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Howdy howdy!
I don't have much of a list for December, I've had a pretty bad dry spell for both reading and writing that I'm actively trying to pull myself out of. I do have quite a few ideas planned so be on the lookout for those in the coming months! Please please please heed the tags, some of these have dark and mature content. As always, make sure to like, comment, and reblog the fics if you enjoyed. Interactions are how authors get paid!
All my love,
Violet
Now let's get into December's recs:
O N E S H O T S:
Bite Me- @theorist-fox
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x female! reader
Notes: Love love love this one down baddd. I sometimes feel like authors characterize Ghost to be so overly serious and cynical, and this is such a breath of fresh air.
Muéstrame- @gothcsz
Pairing: Javier Peña x Latina F!Reader
Notes: I need about 14 more of these immediately. Ma'am, you have just gained yourself a new follower for the rest of your natural life.
In Contempt- @sai-int
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x female! reader
Notes: Is it hot in here or is it just me? Good fucking god this one had me sweating with each new sentence.
i think because of the whole "writers write for themselves" notion that's becoming increasingly popularized, people forget that we still thrive off interaction and kindness. i write for myself but kudos and comments and bookmarks and really any sort of interaction with my fics genuinely motivates me to keep writing and keep sharing my works.
Hey y'all!
I didn't get to reading much this month, school has been kicking my absolute ass but I'd still like to highlight a few of the amazing works I had the pleasure of coming across. Some of these do have dark and mature themes—please take note of the tags! As always, reblogs and likes are how authors get paid. Send some love their way if you happened to enjoy what you read!
All my love,
Violet
December is in full swing. So without further ado, here is my wrap up from November:
S E R I E S:
Boots- Daphne_404 on AO3
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x female! reader
Notes: If The Last of Us and Call of Duty had a baby, this would be it. I anxiously await for the weekly chapters to drop, it's spicy, a little fluffy and incredibly addicting.
Terms and Conditions- @followyourfleart
Pairing: Joel Miller x female! reader
Notes: I am still actively working on this one but obsessed with what I've read so far. Her characterizations of Joel are just *chefs kiss*.
O N E S H O T S:
Domestic Discipline- @sprigsofhazel
Pairing: Joel Miller x female! reader
Notes: I love the idea of pushing Joel's buttons. A little high blood pressure is okay as long as it's from bratting, right?
Return to Sender- @sai-int
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x female! reader
Notes: Lawwwd have mercy. Absolute perfection from start to finish.
Pretty Baby- @millermouth
Pairing: Joel Miller x female! reader
Notes: Sometimes I feel like this author lives inside my mind, this hit a little too close to home in some parts. Genuinely some of the most beautiful story telling and raw depictions of emotion I have ever seen.
The Garden That You Planted- @sprigsofhazel
Pairing: Joel Miller x female! reader
Notes: JOEL MILLLERRRR my sweet angel baby. I wish I could put him in my pocket so nothing bad ever happens to him again.
The White Knight- @bonesofall
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x female! reader
Notes: I discovered things about myself in this work & my brain chemistry is forever changed.
Cricket- @sprigsofhazel
Pairing: Joel Miller x female! reader
Notes: Excuse me while I go look lost in a Home Depot...
I have strictly only read x reader fanfiction since the very beginning (#wattpadveteran), but guuuurlllll. I LOVE Tyler. Her and Joel's relationship has become so precious to me. I wish I could put them in my shirt pocket and take them with me everywhere I go :'')
In honour of Joel’s birthday, may I humbly request something about planning the entire day for him and of course, ending the day with some delicious birthday sex for peepaw?
Hehe thank you <3
Hi anon! Thank you so much for the request! I had a lot of fun with this one, enjoy!
Joel Miller x female! reader
Summary: The year has flown by, and September 26th is finally here. Where there’s hot apple cider and fresh firewood, dread takes its place for one individual. Joel had explicitly expressed that he did not want you to acknowledge or plan anything in regards to the day, and you obliged with your fingers crossed behind your back.
So, what do you get the man that already has everything and hates his birthday? A scavenger hunt ended with a surprise party at his favorite bar with the most important people in his life, of course. While you hate lying to Joel, you can't help but try and celebrate the man who provides everything for you by attempting to give him for just one day something that most people have been seeking for the last 20 years—peace of mind.
Rating: Explicit.
Word count: 8.4k
Tags: jackson!Joel, established relationship, fluff, patrol, angst, love confessions, dual POV, no use of y/n, SMUT, rough birthday sex, unprotected piv because who’s finding condoms in an apocalypse?, creampie, kissing, praise kink, riding, blowjob, a sprinkling of overstim, switch!Joel (We've got the best of both worlds 'round these parts), cockwarming if you squint, reader is characterized with longer hair, usage of pet names (babygirl, baby, sweetheart, darlin, sweet girl/boy, handsome, my love), this was written with both Joels in mind so imagine who you prefer, 18+ MDNI.
A/N: I wanted to try something different with this request and write it mostly from Joel's POV. It was a hell of a challenge to say the least, and with the workload this semester I found myself in a really deep stint of writers block. Regardless—it's here, I'm finished and honestly proud of all the work I've poured into this (and hoping you feel the same).
All my love,
-Violet
A special thanks to the lovely @saradika-graphics for the dividers.
As always, please consider reblogging or giving it a like if you enjoyed. Interactions are how fanfic writers get paid! :)
Happy reading!! <3
I’ve never quite liked the attention that birthdays always bring. Presents, decorations, people. And of course there’s cake—being forced to sit there while all of my close friends and family sing, never knowing where to look or put my hands. A room full of eyes staring right at me, the feeling of truly being seen lost to the wind.
My reason to celebrate has been gone for twenty years. September 26th will forever be memorialized as a normal day. The walls don’t feel like they’re going to cave in, things are going to be just as they were, and I am definitely not 61.
The smell of coffee wafts into the bedroom, pulling me from my slumber. I instinctively reach for the spot in bed next to me, but only find cold sheets where her body was lying last night—and that jolts me awake. I sit up, checking the clock sitting on my bedside table. Where the hell could she be at 6 in the morning? She’s not on patrol rotation at all this month. My feet find their way onto the floor, padding through the hall in search of her.
“Baby?” Nothing. My voice falls flat the moment it leaves my mouth. The halls, guest bedroom, and my workspace are all void of her presence. A tremble begins to move in my chest at the thought of her leaving without saying anything.
“Sweet girl, whe-” The sound of coffee dripping cuts me off, bringing my eyes over to the machine. Right next to it sits my favorite mug, along with handwriting I recognize instantly sitting against a piece of weathered paper.
I quickly head back into the bedroom, grabbing my reading glasses before pouring myself some coffee and sitting down to read the note in its entirety.
It’s funny at first, I have to recognize the humor in it. This girl is determined—you can’t tell her not to do a damn thing. I should’ve known it by the gleam in her eye when Ellie had let my birthday slip a few weeks ago. But I’ll go along with it just for today, I’d hate to waste all the time and effort I know she put into this—even if it means acknowledging that I’ve somehow aged another year.
I finish up the last bit of my coffee and fold the note up. Making my way over to the sink, watching as the dark liquid grows lighter and lighter with the water flowing into the porcelain. The time above the stove top glows in the faint light cascading from the window—6:15. Shit, I need to get going. Tommy will have my ass if I’m late again.
I rush back into the bedroom, shuffling through my closet and grabbing the warmest pieces I can find along with the same boots I've been wearing for several seasons too long. Now that I’m dressed and prepared for the weather, I go back into the kitchen to fill up the thermos she left out for me knowing I'd want to take what was left of the coffee with me on patrol.
The air sweeps around me the moment I pull the front door open, wrapping me in the bitter weight of its temperature—pulling a habitual curse from my mouth. I pass by the mess hall and my stomach starts to grumble, I’ll have to shove down the feeling until I can get to the dried meat I left in my saddle bag.
Both Maria and Benji came down with something yesterday, so Tommy had Jesse take over his position this morning that way he could stay home and take care of them. Which is fine by me. Jesse isn’t much of a talker in comparison to my brother. If you handed Tommy a mirror, I think eventually even his reflection would get bored of his prattling. I like things quiet, always have.
That was until she showed up. Waltzed right through Jackson’s front gates. It infuriated me at first—the sight of her. But, against my better judgment, I let her in through mine. Everything that made up who she was chipped away at me slowly. Her voice, her smile—that infectious laugh. Like chemicals to paint it peeled away everything I was hiding. Small talk didn’t feel small anymore, it was everything and nothing at the same time. And somehow, someway, I stopped noticing the absence of quiet, because the only thing that mattered was her.
Old Beardy’s snout is peeking out from his stall as I walk up to the open stable doors—looks like Jesse beat me here and got things started. I grip the leather of my horses bridle, but not before a white envelope taped to the frame on the left side of his stall door catches my eye. The tape separates from the wood with a crackle under my grasp—fingers slipping under the sealed edge and promptly revealing the contents inside.
I remember that day like it was yesterday. The reports that had been coming across my desk the last few weeks were somehow getting worse after every patrol. Like clockwork it was injury, after injury. Dr. V. and his team had their work cut out for them, especially with the fatalities too. Just one. Some young and spry kid that hadn’t been on the team but a month—his mother had marched into the clinic and let all of us have it. It’s hard to forget a scream laced with grief like that one.
But I wasn’t worried about if my own hind was safe, I could ride those maps blind and have dozens of kills under my belt. Protecting her was my only priority, more than my own life. There’s only a certain number of times you can stomach losing someone the way that I did. Once was enough.
She was gearing her horse up that morning, and I watched her. Gracefully—carefully, she tightened each strap, latched every hook. There was something so magnetizing and beautiful in the simplicity of it all. I felt overwhelmed at her existence, until I realized that the weight sitting in my chest wasn’t overwhelming at all and held a much different name.
I couldn’t bear the thought of her getting through the stable doors without saying it, not when I had no idea what awaited us outside this compound. The unknown was scarier to me than what I knew in that moment.
I love her. Against my better judgment, despite every fear. And so I told her, breathless and muttering. But it was out in the open nonetheless. Her body stilled, facing toward me with a look that wasn’t sure if she heard me right.
“I love you.” I repeated, stepping closer—fists clenching at my side. Her hands dropped away from her horse and turned fully toward me. I stood by patiently as her breathing quickened—eyes dancing in between my own, a response still warring in her mind.
“I love you too.” The words had whispered past her lips with a tremble, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. It sent a chill down my spine, forcing the hair on my skin straight up. My fingers itched with the need to touch her, and I didn’t waste another second before pulling her face in with my hands and kissing her.
Well worn streets is too kind a description for a town held together with nothing but thread and scraps—it makes do for a good blind spot at least.
I slide off my horse, bending over with an aching grunt to reach the garage door handle. It slides up with minimal resistance and a rather loud rattling noise. Bitter air bites at my skin, sinking to the bone. With weather like this, it’s got me feeling more akin to a sailor, using any excuse to cuss at this godforsaken wind. I grab the reigns on both horses and get them situated inside, closing the garage door before I head in for the fireplace.
Jesse already seems to be messing with the kindling. I’m glad he took the initiative—not sure if my back can bend over another time without serious issue. Shit, I’m getting old.
Something sitting on the mantle catches my eye—another envelope. I move over and sidestep Jesse’s hunched figure and pick it up, heading to sit down on the couch behind me. I turn it over in my hand and slide the note out.
“Do you think that if we hadn’t gotten caught up in that snow storm we’d be together?” She had asked me once, and to be honest, I wasn’t sure. Fate has it’s own way of planning things, and I’d like to think that it still would’ve brought us together another way.
I’ve grown more hopeful as of late—a welcome change. I’ll take what I can get as long as it affords me more time. I know that I can’t live forever, and neither can she—but I'd like to try to get as close to eternity as I can.
This morning has dragged more than I would like to admit. It’s started getting warmer with each passing hour and the thick jacket I put on is quickly turning into a bad idea. We’ve been making our rounds and are near to being done, which has turned up a whole lotta nothing.
We ride the hour back into town and I take up Jesse’s offer to put my horse up so I could head to the next location. That hiding spot at the lake was one of the few places my jaw could finally unclench when I first got to Jackson and was there nearly everyday.
My rod and a red cooler sitting against an aspen tree at the edge of the lake as I walk up, along with the note she said would be there.
God bless this woman. I could finish off a cow with the appetite I’ve been building all morning.
The small bit of dried meat in my saddle bag had only added fuel to the fire and by the time we got back into town my stomach was ready to cave in on itself. I plop down against the tree, flipping open the cooler beside me and going straight for the sandwich. A gush of wind appears, pushing against the water—leaves donning every color from brown to orange to red skittering across the ground. Today started with quite a bit of apprehensiveness on my part but it’s begun to grow on me.
I reach over to grab my rod—adjusting it to throw. The lure at the end takes off, cutting through the air with a resounding whoosh, ending with a plop before sinking under the lake’s surface. I reel it in ever so slowly for about five minutes and come back with it empty. Toss again, no bites. One more time—nothing.
Whatever I said about fishing being a relaxing hobby—forget it. I’m about ready to chuck my whole setup into the lake. Although teaching Ellie to do it was pretty entertaining to watch. She got just as ticked off as I am right now when her line wasn’t getting anything, it’s a rite of passage
Hour after hour wastes away as I cast and pull back, only managing to catch a few fish. My free hand finds its way back into the cooler, pulling out the bag of trail mix. I set the rod in between my legs and snack for a bit while I wait for another tug on my line. But, much to my chagrin, it comes up empty. For which number throw this is, I have no clue. I’m just ready to head home and take a much needed celebratory nap.
I quickly pack up, reminding myself that I need to swing by the mess hall after I put my gear away in the garage. But the door is locked when I arrive, and I conveniently forgot my key inside the house. I mutter a curse under my breath and set my things against the garage wall, trudging back up the steps.
With my gear put away, I make my way towards the communal kitchen in search of the next note. A few people stop to wish me a happy birthday—neighbors, distant friends and a few residents I recognize but never took the time to ask their name, I try my best to be appreciative but it rarely ever comes across that way. According to Ellie I have an “asshole voice”. Whatever that means.
Maria had the bright idea to list everyone’s birthdays on the town bulletin board last week, and part of me wonders if she did that on purpose knowing mine was approaching. Cats out of the bag—there’s not much I can do about it now.
The door to the mess hall swings open and closed with a creak behind me. Most of the lights are turned off, save a lone one in the kitchen. With all staff already cleared out, I have to assume they’re on break before supper. A lone chocolate cake smothered in frosting sits on the steel counter top, the fifth note sitting unfolded next to it. I can’t even remember the last time I had cake—let alone one that was baked just for me.
When she had told me about Dina coming down with a cold yesterday, the lie was as plain as the nose on her face. She should know better, and my grumblings for her to be more honest hadn’t worked—it was clear in her tone. But I let it slide anyway because Dina seems to be a good influence on her. Unlike Kat, with her ridiculous lip ring and tattoo gun.
I grab the fork sitting next to the cake and immediately hook it into the soft, spongy layers of the dessert. The second my lips wrap around the bite, bittersweet and rich notes bloom against my tongue. This is definitely an improvement from the last few things she’s baked—I can’t seem to get the taste of burnt sugar and pastry off my mind, it haunts me like a phantom pain.
A few bites is all it took for my stomach to stir from the sugar—a sign to clean up and leave my dirty fork in the sink, placing the cake back in the box that it arrived in. The door creaks again, a thunk of footsteps mirroring my gait. Hues of the sunset paint the sky as far as the eye can see, framing the building in front of me while I make my return home.
More birthday wishes force me to pause my steps, folks trying to make conversation.
“What-cha got there?” A chocolate cake.
“Any plans for the big day?” Not really.
“How old are you now?” Sixty-one.
Several excruciating interactions later—creaking from the porch floorboards fills the air, moths flitting around the light illuminating the path and gathering under each shade. The door swings open and closed with a thud, and there’s been only one thing on my mind since I left the lake. Is it nap time yet?
I push open the now closed bedroom door, revealing a dress shirt, a clean pair of jeans laid out on the bed, with my nice boots lined up on the floor—the last note placed right against the sheets.
The stinging pain of tears begins in the corners of my eyes, weakening my knees with it. Groans and aches sing out from the box spring with the weight now pressing against it, the note still clutched in a rough grip between fingers.
There is no growing bigger around the hole that earth shattering loss brings. Endure and survive—those were the options that were afforded to me. Carrying her memory around was the sole reason in my fight to stay alive, but there comes a certain point where it’s just dead weight. Another thing slowing you down. With every attempt at relief from the insistent ache, a piece of yourself will leave with it. Integrity will be lost, humanity nowhere to be found. So, I lashed out—pushed people away. Silence and loneliness provided more than any warm body ever could. The blood staining my hands now only remains as a memorial of the monster grief made out of me. Sure, the hole in my heart is smaller, only because scar tissue took its place by tenfold. It’s ugly, marred, and rooted in the deepest parts of me, no amount of time or healing will change that.
Paper crinkles underneath my fingers with each movement to fold it back into place, sheathing it into the envelope. The bed groans with the loss of weight as I stand up off of it, making for the shower to wash the day off me before ending the night at the Tipsy Bison.
A chill of evening air shoots down my spine from the tips of my slightly damp hair, the front door clicking closed behind me. I silently prepare myself for whatever else she has planned for this evening, the idea that it will all be over soon pushing me forward. Big and bold letters glow under the dwindling light from the sunset, and nothing else seems to be on. The windows are pitch black and void of any life outside the building. I do remember Seth mentioning about being closed for maintenance repairs, but something’s gotta give.
It’s then that I see her standing right outside the doors waiting for me, the ever-tightening rope in my chest finally releasing, a breath I’d been waiting to take all day pooling into my lungs. Effortless curls frame that gorgeous face of hers, small gold hoops and the bird necklace she hasn’t given a day off round out her appearance in the most breathtaking way.
And baby blue—the goddamn sundress that she knows I can’t ever get enough of. It’s almost too much to handle, feels like falling in love with her all over again. A bright wide smile flashes back at me with a soft greeting that does nothing to hide the secret tucked behind her expression.
“Hi, sweet girl.” My hands envelop her face, pulling it in for a chaste kiss, and another for good measure.
“How was your day?”
“Good. Been thinkin’ about ya—missin’ you.”
“I know. I had to stay away, it would’ve ruined the surprise.”
“S’alright. Seth said he was fixin’ to close the bar for repairs, so what’s this about?”
“Come with me.” She takes my hand, feeling for the doorknob at her back, eyes never leaving mine as she leads us into the darkness—boots clacking against the hard floors. My ears perk up at the sound of rustling, followed by a clicking noise before the entire building is suddenly covered in warm light.
“SURPRISE!” A medley of voices sound off simultaneously, eyes at all angles watching expectantly as I take it all in. My heart pounds, hitting my chest with a thunk.
Truth is, my birthdays were never something to call home about. Sarah always tried her best with the limited resources she had. That watch she got fixed up for me will sooner wear my skin off before I ever consider removing it, and part of me wishes that hindsight wasn’t so blinding. Would’ve taken more things from the house—that old voice recorder she put hours of audio on. The thought that I wouldn’t be able to recognize that sickly sweet tone of hers out in a crowd haunts me now, only appearing in the form of a dream, covered in gunshot wounds and screams of desperation that have stitched themselves into my eardrum.
Her hand grips mine to give it a squeeze, pulling me back down to earth, waiting for a signal. I hold her stare—letting the room around us fade into the background, tears beginning to form in my eyes. Not of sadness, or fear, but gratitude. Pure, unadulterated gratitude.
“Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me. These people are here because they love and care about you, not because I asked them to show up.”
“Still, this is above and beyond anythin’ I could’ve dreamed. I ain’t worth all this.”
“I tried my best to make it special, I know Sarah would’ve wanted the same—”
A high pitched whistle whips in the air “Hey, lovebirds! Get your tails on the dance floor ‘fore the band packs up.” I break my gaze, turning to look over at its offender.
“Would you cool it for just a minute, Tommy?”
“I’m just sayin’.” He flattens his lips, arms raised in mock surrender
“We’ll get to it when we get to it, alright?”
“Whatever. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”
The soft lilting of strings draws us both into the center of the room, bodies swaying and turning with the rhythm. We stay like that for so long, trapped in a bubble that only she can create by looking at me. Time blurs with each passing step—a concept I’ve lost track of amongst conversation, one that is only had without a word ever being uttered.
“What was it like—your last day with her?” Out of all the ways she could’ve broken the silence, that was the last thing I expected.
A sigh pushes through my nose, gearing up to revisit a topic that other people had received an uglier part in terms of my reaction. Sarah deserves to be talked about. Tommy and I can’t be the only ones holding on to who she was.
“She had started this tradition a few years back, was in the kitchen makin’ breakfast that mornin’. It was always the same thing, eggs, bacon, and pancakes if we had the mix—wasn’t much of a cook so she stuck to what was easy. Her scrambled eggs could’ve used some work, never could take a bite without a bit of shell in ‘em.”
I’d give anything to have a plate of those eggs now, crunch and all.
“There was this job Tommy and I were in on, had to work a double that day to get things movin’ for the concrete guy to come out. And of course Sarah was in a tizzy about it, so I promised her we’d be back by 9 with a cake. Then came later, Tommy was on one all day and stressin’ me out and it didn’t help that the client gave us the wrong size for the header, so I forgot the cake—swore to her I’d get one tomorrow. It was already 10 by that point and most everythin’ was closed.”
Never did get that cake, maybe that’s why sugar always lingers bitterly against my tongue.
“Despite how things escalated that night, it’s one of my favorite memories with her. She had picked up a sequel to this movie I had been wantin’ to see, and promised to stay awake—I knew she wouldn’t last but twenty minutes. The house was all quiet, save the noise from the TV. Seein’ her passed out against my leg, it was just.. there wasn’t anythin’ like that feeling I got. I was so proud and so damn lucky to raise the person she’d grown into.”
No response comes, but her eyes flit over to a booth across from us where Ellie sits, Dina at her side. They’re laughing about whatever kids her age laugh about—surely something Dina is teasing her over.
“I see a bit of Sarah in her, and there’s even more pieces of you. Your impact on those girls is so much greater than you realize, Joel.”
“Just doin’ the best I can.” A grin pulls at my lips, attempting to hide the way her words make my chest ache.
“That’s all they ever need.”
We dance for a few more songs, letting the music say everything we weren’t, eventually slipping into one of the booths. She’s right next to me on the bench, shoulder kissing mine and being with her makes me wish that I were superhuman. This moment—this day would be frozen in time forever so I could relive it whenever I pleased. Her hand reaches next to her, grabbing a square shaped something wrapped in brown paper.
“Baby, what is this? I thought I told you no presents.”
“I know you did, just open it.”
“Alright.”
Tape and paper crinkle and rip under my fingers, eventually giving way and revealing some sort of hard cloth zipper case. Despite my confusion, I open it and am met with..tools? There’s a mesh pouch inside containing a small booklet, that I promptly pull out to hopefully solve my befuddlement.
Watch Material & Supplies: 2003
“Sweetheart, where on earth did you find this?” The words whisper out of me, nearly catching in my throat.
“I asked Tommy and a few others from patrol group several months back to keep an eye out for one. You were fidgeting with it a lot more and it gave me an idea. I know fixing your watch won’t bring her back, I just thought—”
My arms moved so fast my mind could hardly catch up, pulling her into a hug so tight it could fracture bone. It cut the words that had barely made it past her lips, and the embrace was returned all the same, arms wrapping around my neck. I never really cared to fix the old thing, was probably a lost cause from the bullet anyway. But just the sheer effort of the whole gift has me nearly falling apart.
The next time that people gather around a table, a cake set up with a smattering of lit candles, singing an off key rendition of happy birthday. I want her in the crowd—front and center, belting louder than anyone else. And I’ll still feel like glass, but this time it’s a mirror, reflecting the best parts of my other half.
Your entire plan was nearly called off this morning at the sight of him from the bedroom door, sound asleep. The peaceful look on his sweet face was calling out, urging you to slip back under the warm covers and waste the day away. If you hadn’t already spent every last bit of free time you had planning his birthday, you would’ve. You attempted to slip out as quietly as possible, readying the coffee machine to brew for 6 am.
Ellie had already gone to Dina’s yesterday to make Joel’s cake, so there wasn’t a risk of waking her up this time—it made things easier for you to grab his fishing gear and the cooler out of the garage before setting up at the stables. Old Beardy had given you a gruff sigh in place of a greeting as you walked up with your supplies. The note originally was on the edge of the door under his chin, but you were promptly reminded that according to Joel that damn horse is part goat and moved it out of reach before he was able to get a hold of it.
The note at the safe house had already been taken care of thankfully, Joel didn’t have patrol yesterday so you slipped it to one of the volunteers to leave it for you. Then there was packing up the cooler at the mess hall kitchen, the lake, and finally Maria and Tommy’s house to hide out and wait for Joel to leave for patrol so you could sneak back in to his bedroom and pick an outfit out for him to wear at the Tipsy Bison.
From that point, it was a bit of a waiting game until Seth would open the bar for you to set up. Tommy did clear Joel’s schedule, but only because he picked up his slack along with whatever his wife needs to get done since she’s avoiding being seen—poor guy. Maria and you spent the day catching up on conversation and tasks that had been pushed off for the last few weeks, mostly just busywork left for slower days. Benji was a treat as always, choosing to spend his free time playing with toys or coloring and promptly bringing it before his mother for approval.
Growing up there was always talk of boyfriends and romance that was only ever seen in movies. Choosing to spend, or even share your life with someone was always framed as something reserved for love. But what about community? What about choosing to share your life with those that want to share theirs with you just as much solely in the mundane? You’re rich—not by possessions, or money, or status. But from the mug full of hot tea sitting in front of you with remnants of your lip print that will eventually be drank, and refilled, washed, and put away. It’s a silent invitation for your return, and an acknowledgement that in anything you do, there’s always going to be someone holding your hand through it all.
“Do you think Joel hates me for putting up everyone’s birthdays on the bulletin board?” Maria had chuckled, a slight bit of remorse bleeding in her expression.
Your eyes flit up to meet hers with an incredulous stare.“Maria, do you seriously think that I wouldn’t have planned this entire thing in secret for that man if he wanted everyone in this compound to know about his birthday?”
“Fair point.” She bemused and picked up her mug for a sip of tea.
“I don’t think he hates you, but watch your back at the party tonight. If he doesn’t already have the gall to come after you, the whiskey will definitely give it to him.”
With evening approaching, you slipped from the dining table and grabbed the small tote you had brought to get yourself ready. For the next hour you took your time in the mirror—swiping on some old eyeshadow that you had been saving, curling your hair, and subsequently taking a short break because you burned the tip of your finger on the hot metal rod of the curling iron. The baby blue dress you saved for special occasions slipped on like a glove as it always had, it was one of the better things Joel had brought back for you from patrol.
Maria and Benji had both said their goodbyes, waiving you off as your boots thundered down the porch steps. Thankfully, Ellie and Dina had volunteered to set up early, you were mostly just there for last minute adjustments and to hide the extra gift you had gotten for Joel.
You had noticed how anxious he had been getting over the last few months, whether from work reports, Ellie, or just a long day—that watch face was going to leave a nasty cut if he didn’t calm down soon. The patrol volunteers you had asked were skeptical that they would even come across what you needed, especially Jesse and Tommy. It still didn’t shy you away from looking for one. Your patrol route was the shortest distance out of all of them and it forced you to get creative. You looked at maps for weeks, even went as far as taking home old editions of phone books to try and pinpoint places to search.
Jesse ended up finding it by mere luck at his feet, said that it had nearly sent him face planting—there was some general store him and Dina had stopped off at to hideout while a group of infected had pushed through town.
With each passing season of your relationship, you were lucky enough to witness every color of his emotions. A few shades had painted his face tonight, vivid ones that you had never seen before. It started with the ‘thank you’ he had uttered, tears fighting their way forward. Watching his reaction unfold in front of you, realizing that nobody in his life had ever considered—seen him this way made your heart stutter. Then came the look of pure bliss as you both swayed with the music, that was the first time he had ever talked about Sarah without shutting down and you couldn’t help but look back at him with the same pride that he spoke of his daughter. And lastly, the present you had poured way too much time into but were still anxiously hoping he liked.
You couldn’t hold back the chuckle that slipped out, his wrinkles deepening with his ever-increasing confusion as he fumbled with the wrapping paper and subsequently the fabric tool case. His reaction was subtle—you had tried to explain it away to fill the gap amongst the quiet, downplaying just how much time you had put into it. There wasn’t even a chance for you to finish your sentence before he was already trying to crush you under his grip. All the plotting, and scheming, and even the little white lies over the last few weeks were worth it from this moment alone.
The rest of the night fell as perfectly into place as you had hoped. Dancing to song after song until you could no longer stand, conversations about everything and nothing at all, and of course, copious amounts of whiskey.
Today was his birthday—but it felt a lot like yours. Because the pleasure of getting to be his was the greatest gift you’ve ever received.
Joel’s key scratched against the lock, his attention split between getting the door open and the aching strain against his jeans currently pinning you against the wall of his house. Hands were hardly kept to themselves the second you walked out of the Tipsy Bison, skin buzzing from the mixture of windchill and beer. He tasted like chocolate and bourbon and sin—an indecent combination, but it was one that you couldn’t resist going back in for with relentless need.
You chide gently. “Someone is going to see us if you don’t hurry up.”
“Okay, okay.” He relents, slightly breathless.
The bed was in the same state that you left it in this morning—disheveled. Thrown together. Remnants of your bodies entwined within the curves and folds of the sheets. It welcomed you back with a sigh, dipping beneath Joel’s weight as your hand pushed him to sit. His eyes follow you down with your hands resting against his thighs, knees meeting the floor with a soft thunk before reaching to undo the laces of his boots.
“Baby, what are you—”
“Just relax, let me take care of it.”
You watch him through your eyelashes as his are locked onto yours with a nervous intensity, chest rising and falling with each passing second. Joel was usually the one to take control—guiding you through round, after round, after round. It was a wonder how his stamina had maintained at this level for so long. But tonight was all about him, his pleasure. You planned on sucking this man dry until he forgot his own name and every last thought on his mind.
Cool metal from his belt meets your rushed grip, zipper revealing the half hard tent beneath plaid boxers. You trail your hand over the bulk of him, caressing the heat against your palm and let out a chuckle at the gruff hiss that rings in your ears from above and pull his jeans fully off, tossing them to the side. Tonight is about him, but not without a little torture.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day.” His length springs free from a little pull at his waistband, your mouth waters at the sight of his perfect cock.
“Yeah? Then what’s takin’ so long?” The mixture of pride and impatience bleeding in his tone almost pushes you to break.
“Careful. I wouldn’t push my luck if I were you.” A challenging warning more whisper than words. Warm spit paints your hand, gliding easily against his length. He’s never looked more handsome than in this moment—wrapped completely around your finger.
You bring him up to your lips, alternating kissing and swirling your tongue against his tip, lapping up the precum your hands had helped make. A string of strained whimpers practically falls out of him, those same callused hands turning a bright shade of white clawing into the bedsheets.
“Baby—” He rasps with little to no air and an underlying refusal to beg.
“There’s my sweet boy. Look at you.” The coo rolls off your tongue, voice laced with honey and silk.
“Darlin’, please.”
“Please what?”
“Need your mouth, baby.” Your hand tightens around him, guiding his response.
“Mm. That so?” A hum rolls in your throat.
“Yes.”
“Ah-ah, eyes on me when you speak.” You grip his chin, forcing him to meet your hardened stare while you stroke him one-handed.
“F-fuck. I can’t speak if you keep touchin’ me like that.” God. There’s something so sadistic in you the way that watching him struggle gives your clit it’s own heartbeat.
“Just tell me what you need, baby.” That same sugary sweet tone seeps back into your response that its almost taunting.
“Use your mouth to make me come.”
“Good job. Was that so hard?” You slip a little more than his tip into your mouth and add back the hand that was holding his chin into place moments ago, twisting them both in tandem at his base moving upward.
“No—ah!” He’s never gasped like that before but it’s your favorite kind of encouragement nonetheless. You continue your ministrations just like that for the next few moments, eyes never leaving his as you take him deeper and deeper—just shy of the back of your throat. He tries to take some control back, gripping your hair to push you down further onto him but you slap his hand away before his fingers get too far tangled to remove.
A steady rhythm settles within your hands while you take in every part of him with a stare just as starved as his own. The way the muscles in his forearms flutter. That gently tanned skin. Those little clusters of gray hairs that haven’t quite taken over the underside of his navel. The curving wrinkles that come out of hiding from his eyebrows pinching together. You know this man inside and out, down to every last quirk and twitch. He’s getting close, but unwilling to admit it.
“That’s it, riiiight—yes, yes, yes.” And there it is.
You pull back, smiling at the frustrated groan that roars out of him and waste no time rising to your feet to strip. The dress lands on the floor with a soft thud—a place that most of your clothes end up right alongside Joel’s.
His frustration is quickly lost, eyes glazing over at the sight of your now revealed naked body. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.” he whispers reverently.
“Yeah?” the floor creaks against your feet, his hands instinctively reaching to rest at your hips with a gentle squeeze.
“How’d I get so lucky, hm?”
“Been asking myself the same thing since the day we met.”
“Ever find out the answer?”
“It’s best not to question it.” To whatever higher power exists out there—you thank them for this little slice of grace in human form they’ve granted you.
You rejoin your lips to his, slow and languid—much like the feeling of coming home. The movements pushed and pulled, swayed and turned. It was familiar but never rehearsed. His hands draw your hips in to straddle him, reveling at the gasp the head of his cock just barely grazing your slit brings. And you return the favor by pulling his mouth deeper onto yours by his hair, rolling the slick of your heat right against his throbbing need.
This had now become a game. Of teasing and taunting—pushing the limit to see what the other could get away with before caving. “Ready to tap out, cowboy?” you drawl with barely half a breath, a smug smile playing at your lips.
Your confidence will never hold up in comparison to the pure sex appeal that drips from his every word. It’s entertaining at best and earns a hearty chuckle in response. “Sweetheart, I’ve had toothpicks that lasted longer than you. So get on with it before I remind you of just how far and hard this cowboy can ride.”
The warning in his tone makes your stomach flip and you immediately reach to line his cock up at your entrance, slowly working up to take it all. A hoarse string of curses exits his mouth, the puff of air dancing against the warmth on your skin. He’s barely halfway in at this point and your head is already spinning.
“All the way down, baby. You can do it.” His encouragement is soft, giving the push you need to keep going. Your eyes clamp shut, taking in handfuls of his curls while your cunt swallows the remaining length—dangerously slow. You find his lips again, taking more of him in every way possible, and he gives it freely.
Heat licks up against your skin as you rock against him, faster, faster, faster. His head nudges right on that soft spot and you whimper, body nearly going limp from how good it feels.
“Babygirl, slow down.” You won’t, not when you’re this close and you know that he’s getting there too.
“Baby, sl—”
A rough growl slices through the thick tension in the air, his forearm wrapping around your back to flip you down into the mattress. There’s a darkness in his stare that wasn’t quite there before but has both of you reaching to catch a breath.
He pulls out and you whine at the absence of him, only to be met with the hard press of fingers against your jaw, forcing your eyes upward. “Lemme tell you somethin’—you may think that you’re the one in charge, with that pretty little mouth on my cock or whatever you think’ll get me off.” His hand reaches for his cock, tapping it against the swollen bundle of nerves, making your hips jolt.
“But just know it’s always gonna be my name you’re screamin’.” Wasting no time, he slams back into you and suddenly every inch of your skin is on fire.
You’ve never been more in love with him than in this moment. Whether you’re screaming, whispering, muttering, and even moaning—he’s right in that regard. His name will sit on your tongue for the rest of your life.
His hand grips under your knee, hoisting your leg over his shoulder to give him better access and it’s almost too much. The gentle brush of the thick, wiry hair straddling his pelvis on your clit has you clenching around him.
“This pussy belongs to me doesn’t it, sweet girl?” Here comes that thick as molasses twang rolling right off his tongue.
“Yes.” You grit out, holding back the whine thrashing against the backsides of your teeth.
“Gonna have to be louder than that baby, can’t quite hear you.”
“Yes!”
“Atta girl.” He cheers, breath panting with every stroke.
Your resolve is cracking, bit by bit. “Joel.”
“I know, baby. Just a little longer.” Handfuls of bedsheets rake into your palms. He is now actively kissing your cervix, and you are just—so fucking full. And greedy, leaning towards possessiveness. You need him everywhere. Inside you, lips dancing against your skin, in your bed. You want his Sunday mornings and Tuesday nights. Coffee and tea and kisses behind your ear.
“Fuck, I’m so close.” You nearly cry from desperation, the syrupy heat between your thighs continuing to pool with each passing second.
“Yeah? Can you count it down for me, sweet girl?”
“Three.” He’s gonna pay for this.
“Two.” Jesus Christ.
“One.” Your hips nearly fly off the bed—convulsing around his cock, his hands quickly moving to pin you back down and trying to work through his own release. He’s practically grazing your stomach as he fucks his cum back into you with a force akin to a battering ram.
“I love you.” There are tears in your eyes, a mixture overwhelm and the fact that his thumb is now circling against your clit while your walls are nearly disintegrating.
“And I love you. Now gimme one more, baby”
The room spins, leaving nothing but his voice for you to focus on. There is lighting on your skin and your body is somehow no longer near the ground. “Thaaat’s it—there’s my good girl.”
Somewhere between regaining consciousness and a second orgasm, the familiar smell of whiskey breath is curled up in the empty space on the mattress. You watch him catch his breath as you catch yours, realizing that despite all the talking there was still one thing left to say before sleep hooked its unruly claws in.
“Happy birthday, Joel.”
There was always a niggling feeling of doubt—of not fitting in that you had carried since grade school. With time, you won Joel over, then Ellie. Your clothes filled the space next to his in the closet and piled in the hamper. Pairs of two slowly turned into sets of three, and neither of you were really sure when things started to change but it was much like breathing—natural. Three mugs. Three dining chairs. Three towels. Love had never felt so weightless and your suitcase of fears had finally been unpacked. Because for once, there was a place to put it.
A while ago an anon came into my inbox to tell me about a Tumblr user who used AI and I never answered you but I promise I saw it and I thank ye!!!
This blog is against AI. It's clear, isn't it? I don't spend entire days writing in a language that isn't mine, bothering my native speaker friends about whether this or that is correct, reading synonyms on wordhippo with the same devotion a Christian would read the Bible, melting on the floor because I can't come up with a plot, questioning my writing abilities because said plot never comes up, invoking God to ask Him why, why did you give me this hobby and not something less gut wrenching,
only for an AI user to feed a machine and be done in an hour.
No, sweetheart. You gotta bang your head against concrete like I do. You gotta let your soul guide your fingertips on that keyboard. You gotta go through writing droughts that pick your life apart, only to feel your imagination be replenished on a whim, at the worst possible moment ever—in the shower, during sex, while driving, during an exam, at work.
It's a tough life, that of a writer. It's not always stories you're proud of. You'll produce shit you hate, filled with grammatical horrors and with a plethora of clichés that will make you retch.
But it's my shit. I made that shit.
I don't often go on a rant about AI because I think it's a given, and I want to keep my blog centered on fandom and whimsy. But a reminder sometimes it's needed.
In the words of Lady Gaga, "talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before."
1st, xoxo has me in a chokehold. The materialists did harry so dirty & this definitely makes up for it. The gossip girl AU is genius and fits so well.
2nd, That house in Nebraska fills my every waking thought. It is my Roman Empire. Your prose is so gut wrenching and beautiful, it ripped my heart out and sewed it back together right after. I genuinely was screaming with shock at the ending.
Lastly, I wanted to come in here to give you your flowers. You deserve a million of them and more. I can’t believe that I’m getting to read all of this for FREE. Anyways, I have a big fat crush on you & hope that we can be friends <3
YOU MAKE ME SOOOO 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠 ARE YOU KIDDING ME 😭😭😭😭😭😵💫😵💫😵💫
I love you so freaking much thank you for all your sweet words seriously !!!!! OF COURSE WE CAN BE FRIENDSSSSS
I could not figure out what this person was talking about for the life of me, I try to include elements from the game and show to appeal to both masses(I have both fandoms tagged).
It’s because of his eyes. Game Joel has hazel eyes and Pedro has brown ones. I thought they both had brown eyes. Thank you for the heads up, but is it really that serious??
summary: i do not know what it is about you that closes / and opens; only something in me understands / the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses
(or: one afternoon on patrol, your friendship with Joel tips into something else)
|| SMUT MDNI 18+ little angst, little fluff, its got it all, baby! please! read! all! tags! friends to lovers, joel is touch starved, jackson!joel, soft!!!!!!joel, joel is bad at feelings, im so fucking in love w him, anxious!joel, << ive loved discovering this part of him lately, lonely feelings and thoughts, existential thoughts, 1 mention of an age gap, joel feelin guilty whats new, reader feels inept, but reader is capable!, independent!reader, strong!reader, and there was only one bed sleeping bag!, kissing, intimacy, pinv, uhh slightly animalistic moments of smut, praise kink as always cw: animal death (very brief), some dialogue reflective of self destructive tendencies, reader feels very alone ||
a/n: title is from a poem / yr honor I literally love this man down bad ok? / originally named “joel miller actually likes you” in my docs if that gives you any idea of what this entails
wc: 8k
Joel Miller didn’t really do friendship.
And it could’ve been a symptom of twenty years of the world turning neighbor against neighbor or perhaps he’d just always been wired that way. An introvert with a streak of cantankerousness that flared, especially on the wrong day. He knew the folks of Jackson liked him enough to call him over to fix their things, to offer coffee beans or a cold beer or a slice of pie in return for the work he did. He liked doing it. Afterall, he liked being useful. It gave him a quiet satisfaction of knowing he was part of a community, even if he didn’t have what most people would call friends. He was aware that he was no ray of sunshine, and maybe a bit irritable. And when the job was done, people didn’t usually ask him to stick around, but he didn’t mind. He wasn’t sure what he’d have to say, anyway.
But there was one exception.
One person—besides Tommy and Ellie—whose name he didn’t mind hearing when patrol assignments went out. One he didn’t meet with a groan or an eye-roll. The rare soul he could spend a long stretch of miles beside without feeling the itch to fill any silences.
You were different from most of the people that Joel had met in his fifty something years. Independent and tough skinned but kind to the bone. You didn’t talk much, which suited him fine, but when you did, you were… hell, you were funny. You caught his awful dad jokes and lobbed better ones back when the mood allowed. You liked to learn, took pointers without bristling—though you rarely needed them. And when he offered a tip, whether it was coaxing a stubborn fire to life or stripping a rifle, he could tell you appreciated it. You could shoot straight, move quick, scavenge smart. You were steady in a panic and didn’t fold in a fight.
It was strange— enjoying someone’s company the way he did yours. Strange enough that Joel sometimes caught himself wondering if you felt the same.
This summer had been the nastiest so far in Jackson. The heat blazed during the day, pressing against the mountains until the nights split open with storms, leaving behind a heavy, lingering damp that clung to the air in a way the northwest rarely did. It turned the woods thick with biting insects, the trails slow and mud-ridden, and the nights long and restless.
You were moving slower than usual, trailing behind Joel as you rode toward an abandoned lookout the patrol log had marked to make usable again for training new members of the community. Both of you knew it would take the better part of the day, and you’d packed in case it took longer: a sleeping bag rolled tight behind your saddle, extra rations stowed away. The dark clouds that were stacking over the far mountain range promised a storm you didn’t want to be caught in unawares.
He couldn’t say exactly what it was, but something about you felt…off that day. You were quiet, which wasn’t anything new, but the air around you carried a kind of unease he couldn’t place. For one, you hadn’t laughed at his god awful joke twenty minutes ago.
How you like your eggs? ‘Cause it’s hot enough I could damn near fry ‘em on my back right now.
Wasn’t his best work by any means, but he’d only said it to crack a smile on your face, but nothing ever came of it. He was almost certain you hadn’t even heard him, your mind a thousand acres away while your horse kept close behind his.
Joel slowed, reining in his steed until you drew up beside him. Ahead, the field opened into low brush, not tall enough to hide the cabin on its stilts. A weathered A-frame, the kind that had once been rented out for weeks at a time to families looking for mountain air in summer, or skiers in winter. Back when the world still turned like it should.
“What d’you say we run a perimeter check? I’ll take south, you take north. Meet in the middle. Blow the whistle if—”
But you were already nodding, turning your horse to the right and breaking off without a word.
Joel’s eyes stayed on you as you rode away, his stare heavy between your shoulder blades. Something about you was wrong today in a way he couldn’t shrug off. You weren’t just quiet. It was like you were somewhere else entirely, moving like the work in front of you barely registered. Normally, you’d meet his eye before splitting up, maybe toss him some dry comment to show you’d heard him, double check he had ammo in his gun or water in his canteen. Now there was nothing.
He didn’t like not knowing what was going on in your head. Not out here.
Still, he turned his horse toward the south side of the ridge, keeping his rifle close, boots shifting against the stirrups as he started down the slope. The air felt thick enough to press against his skin, and every sound—or lack of one—seemed louder for it. He kept his eyes moving, ears tuned to the treeline. For a while it stayed still and empty, the kind of quiet that made a man think that, just maybe, it’d be an easy sweep. He could picture the rest of the evening like this, eventually getting to the cabin and filling the log book with no sightings to report, working through a few repairs the rest of the day before splitting rations and building a low fire inside with you. It was almost enough to let himself breathe.
But then came the shrill of your whistle.
Cutting through the mountain air, all thoughts of finding you and splitting a strip of jerky over a well-earned cup of coffee went out of his head faster than a landslide. His horse, trained to react, lunged forward, ears pinned, muscles coiled and driving hard toward the sound. Joel leaned into the motion, tightening his grip on the reins as the world narrowed to a tunnel of wind and pounding hooves. His heart climbed high into his throat, his stomach dropping hollow beneath it, and still he forced the air steady through his lungs, urging the animal faster, faster, until the ground blurred beneath them.
North of the cabin now, his eyes raked the tree line, desperate for a glimpse of you. What he found instead made the blood in his veins turn heavy—your horse, crumpled in the grass, flank torn, eyes blank and lifeless, a knot of runners hunched over it, feeding. They didn’t look up, he was no use to them now.
Your scream cracked the air, and Joel yanked the reins hard, swinging the horse toward the sound. You came into view in a break between the trees, boots sliding in the mud, shotgun bucking in your hands as you fired into the group closing in on you. They were too many, shadows spilling from the undergrowth, and still you fought, the wild light of survival blazing in your eyes.
Joel fired his gun into the mass as he closed the distance, each shot punching a hole in the tide until he was on you. His arm shot out, grabbing you at the elbow, yanking you forward in one hard pull that hauled you up and across the saddle behind him.
He heard the breath knock out of you, but you managed to haul yourself up, seated behind him, your arms securely around his waist as the horse tore through the trees. Branches whipped past, the infected howls fading behind you but never enough to ease the knot in his chest. You were pressed tight against him, your breaths ragged and hot in the heavy summer air, and Joel kept his eyes on the path ahead, willing the trail to hold until they had four walls between you and the world.
When he finally made it to the safety of the A-frame, Joel didn’t waste a second. He turned toward the oncoming hoard that followed, yanked the lighter from his pocket, and set the rag of his Molotov ablaze. In one smooth motion, he hurled it at the advancing infected. The bottle burst in a roar of fire, and the snarls and shrieks of the fungal creatures were swallowed by the crackle of burning flesh.
Finally inside, he let you down from his horse in the stale basement garage. The air was full of breath; the horse’s throaty heaves, Joel’s bullish breathing, and your short, panicked lungfuls. Sweat dripped from every pore in the room, dripping to the floor as Joel hefted himself down to the ground, staying by the horse’s saddle for his canteen. He threw it to you, and you caught it, unscrewing the cap and sipping slowly.
Your eyes stayed wide, fixed on nothing, like the last ten minutes were playing over and over in some loop you couldn’t step out of.
“What happened?” he asked finally, voice low, his own breathing still heavy but beginning to steady. He worked at the tack while he waited, pulling the straps loose, setting the weight down in the corner.
“I…” you shook your head, swallowing hard. “I thought it was fine. Jasper was—he knew something was there, and I didn’t listen to him. Oh god, Jasper—”
The words broke apart and you sucked in air too fast, your mouth opening in a soundless, gaping cry before it collapsed into sobs. You folded in on yourself, shoulders drawn up, forehead bent toward your knees.
“Hey, hey,” Joel murmured, stepping closer. “S’alright, you didn’t know. I shouldn’t have let you go alone, I should’ve helped—”
“i don’t need your help, Joel.” The snap in your voice was sudden, sharp, cutting between you like a knife. Your teary face turned up to him, eyes narrowed, cheeks hot and wet with anger.
Joel felt the sting of it in his chest, his head drawing back as if you’d struck him. You’d never spoken to him that way before. Never once had you been cruel to him, not even in jest.
“What the hell’s gotten into you today, girl?” His tone sharpened, though he hated himself for it, the old reflex of defense coming too easy. He could feel his temper straining at the leash, the collar of it cinched tight around his throat. Always there, always needing to be held short. With you, it usually heeled: quiet, watchful, content to sit at his side like a domesticated dog. And maybe your outburst had startled the beast, yanking the chain from his grip before he could close his fist around it.
“You should’ve left me out there, asshole. I had it.”
“S’that why you blew the whistle then?” His voice climbed with the words, “Sure didn’t look like you had it.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered! No one—” Your chest was rising too quick, too shallow, and he knew that sound, that pace, that look. He’d worn it himself, alone in the dark, waking from dreams that clung like a second skin, haunted by the things he could never take back and the ones he knew were still coming, no matter how hard he fought.
“Hey—” He said again, leaning down toward you, hands reaching.
“Don’t!” you cried, jerking back. “Don’t you hear me? It wouldn’t have fucking mattered. No one gives a shit, no one cares. No one even likes me. I have no one, Joel. If I didn’t make it back, no one—n-no—” your words punched into sobs, your fingers pushing into your eyes as if to stop the tears from falling.
The words landed heavy, his jaw tightening against the ache. “That ain’t true, darlin’—”
“You’re the only—” You cut yourself off, as if the words caught on your tongue, your mouth stitched closed for a heartbeat. Your breathing came hard and uneven, tumbling over itself. “You’re my only friend. And you don’t even trust me to handle my own shit. I’m useless. I’m useless.”
“You’re not—” He stopped, his throat locking around the rest. God, he was so bad at this. Watching you split open in front of him was like watching his own reflection splinter, all those same cracks he carried, all the same thoughts he’d fought down for years. This independent, capable, stubborn person—someone who could hold their own in a fight, who people relied on—sitting here convinced she had nothing to offer. It was baffling. And it made sense in a way he hated, because he’d known that angry, digging feeling all the same.
And now here you were, the one person he’d trusted, the only person he had left, looking at yourself the way he’d looked at himself for years. It was breaking his fucking heart.
He wanted to tell you everything he saw in you: your grit, your quickness, the way you made his worst days bearable. But the words wouldn’t come. All he could do was kneel there, feeling as useless as you swore you were, wishing he knew how to make you believe otherwise.
You hid your face in your hands and sobbed harder, the sound tearing through the quiet. Joel only knew one thing for sure, and that was to sit down beside you against the wall and wrap his arms around you. He pulled you in, and you let him—thank God. He wasn’t sure he’d survive another lashing of rejection from you.
Your head found his chest, fingers clutched in his shirt. His hand settled over the crown of your head, stroking gently as you buried your face against him. You were still streaked with blood and mud, but he didn’t give two shits. This, he could offer, and so he gave it.
Eventually, your sobs ebbed to uneven sniffles, to a cough, to steadier breaths. You looked up at him from the concrete floor of the stupid A-frame’s basement, and Joel felt things he’d told himself long ago he’d never feel again.
Because yes, you were his friend, he thought—through and through, the only person he could stand to be around outside of his family, both blood and chosen. But in moments like this, when the fight had gone out of you and you let yourself lean into him, there was something else stirring in him. He found himself looking at you longer than he should, noticing the curve of your cheek where it pressed into him, the way your lashes clung together in damp points. You, the sure-footed girl who maybe wasn’t so sure of her place after all, and yet to him you had never seemed more certain, more unshakable. He felt it like a pull, the quiet realization that somewhere along the way, he’d stopped seeing you as just someone to watch his back. And now he wasn’t sure what to do with that.
He smoothed your tear-stained wet hair back behind your ear, letting you sink deeper against him until your head rested in his lap, your body curled on the floor beside him. He kept his hand moving through your hair, eyes on your face.
“Somethin’ happened before we left, huh?” he asked quietly.
Your lip quivered, and you nodded.
“You wanna talk about it?”
You shook your head quickly, then stopped, rubbing your eyes with a groan. “It’s so… so stupid.”
Joel stayed quiet, still combing his fingers through your hair.
“I was gonna watch a movie last night with Ellie and Dina, and… they never came to get me. This morning I heard them laughing about the actors. I guess they’d watched it together. Didn’t bother to tell me where they were meeting, didn’t check in—nothing. I don’t know if they just didn’t want me there, or if they forgot about me, and…I can’t decide which feels worse.”
Joel couldn’t help it, he chuckled.
“Don’t be an asshole,” you snapped, “Just cause she’s your kid doesn’t mean—”
“No, no, it ain’t that,” he said, a laugh tugging at his voice as you swatted his chest. “They like each other, darlin’. I think it was—”
“Yeah, I like them too. I thought they liked—”
“No, I mean… Baby, they’re datin’. I think it was a date.”
You froze mid-shove. So did he, though not for the same reason. He probably shouldn’t have told you Ellie’s business at all, but he’d wanted that look off your face. The one you’d worn when you thought they’d left you behind. But that thought barely got half formed before the other one shoved it aside—he’d called you baby. It had come too easy, too natural, like it had been waiting there for years, lodged behind his teeth. And now it was hanging in the air between you, and all he could think about was whether you’d noticed, whether you’d say something, whether he wanted you to.
“They… oh,” you breathed, stuffing your fingers in your mouth as you stared up at the ceiling.
Mmhmm Joel hummed, the corner of his mouth twitching.
He let you turn it over for a while, watching as exhaustion softened the sharp edge in your eyes. The glossy look no longer from tears but from your mind going far away again.
Then, quietly, before he could stop himself, he said quieter than anything, “You’re my only friend too, you know that?”
Your gaze found his. He pushed past the instinct to shut up. He had to tell you. Had to.
“Only person I like bein’ around, really,” he admitted.
He watched your eyes search his, catching the way the dark light around you softened their edges and pulled out every shade. The only sound in the room came from the horse in the far corner, shifting its weight and tearing quietly at the weeds sprouting through the cracks in the foundation. Joel’s hand stilled in your hair, his palm resting warm against the back of your head as he watched your reaction.
“You’re the only person I like being around too,” you whispered.
Joel felt something shift in him then, small but deep, like a weight sliding into place where it didn’t belong but somehow fit too well. He didn’t know what to do with this…awareness of you that went beyond the easy camaraderie you’d built, beyond the trust earned on patrols and quiet rides. It wasn’t even sudden or new to him. More like noticing a trail he’d been walking for a while without ever looking down at his feet. He’d told himself you were his friend, his only friend, and that was true. But here you were, looking at him like you meant it when you said you liked being around him, and he felt… seen. In a way he didn’t often let himself be.
It stirred things he wasn’t sure he wanted stirred—things he thought had no place in him anymore. Affection that ran warmer than he knew how to name. A pull toward you that was as much about the way you laughed at his worst jokes as it was about the way you were looking at him now, open and unguarded.
Your hand came up suddenly, fingers brushing through his beard. You shifted, propping yourself on your palm resting on the far side of his thigh as you looked up at him. There was something in your eyes that set his pulse knocking harder against his throat.
Your hand lingered in his beard, thumb brushing slow over his jaw, and Joel fought the old, bone-deep urge to pull away the way he would have with anyone else in the world. That instinct had been carved into him over twenty years. But he wanted to stay still for you, let you explore, let you rediscover him. He was human, after all, though the act of being touched for anything beyond survival felt so foreign it left him almost dizzy, a kind of nausea born from hunger gone on too long. The feeling of someone reaching for him, wanting to map out the planes of him, wanting to know him.
You moved again, only a fraction, leaning in just enough that he felt the change in the air between you. His breath caught, but he didn’t move—afraid to spook whatever moment was blooming here, afraid he’d shatter it by reaching back. You whispered something, your sweet breath feathering over his lips, curling under his nose until he found himself breathing it in, drawing in the warmth you exhaled.
He blinked when you pulled back the smallest inch, realizing you just asked him something. Hm? he murmured, his voice catching on the sound.
“You…only like me…” you tilted your head, tongue dipping out to moisten your bottom lip and oh, you were teasing him— “as your friend?”
His throat worked, and your hand trailed down his jaw, lingering along the scruffy line of it before sliding to the column of his throat. You let your fingers rest on the rise and fall of his adam’s apple, the shift beneath your touch as it moved down in one measured glide.
“What do you think?” he said, voice rough as if he’d been screaming.
Mmm you hummed, eyes downcast, lashes fluttering as they lowered. Your gaze settled on his mouth, fingertip rising again to trace lightly along the curve of his lips, brushing the place where they parted under your touch. His heart was hammering now, wild and unsteady, like he was sixteen again, green and made anew by you.
Then, his mind suddenly made of cotton and clouds, you leaned in and touched your lips to his. The faintest, most careful press, warm and tentative, as though you were asking him a question without words.
His hand lifted of its own accord, settling against the back of your head again, holding you there, keeping you. He kissed you back, just a little deeper, but he let you guide it, his heart pounding so hard he was certain you could feel it where your palm rested on his thigh.
Joel thought he might’ve been going insane. So many big, scary feelings colliding in his head, so many thoughts that made his chest feel tight, that he’d spent decades keeping at arm’s length. What this meant, what you meant, what this would all be. It was terrifying to even look straight at, because if he did, he might see the whole truth laid out and there’d be no taking it back. He’d wanted this, wanted you. Longer than he’d let himself believe. And fuck, he was so scared. Scared of reaching for it. Scared of letting himself want it. Terrified that the wrong move would spook you, the one person he felt really knew him.
Then you moved, crawling into his lap, your knees bracketing his thighs, fingers sliding into his hair as your mouth found his again and all rational thought slipped from him for the moment. This kiss was hotter, more urgent, your tongue gliding against his, and Joel couldn’t hold back the rough, needy sounds that rose from his throat. He ate at your mouth, hungrier than he’d ever been in twenty years, all tongue and teeth and need. Spit slicked your lips, the sweet salt of it clinging to his tongue as your mouths met again and again, each kiss landing with wet, messy sounds that seemed to echo in the quiet room.
He tore back, gasping, eyes locked on your shining, kiss bitten mouth, fighting the near uncontrollable urge to devour you whole. “C’mon,” he rasped, trying to find reason in the fog. “Let’s get settled in, we need to do a sweep and—”
You were already pressing kisses into his beard, catching the corner of his mouth.
“Baby,” he said, voice straining as he tried to keep his head, “we gotta make sure everything’s safe. Then we can have some dinner, make a fire.”
Mmhmm, you agreed, catching his bottom lip between yours, sucking lightly, and it sent heat rushing down his spine. Joel groaned, his hands gripping your hips in the desperation to keep his head on straight.
He gathered you up in his arms and stood, lifting you easily, his knees protesting as he carried you through the dim room beneath the house. The stairs groaned under his boots as he ascended, sunlight spilling above through the cabin’s wide windows as he made his way up into the main area, setting you down on what had once been a kitchen counter. Then he stepped back, pointing a finger at you like you were a wild thing he couldn’t trust to—
—“Stay,” he said.
You crossed your arms, kicking your legs idly.
“I’ll be back,” he warned, turning away. Before he’d made it two steps, he spun back, cupping your face in both hands and kissing you deep, getting one last taste before facing his tasks.
“We’re gonna eat,” he murmured between quick, greedy kisses. “We’re gonna set up for the night,” another kiss, slower this time, “and then we’ll finish this.”
“Promise?” you giggled.
His mouth curved, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “I always keep my word.”
“I know,” you said softly, biting your finger as you looked at him.
And that made his heart thump hard enough he swore you could hear it in the space between you.
Eventually, Joel made his way back after sweeping the cabin and checking the exits, finding you in the kitchen, unpacked and bent over a fresh log book. His sleeping bag was already unrolled from the saddle, backpacks open with gear and food laid out in neat piles, a small fire in the old, dusty hearth with a covered pot above the embers. He stepped in behind you, leaning just enough to glance over your shoulder at the page.
Horse lost. Infected in woods around. Cabin swept and safe.
A soft, heavy sigh slipped from his chest before he could stop it. He pressed a kiss into your hair, the scent of smoke and summer still clinging to you. “M’sorry about Jasper.”
You nodded, gripping the pen a little tighter before turning toward him. His hands came up to your arms, thumbs stroking slow, the golden-pink sunset spilling through the windows and painting the room in a warm blush.
“I, uh… got the can of pork beans cooked. Apples aren’t too bruised. Coffee’s on.”
“Music to my ears,” he grumbled, pulling you gently against him. “You okay?”
You nodded again, but still didn’t meet his eyes, and it made his heart constrict. He reached up, fingers curling under your chin, tilting your face until your gaze met his. And God, you were so damn pretty it almost knocked the thoughts from his head—the way your skin still seemed to glow even after the tears, the way your eyes caught the last of the light, bright and alive.
“People do like you,” he murmured. “They like you a lot.”
“People, or just you?” you teased, a faint smile tugging at your lips.
He grinned, “Both.”
You huffed a quiet laugh, sliding your arms up around his neck and curling your fingers into his hair.
“You did a good job today,” he said, his eyes glued to yours so he knew for a fact you heard him. And when you tried to pull your chin away, your eyes moving across the room, he pulled you back. He leaned down and pressed a slow, tender kiss to your lips, breathing you in like he’d been holding it all day. You hummed softly at the feel of him, fingers curling into the hair at his nape and giving the slightest tug. When he drew back, your eyes stayed closed a moment longer, savoring the warmth he left behind.
“I promised we’d eat first,” he murmured.
“Then hurry up and eat, old man,” you teased, the smile in your voice tugging a matching one from him.
For the rest of the meal, he felt your eyes on him. Every bite he took, you watched, your fingertips sometimes drifting along his jaw while he chewed. He watched you back, the familiar lines of you somehow new again—reborn before him. A reflection of himself in so many ways, yet so different. Stronger. Able to keep going, to shoulder what felt impossible, and somehow still meet his gaze with that spark that made him wonder how you carried so much without breaking.
The sun eventually sank behind the ridgeline, leaving the cabin wrapped in shadow. The only glow came from the hearth, the fire low but steady, its light breathing over the walls in slow, uneven pulses. Outside, rain began to fall in a steady curtain, the sound filling the quiet between you. Every so often, lightning split the dark, a stark, silver flash that lit your face for an instant before the thunder rolled in, low and deep enough to stir the floorboards.
At some point, the meal had gone untouched, mugs cooling on the table. Whatever small tasks there had been to keep hands busy were left where they were, and you found yourselves simply… watching each other. The stillness between you felt heavy, charged.
Joel had your hand in his now, his thumb working slow circles into the back of your palm, as if feeling for something beneath the skin, and you let him. You were quiet, steady under his touch, letting him explore the rough ridges of your knuckles, the way they gave way to the delicate skin of your wrist. His fingers moved gently, almost reverently, and the longer he looked the more he realized how little of you he’d really touched before now.
It was odd. Part of him thought, yes, this was it. A natural progression of things between two people who respected each other, who knew each other better than anyone at the bottom of the mountains behind those big fences. Two people who trusted each other, who looked after each other for this long.
And yet, the other part of him recoiled at the thought—who did he think he was, taking advantage of your trust like this? You were younger, thrown with him on a patrol by nothing more than chance long ago. You trusted him, and now he was thinking about how it would taste in his mouth.
It was as if you could hear the clanging of it all in his head—the rusted gears grinding against one another after too many years without oil, a machine long unused and suddenly put to work again.
You took his hand in yours now, bringing it up to your mouth and kissing the pad of his thumb, your eyes steady on his. “What’s goin’ on in that big head, hm?” you asked, the words quiet, almost coaxing, before you pressed another kiss to the tip of his index finger.
He shook his head.
“You trust me?” you asked.
“With my life.”
It was the plain truth, he barely had to think on it.
“Then trust me to know what I want—who I want—regardless of anything trying to tell you otherwise.”
“How did—”
“I know you, Joel Miller,” you said, almost with a sigh. “Sometimes I think I know you better than I know myself.” You kissed his palm, your mouth warm against the worn skin, and traced along the lines carved into him, your lips following the curves as though you were reading him. He wondered, briefly, what you might find there. If the notches in the lines gave away the years he’d spent half alive, hollowed from the inside, wearing the shape of the person he’d long lost hold of. He wondered if you’d notice where the course shifted, where the tide had turned. How much of him had been remade because of you—your steadiness, your light. A friend, a truth teller. Someone who saw him as he was, and somehow, still wanted to look.
“Yeah, I reckon you do,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant, “I…I feel the same. About you.”
“Then you know I’d never lie to you.”
He nodded, still trying to wrestle the thought down his throat. A long pause rented the room, only the cracks of embers and the rain on the roof filling it.
“Think it’s time for bed, don’t you?” he said at last, his voice a touch rough, like he wasn’t quite sure how to bridge the space between what had just passed and whatever came next.
Your eyes lifted to his, and for a heartbeat he was certain you saw more than he’d ever meant to let slip. More than he’d ever wanted anyone to see—but then again, you were the only person he’d want to see him like that. As he was.
“I think so.” you whispered back.
He moved around slowly, as if cautioned by some nervous creature in his midst, to the open sleeping bag you’d laid out in the hours before. You both seemed to hesitate as he knelt onto the plush padding above the floorboards, the wood creaking in complaint, not unlike his joints. Something about it felt like a threshold—this shared bed, this shared space. It was stepping into the unknown, a closeness neither of you had crossed before.
You followed him, equal in your nervousness but far more graceful, easing yourself down as the firelight painted your face in amber. Joel lowered himself beside you with the stiffness of a man too aware of the nearness, lying there in a strange stillness, eyes to the ceiling. Shadows fluttered in and out across the beams above, stirred by the dance of the fire.
“Joel,” you finally said quietly. The sound of it sent his heart pouncing into his throat.
Mm? He couldn’t form words just yet, your arm much too close to his.
“What do you think happens when we die?”
His head turned toward you sharply, the swish of the sleeping bag loud in his ears as he found your profile, half outlined in pale moonlight and half blazing in the fire.
“Why you askin’ that kinda thing?”
You turned your head to look at him, his mirror, your eyes as curious and forlorn as he felt. Like the dawn after a storm.
“I don’t believe in heaven.” you began, just a whisper, “or hell.”
Your teeth caught your bottom lip, testing the taste of a confession he knew was on the tip of your tongue. Joel wished, more than ever before, that he could read your mind now. That he could slip inside your thoughts, see the landscape of them for himself. To settle them, quiet their worrying.
“But…” You gnawed your lip now, nerves and some quiet ache knitting themselves into your brow, and Joel turned onto his side to face you fully. His hand came up, thumb coaxing your lip free, brushing the line of your chin as though he might smooth the uncertainty from you.
Your fingers came up to his wrist, delicately holding him in place, tying him to you, “But when I’m with you…it’s the closest thing I’ve ever come to believing in something after all of this. A quiet, some sort of… of peace. And sometimes I wonder…” You closed your eyes briefly, gathering yourself, before finding him again with a gaze soft enough to unmake him. “like maybe I died a long time ago, and no one told me. And this is where I was sent. To be beside you.”
Something in his chest pulled so hard he thought it might tear him in two. He didn’t trust his voice to survive the weight of what he wanted to say, so instead of saying anything at all, he crushed your lips to his. You responded with equal fervor, your eyes screwing shut, brows threading, the look he knew he mirrored in his own features.
You opened for him, mouth parting and tongue reaching, and he swallowed the gift of it. His hands framed your face, calloused palms spanning your cheeks as he tipped your chin higher, taking more of you, drawing you deeper into him. He was so hungry—God, he was starved— for this, his gut rolling with the ache of it, all heat and reverence a tsunami in him now. Your soft, breathless sounds filled his ears and lodged somewhere in his chest, determined to pull more from you. He shifted enough to lay over you, and you cradled him between your legs, wrapping around him.
His mouth broke from yours only to map your skin with open, wet kisses at the hinge of your jaw, the warm slope beneath your ear, his tongue tasting the quick thrum of your pulse. You dragged your fingers into his hair, pulling hard enough to make him moan. Yes, yes, mark me. Make me yours.
His hands roamed with greed of something long denied, gripping your ribs and pressing your hips to his, squeezing the flesh that shown from your shirt riding up. He tugged it higher, then stripped it away entirely, throwing it aside before bending to take your breast in his mouth. Lips latched with a hunger that only that wanton creature in him knew—not with anger now, but hunger. He wasn’t sure how much chain to give it, how much slack on the leash. It had been so long, so long since he’d let it feast like this. Years of pacing behind his ribs, gaunt and bone thin from neglect, now fed and watered in the sanctuary of you.
Your gasp sharpened into a moan when he moved across your chest, kissing and biting the soft valley between before taking your other breast, teasing the peaked bud with his teeth. Your fingers curled deeper in his hair, and his eyes, surely black with need, met yours.
“I love you,” you whispered suddenly, your jaw slack, eyes glazed in heat.
He paused, only for a moment, because yes, yes. It was all so clear. That was what it was, what it had always been, seeded quietly between you and now breaking open to bloom.
He kissed up your neck, nibbled your chin, and pressed his lips to yours gently before opening his mouth and letting the whole of him pour out as he said:
“I love you.”
You kissed him harder, the sound of lips and spit and moans filling his ears in ecstacy, your voice breaking between, “Say it again,”
He chuckled, all throaty and broken, hands smoothing down your body to grip the meat of you, pulling into him, “I love you,” he said, “‘Course I do,”
“Again,” you chanted, breath hitching when he grinded his throbbing lap against yours.
“I love you, baby,” he said, teeth and lips moving to your neck again, fumbling with his belt, your pants, his zipper.
Soon, the absence of clothing made everything heightened and so fucking needy. Every place his skin met yours felt electric, like sparks leaping from one body to the other. He was determined to open you, to split you around him, his cock now aching with the mere thought of you, thick and heavy between his thighs as he pulled your legs up the expanse of his body, feet dangling over his shoulders, hugging your knees to his chest while you lay back, breathless and heated.
You breathed in, hiccuping softly, hands traveling up the length of his arms, over the thickness of his fingers where he held you, finally reaching for his face. He leaned in, desperate for the touch, your delicate fingers tracing the slick, sweat damp skin there as if memorizing him in the dark. Every ridge of cheekbone, every rough line carved by years.
“Please,” you whispered.
He nodded, kissing your limbs. His mouth lingered at the side of your knee, lips brushing over the tense muscle before moving higher. Up to your calf, the scrape of his stubble leaving a faint burn in its wake, then to your ankle, his mouth pressed warm against the delicate bone there.
When he reached the instep of your bare foot, he kissed it as though it were as sacred as your mouth, a quiet hum leaving him as he nipped gently. His hands slid down the front of your thighs, pulling you open wider. One stayed on you, hugging the tops of your legs to his body, the other moving to wrap around himself, sliding gently against your glossy folds. You were pooling with want, the shlick of arousal a symphony to his ears with your pleas and mewling below him. He breathed you in, hot and ragged, and throbbed against you, circling the head of his cock on your bundle of nerves before moving lower.
He looked up at you, the sharp gasp he pulled from your lungs was enough to make the beast in him strain harder against the leash.
“Just the tip for now, baby,” he murmured, voice low and coaxing. “Just to get you ready for me.”
You shook your head quickly, words tumbling out in broken breaths. “Wan-want it all.”
“I know you do, sweet girl. Gotta take our time, don’t wanna hurt you.”
You whined and thrashed a bit, needy and pettish, the wriggle of your hips almost enough to undo him then and there.
He tsk’d softly, though the curve of his mouth betrayed him, and he pressed another kiss to the side of your leg before pushing just barely inside. Your hands gripped his forearm where it still clasped your knees to his chest, nails dragging over the coarse hair there. He eased another inch in, pulled back, then rocked forward again—gentle, testing, opening you up. He should have taken more time. Should have eaten you first, worked you open with his fingers until you were ready for him. But the want was too loud now, too deep in his marrow. He was half-man, half that chained beast in his mind, behind his ribs— crazed by your need, by the tight pull of you already wrapping around him.
“Please, Joel… I’m ready,” you whispered, a moan slipping out as his hips rolled once more.
“Yeah?”
“Yes!” you squealed, talons sinking into the meat of his arm.
“Okay, okay,” he conceded.
He wrapped his arms tighter around your legs, locking you in place as his hips surged forward. The stretch tore a strangled sound from both of you, and he swore he could feel the mouth of your womb kiss the tip of his cock. Your walls hugged him, pulling him in deeper as he rested there. He dug his teeth gently into your calf as he watched your face, your features twisted with strain and bliss.
“So fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he rasped, kissing your bitten flesh, unable to stop the words from pouring out of him, his mouth slack and brain gone to the fog of arousal. His syllables slurred past his mouth before he could catch them, “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, prettiest fuckin’ pussy too.”
“J-Jooooel,” you mewled, hands scrambling for something to hold. He dropped one of his hands to catch them, threading his fingers through yours and bringing your joined hands to his lips as he leaned forward. He pushed down, bending you in half, knees to chest, kissing your fingers where they held his broad palm between them. He set an easy pace, enough to keep him tethered to reality for a bit longer. A gentle push and pull, your walls hugging him, demanding to keep him in deeper.
“How you feelin’ sweetheart, hm? How’s that feel?”
“So—oh godddd,” you moaned, “so full, Joel,”
“I know, I know… doin’ so good for me. My good girl,” he cooed, watching your brow pinch, your teeth sink into your bottom lip as your eyes threatened to roll back.
“Focus. Right here—eyes on me, baby.”
You forced them open, only for them to widen when he pushed in harder, deeper, a deliberate thrust that made you squeal and clutch at him: one hand still trapped in his grip, the other clawing at his arm, his neck, the rough of his beard.
“Tell me how good of a girl you are," he demanded voice nothing more than a growl, “tell me,”
“I’m…I’m…”
“‘I’m a good girl’,” he practiced, "ain't you, baby? Repeat it.”
“I’m your good girl.”
How could one fucking word completely undo him?
“That’s right, honey. That’s it.” He continued a rhythm that had you keening, your legs tightening around his neck as your voice climbed. Yours, yours, yours, you breathed, eyes rolling, your heat fluttering around him. He pushed in harder, deeper, peppering kisses along your fingers and the round bones of your knuckles, his beard scratching just enough to make you shiver.
“Love you so much, sweet girl,” he murmured into your skin. “Come on, come for me now, be my good girl.”
You shook your head, a whine catching in your throat as your hips rolled to meet his, your fingers tightening in his grip.
“No?” Joel questioned, a breathless laugh pushing out of his lungs.
“Wanna—” you swallowed another moan as he drove into you, still pushing your knees tight against your chest. His mouth hovered so close to yours that he could have stolen the breath straight from you if he leaned in just a little further.
“Wanna come with you,” you mewled, hands slipping from his to tangle in his hair, both of them dragging him down until his mouth hovered over yours. One lean, one slip of his tongue across your lower lip, and he’d have you. But then, your voice was soft, pleading, begging as your lips brushed his, moving around the words: “Let go for me, Joel… give me everything.”
And he knew, knew you saw every part of him, every piece he kept buried— and that you knew him better than anyone had ever known him. A mirror, a reflection. Like staring into still water and not just seeing himself, but the thing that he’d been missing all along. All this time, he thought he was the one with his fist around the chain of the dog that paced in his chest, but it was you. And you were unleashing him now, taking off the prong, the muzzle, setting him free.
He drove into you hard, letting your legs fall to hook around his hips, sinking into the cradle of you. His hands found your head, the back of your skull fitting into the breadth of his palms, it belonged there, and then he took you, giving you everything he had. Skin slapping skin, mouths colliding, teeth catching, breath tangling— he fucked you as your head tipped back, eyes gone white, cresting and crashing and falling apart around him, your voice a raw cry of his name. And he followed, spilling into you with the same sweet abandon you’d pulled from him, every last shred of restraint gone.
The room was steeped in breath and sweat, the air still trembling from the rampage of Joel’s heart against his ribs. Only, this time, the feeling that followed was a quiet, reverent solace, a sort of beauty in its newness. He lifted his head from where it had fallen in the crook of your shoulder, tracing a path of soft, long, wet kisses to your chin, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, the tip of your nose. You hummed, the sound lush and frayed, your voice rasping with the aftermath of his name.
“You are everything,” he whispered, soul bared now, holding the mirror to you. Look, look, see where we are the same.
Your eyes opened, only slivers of color, the light of the moon and dying embers catching in them and returning to him. You kissed him softly, your mouth finding the bristle of his beard, the ridge of his cheek. You drew his head lower, brushing your lips over the delicate flutter of his lashes, the slash across his nose.
“And you…” your voice broke, reformed into something raw, “you’ve always been there, haven't you? Like calls to like.” You searched his face as if the truth might try to hide from you now. But he couldn’t. You saw him now, and there was nothing left for him to hide. And, as if reading his mind, you said:
“We are the same, aren’t we, Joel?”
The rain answered first, slowing against the roof, the roll of thunder climbing further away and over the mountains. Somewhere outside, a branch scraped against the siding in the wind, a faint, rhythmic sound that kept time with the pounding in his chest.
“Yes. Yes, I think so.”
listen idk what happened to me during this I feel like I was in another dimmension with all the shit I was throwing in here. hope you enjoyed :'')
thank you my loves @dixonsdarkelf & @dixons-sunshine for giving this a read before it was anywhere close to ready! love you!!!
Joel Miller x female! reader
Summary: Joel hurt your feelings in the heat of an argument. He knows that he fucked up. But you pushed him away regardless, needing a break from it all. It doesn’t last for long. Before you can even catch your breath he’s already back on your doorstep, begging for a chance to fix things. So, he apologizes in the way he knows best. On his knees.
Rating: Explicit.
Word count: 4.1k
Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Jackson!Joel, SMUT, cunnilingus, Joel eats pussy like a champ, no use of y/n, porn with plot, Soft dom!Joel, body worship, teasing, angst, overstimulation, confessions of love, established relationship, unhealthy coping mechanisms,18+ MDNI.
A/N: Hello again! Thank you all so fucking much for all the love on the last post. I truly have no words to describe how greatful I am that so many of you read it (and liked it!) :') It's rare that I ever see Joel characterized as a munch, and I felt it was my civic duty to write it into existence. So, if the idea of Joel miller being a certified eater is hot: this one my love, is for you.
This unfortunately will be my last oneshot for a bit. I am going to try my best to stay active on here amidst juggling college and plotting my longfic (stay tuned!). If you have an idea, request, or just want to say hi, my request box is open! I'd love to hear your thoughts <3
April showers began to patter heavily against the porch and windows of your house. There was something so inviting about the gloom that it brought, it felt like a nice place to hide after a long day. You could almost always sense its arrival in the air. Humid. Heavy. A mixture of minerals and earth slipped past your nose this morning on the way to mess for breakfast, a sign of your favorite way to spend an evening. You had just checked out some books from the library a few days ago that you couldn’t wait to dive into.
Your footsteps thunder as you make your way up to your door, gently stepping inside and engaging the lock. You slip out of your boots and set them in the rubber tray in the entryway, letting out a sigh once your spine finally straightens. It doesn’t do much to alleviate the splintering tightness that has been sitting on your chest all day.
You hadn’t planned getting to the mess hall early and spending breakfast alone, but you could hardly stand the sight of him after yesterday. Crying over a bowl of oatmeal in front of everyone was the last thing you needed.
Joel was not a mean person, but he was calculated. Observant. He knew exactly how to find a knife that was already embedded into you and push further, and further.
Twisting.
Widening the margin of an already gaping wound.
“Jesus, do you ever know when to stop talking?” He had snapped, the sound of his gruff voice rings in your ears.
The part that you can’t seem to wrap your mind around is the way he looked at you. What was it, disgust? annoyance?
Of course. The man that had lost almost everything couldn’t find it in his heart to show you some basic fucking empathy. How could you forget?
You wouldn’t know a thing about that. Your mouth only had one purpose.
That’s all this was. A place for him to keep his cock warm.
A knock pounds on the door, shoulders flinching at the sound. Your hand finds its way onto the lock and rotates it. The door swings open, tousled brown hair and big doe eyes that meet yours are waiting on the other side.
You scan his face, noticing the inflamed and bloodied skin, a split brow and lip.
“Joel, what the fuck?” Your lips curl into a frown, hands gripping the door frame so hard your skin turns white.
“I know, I know. It’s not as bad as it looks. I crossed paths with a lone raider on patrol and he managed to lick me pretty good.”
“Why didn’t you just go to the clinic?”
“Because I wanted to talk to you.” He holds your stare, a mixture of hurt and shame paints the creases in his expression.
“And you assumed I did?” Forgiveness was never about the guilt they carry. It was always about showing back up. Promising to never be the source of their pain. And here he is on your porch with a look in his eyes that begs to be repaired.
A frown pulls at his lips, you watch as the thought that sits on his tongue turns over in his mind. “Look, I-”
'“Go see Dr. V, Joel. You’re gonna need stitches.” You cut him off and push the door closed, but he steps forward and catches the frame with his hand.
“Please. Just let me inside, it’s pourin’ buckets out here.” He drawls, pleading.
“Why should I?” You relent and let your hand fall from the door.
“Because I’m sorry.” He whispers, the softness makes your chest feel tight.
Apologies were a bit of a phenomenon for you.
“I’m sorry, she didn’t mean anything!” Your first boyfriend had told you, using that as a defense to make him feel less guilty.
“I’m sorry I hit you.” Your mother had forced your sister to say, knowing that you would be pressured to forgive.
“Because I’m sorry.” From a man you trusted with your entire being who looked you dead in your eyes and weaponized your insecurity against you.
“Joel.” The word hisses out of you gently.
“I fucked up. I was cruel to you and you didn’t deserve it. I was frustrated and tired and needed a place for it to go.”
“I was frustrated and tired, too. The difference is that I could never speak that way to someone I love. I’m not a goddamn punching bag.” Fuck.
“What?” He stills, the air around you starts to feel thin suddenly.
The tightness in your chest crawls up your throat, pushing tears into your eyes. It fucking burns. This is not how you wanted this to go.
Love.
You love-
Him. Joel.
You had anxiously awaited for the day that meant something different to you—waiting for it to stop being used as bait. A representation of abandonment. Manipulation.
“Oh, babygirl.” He soothes, reaching out to touch you.
“You should leave.” You step back, avoiding his hand. A cacophony of voices sounds off in your head the second the words leave your lips. They tell you to make him stay—that he’s the only chance you have at someone loving the monster that stares back at you in the mirror. They say to make him leave, that he deserves the bed he made for himself.
“You’re not going to even listen to what he has to say?” It scoffs with distaste.
“Can’t we at least talk about this? Just hear me out, please.” Both his face and voice soften to meet the acid that whips from your tongue.
“I don’t want to talk about this. I’m tired.” The tightness returns to your throat, weighing a thousand pounds. Tears claw up to your eyes once more, but you push them down. Much like you’re pushing away the only good thing you have left. But that was before he confirmed that the lies your sick and twisted mind had spun up were true. He’s about to learn that you do stop talking.
You watch as he ignores you, daring to move into your doorway and pushing the opening wider with the hand that’s still gripping the door. The smell of him so close assaults your nose, making your heart thunk. You are so desperately trying to hold your ground, but weakness is beginning to creep into your joints and slowly buckle your knees.
“I’m so sorry. It kills me to know the reason you’re upset is my fault. Let me make it up to you.” A plea for mercy floats in the air, but you let it fall flat.
“What you said yesterday really hurt my feelings. I’ve been trying so hard to wrap my head around it. I can’t just toss it to the side and forgive you because you said sorry.”
“I know, baby. I know.”
“The worst part of it all is how comfortable you were speaking to me that way, like you were waiting for the opportunity. Do you not realize how fucking awful it was hearing that come out of your mouth? Am I a burden to you, Joel? Is that what this is?” You feel yourself starting to shrink, voice trembling with the anxiety confrontation always brings.
“No, of course not.”
Frustration bubbles up in your chest, tears fighting for purchase in the corners of your eyes for the millionth time. You’re not sure if you want to laugh, scream, or cry at the sheer audacity of it all. You wrap your arms around yourself, forcing your eyes to land anywhere but him.
The sound of his boots grows closer under your feet. He closes the door behind him to keep more of the rain from coming in—the latch moving into place with a satisfying click. You can feel him in front of you, so close that a few inches would grant his breath against your skin.
“Look at me, sweet girl.” He coos, the softness in his tone makes your insides nearly turn to mush.
You shake your head and turn your back to him, arms tightening around yourself further. The desire to run from it all is just out of reach, one step and you’re gone.
Breath tickles the side of your neck, you can feel his calloused hand wrap around your torso, slipping right under the fabric, sitting against your skin. He pulls you against his chest, and you let him. You’re tired of arguing. Tired of waking up to an empty bed. Tired of the pit in your stomach.
Warmth blooms against your shoulder. His lips pepper up the side of your neck, causing a chill to shoot down your spine, swirling in your stomach.
“For what it’s worth, I am sorry. You deserved more than my anger yesterday.” He whispers, trailing two fingers down to graze under the edge of your panties, gauging your acceptance.
You inhale sharply, the muscles in your core tightening in tandem. “If you speak to me like that again, we’re done. Are we clear?” The heat that pools between your thighs has a grip on your throat, butchering the hard tone you were hoping to portray. But regardless, Joel should know better.
“Crystal.” He doesn’t even let you take a breath before his arms are wrapped around the backs of your thighs, hauling you over his shoulder.
You shriek, cursing his name at the sudden movement. A deep chuckle sounds from underneath you, making your heart sing. His feet thump against your hardwood, taking you towards your bedroom.
There’s not much in terms of trinkets or decorations, despite you being in Jackson for over a year. A thickly knit blanket to go over your comforter for those especially cold nights, a bedside table, and a small bookshelf in the corner is enough for now. Habits that you picked up on the run aren’t always easy to break, especially something as unnoticeable as what you carry. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying the simpler things in life. But maybe, it was never about worrying about what you’ll lose if you have it anymore. Maybe it’s time to start appreciating things as long as they last. Even if for a short time.
He gives your ass a loving smack before tossing you down onto the bed, and leaning over you, caging your waist in with his hands. You push yourself up, meeting his face with your own. A thundering trill starts in your chest, his eyes are on you with an ironclad stare, so focused that you feel like he can read your mind.
He’s waiting for the right moment, waiting for a sign from you, a word, anything —like a lion prowling over prey. But you won’t relent. He needs to make the first move, it’s the least you deserve after he stomped on your heart.
“Say you want this.” He whispers, the air from his mouth tickling the skin on your face. You nod, parched for words with his stare held on you with such intensity.
“No. Baby, I need you to use your words and tell me.” He chides with attempted softness, a hand trailing on top of your thigh to give it a squeeze of encouragement.
“I want this. I want you.” You respond with a bit more confidence, heart racing faster with anticipation.
A sigh pushes through his nose, you watch the gears turn in his head for a few seconds before eventually accepting your response as satisfactory. Now that you’ve given him the green light, he doesn’t waste any time and captures your lips with his own.
The world quiets around you, igniting your desire. You want more—no, you need more. He beats you to the idea with a groan that shoots straight to your clit, feasting like you’re the air he desperately needs to breathe. Joel’s head pushes into yours and guides you gently back onto the comforter.
Your tongue finds its way forward to his lips, swiping the top one to request access. The rough sensation of jeans brushes between your legs, right up against the part that’s been screaming for attention the second he laid eyes on you. There’s always been something so intimate about the moments before your resolve finally snaps. Before the entanglement of hitched breaths and moans of pure unadulterated need.
You don’t need to take your clothes off to know how he feels. Joel has never been talkative, he’d rather show than tell. He’s taking what he needs and giving it back tenfold. You’d let him keep hurting you again and again if all his apologies end this way.
Your hips roll forward against his knee with a soft gasp, chasing more of the delicious friction that pools heat to your core. He breaks the kiss, trailing his lips down your jaw and to your neck, the rough scratch of his mustache tingles with each shift in his movement. The risk of waking up with several mouth shaped welts and some mild beard burn is a problem for the version of yourself tomorrow.
“Can I take this off, baby?” He reaches down—toying with the edge of your shirt eyes expectantly waiting.
“Yes. Take it all off.” A hiss cushioned with baited breath whips out of you.
“Not yet.” His barrel-aged chuckle rumbles, pure enjoyment at your impatience bleeding in his expression. The shirt nearly rips as he rushes to pull it off of you, exposing more of your skin to the cold air.
A bra wasn’t necessary today—you weren’t planning on running into anyone and it’s easy to hide under your winter coat. It seems to be working in your favor, more than just in the name of convenience. Joel’s eyes flit down, taking in the sight of your pebbled nipples. His thumb reaches to brush over it, rolling and pinching it between his fingers. The minuscule amount of pressure against the sensitive peak has your core reeling. Heat continues to blaze in your stomach, effectively burning all the butterflies that were sitting there previously.
You arch into his hand with a whine, overwhelmed with the influx of desire and nary a place to put it. The idea of worship has always seemed like a myth. You’ve had partners in the past, pre and post outbreak. But this is different with him. Those before were there for the fun, and so were you—only because you hadn’t had a taste of something real. An understanding that satiates in just the right places of your heart.
Joel takes his time, drags it even. He pulls your nipple into his mouth with his tongue, swirling around the tightened mound. You moan with gritted teeth, arching into him once more.
If he keeps this up, you just might finish into your panties without even reaching past your waist. The cool of metal brushes against your fingers and you hastily reach to undo his belt—attempting it with one hand is generally easier said than done. Weathered skin wraps around your hand on the leather holding his jeans in place, setting it gently back down at your side.
“Not tonight.” He grumbles, mouth still full of your breast.
“Joel.” The whine in your voice begins to sound like frustration. You writhe against him, seeking his knee again with your hips.
His eyes flick up to yours—fully halting his ministrations, the mixture of cold air and saliva that hits your skin forces goosebumps to rise. His hand wraps around your chin, forcing you to look straight at him.
“I just want to take care of you. Can I do that, or are you going to lie there and whine the whole time?” His stare is dark, the hint of authority that rings in his tone only increasing the slick from your core.
“But-”
“No buts. Only good girls get rewards.” A soft growl rumbles in his tone.
That does the trick in ordering your obedience. You shut your mouth, teeth meeting with a resounding clack. Getting to turn your brain off at his behest is a trade you’d gladly accept with open arms.
He shifts to give attention to your other nipple, hand reaching up to play with the one not currently being teased by his mouth. Your heart pounds, reaching with impatience to fist the comforter so hard your knuckles turn white.
“If you keep going like this I won’t make it.” You murmur with less than enough to breathe—the thrum of need in your clit is overwhelming to the point that it’s starting to hurt.
“I suggest you be patient then, sweet girl. Because I ain’t even close to being done.”
He kneels at the foot of your bed—the heat of his lips trails from your breast and down your stomach, stopping right at the edge of your jeans. Your legs writhe with anticipation. Begging. Crying for any sort of relief between them. But this is the man that forced you to learn the true definition of savor. This is not sex. It is art. You are his canvas, and his tongue and mouth paint masterpieces with every swipe, suck, flick, and kiss.
This is the moment. He’s about to relieve you of your remaining clothes and devour the warm meal that awaits him. Your chest nearly fractures from the damage that your heart is inflicting from beating so fast. But your jeans lie there unmoved—button and zipper still engaged in their respective spots.
“Joel, please.” You beg, grasping at straws.
“Please what, baby?” Punching him square in the jaw seems awfully tempting, but you’d rather him use it to get you off.
“I need-”
“Tell me what you need, sweet girl. You know the rules.”
“If you tell me to use my words one more goddamn time I swear-” Finally, his resolve snaps. A primal need coursing through his veins. His hands rush to flick the button on your jeans open, revealing you to him. But he’s never been graceful in that way. The metal makes a sound, popping clean off the fabric and landing on the hardwoods with a clink.
You curse at him for damaging your favorite pair, but he ignores you. Discarding them to the floor—leaving nothing but the pink cotton panties he loves so much. Fuck it. He’ll find you new jeans on patrol. There are more important things to worry about—like the wet spot staring right at him from between your thighs.
“Fuck, baby. Is this all for me?” He drawls, tone so sinful it could make demons blush. The decorative bow that sits right at the top of your underwear is a nice surprise. All he needs to do is unravel it.
“Yes.” You squirm with a whine, hips rolling to seek his mouth.
His hands find their way up your legs, hooking under your underwear and tossing them off to the side. “God. I missed this pretty pussy.” A grumbling purr whispers from his lips.
“Joel.” You cut in harshly, tired of him playing with his food.
“And from the looks of it, she definitely missed me.” The feeling of his thumb running through your weeping slit nearly brings tears to your eyes.
He hauls your legs over his shoulders, once again giving you a false sense of hope. A trail of sloppy kisses on the inside of your thigh inch down right to where you need him. The whisperings against your skin are too much, this man is about to make you disintegrate right on this bed.
“Please forgive me.” On the side of your knee.
“I’ll do better.” Halfway down.
“I’m sorry.” His mouth latches onto your clit, and stars start sparking in your vision.
On several occasions you’ve had neighbors stop by to check on you, pain has never been your friend and is often followed by a string of curses. To whatever powers that be—you are praying that they didn’t hear the scream that he just ripped from you.
His eyes flick up to yours, the sound of your pleasure fueling the hunger painted in his stare. Another growl rolls out of him, vibrating deliciously against the tight bundle of nerves his tongue is ferociously lapping at. Whatever has suddenly possessed this man, needs to stay there.
A pleasurable sting shoots through your entrance as he pushes a finger in, pumping for a few seconds before adding a second—adapting quickly to the stretch that it brings. Your breath hitches, coiling the heat sitting in your stomach. You can’t help the way that you instinctively clench around the digits curling inside you.
“Christ, baby. You’re gonna take both my fingers off sucking me in like that.” You could laugh, but there’s not much that’s funny when the finish line is just past your fingertips.
Soft and sweet kisses pepper against the inside of your thighs. Flames licking against skin as his fingers push and pull at your center—coaxing any combination of sounds from your mouth. The heat trails, following his mouth straight back to the hood of your cunt where he hesitates his next move. Heavy breaths of air curl against your clit. Tickling. Teasing. He flattens his tongue, and then goes in for the kill. The airtight seal in combination with the delicious stretch of his fingers has you splitting open.
You buck into his mouth and hand, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the sheer overwhelm of him and that goddamn tongue.
“C’mon, baby. Let me hear you.” The encouragement does nothing but fuel your volume, you cheer him on with your sharp moans and whimpering cries. To say, yes, faster, don’t fucking stop.
“Joel.” You’re so close the muscles in your core could snap under the slightest pressure.
“I know, baby. Give it to me. I’ve got you.”
And so you do. Your legs clamp around his head while you ride out the wave of release, the fall feels a lot like floating. Air rushes around you, gravity guiding it’s path. The quiet it brings is comforting, knowing that before you hit the ground his arms are outstretched to catch you.
The absence of his mouth almost stings, but his hands stay right where they are inside you— your orgasm giving their rhythm purchase. If there’s anything you know, he doesn’t wait for dinner to be over before having dessert. You try and protest, but the words die in your throat.
“I can’t-” A thready whine forces its way through. You thrash slightly against the bed, trying not to chase the almost painful curl from between your thighs.
“You can. Just give me one more, sweet girl.”
This one isn’t a wave. It roars through you, flooding your entire body and tingling against every inch of your skin. He doesn’t let go as you buck into his fingers, coaxing you through the purest form of ecstasy. You hang on to his every command, giving him just one more. Over, and over, and over.
What you have in this room is sacred—more than just lust and satisfaction. He saw right through every wall and fail safe that you put up to protect your heart. Here, speaking up for what you wanted—needed even, wasn’t brushed off as selfish or ungrateful. It was yours because it belonged to you. Because Joel belonged to you.
His face is resting gently against your thigh, knees still planted to the floor and trying to catch his breath. You push yourself up just enough with your elbows to meet his stare. He’s looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. For him, you would. You’d steal the entire solar system if he asked.
Through the labored breaths, he traces shapes into the back of your calf. Overwhelmed with the sight of you. Caught up in reality that this was real—you are real. He doesn’t want to risk losing you again. What a stupid, stupid mistake he had made in thinking life was somehow worth living with you absent.
Soon, the high of the moment will wear off. Leaving only the truth behind—and when it starts to get dark, the crickets will begin to sing, the chirping of birds long gone with the wind. On his way out he’ll turn to you on that same weathered porch. One that’s seen the best and the worst of you.
“I love you too.” He’ll say, not because he’s guilty. Not because he has something to prove. But because there are only so many ways to show someone how you feel, and sometimes it’s better to say it instead.
