting in the most unidentifiable way. He leans away to get a look at you, smiling wide. “Joel told me you’d be here! Couldn’t shut the fuck up about it, in fact,” he says, giving Joel a teasing look, to which Joel responds with a frown.

Tommy looks back at you and puts his hand on your shoulder. “I’m gonna show you where you’re workin’. This old fart won’t remember where everything is, so I’m in charge of the tour. He’ll come along, though, don’t you worry.” You smile and nod, even though you’re a little confused about why you’d be worried about Joel not being there. Did Tommy know something? Did Hannah already tell the whole damn town? Before you can catastrophize anymore, Tommy walks ahead of both of you, leading you toward your station.

The consultation office is new to the company, but the building is definitely not. The only thing that doesn’t seem to be over a decade old is the floor- seemingly new tile, which Tommy comments about. Something along the lines of “out of our own damn pockets” and how it was “worth gettin’ rid of the suspicious carpet stains”. You say something about how Tommy better not bring any girls around and make more stains, which makes Joel laugh. You’re shown Joel’s consult area, Tommy’s area (which he doesn’t really explain, but based on the fact that it looks like a man cave, you assume going in there is a bad idea), a tiny coffee machine that looks like it’s older than the building itself, and finally, your office.

It’s bigger than Tommy’s. Hell, it’s bigger than Joel’s. Obviously, it’s still not huge, but there’s enough space for your desk, a little lounge, and a bookshelf. There are boxes of files on your desk, seemingly all set out for you to go through and organize. However, another box catches your attention. It has a picture frame, a little pencil cup, and a few other things one might have in their office inside of it- but it isn’t yours. You inspect it closer, seeing the picture is of Joel and Sarah. You turn to look at Joel, confused, as he leans against the doorframe.

“You gave up your office for me?”

He just shrugs. “Wasn’t usin’ it.”

You reel. It’s stupid and cheesy, but you do. You rack your brain for any indication before that he was doing this for you, but you can’t remember anything he might have done to reveal this. He wanted to surprise you.

Tommy looks back and forth between you and Joel, smiling knowingly. “He really wasn’t. This geezer spends most of his time out workin’ instead of in here, even though we got a whole group of guys doin’ the work for us.”

“Well, we didn’t start this shit to have other guys do it,” Joel combats, standing up straight. “You’re just a lazy ass now that we got more people. It’s still Miller Contracting, not… Miller and The Other Guys Contracting.”

You stifle a laugh. So does Tommy. Joel purses his lips frustratedly, which only breaks the damn. You laugh so hard you cry, the silliness of the joke rushing at you. Tommy laughs with you, sharing a look with you. It was so fucking stupid and you both knew it.

Joel finally laughs, too. Laughs so hard he has to grab his stomach, delighted at the idiotic joke he made.

You and Tommy silently agree not to mention it. You’re afraid he’ll stop.

Once your giggles finally settle, Tommy crosses his arms and says something about having to get back to someone who called earlier and he steps out of the office. And then there were two.

Joel watches you. He doesn’t say anything when Tommy leaves, just stands exactly where he’s been the whole time, stalking you, waiting for you to move. You don’t look at him. It unnerves you, making you conscious of your movement, but you want him to keep looking. You can’t explain what he’s doing, and you can’t even begin to explain what you’re doing either.

You walk around the room some more, admiring the view from the window, touching the shelves, et cetera. His eyes stay on you. You turn and face him, considering asking him what the hell he’s looking at, but his gaze stops you in your tracks. Goddamn him. You force a smile and bring your hands up to your arms, rubbing them lightly. “Little cold in here, huh?” you chuckle.

Joel just shrugs. “Better’n outside.”

You nod. The air is tense. And awkward.

He leans away from the doorframe and for a moment you think he’ll walk towards you, but he doesn’t. “Well, I’ll let you get settled. Let me or Tommy know if you need anything.”

And he’s gone.

You use the rest of the day to organize the files all piled and half-organized on your desk, not even having time to read them with the unidentifiable order, or lack thereof, of it all. You assume the guys leave halfway through the day when silence falls over the office. It isn’t unsettling in the slightest, but comforting in the way it reminds you of the quiet of your dorm. You hadn’t missed it yet, but you found yourself starting to. Maybe this would be a nice substitute.

When you find yourself hungry for lunch, you decide stretching your legs is a good idea and just go to get some. When you come back, Tommy’s truck is there, and both of their office doors are closed, so you know they’re back. When you walk back into your office, there’s something there you hadn’t left.

It’s a jacket. Pretty fuckin big, too- not chunky big, just stretched out like whoever was wearing it had been wearing it for a long time. There’s a little pink Post-it note attached to it, seemingly from the office.

Don’t go touching the thermostat. -J

Fucking Christ. You groan but put it on, silently grateful for the act of kindness. Still, a thought nudged at the back of your mind.

Is the whole summer going to be like this?

#joel miller #tlou #joel tlou #joel miller x reader #joel tlou x reader #joel x reader #willowsvalley #joel miller tlou #joel the last of us #joel x you #joel miller x you #joel tlou x you #joel the last of us x reader

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javispunk · 10 months

Note

Love your workkk!!!!!

Soo I have a request…

Soo established relationships where the reader as a joke mockingly says something like about our old man Joel’s stamina or something 😭 and then ofc joel gives her a lesson whole night with all the filth 😛😭😭 (also can reader be like skinny framed small chested female) 💜

Thank you so much!! It means a lot! Hope you like it :)

Old Man

Summary: You usually joke about Joel's age, not only between the two of you, but also around other people. Either because he walks or runs slower than you, or just because he gets tired easily. He never complained about it - in fact, you thought he found it endearing. But you were so wrong, and he made sure he'd let you know when you got home safe.

Pairing: Joel x fem!reader, established relationship.

Content/Warnings: NSFW, smut (absolute filth), 18+ (minors DNI), age difference implied, fingering, giving oral (female receiving), unprotected sex (use protection kids), spitting.

Notes: English is not my first language, so please excuse any mistake. Please feel free to leave any requests you'd like me to write. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated. Thank you!

The walk through the forest on your way to Bill and Frank's house was calmer than you'd expected. With your hand in Joel's you didn't find a single clicker and you managed to relax a bit, walking slowly but not so slow in order to reach the village before lunch. Frank made sure to tell Joel that we'd be received with a proper meal, something you haven't had in a long time. So that was exciting. You didn't know them yet, but Joel made sure to let you know they were decent guys.

The place was mined with traps for clickers and you could see surveillance cameras everywhere. These guys knew what they were doing. Once you saw the gate opening and an unknown man greet you from afar, you out of instinct positioned yourself behind Joel. His broad shoulders completely hiding your small figure. You were scared, and that was understandable.

"You're alright, sweetheart." Joel assured you, holding your hand and bringing it to his lips to kiss it for a second.

His words put you at ease, as you saw the man approach both of you. He shook Joel's hand with familiarity, looking at you after. The fact Joel trusted them was enough for you to do the same.

"Who's this beauty?" you heard him ask, extending his hand to shake yours.

You smiled. "None of that, please." You spoke before telling him your name. "Thank you for having us here."

"Our absolute pleasure. I'm Frank." he shot a smile at you again, before gesturing to the entry of the house. "And that's Bill over there." You looked at the man from a distance, just to notice a rifle on his hand. Frank noticed your expression. "Don't worry about him."

You smiled once again at Frank out of courtesy, but sneakily grabbed Joel's hand behind his back in worry.

"Let's sit! Lunch is almost ready." Frank gestured to the table set up on their front yard, and guided you both to his house with an extended arm.

***

"This is delicious!" You exclaimed.

"Bill made it." Frank pointed out.

"It's great, thank you so much." You kept speaking after putting down your glass on the table. You looked at Bill with an attentive eye.

"It's nothing much. Just meat that I hunted and some roasted vegetables from the garden." He kept his voice low and expression serious.

"Thank you, Bill." You heard Joel's voice from across the table in front of you.

"I'm sorry but I'm dying to know." You heard Frank at your right, as his body rapidly turned in your direction. "How did you meet this guy?" He gestured to Joel.

You looked at him and laughed. "Well, I had been alone for a while, and I was perfectly fine on my own." You made sure to look at him, mockingly. "But Joel found me in a time of need. He helped me without asking nothing in return. So I trusted him my life, and now we're here."

Frank smiled through the whole speech. "You must be the first, you know."

You shot him a confused look. "The first?"

He shook his head in approval. "The first to melt that old stone heart of his."

"Is it that noticeable?" You admitted.

"Please!" He exclaimed with a grin. "I've never seen him hug anyone, let alone kiss someone's hand that dearly."

You felt yourself blush slighty, before looking at Joel. He laughed, while telling Frank to cut it out.

"No worries, we're all lovers here." He placed his fork down on his plate. "How are you guys holding up?" He spoke now to Joel.

"We're making it alright. Walking from dawn to dawn is a bit tiring but we manage."

"Our old man here thinks he can handle that like a 20 year old. I notice his stamina's hanging on by a thread, always tired and irritable." You spoke while looking Frank in the eye. "It's like living with a 60 year old man." Just after, you turned to Joel, who was chewing his food slowly, fork in his right hand unattended, and turned his gaze from your glass to your eyes. His stare was somewhat still and serious. You analised his expression with confusion and mouthed a "what?" that only him could hear or see. He stared at you the same way before slightly grinning at you, dragging his eyes now to his plate, smile still plastered on his face while he brought food to his mouth. You continued looking at him until Frank spoke.

"I'm sure there's a car around here you could have." He wiped his mouth with a cotton napkin. "There's batteries in the houseshed. Take one and it's yours." I saw Bill shoot his partner a hard serious look, apprehensive.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Bill insisted.

"Of course." He shot back at him. "There's also gas in there. Take some gallons."

"That's really not necessary, Frank." Joel spoke.

"Oh it is. I don't take her for a liar, you on the other hand, I've seen you lie for far less. I also know you're a stubborn old gentleman." He placed the napkin on his lap. "So please, take it. Use it. There's no point in it being there."

You looked at Bill for approval. He just continued eating with furrowed brows.

"Thank you." You spoke.

"No need. I'll go grab dessert." You saw Frank leave his seat and enter the house.

***

Joel had been awfully quiet since lunch, even when Frank showed us around all the shops who were still in need of renovation. Not even his contractor heart gave in a little bit. His mind seemed to be somewhere else.

"We don't know how to thank you both, honestly." You spoke as Bill and Frank helped you put your things in the trunk of your new car. It was getting dark already.

Frank repeated himself again, saying it was his pleasure.

Once Joel thanked the men for the hundreth time, he got in the car after opening the door for you. The journey was quiet for most part, until you spoke softly.

"Are you okay? You haven't spoken a lot."

He turned his eyes at you for a second, before connecting his gaze to the road again. "Just tired."

Your hand rested on his tigh, a familiar gesture you'd gained in the past few months. You thought nothing of his behaviour, you were both exhausted from the walk through the forest and the day filled with activities Bill and Frank made sure to provide you.

The ride went quickly, faster than you'd think it would. You filled it with quick pecks on Joel's right cheek, in order to 'wake him up' a bit. His hand travelled to the inside of your tigh, squeezing every once in a while. All was quiet.

As soon as you parked, you got out of the car in order to pick up both your stuff, as Joel would eventually carry all the weapons. When you returned you saw him carrying your stuff inside the house.

You spoke as you entered the house first, Joel following behind you. "I'm so fucking tired." You stretched your arms in the air before hearing a thud. All your weapons on the floor as Joel dropped them. Arms still in the air, you felt Joel's arms grab the middle of your body, folding you in half over his shoulder.

"Joel!" You screamed as he lifted you up in the air, adjusting you on his body. "What are you doing?"

He carried you in silence. This must be a joke, you thought. He's just being playful. He'll put you down soon enough, if you ask him to. You recognized the turns he took. After passing the kitchen right up front, passing through the main hall, up the stairs. Bedroom.

He didn't even bother to close the door. "Joel." You repeated, trying to catch his attention.

He dropped you in the middle of the bed with a throw. "Yes?" He aknowledged you as he started to unbuckle his belt, looking at your figure, legs bent, feet next to your tighs. His eyes were dark, his expression solemn. You moved up the bed on your back, as you watched him take his shirt off over his head and quickly discarting his pants. He paused for a second, looking at you, half clothed.

"Take your clothes off."

You quickly took your pants off, still looking him in the eye, overwhelmed by his demanding voice. "You take the rest." You replied.

He rapidly got closer to you, but you extended one of your naked legs, touching his chest, creating a gap between you both, trying to get his attention. "What is this?"

With more force than usual, Joel grabbed your leg and separated both of them, one to each side, hovering his body over yours, applying pressure on your chest. Your mouths were connected in an instant. His tongue not even asking permission to touch yours. His right hand went between your legs, slid your panties to the side and felt your wet core on his fingers, until quickly finding your bundle of nerves.

"Fuck, Joel." You breathed slowly on his ear.

"How are you so wet already?" He asked as he inserted two fingers inside you at once.

"Oh, fuck-" You moaned beneath him.

You heard him grunt as a response. His fingers pumping in and out of you rythmically, hitting your favourite spot every now and then, making you sigh every single time. Joel disconnected his lips from yours, only to travel down your body, and end up on your core. He wasted no time, immediately kissing your clit, while pulling his fingers in and out of you faster. Your hands flew to his head, grabbing and pulling on his silver strands of hair, which only made him respond in a gutural moan. The vibrations of his mouth sending you into a frenzy, giving you chills.

“Fuck me, Joel.” You were losing your fucking mind, begging him to take you right there and then.

“You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?” You heard him between your legs. “I’m not done with you down here.” He continued his rhythmic motions.

Your eyes started to roll to the back of your head as he hit the right spot with every pump. “I’m not gonna last longer.” You tried to spit words out of your mouth the best you could.

“Cum on my mouth, gorgeous.” He said before fastening his pace. It took you just a few seconds to arch your back in pleasure, grabbing his hair between your fingers and pulling viciously. With your eyes closed, you felt him remove his fingers from you, which left you with a sense of void. His body above yours again.

“Open wide.” He demanded.

You did as he told. He spat inside your mouth. You receiving it with contentment. You looked him in the eye while you swallowed his spit mixed with your own fluids.

“Shit, look at you.” His lips attacked yours. “So fucking pretty like this.”

“Are you gonna fuck me or not?” You teased him.

“In a minute, sweet girl.” You saw him take his boxers off, throw them to the bedroom floor. He lifted your t-shirt over your head, removing it and made way to your breasts with his mouth, sucking on your nipples, biting them.

Just by looking at you, and without warning, Joel fully pushed himself inside you, letting you feel every inch of him stretch you beyond measure.

You couldn’t say a word, just animalistic noises came out of your mouth. Joel loved them so much he continued adjusting your pussy around his cock, feeling you clench every few seconds.

“Fuck Joel, stop teasing. Go faster.” You pleaded.

His voice next to your ear. “You’ve been teasing me all day, calling me old man. Telling people I haven’t got stamina.” It clicked in your mind. You always called him that dearly. You heard one more grunt from him as he thrust into you deeply. “Who’s been fucking you all this time?”

Your mouth falling open as the knot in your stomach build after a few faster thrusts, your head banging on the headboard.

“Who makes your eyes roll like that?” You heard him, head thrown back in the pillow. “Who makes you this fucking wet, hum?” You heard the wet noises you two made after he picked up his pace.

“You do, Joel.” You managed to spit out.

“Who makes you cum every single fucking night?”

Tears fell down your eyes, as you cried to reach your orgasm. “You do.”

“My sweet girl.” He continued, while wiping your tears for a second. “You’re gonna take me in your mouth, is that okay?”

“Yes.” Your answer to his question mixed with your cries as your orgasm sets free. Your moans echo all over the room, you can’t help it. Still enjoying your high, you feel Joel’s warm spur hitting your face, some entering your mouth, some spilling all over your cheeks and neck. You did the best you could to catch it all in. You opened your eyes to Joel with his cock in his hand, still rock hard.

“What a fucking sight.” He continued pumping his length. You swallowed his cum, until there was nothing to come out anymore. “God, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You grabbed him by his neck, forcing him to glue his mouth to yours, letting him taste himself from your tongue for a minute.

Panting, sweaty and with disheveled hair, you looked into each other’s eyes.

“Don’t ever tease me like that again.” You demanded.

“You want it.” He paused, a proud cocky smile on his face. “Don’t ever call me an old man again.”

“You love it.”

You felt his arm wrap around your torso and pull you on top of him, sitting you up on his lap, just before lifting you up to the bathroom for a shower. The air contaminated with condensation and your laughter.

#joel miller #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller the last of us #joel miller tlou #joel tlou x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel tlou #tlou smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal

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flightlessangelwings · 1 year

Text

Connected Together

Joel Miller x gn!reader (no use of y/n)

Word count- 1k

Warnings- smut (18+ ONLY!), cockwarming, established relationship, love marks, softness, no plot really, canon compliant but ambiguous as to when it fits in the timeline

Notes- How about more soft Joel... only this time with cockwarming!!! Enjoy!!

To stay up to date on when I post, feel free to also follow my update blog and turn on post notifs! @flightlessangelwings-updates

The door slammed shut, knocking you out of your escape in the book you were reading. You looked up and saw Joel grumble as he kicked off his boots and made his way to the couch where he flopped down next to you. He slung his arm over his face, hiding it away completely as he let out an exasperated sigh. Only his soft lips peeked out from underneath.

“How’d it go?” you asked as you set your book down and turned your full attention to him.

“Hmf,” he grunted without moving.

“That good, huh?”

You could feel the tension emanating from Joel’s shoulders, and even though his face was covered by his arm you knew that his brows were furrowed and his jaw was clenched. His shoulders remained stiff even as he knew he was home and comfortable next to you. And while you knew that something happened, for now none of it mattered. All you wanted to do was help your Joel… And for that you had an idea.

Slyly, you slid off the couch and shimmed yourself out of your pants without another word. Joel must have felt your presence shift because he moved his arm and when he opened his eyes he let out a sharp gasp when you stood before him in only your t-shirt.

“Baby…?”

“Shhh,” you pressed your finger against his lips as you straddled his hips, “Let me help you, Joel,” you cooed as you slowly rocked your hips against him, “Let me take care of you.”

As your hips rocked against his, you nibbled along the muscle of his neck, feeling the tension he held there. Moving tenderly, you sucked at where you felt the tautness in hopes of getting your Joel to relax under your touch.

Joel groaned as a curse escaped his lips and his hands immediately went to your waist, “You always take care of me, baby,” he purred as a hint of a smile graced his face.

“Just like you take care of me,” you whispered as you trailed a hand down his chest and fiddled with the zipper of his jeans.

“Fuck…” he hissed as you freed his already hardening cock as stroked it lazily, “Shit baby.”

You pressed your lips against his in a slow yet heated kiss as you pumped his cock slowly. You were in no rush, you wanted to take your time today. All you wanted to do was help your Joel feel good and forget about the stresses that waited for him just outside the door. With every pump of your fist, Joel hardened underneath you, and you felt the warmth of his body radiate against you even as you depend the kiss.

Neither of you were sure who let out the low groan that emanated between your bodies. Perhaps it was both of you in a beautiful harmony.

Breaking away, you let out a soft gasp as you lifted your hips and lined yourself up with the tip of his length. Both of you inhaled sharply as his head pushed past your entrance and his cock slowly became engulfed by your warmth inch by inch. Joel growled softly as he glanced won and watched himself disappear inside you. And you moaned as you felt the familiar stretch of his cock and the welcome feeling of having him inside you once more.

Once your hips met Joel’s once more, you leaned forward and rested your head on his broad shoulder and you sighed contently when he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. Neither of you bothered to move, and Joel knew exactly what you had in mind without the words needed. It took you on top of him and around him for him to finally allow himself to let go of everything he carried with him. With his cock inside you and your body on top of his, Joel finally allowed his muscles to relax as he melted into the couch.

He rubbed your back soothingly as you nuzzled yourself into the crook of his neck, placing feather light kisses on the exposed skin there. You let out a short laugh as you watched the goosebumps erupt on his skin where your lips ticked him and you couldn’t help but be grateful that you were blessed with that sight. And you couldn’t help but moan softly when you saw the little marks you left behind on his skin.

For some time, the only sound in the room was the steady rhythm of your and Joel’s synchronized breaths and the distant sounds from outside the window. But the outside world was just a blur to both of you for the time being. Everything you needed was right here as you wrapped your arms around Joel’s broad shoulders. And Joel’s world was safe and secure in his lap as he tightened his grip on you.

The only movement on the couch was subtle: a hand stroking the other tenderly, a deep breath causing a slight shift, the gentle brush of noses against the other. And no words were needed. The embrace and the feeling of Joel’s cock nestled deep inside you was all that was needed.

When Joel let out a deep sigh, you finally broke the silence, “Better?” you whispered as you ran your fingers through his messy hair a few times.

“Mmm,” his low raspy hum went right to your core, causing you to whimper softly. Joel quickly responded by holding you even tighter against his chest, so tight that your heartbeats echoed against each other, “Hang on, baby.”

Joel grunted as he shifted himself on the couch, leaning sideways and taking you with him. You let out another whimper as the motion drove his cock deeper inside you as he laid you both down with you on top of him. He shimmied so that he was comfortably on his back as your legs framed his body. You held onto him, trusting him fully with your body.

“Joel…” you moaned softly.

“I got you, baby,” he echoed your wired from earlier as he guided your head down to his chest, “Just stay like this,” Joel purred, “That’s it.”

You let out a deep sigh as you settled on top of him. While outside the world went on, here, you and Joel stayed in your moment of peace, staying connected together for just a little bit longer.

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wordofthewise · 1 year

Text

Get up.. please?

SPOILER WARNING FOR THE LAST OF US P2!!

Pairing: Joel Miller x !fem!reader

Description: Y/N witnessing Joel’s death, and not knowing how to cope.

Warnings: suicidal thoughts, mentions of not eating, angst.

Words: 893

A/N: I wanted to write this, because I’m still not doing too well after playing some of TLOU P2. This is basically me going through it. I fucking miss him. This is also the first thing I've posted on here, so please don't judge.

When Y/N found out that Joel and Tommy were missing, her mind went crazy. She was desperate to find them, she needed them to be okay. She climbed onto her horse and headed East, searching everywhere she could, screaming their names, not even caring if it drew out the infected. Her priority was finding them.

She stopped as she noticed a lodge not too far from her. She tied up her horse, and made her way around to the back, where she found an opening for her to sneak in. She debated whether or not to call out their names, but decided against it, as to not attract unwanted attention.

She crawled her way into the lodge, through a hole in the wall, grabbing her gun just in case shit went sideways. She heard the soft sound of muffled cries coming from the basement, and without thinking, she bolted for the basement door. Peeking through, she saw a girl with a long blond braid, gripping onto a golf club, looming over an injured, bloody Joel.

Before she knew it, Y/N had made her way into the room, where she was quickly tackled to the floor by one of the men. She thrashed and kicked, desperate to get out of the grasp of the man, though a few others had joined in, helping pin her to the ground. She was facing Joel, making eye contact with him as he bled.

“How’d you find us!” The girl yelled, pointing the golf club at Y/N’s head, though she didn’t even notice, she was too busy trying to fight off the people that held her down.

“HEY!” Another man spoke, pushing the golf club away from Y/N. “What are you doing, Owen?” The girl replied, getting up in his face. “No, what are YOU doing, Abby? We want him dead, not her! She’s just a kid!” He yelled, standing his ground. “SHE WAS THERE! SHE WAS AN ACCOMPLICE!” Abby retorted, her voice raising. “SHE WAS JUST A CHILD!” Owen replied, before taking in a deep breath. “Look, if she was able to find us, they will be able to as well! We’ve got a whole city that’s probably looking for us, right now!” He explained. “We need to get out of here, and fast! Get it over with, I’ll start packing” He finished.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Get it over with” She was about to kill Joel. This forced Y/N to fight, kick and scream harder than ever. Abby slowly walked over to Joel, making eye contact with Y/N, whilst an evil smile spread across her face. Her eyes welled up with tears, still trying to fight. “Joel! Please! Get up, Joel! GET UP!” She cried, begging him to fight. She watched as Abby raised the golf club. She knew that this would be the final blow. “NO! NO! PLEASE, STOP IT, PLEASE! GET UP! GET UP, JOEL! DON’T GIVE UP, PLEASE!” Joel looked at Y/N, a soft, comforting smile on his face, as the golf club hit him for the final time.

Y/N’s mind went blank, as she watched Joel’s life leave his eyes, before being knocked out cold.

“Y/N! Wake up” A voice called, lightly shaking her body. It was Dina. Y/N thought that just for a second, that it was all just a horrible, horrible nightmare, though when she noticed Dina’s expression, she knew it was real. Dina had a solemn look on her face, whispering a soft ‘sorry’ before moving out of the way.

And there he was, the man that had always protected her, lying dead, in a pool of his own blood. Y/N sat up quickly, throwing up next to her as the memories came flooding back.

“I should’ve fought harder! Joel would’ve” she said to herself, as she cried.

It was damn near impossible for her to be okay, watching as the closest thing she ever had to a father get murdered right in front of her. She couldn’t even function, she did nothing but lay in bed, clutching onto his favourite jacket. It still smelt like him.

She couldn’t bring herself to sleep, as every time she closed her eyes, she would see him covered in his own blood. She couldn’t eat, as every time she smelt food, she would feel sick. She stared at the knife that sat on her bedside table. She contemplated whether or not to take her own life.

“What’s the point when Joel isn’t here?” She thought to herself.

She thought back on all the times Joel had risked his life to protect her, all the times that he had fought for her survival. She felt as if she failed him. If the tables were turned, Joel would have already slaughtered every single person in that room before they could even lay a hand on her. She recalled how she had begged him to get up despite his injuries. She felt as if it was selfish to have asked him to fight for her, especially after the trauma he had faced, mentally and physically. She felt it was selfish for her to have spent his last few moments begging him to get up, when she wasn’t even hurt, and she couldn’t.

She remembered how Joel had taught her how to swim, how to play guitar and even how to write songs. She remembered the song he used to sing to her whenever she was sad, or whenever she couldn’t fall asleep.

She gripped onto his jacket, as she quietly sung to herself to sleep, imagining that Joel was there.

“I’m so sorry, sweet girl”.

#tlou x reader #the last of us x reader #tlou part one #tlou part two #tlou joel x reader #joel tlou x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #tlou dina x reader #dina #father figure joel #joel miller x daughter figure reader #i have no idea how to add tags #i cried multiple times writing this

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granolawriting · 7 months

Text

"To make you forget."ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

pairing: no breakout!Joel x fem reader

Summary: The day after having your long term boyfriend put an end to your relationship, you find yourself in a complicated relationship with Joel, a friends family friend. He invites you out for a drink after a shotty first impression, and the rest is history. sequel to a change in fate

Content warning: 18+ NSFW, age gap, you're 21 and Joel is mid 30s to early 40s. Enemies to lovers, unprotected piv, praise kink, strong Joel carries you multiple places, pet names (princess, darling, doll, sweetheart), oral (f!receiving), fucking in his clothes, drinking, drunk secret kisses, sleepy kisses, aftercare, spooning.

word count: 5.2k

A/N: Thank you for all the love on the last one <33 please send me requests if you have any idea for what I could write next! enjoy ;)

“No. Fucking. Way.”

… … …

You sit across from your friend once more at the same table that held a much more, comfortable conversation the night prior. Eyes catch hers, and an agape mouth is what greets the information just relayed to her over morning coffee.

“No, no okay I must be thinking of the wrong one.”

“Your dad only has one friend named Joel I thin-”

“I KNOW!!!”

…

“It’s just. I’ve known him since I was a little girl. It's just a little, crazy, is all, that you’re now going on a date with him.”

“It's not a date-”

“It so is.”

You scoff at her implication.

“You know, there's a thing called ‘southern hospitality’. And he's not wrong about me needing a drink after everything I’ve been through. Maybe he's just good at reading people, trying to get back on how he treated me the other night now that I’m someone he has to be nice to.”

Your friend purses her lips, trying to think of a counter but coming up short. You were right, there wasn't anything inherently odd about going out for drinks with someone. Especially when you’ve earned it.

“Though I can't deny, he is kind of cute. For an old guy.”

And the tower comes crumbling down.

At the sound of your confession your friend goes into a fit, a groan followed by very exaggerated, nonexistent tears that whine into the floor that her head now faces along the lines of complaint of his age, and the jeans that predate your birth.

your hand touches her hair, stroking it as to try and ease her out of some melodramatic stupor, telling her that it'dve been bound to happen the moment she tried to push her old guy agenda on you. Kindly telling her that perhaps, she's just a little upset you got one before her. In the process however, admitting that a part of you feels as if you’ve got him-- but pay that no mind of course. It's purely for the joke, to antagonize her. There's no means for you to feel as though you’ve won anything out of a simple night out with a guy who, in the right clothes and lighting, looks kind of okay.

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

A clock glares at you at a 6:30 timestamp as you stand in your bathroom. There's an array of clothing sprawled across the counter as the attempt to multitask becomes futile in the face of your absolute cluelessness on how to dress to get drinks with a 40 year old man. Was he 40? Who knows, maybe it's stress. Regardless, jeans of all cut from short shorts to flairs stare back at you, and patterns of all sizes leave you helpless. You spit out a bit of toothpaste in your mouth, and as you feel stumped looking at the clothes before you, you can't help but be slightly grateful that your hair and makeup were finished before you had to get dressed. Otherwise, you wouldn't make it out the door til 8. At least.

Though as you look upon your options an idea sticks to you; some odd desire to dress, a little western. Perhaps not the full hat and spurs, but what could a little plaid hurt? And as you piece together an outfit consisting of low-cut frayed shorts, some simple boots, and a front-tied plaid button-up, you felt ready to perhaps line dance. I mean, who fucking cares anymore. Otherwise, you’d still be stuck in limbo. Better this than nothing.

Putting on your first earring, a clock now showing 6:43, you hear a knock at the door, followed by said knock being answered by none other than your friend. Curious and afraid of who it may be, but unable to really go down and check as you hinged on being late as is, your questions are solemnly answered at the shrill “UNCLE JOEL!!!!” bounce upon the walls of the house as though she hadn't just seen him the day before.

The indistinct conversation is held downstairs as you feel horrifically embarrassed to not remember that most gentlemen, arrive 10-15 minutes early. And you, haven't experienced anything but a 10 after honk outside your house your entire life.

As you hurry to dress, the low pitch of his voice, the drawl of his words that you can barely discern from the distance between you two but is still everpresent leaves you with a pit in your stomach of unprecedented anxiety. You had been trying so hard to convince yourself that this was normal, casual, to you, but internally you knew it was nothing but that to you. And that scared you shitless. You've failed to go on a date with anyone else since maybe, 8th grade? The graduation dance? Your whole life you remember one man, and now another seems to blow him out of the water, with unbelievable ease. You worried you wouldn't impress him, that this was your only opportunity to seemingly get something good, that he secretly still has disdain for you after what happened to you two the night before, that he-

“HEYY!!!!!!!!! ARE YOU COMING DOWN OR WHAT! DON'T KEEP HIM WAITING!!!!”

You witch.

Secondhand embarrassment overwhelms any other emotion you had at that moment as a means to get you out the door, as soon as possible. Hurried steps fall down the stairs as you finish putting on your jewelry on the go, holding some within your pocket to finish up in Joel’s car.

“Hi- oh, I'm sorry I didn't think you’d be here early uh,”

Eyes lock on a vase of flowers new to the living room, that had not been there when you had last descended the stairs.

“Well, I didn't want ta’ show up empty-handed. Though it nice ta’ get somethin small for the pretty ladies.”

A shy smile creeps on his face as he explains the origin of the plants in the house, and a ring of surprise leaves you speechless for a moment. your friend pipes up;

“Isn't that so nice? Well, y'all better have a good time tonight. And don't bring her home too drunk Joel, then she’ll start telling me all her secrets, and I definitely don't want to hear that.”

A smile and nudge hits him as she finishes her statement.

Does she always have to be so corny?

You look him up and down. He wore a faded blue button-up top, with the top few trailing down his chest being unbuttoned. What fell on top of that was a faded brown jacket, a darkened collar, and a sturdy material as its makeup. Jeans that seemed omnipresent on his body, but instead of working boots did he wear what seemed to be brown boots underneath the cuff of his jeans. You could tell he tried a bit with his appearance, seeing traces of gel lining his hair that fell aside his face, and a scent of cologne softly present but still enough to put on an air of intention to impress.

Joel leads you to his truck, and as you enter it you realize just how much it smells like him. You smell sawdust and gas, with hints of his cologne. It was an old car, but with those scents combined it makes perfect sense to you. You took in the small things as he drove, anticipation welling in your body made everything seem so much more noticeable and intense, every sense in your body heightened at the sight of an unsuspecting Joel sitting to the left of you.

You notice as he bites his fingernails as though it's a habit, a strain upon his fingers down to the very skin of them that coats every finger on both of his hands.

Both hands fall upon the wheel as he turns into the bar.

“Finally here. Feelsa lot longer than it did when I was younger, funny thinkin of cause’ when I was ‘bout your age, you couldn’t pull me outta this place.”

Hahaha when I was about your age. Damn you old man.

“That mean I’m gonna have to pull you out of here tonight?”

You look at him with a little smile, but he seems to begin getting out of the car before you can give him a direct look in the eyes. However when he goes around to your side to open your door, as you step out of it with a small jump onto the loose gravel of the parking lot, his eyes trace your body with noticeable intent. He looks at you for just a moment though, and as his eyes turn to meet your own, he just smiles and says;

“Don't worry sweetheart, I can take my liquor nowadays. ‘Spose that cant be said fer you though, your little friend told me ‘bout yer habits when you drink.”

A satisfied chuckle leaves him that lands you in a pit of fear. What did she tell him.

Story upon story of less-than-elegant scenes of your drunken stupor flash within your mind before the need to shake them off is immanent as he follows up;

“Now no sense lookin like that hon, she aint tell me nothin too bad. Should she have? ‘Spose they’ve got virgin drinks now that this place got all prettied up since I last saw it. Just don't want ya pukin in my truck alright?”

“Oh don't worry, I’ll be fine. I doubt I'll drink all too much anyways.”

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

“ I doubt I'll drink all too much anyways “

That's all that's able to ring through your head as you demand another shot at the counter. Sure, you drank but,

"you hold it well!"

Or so you thought. But you never really noticed until now how badly you were hurt by what happened to you in the past few days. And when you lose someone you’ve known for 3 years, the inclination to drink past your limit grows ever stronger with every downing of liquor that's not on your tab. And as that realization becomes tucked into the back of your mind with every glass, more does an unfamiliar part of you comes out. One of loud unruliness, in the face of a man you otherwise strived to impress to the greatest degree.

At this point in the night, he’s had what, 2 beers? The first already probably already having worn off. He was a smart drinker, and you could tell he stayed under the threshold where he couldn't drive anymore, as a means to stay safe for you. And as the drinks poured you made it evident to him how much you appreciated that. Many many times. He wasn't like any man you’d ever been out with anymore. He didn't judge you, or make fun of you. He endorsed whatever made you happy.

Until, of course, a woman comes out of the bathroom to inform him the lady he came with has been nauseous near the toilet bearing on ten minutes.

“Alright doll, we’ve got to get you home.”

Drunken slurs of disapproval at that notion dispel from you in the way of elongated “no’s” and “please’s” fill the bar as Joel felt within himself the karma of every man who had needed to do this to him, now having to do this for you.

“C’mon you know fightin me wont work, I'm much stronger than you darlin’.”

And with flailed arms still being swung in the general direction of him, he finds this means to deal with you the old-fashioned way.

That being, just picking you up and taking you home that way. And thus, with one fail swoop of an arm and shoulder, you were slung over him in a fireman's carry. Too flushed and furious for a reason you can't quite discern, you throw weak jabs into his back as he takes you out of the bar as though you were nothing but a small child; treating you as though you were no weight at all upon a back hardened by muscle and grit. But even as he brings you to his truck, he lowers you into its passenger seat with nothing less than utter precaution. As though you were a porcelain doll that could break at any sight of rough handling.

“Alright princess, in you go.”

Is what’s mumbled under the breath of this gruff and barely buzzed man, now taking care of you as though you were a princess. At least you felt like it, as his arms wrapped around you with ease to shift you into a bridal carry that was a better means of getting you inside with.

All you can do is say indiscernible things towards him as he says that to you. Not being able to process, at least in the moment, how softly he treated you. And as he closed the door on your side, and opened his own side to drive, you found yourself slowly drifting into a sleep wedged between the truck door and its window. Quite a comfortable situation for the moment, it seemed.

What awoke you briefly was the feeling of his warm body against yours as he carried you out of his truck once more. This time taking you inside somewhere comfortably warm, inside home. He lays you on a couch that finds much greater comfort than the previous sleeping arrangement. As you lay down there, more than ready for rest he comes by once more to lift your head, a pillow to meet your head as you lay back down. And a blanket to cover you evermore, he made sure your body was tilted sideways. With that, you drift into sleep once more.

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

You wake up, checking a phone clock that shines at you 3:04am against the darkness of the house. Looking around, you quickly notice that, this isn't your house. This is absolutely unfamiliar, from the kitchen to the furniture to especially, the man who slept across from you in a cushioned chair. With strained eyes and a brief flash of your flashlight, it becomes evident that it's Joel. hands crossed across his chest and a slight snore leaving his person with every breath, a pang to your head reminds you of the night you allowed go to waste in the face of drowning your problems. Cursing to yourself the lost potential of a night like this, you also thank whomever above that he chose to take you to his home instead.

However, the liquor still seemed to have a hold on you as you looked across the living room at the dimly illuminated face of Joel through the moonlight that shone through the window.

You approached him, slowly. A wobble in every step that when paired with unfamiliar territory meant a lot of close calls on your part, but nonetheless you walked the few feet with no major issue. And there you stood, just inches away from him. His chest rises up and down to the rhythm of his body and the peaceful eyes of a man whose body soaks in any moment of rest it can muster. His mouth was slightly open as he slept, you studied it. Slightly parted were two brightly colored lips that were covered on its top by the growth of his mustache, and its bottom being overgrown by a quarter-inch beard that coats the lower half of his face.

You lean in closer, something overtaking you that can only be explained by drunken lust. So close in fact, that you can feel the heat of his breath upon yours. It's intoxicating. You haven't felt this kind of feeling in your heart for years, this desire to do something you didn't know the consequences of. The excitement of something new overtook you. Without any more thought, you close the gap. Feeling his lips against yours as he’s non the wiser, all but a simple kiss against his lips is all you needed to satiate this urge you’d had bubbled within yourself since you first heard his voice downstairs while you got ready.

At least, you thought. But as you tasted the liquor on his lips and smelled the remnants of cologne on his neck you couldn't help yourself. One kiss became two, to three, to fo-

A mumble stopped you in your tracks. You shot up what seemed like 10 feet, stumbling far enough away to absolve suspicion from your highly odd acts, to say the least.

His eyes slowly flutter open, followed by a groan and a stretch of his arms and legs wakes him up enough to address you. With fingers rubbing his eyes, he asks;

“Hey, are’ya finally up?”

Groggy, raspy, deep, whatever the fuck you want to say. It was everything. A just woken Texan man with the rasp and the drawl all together could finish you off right then and there.

You search for words, excuses, anything to respond to him with. Panicked, you say the first thing that comes to your mind.

“Oh yeah, I uh. I wanted to ask if I could take a shower maybe? Soak off the rest of this drunk. Is that, would that be alright?”

You look for his eyes in the dark of night, and as they meet yours he forms a reply,

“Course ya’ can. It's uh, just down there to the left. In my room.”

“Thank you”

Making your way down the dark corridors you find his room, and an entrance envelopes you in a part of his life. You see the things that he values enough to keep within his room, the set of sheets he sleeps on every night. The mementos that make his life fleshed out before you. And of course, the guitars. Of course, he plays the guitar, I mean what the hell else is he supposed to do.

You stumble into the bathroom, impressively kept for only housing a single man. Within there do you mindlessly strip your clothes, opting to shower as soon as possible just to not make him any more suspicious of the things you’re doing in his own home.

---------

Stepping out, however, having used his shampoo and body wash in an oddly exciting experience of smelling exactly like him, do you grapple with the uncomfortable realization you have no clothes to wear after you do all of this. You step out of the water, turning it off, and grabbing a towel to wrap around you a few things pass through your mind. Whether you go, and ask him for clothes. Or, if you just take them for yourself. Both have quite interesting endings to them, however, the latter seems to be more enticing. And you begin to realize perhaps it isn't the liquor that’s making you act like this, it's pure unadulterated lust.

Walking into his room once more do you rummage through drawers and closets looking for something wearable. And within it do you find an insanely dated rock shirt, and a pair of his boxers to suit your desired amount of cover.

You walk into the living room once more, a new wardrobe adorning you, you notice that the light is now turned on; he’s stayed awake. With a bit more caution in your step you watch as you round the corner of the living room he’s stood in the kitchen, cooking some sort of tea. Wearing little else than a pair of plaid pants to sleep in.

“Ah he-”

Turning to face you does he stop in his tracks as he observes you. Smelling like him, dressed in his attire, you realize that there's no man alive who could properly see that and act normal about that. Even the southern gentleman stood before you. He places the container of honey he held for his recipe down on the counter and approaches you slightly;

“I see you’ve found some clothes then? Was thinkin a’ bringin some of Sarah's stuff in fer ya, but I’ve got to say that this is a bit better of a sight.”

A smirk grows on his lips as he looks at you, a sense of desire that he had previously covered came to the surface as he saw you within his clothes. Assuming that was the only reason as to why.

Walking towards you does he move a stray piece of hair from your face to the back of your ears, looking at you from above he speaks again in a deeper, more domineering voice;

“Now I won't play stupid with you sweetheart. I felt all that stuff you were doing ta’ me, didn't think it’d be the first thing you’d do wakin up in a stranger's house. But can't say I'm all too mad at it.”

He cups your face with his palms and lifts your chin to look up at him.

“And now yer standing here in all my clothes, covered in me. Wasn't plannin on saying anything ‘bout it til you walked in here lookin like that. Now I don't think I can rightly resist darlin’.”

Before you can let out a word edgewise, he takes you into a kiss of his own, making sure to taste every part of you as you did him, down to the back of your neck where his tongue quickly traveled where traces of your night still burned your taste buds.

You let a moan escape, purely out of shock are you so vocal. Closing your eyes, you let the brush of his beard on your face, and the rough kiss of his lips guide you to wherever he’d want you to go.

After a few more moments of this, he lets up. For breath, but also to talk to you for a moment. His hands still cupped to your face, some of his fingers tracing their steps from the roots of your hair he had been grabbing just a moment prior.

“You wear all that pretty getup, and then you get all drunk on me. Spewin ‘bout how great I am, how kind I am. How you’ve never been shown anything like me. But let me tell you, sweetheart, I’ll make sure to show ya how a real man treats a woman like you.”

He grabs you by your thighs, lifting you up in the air to wrap your legs around his waist. He walks you over to the room you’d just left moments prior and doesn't fail to kiss you every moment he can in the small walk to his bedroom. Kicking open the door cracked open, he’s finally able to dump you onto his bed as he crawls on top of you.

“Spread yer fuckin’ legs, baby”

You listen intently. Doing just what he asks, do they fall to the side of you with as far apart as you can make them. Feeling his calloused hands as they trace your waist from beneath his shirt, until he slowly teases the waistband of his boxers. Pulling them down slowly reveals only your naked body beneath them.

“Such a pretty sight aren't ya? And so much for me already, what a good girl.”

He wastes no time to dip his face within your heat. Sopping up every drip that seeped from you from the moment you’d first kissed him. Feeling his tongue venture to every crevice, every fold inside of you makes your hands grip onto his sheets as a means to hold yourself down at the feeling of his tongue all around you.

Moaning filled his room as he pleased you, an empty house allowing the echo of your sound to make the neediness of his tongue on you to sound even greater.

He grips onto your thighs a bit harder as he lets up for a moment.

“Now listen, I'm gonna need ya’ to stay still alright darlin’? I'm gonna change it up a bit for ya.”

Going back in, you feel his tongue enter you entirely. Inside of you, up and down did he hit every part of you that made you weak and spazzed under his grip. The shake of your legs was only stopped by the iron grip he kept on them to make sure they stayed open no matter how badly you wanted them closed instinctively. The feeling of him inside of you sent shocks like lightning across your body at every flick of his tongue, at every hum to your clit while he relished in your stomach growing concave and your breath hitching and whining at every slight moment he made towards you.

“Joel- fuck. Fuck I feel like I'm going to cum.”

You plead for him not to stop. To never stop to please you to climax.

And he does exactly that. He toys with you and fucks you until you’re nothing but a screaming mess with him inside of you. Grabbing onto his hair, to the sheets, everything you can as your body convulses entirely by the work of his mouth alone.

He slowly lets up, not forgetting to tease your sensitive clit for a moment longer before going to look at you. A face coated in your juices, he looks upon you with a toothy grin and a sense of satisfaction upon his face.

“Been a while since I've done all that. Glad ta know I’ve still got it in me, sweetheart.”

He stands up, and what greets you is a bulge that comes purely from his adoration for being able to please you as he just did. He loved watching you like that, losing yourself at his touch, being able to do nothing but scream his name until your brain went numb to anything but the thought of him.

Out of breath with beads of sweat covering your face, you sit yourself up to better face his heat. Palming it with his hands before he could say another word, you watch his head buck up to reveal a neck and shoulders coated with tense muscle at the feeling of your hand on him.

“Fuck darlin;. Been a while since I’ve felt any a’ that either”

A voice interrupted by the pitch shifts of a man insanely desperate for your touch makes you well aware of what you need more than anything else.

You continued to paw at his bulge, feeling out how big he was just by the crease of his pants beneath your hand as you toyed with it, up and down. Slowly stroking it and toying with its base. His head, and watching as each motion elicited a harsh breath to escape him as he bucked his knees ever so slightly as you continued.

He looks down at you, and as he watches your eyes look up at him from his waist, he takes you into his arms once more. Lifting you to turn you on your back, does he lay right on top of you as your stomach lays on the bed and his body atop of yours.

You feel his bulge between your ass, and ass he makes quick of removing all other layers, you feel how solid he is right against your back. Heavy breath met in your ear before he did anything else.

“I’m going to make you forget feelin’ any other kind of way. The only thing you’re ever gonna remember after tonight is my cock, alright princess?”

He takes that as a means to move it to right between your thighs, right outside your entrance do a few strokes to feel how wet you are, giving way to his tip right on your clit, up and down. That alone could finish you for a second time, but as his cock entered you you saw as his eyes rolled in the back of his eyes at the feeling of being inside of you.

He was big, almost too big. You felt as though he was almost ripping you apart, in the best way possible. It felt so fucking good to have him slowly go into you. Feeling as with every inch closer to completely inside of you it got harder and harder for him to keep a steady pace with how badly he wanted to fuck you.

“Fuck you don't know how badly I’ve wanted this darlin’. Can’t have even imagined how tight you’d be. You’re perfect for me.”

As he got completely inside of you, you felt him curl over you and use one of his arms to grip your upper body as a means of support. When he went in and out of you, curling you upwards to arch your back and feel completely every thrust he put into you.

He couldn't control himself anymore. The kind gentleman you had let open the door for you when you entered the car now dripped beads of sweat upon your naked body as he fucked you like a toy. Grunts and moans fill the room to complement the incessant moans that you scream at the feeling of him inside of you. Using you and fucking wrecking you. You felt yourself getting close again at the feeling of his cock inside of you, until you felt his free hand make its way down to your clit to please you even while he fucked you.

“I want to make you cum again. Feel how tight you fuckin get on my cock. Think you can do that for me baby?”

That was more than enough for you. Only after a few strokes were you a shaking mess on top of his cock, just like he commanded of you. At the feeling of your climax wrapped around his cock, he quickened his pace until he pulled out just in time to cum all over your back. Feeling it drip down every crevice of your body as the feeling of his cum shooting on you seemed to go on forever.

Jagged breath from both you and him is all that fills the silence of the room as you two were both too tired to even speak for a moment.

“‘Supose I’ll go clean ya up. Least I can do darlin’. You just stay right there, and I’ll get you all cleaned up.”

And there he goes, into his bathroom. And so you let yourself lay there for a moment, dripping in your own cum as well as his. As you hear him come out from the bathroom you feel the grist of a towel meet your backside as he makes sure to take care of every spot that has him on it with much care as to not leave you uncomfortable. The doting, loving Joel came back the moment it was all over. You could feel it in the soft stroke of the towel upon your bare skin, and the quick tonal shift in his voice as he offered to get that for you in the first place.

“Sure you need these too.”

He hands you his boxers, and as you put them on he continues.

"You can sleep in my bed fer tonight, think that’ll be alright. Though, might have’ta join ya, the chair aint all that comfortable. If, ‘course that's alright with you.”

He just fucked you and is asking if it’s okay to sleep in the same bed. …

All you can muster is a pat on the side of the bed next to you, at which he greatly obliged and meets you beneath the greeting sheets upon his bed.

And as you drift into sleep once more, mumbling compliments and thanks within his ear as you grow conscious enough again to speak, he greets you in kind with sweet kisses over your face, and eventually, a big spoon to hold you until night's end.

…

Epilouge ?

#joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal #x reader #joel miller #the last of us fanfiction #pedro x reader #joel tlou #tlou #joel x reader #joel smut #joel tlou x reader

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preciouslandmermaid · 1 year

Text

and i'll break all my rules for you (joel x gn!reader)

note: Reader is only 4 years younger than Joel. GN!Reader & they/them pronouns used where needed, but otherwise no other terms are used. Takes place prior to the video game & tv-show (pre-canon).

(Not beta read, no use of Y/N). 💛 Feedback/reblogs always appreciated 💛

summary: You are paired with Joel for a smuggling run to the Massachusetts General Hospital outside of Boston. Despite Joel’s initial stoicism and penchant for antisocial behavior–you find yourself breaking all your own rules for him.

warnings: canon-typical violence, mature language, mild hurt/comfort, mentions of drug use/addiction, a sprinkle of quiet yearning

🍄🍄 READ ON AO3 🍄🍄

“They’re a doctor, Joel.” Tess says, “a real one.”

“Non-military?” He asks dubiously.

You settle your hands on your hips, “I’m not a narc if that’s what you’re asking.”

Joel scoffs, “thought most of you were snatched up by FEDRA. How’d you get out?” His tone is sharp-edged and suspicious. Maybe even accusatory if you listen close.

You bristle. This smuggler has no right prying into your past. Rule #1 of staying alive: you don’t let people get close (and most people in the QZ know how to follow that one).

“I got lucky.”

“Joel.” Tess folds her arms across her chest, “we need them.” She gives him a weighted look. There are a thousand words in that single look. It speaks to their trust, their history, and you instinctively look away. You let Joel and Tess silently discuss your ability to run this job.

Eventually, he bends against the category-five force of nature that is Theresa "Tess" Servopoulos and says a gruff; “Alright.”

Joel isn’t a talker. And that suits you just fine. You don’t need words to complete this job unless those words are “Look out, someone’s gonna shoot you in the face.” Although, you rather like to think you’d be quick on the trigger if someone did try and shoot your face. (Getting shot would break Rule #2 on your guide to survival).

You make your way through the tunnels with your heart in your throat. Your sweat pools in the middle of your back. Your shirt sticks to your spine and beneath the straps of your backpack. It’s been minutes, you think, but it feels like hours.

You’ve never been outside of the QZ.

You open your mouth to ask Joel what to expect and then snap your jaw shut. He’s not a talker and you’ll see for yourself soon enough. You remember the world before it ended. You remember movie theaters, bad karaoke, and smoke-filled restaurants. You remember brightly lit grocery stores, loud playgrounds, and quiet libraries. You thought it would never end. You thought there would always be cars, concrete, and pop music.

So much for that. You bite the inside of your check. Now we’ve got FEDRA and ration cards and a fungal infection that desires full-scale invasion.

Joel says, “watch your head.”

He holds a rotted plank up and you crouch beneath it. When you pass him, your nostrils twitch with the scent of his body odor, but it doesn’t smell gross. Which is surprising considering showers are a rarity and you’ve stood in line for jobs with your nose and mouth plugged to block the stench.

The thought is quickly forgotten when you step outside for the first time in twenty years.

You exhale, “Holy shit.”

The world is a jungle. A cacophony of concrete and lush, vibrant wilderness. There is decay, there is destruction, you can see the iron gridwork of collapsed buildings like they’re its ribcage. But there is also beauty. The sky has never felt more open. It’s bluer, you think, than you’ve ever remembered. A shade of blue reserved for summer afternoons when you were small. The overgrowth of plant life sprawls like tiny capillaries over walls and chain link fences and through gaps in the rubble. The sunlight cuts through open rooftops and reflects rainbows off the broken windows.

You glance sidelong at Joel. He rubs his mouth with his hand. And although he’s looking at the horizon, you doubt the view has any effect on him. You suspect he’s mentally planning your next steps.

As if to prove you right, Joel points to a narrow alleyway, “we’ll take this route.”

You shift the weight of your backpack and nod.

~~~~~~~~~~

You shimmy through narrow alleyways and climb across wooden planks. It takes several minutes before it finally hits you. You’re surrounded by silence. The QZ always contains some level of background noise whether it’s FEDRA and their trucks, or people talking, or crackling fires. You hear every step you and Joel take, every rustle of the breeze through the buildings, every shift of your clothing, every beat of your heart. You stare at the back of his head. His hair is thick and streaked thinly with silver strands.

“Is it always like this?” You ask.

“Is it like what?”

“Like this.” You fall into step beside him and wave your arm, “this quiet.”

He glances at you. The furrowed line between his eyebrows deepens. “Could be quieter.” It’s a pointed yet passive aggressive statement.

You bite the inside of your cheek. It’s quiet enough, you figure, to ask the question that’s been gnawing at your stomach since yesterday morning.

You ask, “what is your problem with me?”

Joel shifts his shoulders in an almost-stretch. “I don’t have a problem with you, doc. I just…” He glances sidelong at you, then away, his scowl etches into the lined grooves of his face. “It’s odd, alright? It’s odd that a doctor doesn’t work for FEDRA.”

He sniffs. “I don’t trust it.”

I don’t trust you. That’s what he means to say, and you’re not even surprised by it. You don’t trust him either. You trust him to complete this job. You trust him to survive (with or without you). You don’t bother trying to give him explanations as to how you’ve avoided FEDRA’s grasp. Truly, it was pure, dumb luck. You fell through the cracks. An authoritative regime liked to shoot first and ask questions later and their bureaucracy was shit. FEDRA wasn’t asking folks for their resume, and it was easy enough to lie once you were in the QZ. You’d rather be a coward and survive, then a hero and get yourself killed.

That’s why you had rule #3: Always run if shit goes sideways.

You shrug, “There are other medical professionals hiding out in the QZ. Not everyone jumped at the chance to be a FEDRA dog.”

Joel doesn’t reply.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joel explains quietly that you’ve got to cut through the library to reach the hospital. You’re not thrilled about the enclosed space, but what can you do?

The air is rich with gray dust motes and dead fungal cells. You and Joel step quietly (so silently a librarian would be proud!) through the dilapidated shelves and collapsed aisles. The magazines on the front desk are rotted into pulp. It smells of decay and damp mold and soggy newspapers. Many of the tables and chairs are snapped in half, chewed by termites, or broken by passing survivors for kindling or weapons.

The large hole in the ceiling has allowed every element of weather to permeate the library into a tomb of dead literature. If you close your eyes, you can imagine the ink running rivers through the aisles, around fallen rubble, and spilling down the stone steps. The children’s section of the library is muted in color. All the bright stuffed animals are chewed, stuffing crawls out of their eye sockets, and vibrant plastic toys are covered in grime.

You touch a shelf in passing, letting your fingertips graze the water-logged spine, and imagine the pages crumbling within. Your heart squeezes like a vice.

Mechanical textbooks, poetry, and biographies, and books on tape and DVDs–gone. As if they never existed. And now children are taught in FEDRA schools, taught to shoot, and taught the FEDRA-version of history.

Something snags in your chest, and you instinctively turn your face away from Joel’s so he can’t see. Your eyes prick with tears. You’ve seen bodies piled to burn, you’ve seen civilians shot down in the street, you’ve seen horrors upon horrors and lost everyone you’ve ever loved. You shouldn’t be crying over dead, lost books.

But it feels like a piece of humanity that is irrevocably lost.

The future opens like a black void, like a pit, like the mouth of hell beneath your feet. What’s the point in completing this job? You ought to just take the meager supplies you have and keep walking into the abyss. Maybe you’ll find something better or maybe you’ll be eaten–consumed–by the infected. Maybe that would be better than this. This pretense of a life worth living. It wasn’t even life. It was purely survival. Your breath stutters and you clear your throat despite the sharp, cold glass lodged inside of it.

“Hey,” Joel’s tone mirrors that of a cowboy trying to soothe a spooked horse. “Where’d you go?” He steps in front of you, snapping his fingers and it breaks your zoned-out focus on the books. You shake your head.

“‘M fine.” Your words string together like a children’s beaded bracelet.

“Keep your head on straight, doc.” He admonishes. “We’re almost there.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Hell breaks loose in the sound of a scream.

It doesn’t make sense that raiders should be here so close to the QZ. But, they are. Joel grabs your arm and jerks you sideways into one of the cavernous divots formed by two bookshelves that fell into one another. You crouch-walk through the make-shift tunnel with cold, stagnant water dripping onto your head and shoulders from the shelves.

The raiders run through the library while hollering profanities at one another. Their faces are covered by gas masks or simple cloth face-masks and ski goggles. You count the footsteps and watch the elongated shadows cross over the mossy walls. It’s a small group. Hopefully they just run through and keep going.

Joel’s breath is warm on your cheek, “there’s three,” he whispers.

You nod minutely to signal that you’ve heard him, but you don’t trust your voice to speak. He cranes his neck to peer around the shelf and you watch the tendons shift on his dusky throat. He glances over his shoulder toward you and lifts his index finger to his lips. His dark eyes are pensive, hard, and focused. Like two chips of dark amber, like pieces of obsidian.

You wait, listening, your body crouched and muscles stiffening. The raiders have moved to the south section of the library. You can hear them rifling through things–furniture is moved, either smashed or kicked over, and book pages flap wetly as they are tossed aside.

Joel leans close in again. So close you feel his body heat radiating from him. You smell his sweat again. Your heart threatens to break free from your ribs.

He whispers into your ear, “this place is already picked clean which means they’re probably looking for an old stash. If we take the second floor we can sneak past ‘em.”

You carefully follow Joel’s steps. He’s drawn his revolver, but you keep your own piece holstered at your hip. Your palms are slick, and you don’t trust yourself to hold a gun properly. If these raiders see you–you’re going to run. No question about it.

Joel grimaces, his face taught in concentration, as his shoulder slowly pushes open a rusted, stairwell doorway. Every sound he makes feels like a gunshot, like a noose tightening around your throat. You glance around, paranoid and cautious, before Joel makes a quiet sound in his throat.

You meet his eyes. He flicks them into the created narrow space of the doorway. He wants you to go first. You angle your body to the side, your chest brushes against Joel’s as you pass, and side-step through the door. The touch doesn’t even register until after you’re in the clear and even then–your mind cannot process anything beyond the potential for death, the threat of the raiders.

Your sticky palm holds the door handle and Joel follows you into the stairwell. You muffle your relieved sigh behind your fist. You climb the stairwell like mice trying to avoid an angry housecat. The stairwell is metal and rusted, but it holds your weight and doesn’t creak too much. Joel takes the lead.

His eyes are constantly checking you. They are brief, passing glances. You’re not sure who is more paranoid at this point–you or him. Although, it’s probably you.

You keep checking over your shoulder as if the raiders will appear like ghosts behind you. What will you do if they find you? Where can you run to in this cramped, tinnitus-dangerous stairwell?

Your foot slips as the rusted step gives way. Just your luck, right? You swallow your gasp of alarm, your shout of terror, and your arms windmill to regain your balance.

Joel’s hand shoots out and catches you effortlessly by the wrist. He pulls you forward with surprising, wiry strength and onto the step he’s standing upon. Your cheeks burn. He releases your wrist, nods, and you keep moving.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun has almost fully set by the time you manage to escape the library. The sounds of the raiders on the floor below echoes in your eardrums. Joel led you through the destroyed second floor (which was arguably worse for wear than the first floor). He guided you over wooden planks, and through bookshelves, until you finally climbed out through a broken window and onto the roof.

The warm air tastes so, so sweet.

You plant your hands on your knees, breathing heavily, your sweat drips down your face and over your spine in sticky, moist rivers.

Joel taps your shoulder and signals with a tilt of his head that you need to keep going. At this rate, you’ll reach the hospital by nightfall. Not an ideal situation, but what choice do you have? You have a job to do. You can’t turn away and run back to the QZ with your tail between your legs. The job runs bigger than just you and Joel, and you steal a moment to wonder if Tess told him the details. You push the thought from your mind. There is no use in speculating about Joel and Tess’s relationship. Once the job was done you’d never work together again unless fate played its tricky hand.

Your flashlights cut sharp, white lines through the deserted and overgrown streets. The hospital is derelict and dark. It poses like a forgotten specter over the street. Alongside the destroyed cars and police vehicle, there is an overturned and torched ambulance near the ER entrance. If you were to shine your flashlight into those cars, or the doorway, you have no doubt in your mind that you would find corpses. A chill shivers across your damp skin. You hope there are no infected inside, but it’s a risk you’ll have to take.

You lead Joel around the side of the building and shine your flashlight up toward a broken window. Wordlessly, he situates himself near the brick wall and laces his fingers to hold your foot. You grunt in unison as Joel boosts you into the window. You awkwardly grip the window ledge, avoiding a large piece of glass, and shimmy your torso up and over.

You land and grumble, “fuck.” Your boots crunch on scattered, broken glass.

A quick cursory glance around the room reveals two skeletons sitting upright in their beds. Their clothes and blankets have rotted and are pocketed with moth-eaten holes. Their eye-sockets bloom with dead and ashen fungus that spreads like spidery roots across the wall behind them and stretches toward the ceiling. Their wrists and ankles are secured to the beds with thick, leather clasps. You shine your flashlight over their bodies and golden, empty bullet casings glitter on the floor. Shot dead. There’s no telling when they died–were they shot on day zero? Or did some scavenger pass through and shoot them out of fear or pity?

You take off your coat, bundle it into your arms, and sweep away some of the glass. You pull a rope from your backpack, tying it on a metal bedpost, before you drop it to Joel. The hewn rope cuts into your palms and fingers like woven splinters as you hold it steady.

You release a silent sigh of relief when Joel crests over the window and joins you. Something akin to relief uncoils in your stomach when you see him. It’s not like you expected him to bail or anything. Joel doesn’t strike you as that kind of guy. However, being alone in the hospital, even for a few seconds…is unnerving. You are safer with him beside you. It’s not sentiment or tender, warm feelings creating that thought. It’s pure, survival-based logic.

“The stash is just across the hall.” You whisper.

Joel nods gruffly.

You pull your pistol from its holster and force your arms not to shake as you walk toward the door. It creaks. The hinges are flecked with rust. A constellation of acrid, gray dust plumes and swirls in front of your face. Your flashlight beam bounces over fallen IV poles, and wheelchairs, and gurneys. And corpses. Dozens of corpses. You listen, and breathe, and push the door infinitesimally wider. The hospital yawns and stretches and rises like an old alley cat to meet you. A hundred memories tug at your shirtsleeve and beg for your attention. You tell yourself you cannot indulge in reflection. You must focus on the task at hand. You have to survive this.

You tentatively step across the hallway with your heart lodged in your throat. The ten or so steps it takes to cross the hall feel like a hundred. You are only aware that Joel is following because you can hear his breath. You intentionally mirror him - his inhale and exhale - and a semblance of calm radiates across your worried nerves.

The closet winces open.

The handle of a mop barrels toward you. You inhale sharply through your nostrils.

You catch it before it hits the floor.

Your eyes lift to Joel’s, and he gives you a look that seems to say– “Nice one.” You cannot decide if his look is sarcastic or not. You weasel yourself into the janitor closet and push your fingers behind the plastic bottles of glass-cleaner. You bite the inside of your cheek. What if it’s gone? You don’t know what you’ll do. You don’t know what you’ll say to Tess.

After some blind searching, your fingertips finally touch a plastic bag taped to the underside of the shelf.

Thank fuck.

You tuck the bag of mixed pills into your backpack. You quietly slip from the closet and dip your chin toward Joel.

He raises both eyebrows then whispers, “is it all there?”

“I think so.”

You and Joel return to the first room. Together, you brace the door with whatever spare furniture you can find. Two chairs meant for visitors. An IV pole. Two cheap, wooden nightstands. You hate how flimsy it looks. How vulnerable. An infected could easily break through that.

“That's all we got.” Joel says. “I ain’t risking moving the beds.”

You massage your hand over your neck, “yeah, no shit.”

“We’ll move at first light.”

“Fine.” You remove a ration from your bag. A sense of unease and doubt gnaws at your empty stomach. “Joel…?”

“Hm?”

He looks over at you with an inquisitive, yet chagrined expression. He hears the question in your tone, maybe even wants to answer, but likely hates all this talking. Realistically, you think you and Joel have said less than 50 words to each other. You tear a corner of the ration off with your teeth. It’s chewy and gritty and too salty.

“We’re good here, right?” You ask slowly, your voice sounding far too small for your liking, “I can’t shake the feeling that the raiders followed us.”

Joel shifts his weight. He is silent for a few seconds, his face closed off, his gaze on the fungal skeletons eternally resting in their deathbeds.

Finally, he says; “I’ll keep watch.” He glances at you, “get some rest.”

You doubt you’ll manage anything more than a few fretful minutes, but it’s better than nothing. You don’t want to be jumpy and anxious from a lack of sleep. At this sudden thought, you try to catch Joel’s eyes again.

“What about you?”

He shrugs one shoulder, “I’ll be fine.”

His answer annoys you. You’ve spent the entire day climbing through rubble and avoiding raiders. You brought him to the hospital. You got the stash. You followed through on your end of the bargain and yet…

“You really don’t trust me huh?”

Joel snorts, “not really, no.”

Offended, you cross your arms, “have I done something specifically or is that just your general asshole attitude to everyone?” You ask, snappish.

You know it’s hypocritical. You know it is. You can’t help it. Whether it’s adrenaline wearing off, or hunger, or tiredness that is the cause for your tone doesn’t really matter. Your skin itches with restlessness. Hasn’t Joel been paying attention? You’re not a smuggler like him. You’ve never been outside the walls! You risked your life for this job.

Joel cuts you with his dark gaze. “It’s my attitude toward everyone, yeah.” He replies coldly. “But especially to so-called doctors who somehow aren’t dead or with FEDRA.”

You roll your eyes.

“Oh sorry!” You pat your pockets dramatically, “I don’t have my credentials on me.”

He sighs. The weight on his shoulders deepens. He pinches his brow. Your harsh flashlight illuminates his torso and face in blue-white. His flashlight emits a halo of light. The dark, spidery-fungus frames Joel like two membranous wings. For a passing moment, he appears like a martyr, a patron saint of little patience and years of quiet agony.

“I trust Tess.” He says, “she said we needed you because you knew where this stash was…but you wouldn’t say how you knew…and you wouldn’t tell her where it was or why you needed to go. So, I’m standing here, and I’m thinking that I could’ve done this job with Tess. And if I did then we’d be back in the QZ by now.”

He continues, “you’re inexperienced, you’re jumpy, and it’s a miracle you haven’t stepped on a network yet.”

You flinch.

“So, yeah, doc. I’m having trouble trusting you considering you haven’t done a damn thing to earn it.”

You turn away from him. You’re too old to be sulking, but dammit (and damn him!) you are. Did watching his back not count for anything? Your success in moving stealthily? The fact that you didn’t lose your fucking cool at any point?! Your nostrils flare. You won’t jump over hoops and climb mountains to earn his trust. And why should you?! He’s kept you alive at this point but the same could be said for you. You don’t expect his whole trust, not even half of it, but you expected something. A shred of trust. A scrap.

You settle against your backpack as a pillow and zip up your coat all the way to your chin. The minutes unhurriedly pass in awkward, tense silence.

You realize, bitterly, that you trust him. It’s not fair that he doesn’t trust you in return. A second realization crawls into your mind. And it’s somehow worse than the first.

The fact that you trust Joel (just a little bit!) means that you’ve let him in. You care what happens to him. You want him to survive. Hell, he’s not even a friend! Yet, you don’t see him as baggage or a liability. You don’t see him as a simple asset to your own survival. And yet….and yet…he’s earned a tiny, tiny piece of your trust.

You’ve broken rule number one: don’t let people get close. You always assumed that rule functioned in a primarily receptive way. As in, other people getting close to you and not the other way around. Your eyebrows draw together in annoyance and frustration. Silence stubbornly stretches onward while Joel watches the door and you watch him.

Quietly, you admit, “I used to work here. Not during the outbreak, though. Like, years earlier.” You stubbornly close your eyes to hide Joel’s face from your view, “an ex-resident told me about the pills. She wasn’t able to…obtain…them before they fired her.”

You flick your tongue across your dry lips.

“We were friends.”

You wonder what happened to her. You wonder if she’s alive in some other QZ. You wonder if she’s clean, or if she’s happy. Finally, you wonder if she’s dead. You try to remember the color of her eyes and are met with a void. An empty lot where a memory lived and then was evicted by your mind to make room for something else.

“She asked me to get them for her…but I never did.” You clear your throat, “we stopped being friends after that.”

Rule number one is officially and monumentally fucking broken.

Joel is so goddamn quiet that you suddenly fear he hasn’t been listening. Your eyes snap open. Joel is looking at you–his brow furrowed, his lips gently parted. You’ve seen this expression on his face before. He’s pensive and calm. Usually, this look is reserved for when he’s planning routes of escape.

He asks softly, “you thought she’d come back for it?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, “she was technically banned from the hospital, but she could’ve had someone else do it or…” Your eyes trail upward to the spore-marked ceiling, “gone herself wearing a disguise or something? I don’t know.” You say while laughing weakly.

“And that’s why you wanted to come.” He guesses.

You nod. “I knew there was a chance that I could be wrong. I didn’t want to risk anyone else for that.”

Joel’s mouth thins, “just me.”

“Yeah,” you smile, “just you.”

You sense the fragile truce between Joel and yourself. Satisfied, you close your eyes again and try to settle into a semblance of rest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joel shakes your shoulder. Hard. Your mouth instinctively opens to groan or wince and Joel’s hand snaps over your mouth. You groggily blink at him, tugging at his coat sleeve, glaring, but Joel’s expression is pleading. His eyes are big, and sorrowful, and deep, dark brown like roasted coffee. His index finger presses to his lips. You tilt your head and try to speak against his hand. His fingers press a little harder into the meat of your cheek.

A clicking noise echoes down the hallway.

A sour taste of fear floods your senses. Your grip on Joel’s forearm tightens and your eyes widen as if they could somehow absorb all visual stimuli and discover a way out of this new mess. Joel slowly pulls his hand away from your mouth. His eyes side-glance to the window. You’re lucky you had the foresight to clean up some of the glass after your first entry.

He doesn’t need to tell you twice. You establish a new knot onto the hospital bed leg and toss the rope out of the window.

Joel jerks his chin to the blossoming, rosy dawn that spills like silk into the room. You peel your jacket from your shoulders and drape it over the broken glass on the windowsill. You’d rather not accidentally slice open an artery while there’s a clicker loose in the building. You squeeze the rope in your hands. Rule #3: Always run if shit goes sideways. You throw your leg over the ledge.

The rope pulls taunt against the bedpost. The metal scrapes against the linoleum. You and Joel share an identical ‘Oh, fuck!’ expression.

The clicker runs through the hallways and knocks over who-knows-what along the way. Always run, always run…You freeze on the ledge. Joel moves toward you. Unthinking, unbidden, your hand drops the rope and grabs Joel by the arm.

You pull him. The world tilts sideways. A sense of vertigo rushes through your body before the ground hits you. All air is forced from your lungs in a painful, tense wheeze. A field of twinkling white stars dance in front of your eyes. Your ribs ache. You suspect more than one of them is bruised from Joel’s weight falling onto yours.

Did it count as breaking rule number three? You ran, but you ensured Joel’s safety as well as your own. Joel lifts you to your feet. His grip is steady and sure.

“C’mon.” He whispers urgently before pulling you with him.

Who are you kidding? Rule number three is definitely broken.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You have the shittiest luck in all of Boston. You and Joel make it nearly halfway to the library (which you are planning to go around) before a raider literally runs into you. His body collides with yours, but he’s faster on the draw with his weapon.

His heavy automatic gun swivels and points to you and Joel.

“Hold it!” There’s a tremor of terror in his voice. You glance around. He’s alone. That’s weird. The raider is wearing a FEDRA issue body vest, camouflage pants, boots, and a visorless motorcycle helmet. His ammunition is strapped over his chest like he’s in a bad 80s action movie.

His watery brown eyes notice the backpacks, “Drop your bags! And any weapons!”

“Easy.” You say, your arms raised, “we’re just passing through. This doesn’t have to get violent.”

“You’re right!” He snaps, “it doesn’t! So, drop the fucking bags and whatever else you have!”

You’re not sure what exactly clues you into the raiders’ next move. Maybe his eyes flick to Joel for a nanosecond. Maybe, you think, he sees Joel as a bigger threat (which is rather misogynistic of him but whatever).

Your feet move before your brain has time to catch up.

The bullet bites into the meat of your leg and you eat a face-full of dirt and gravel. The tiny, jagged rocks burn as they scrape across your skin and rip your palms and chin. You try to pinpoint the pain radiating through your body and roll painfully onto your back. Your lungs are wheezing for air. You prod your jeans with your fingertips to find the bullet entry point. Thank God. The femoral artery and vein isn’t punctured. You’d be dead otherwise.

Your wet bloodied fingers crawl along your thigh and finally find the hole. The relief is minor compared to the pain you’re in. You dig your finger and press against the bullet hole in an agonizing, guttural cry. It feels like a clean shot, but you can’t be sure. Your rule number two (don’t get fucking shot!) has been officially broken. And you did it to save Joel. Your world goes blurry with pain and tears. The muted gray scenery takes a moment to re-focus.

And when it does–you see Joel on top of the raider. His knuckles bloom carnation red. His chest heaves with labored, deep breaths.

“Good.” You murmur, “my risky move paid off.”

“Your risky move nearly got you killed.” He snaps before crouching beside you.

“That’s a weird way to say thank you.” You apply firm pressure to your bullet wound, “he was gonna shoot you.” Weirdly, the thought makes you want to laugh. You bite down on the hysterics bubbling inside your chest. It’s adrenaline. Your body is in shock. You tell this information to yourself like a meteorologist explaining the weather. It helps a little.

Joel scowls. “I had it handled, doc.” His hands shake as he digs through his bag. You decide not to draw attention to it.

Your eyebrow ticks upward toward your hairline, “were you going to glower him to death?”

“Enough.” He holds a rolled bandage in his hand, “let me see.”

“I can walk.” You start to protest and flinch when he reaches for you. “We gotta move out of here.”

“You need your hands.” Goddamn, you think, Joel is a stubborn sonofabitch. You reluctantly pull your hand away from your thigh.

“Clean through?” He asks while wrapping your thigh in gauze.

You wince. The pressure is necessary to halt the bleeding, but it still fucking hurts. “I think so. Yeah. Yeah, hopefully. ” A clean shot without any gun shrapnel or broken bones will be a miracle.

He says, “we’ll get a better look at it later.” You look away from your wrapped leg and meet Joel’s dark gaze. He holds your stare for a beat longer than you expected. You’ve never had much time to look at him–really look at him–and you realize he’s got a handsome, weathered, and tired face. Something inside your chest flutters.

You look away before he does. “Yeah, alright.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Wincing and breathing heavily, you manage to limp your way through the streets and caved-in buildings. You cling to Joel for support when needed until he finds a safe spot to rest. You help him push an old refrigerator in front of a doorway and black spots dance in front of your vision. The pain radiates through your leg like fire. Your face glistens with sweat.

But before you can topple over, Joel catches your shoulder in his familiar, steady grip. One moment he was standing on the opposite side of the fridge and the next moment he was next to you.

He murmurs, “easy now.” And guides you to sit down and extend your leg. You breathe harshly through your nostrils and squeeze your eyes shut.

“We have to stop the bleeding.”

You hear Joel’s bag unzipping, “I know.”

“There’s a kit in my bag.”

“Okay.” You hear your bag being unzipped. “I see it.” He says.

“Apply pressure and…” You realize distantly that you’re slurring your words, “sterilize the needle…”

“I know.”

You feel his hands on your thigh. His palms and fingers encircle the painful space. You can feel the heat of him, the heat of his touch, his bodily warmth. Your eyelashes flutter open. Joel is so close…his head is bowed, his expression grim and focused, and a little sheen of sweat dappled his wrinkled forehead. Joel pours disinfectant onto his hands and briskly rubs them together. Your blood-soaked bandage is pulled away.

He shines a flashlight into the pulsing, wet wound. Some of your blood has clotted around the entry point in thick, dark red clumps. Your fingers twitch. You want to clean and care for it yourself. You want to stitch it up. But, that would risk too much infection. Your hands aren’t clean. You have to trust Joel and trust that the injury won’t kill you.

“Here, bite down on this.” He says while handing you a faded, colorless cloth bandana. You shove the fabric into your mouth and bite down at the first sharp sting of the needle poking through your skin.

You reach out and clutch Joel’s shoulder for support. Your fingertips dig into his muscles. Your arm trembles as you squeeze him. Your vision goes soft and blurry with tears. The needle bites and bites and bites until your skin is pulled together again. Your sense of time is completely distorted as you walk between worlds on the verge of passing out while crying out in pain.

Joel mutters quietly, “don’t worry. I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you here. You’re gonna be alright.”

You think you mumble, “I know.” but you can’t be sure.

When Joel is finished, and the wound is wrapped, the strangest thing suddenly happens. Neither of you move. Your hand remains on his tense shoulder. His hands are applying unnecessary additional pressure to your thigh. Your ragged breath syncs to his. Your eyes burn with tears and sweat that’s dripped from your brow.

Something magnetic draws your gaze to his. He watches you with intensity and something else–something hot and sharp and dark.

“Are you mad at me?” You ask breathlessly.

“You did a stupid thing.” He deadpans.

“He was going to shoot you.” You enunciate every word.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do!” You rush out, your eyes bright from exertion, “I saw it in his face. He was going to shoot you and then me because it would’ve been easier to rob us.”

Joel replies, “he was a scared kid.”

“Fine!” You spit out, “maybe he wasn’t going to shoot us. Maybe he was just going to alert his buddies and then they’d rob us, or kill us, or capture us for their sick amusement. Either way, I don’t regret it Joel, and neither should you!”

The skin under Joel’s collar flushes red, “You got shot!”

“Yeah, well, I’m not dead!”

Joel jerks away from you as if you’ve slapped him. His hands leave your leg, and he pulls the pocket of pills and tiny, injection vials from your bag. You scowl at his coldness, his distance. He scowls at the plastic baggie.

“I recognize some of these…”

You sigh and lean your head against the wall, “not everything in there is for pain.”

“What else is there?” He says while holding a tiny vial of morphine close to his face, “besides this I mean.”

“Antibiotics.” You say, “my friend would sell them…y’know…to people who couldn’t afford it ‘cause of the scam known as the American healthcare system.”

He nods absentmindedly while procuring some pills for you. And he passes his water bottle to you as well. You take both pills (after visually confirming that one was a low-dosage pain medication, and the other was a general antibiotic). You sit in silence while watching the tense rise and fall of Joel’s shoulder out of the corner of your eye.

You say, “I’m not sorry, Joel.”

Joel chuckles under his breath, “yeah, I know.”

He shifts his body and settles next to you with a loud, heavy sigh. His hands are smeared with your blood, the color bright like red poppies or dark like fresh cherries, depending on the angle of the light.

“We have to wait till nightfall to re-enter QZ…” He says and although there’s gruffness to his tone you think you hear warmth in it too (or its the drugs). “In the meantime, you ought to rest.”

“Mhm, yeah, alright.”

Your head lolls sideways and your temple lands on Joel’s warm, solid shoulder. To your surprise and secret delight–he doesn’t push you away. He doesn’t relax or lean into you either. Instead, he’s more like a warm statue. But you don’t mind. You broke all your goddamn rules for him, and you can afford to be a little self-indulgent after the past two days. It won’t kill you.

You’re going to have to establish some new rules once you return to the QZ. (And yes, rule number two should probably remain the same).

Your thoughts drift and carry you into a dreamless, gray void.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joel folds his arms across his chest, unsmiling, and watching you. Turns out–you are a doctor. (Or at least, you were before the known world ended). You crouch beside a sick kid–obviously the kid is not infected, but sick with something that looks like pneumonia based on how hard the kid is trying to breathe. Their skin is glassy with sweat and every few seconds they cough like they’re going to lose a lung.

Tess gravitates to his side. Her hands slide into the back pockets of her jeans.

She says, “I didn’t even think to consider they were getting the drugs to help other people. I figured it was just more opioids.”

Joel sniffs, “yeah.”

“Did they tell you anything?”

He frowns and shakes his head, “not much.”

“Well, they’re honest. They gave me our agreed upon cut and then some extra.” She glances sidelong at Joel, “would you work with them again?”

He watches you as you talk quietly with someone’s mother. Your expression is smooth and there’s a practiced and comfortable ease in the way you move, the way you talk. Outside the QZ, he considered you a goddamn liability. A nuisance. But, then you took a bullet for him. You dragged him out of a window to flee from a clicker. You risked your life to help these civilians (who probably don’t deserve it). You lean against your cane and walk toward him and Tess.

Joel rubs his jaw and his stubble is scratchy and rough beneath the pads of his fingers. He recalls the weight of your head on his shoulder. He recalls your eyes bright with strain, wide with fear, sparkling with amusement, and narrowed in annoyance. He wants to answer Tess’ question before you reach him.

“Yeah,” answers Joel, “I would.”

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