warnings: none, fluff and jelous behavior; f!reader; established relationship.
Pedro could not believe his eyes. It hadnât even been five minutes since you told him you were going to grab some drinks for both of you before your flight, and then, out of nowhere, a guy shows up by your side â a little too close, a little too comfortable for Pedroâs liking â smiling at you like you didnât already belong to someone else.
When you came back â with two drinks in your hands â after politely turning the man down, he says
âGuess Iâll have to buy you a bigger ring.â
You look at him, giggling, amused by his jealous behavior, and say,
âAs if people these days care about that kind of thing. People throw themselves at you even though they know youâre committed to me.â
You say it playfully. Pedro gives a nervous laugh and then replies
âAnd here I was thinking I was the jealous one.â
He kisses your hair just as you sit beside him, getting comfortable in his embrace.
a/n: this is my first-ever fic, so please be kind to me. Also english is not my first language...sorry if I made any mistakes. I saw this picture the other day and got ispired lol.
Summary: Your boss is a pain in the ass, thank God Joel is there looking after you.
Warnings: No outbreak, age gap not mentioned, fluff, soft joel.
Word count: 444 words
Note: Hello there! This is my first time writing in English, so please be understanding hahahaha anyways hope you enjoy it!
Thank God itâs Friday. It had been a hard day. Your boss was being a pain in the ass, always criticizing your work and letting you know how much better your co-workers were. Except for your boss, everyone in the office was nice; they had already told you to ignore this man and focus on your excellent work; but it was very difficult for you. At least you had Joel, your husband.
You arrive home at 7:00 PM. You usually have dinner at work, but this time you weren't in the mood to stand up and walk in front of your boss to reach the officeâs kitchen so you waited until home to eat with Joel.Â
âHey,â Joel says when you walk through the door âHow was your day?â
You drop your bag, dejected. âTerrible,â you say with a shaky voice.Â
Joel gets up from his seat and reaches for you. âThat dumbshit boss again?â You nod while he wraps his arms around you âWhy donât you go take a bath? Iâll join you in a minute,â he whispers in your ear. The brush of his beard against your ear makes you shiver, in that moment you are at home. Heâd begun to feel like home. Â
You go to the bathroom and turn on the hot water while undressing. By the time the tub is full and youâre in, Joel knocks on the door and he comes in with your pajamas. He takes off his shirt and he gets into the tub, right behind you.Â
Joel starts to leave soft kisses on your back, not in a sexual way â Âhe knows youâre not in the mood, but in a soft one. The only thing you can do is close your eyes and melt into his touch, letting him loop his arms around your shoulders. âRelax, baby. Iâve got youâÂ
You can feel how your shoulders relax automatically the combination of Joelâs kisses and hot water stuns you after the long day. He reaches the shower head and dampens your hair, then you can notice how Joel puts some shampoo on your scalp and starts massaging all your head. You lean your head back, letting him rinse the soap away. Now that you feel completely safe, the boss problem seems very far away.Â
âThank you,â you mutter.Â
Joel seems surprised âFor what?â
âFor this.â
âLooking after you?â he asks, with a soft laugh.
You smirk and think. You donât really know why you are so thankful but being here, with your husband, after a crappy week makes you feel very loved and comfortable. So you just sigh and answer: âYeah, just for thatâ
idk everyone imagines Joel as kinda dom daddy but I think heâs actually very gentle, he hints at it with the gun scene in S1 and throughout the show and game heâs very careful and gentle with things he loves ( the guitar, tess, ellie ) so i think that translates to sex too, heâs ultimately a protector anyways yaaas need dat
a little nsfw | wc: 557
something about a big burly man being incredibly gentle with you, it's sickening (in a good way).
rough, work-worn hands that hold you like you're something fragile. guitar calloused fingertips that drag over your skin impossibly soft, tracing your body. the length of your arm, the dip of your waist revealed where your shirt had ridden up during the night. his arm wraps around you from behind, pulling you closer to him. you're convinced that heâd meld your bodies together if he could but alas he can't so he compensates by never taking his hands off you. you're not complaining.
his hand slips under the faded flannel you wear to sleep, courtesy of him of course, cupping your boob and kneading the flesh in his hand. you hum into your pillow as his thumb skims over your nipple, sleep still clinging to the corners of your eyes, limbs still in need of stretching. you can't move with the mass of him attached to you, grounding you in place, and quite frankly you don't want to.Â
joel can get very touchy in the morning. not that he isnât throughout the day, you're never without a possessive, protective hand at the small of your back when you take walks around town. but something about the just risen sun and the warm blankets has you looking extra holdable. who could blame him?
he buries his nose into the crook of your neck, his breath coming in warm puffs. the coarse greying hair of his beard scratches against your skin, you relish in the sensation. what's even more is the soft plush of his lips that press against your shoulder, gently kissing you awake.Â
âmorninâ sweetheart,â he says, a low, raspy tone only reserved for you in the early hours.
you donât say anything in response, simply reaching behind you to hold the nape of his neck, fingers slipping into his hair and scratching the scalp there. he hums, still low and riddled by sleep, pleased. the sound sends a shiver down your spine, the line of vertebrae fitted perfectly to his chest.Â
he continues to idly touch you, absentminded passes of his hand over the expanse of your stomach, while your fingers stay threaded in the strands of his thick hair. it's been longer in recent months but you have no qualms, you like the way it falls into his face and gives you the opportunity to push it backâas well as the way he blushes furiously when you do so.Â
you turn your head to the best of your abilities to look at him. morning light makes his eyes glitter, you try to ignore the unfiltered adoration in them, in fear of rolling over and never being able to look at him again. youâve never been with anyone who loves as strongly as joel does, and makes it evident in everything, spoken or (mostly) unspoken. it's debilitatingâin the best way.Â
âbeautiful boy,â you coo, scratching behind his ear. he leans into your touch.
âiâm neither aâthose things,â he scoffs roughly, eyelids fluttering shut when your nails pass over that particular spot he loves.
âdont make me fight you, miller.â you tuck your face in the pillow again, snuggling back into him. his arms tighten around your middle in response. âits too early.â
congrats on 500! how about 'one person seeing the ugliest parts of the other and staying anyways' with joel miller? angstyy
this prompt??? evil actually. joel miller and âseeing the ugliest parts of someone and staying anywayâ is such a nasty combo in the BEST way. this oneâs definitely gonna hurt a little. thank you angel <3
sharp edges
Joel Miller x reader
Summary: Joel thinks loving him means eventually seeing something ugly enough to leave over. That is until the worst parts of him finally surface, and you stay anyway.
Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, post-apocalyptic violence,graphic injury, trauma, grief, survivorâs guilt, panic disguised as anger, emotionally constipated joel miller, arguments (lmk if i missed anything)
W/C: 3.2k
A/N: i fear i got a little carried away with this one pahah, i havent written for joel miller in like a year and got overexcited
Joel comes home late.
Later than he should.
You know before the door even opens that something is wrong, because he pauses on the other side of it for too long. The house is quiet apart from the low crackle of the fire and the wind pressing snow hard against the windows, but you hear him anyway. The scrape of his boots on the porch. The muffled shift of weight. That long, heavy silence before his hand finally closes around the door handle.
When he steps inside, winter follows him. Cold air. Snow melting off his jacket. The metallic tang of blood beneath damp wool and old leather.
Your mug stills halfway to your mouth.
Joel doesnât look at you at first. He shuts the door behind him, slower than usual, then reaches back to slide the bolt across like it takes more concentration than it should.
âJoel?â
âMâfine.â
Too quick. Too sharp.
You set the mug down.
He keeps his back to you while he strips off his gloves, one finger at a time. His shoulders are rigid beneath his coat. Thereâs snow caught in the greying curls at the nape of his neck, already melting into the collar of his shirt.
Then you see his hand.
His knuckles are split.
Not badly enough to be an emergency, but enough that dried blood sits dark in the cracks of his skin.
You stand slowly from the kitchen table. âYouâre bleeding.â
âAinât mine.â
âThat doesnât make it better.â
Joel exhales through his nose. Not quite a laugh. Not quite anything.
He drops his gloves onto the sideboard and shrugs out of his coat with more force than necessary. The movement pulls a faint wince out of him before he can swallow it down.
You catch it.
Of course you do.
He knows you catch it too, because his jaw shifts immediately.
You take one step closer. âYou hurt?â
âI said Iâm fine.â
The room goes still. Not because he raises his voice. He doesnât. Thatâs almost worse.
Joel has a way of making quiet feel like a closed door when he wants it to.
You stop where you are, halfway between the table and him, hands loose at your sides. For a second, neither of you says anything. The fire cracks softly behind you.
Joel looks at you then, finally, and something in his expression flickers. Regret, maybe. Too fast to catch properly.
Then itâs gone.
He turns away first. âIâm gonna clean up.â
You swallow. âOkay.â
He disappears down the hall, leaving wet boot prints on the floorboards behind him.
You donât follow.
Not yet.
You just stand there in the kitchen, staring at the blood on the sideboard where his gloves touched the wood.
Joel is good at pain.
Not handling it, exactly. That implies something healthier than what he does.
Joel is good at putting pain somewhere nobody can reach it. Locking it behind his ribs. Burying it beneath silence. Turning it into something useful before it can become something honest.
Youâve seen him do it after patrols. After nightmares. After Ellie says something too close to the bone without realising, Joel goes quiet for the rest of the night.
He doesnât fall apart.
He calcifies.
Thatâs what scares you.
By the time you find him in the bathroom, heâs standing over the sink with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, one hand braced hard against the porcelain while the other runs under the tap. The water is pink.
His head is bowed.
The mirror above him is fogged slightly at the edges, catching the yellow bathroom light and blurring his reflection into something tired and brutal.
You lean against the doorway. âLet me see.â
Joelâs shoulders tense. âNo need.â
âJoel.â
âI got it.â
âYouâre bleeding through your shirt.â
That finally makes him look down. Thereâs a dark patch spreading slowly near his side, just beneath his ribs.
His expression doesnât change.
Like seeing his own blood means nothing to him. Like his body is just another inconvenience he hasnât got time for.
You step into the bathroom carefully. âSit down.â
âI said I got it.â
âAnd I heard you.â
His eyes flick up to yours. Dangerous. Tired.
âThen why you still standinâ there?â
You go still.
There it is. The thing he does when somebody gets too close. Turns sharp. Makes himself harder to hold.
The old version of you might have left then. Not permanently. Just retreated. Given him space. Let him suffer privately because it felt safer than asking to be let in.
But you know Joel now.
You know the difference between leave me alone and I donât know how to let you stay.
So you donât move.
His jaw tightens. âDonât look at me like that.â
Your brow furrows slightly. âLike what?â
âLike youâre tryinâ to fix me.â
The words land colder than you expect.
You take a slow breath. âIâm trying to clean your side.â
Joel huffs, bitter and humourless. âSame thing to you, ainât it?â
You stare at him. Thereâs blood drying beneath one fingernail. A bruise already darkening along his cheekbone. His hair is still damp from snow, curling slightly at the ends.
âChrist.â He turns away sharply, gripping the sink with both hands now. âYou donât gotta do this.â
âDo what?â
âThis.â He gestures vaguely, angrily, at you. At the room. At the space between you. âStand there with that look on your face like thereâs still somethinâ worth savinâ here.â
Silence.
It hits clean. Straight through the ribs.
For a second, you genuinely donât know what to say.
Joel seems to realise it too. His anger falters almost instantly. Not all the way. But enough.
Your throat tightens, though you refuse to let the hurt show too much. Not because he doesnât deserve to see it. Because if he does, heâll hate himself more.
And you are so tired of loving a man who thinks every cruel thing he does confirms something rotten inside him.
You speak carefully. âI know youâre hurting.â
His eyes shut briefly.
âBut you donât get to cut me open every time you are.â
Joel goes very still.
The words sit between you, heavier than the winter pressing against the windows. When he opens his eyes again, he doesnât look at you.
His voice is rougher now. Lower.
âYou donât know what I did.â
âNo,â you say quietly. âI donât.â
He laughs once. Hollow. âYou should.â
âThen tell me.â
His knuckles whiten against the sink.
You wait.
Joel breathes once. Twice.
Then finally says, âPatrol found a group out past the ridge.â
Your stomach tightens. âRaiders?â
âSomething like that.â
He wonât look at you.
âThey had supplies. Weapons. Horses. Took out one of ours last week, near the creek.â
You remember. A boy. Barely older than twenty. Came back to Jackson wrapped in a sheet with his mother walking silently behind the men carrying him.
Joelâs voice goes flatter. âWe tracked âem. Found where they were holed up.â
You donât interrupt.
His throat works once.
âThere was a girl with âem.â
Your breath catches quietly.
Joel hears it. His jaw tightens.
âFourteen, maybe. Fifteen. Had a rifle on Tommy before I even saw her proper.â
His hand flexes against the porcelain.
âI didnât think.â
He stops.
The bathroom feels suddenly smaller. Too warm despite the cold outside.
You understand before he says it.
You wish you didnât.
Joelâs voice drops to almost nothing. âI just shot.â
The silence afterwards is terrible.
Not because you donât know what to feel. Because you feel too much at once. Horror. Grief. Understanding. The sick reality of the world you all live in, where children hold guns and good people do unforgivable things because the alternative is dying.
Joel finally looks at you.
And there it is.
The worst part.
Not the blood. Not the anger.
The fear.
Raw and ugly and half-buried beneath shame.
Heâs waiting. For disgust. For retreat. For you to finally see whatever heâs been seeing in himself for years.
âYou should go,â he says quietly.
Your chest aches. âNo.â
His face twists. âYou didnât hear me?â
âI heard you.â
âThen youâre stupid.â
Thereâs no heat behind it this time. Only desperation.
âMaybe.â
âDonât.â
âJoel-â
âNo.â His voice cracks hard around the edge of it, and the sound seems to frighten him as much as it does you. âNo, you donât get it. You keep standinâ there like- like if you just love me hard enough, Iâll turn into somethinâ else.â
You shake your head slowly. âThatâs not what Iâm doing.â
âAinât it?â
âNo.â
âThen what the hell are you doing?â
The question tears out of him. Not angry now. Pleading.
You step closer.
Joel doesnât move away.
âIâm staying.â
His expression breaks.
Barely.
Just enough.
âYou think if I see the ugly parts, Iâll leave,â you say quietly.
Joel swallows.
You stop in front of him, close enough now to see the tiny cut split through his lower lip. The blood caught at the edge of his thumb. The trembling heâs trying so hard to hide.
âJoel,â you whisper, âI saw them months ago.â
His eyes search your face.
You hold his gaze.
âI stayed anyway.â
For a moment, he looks like he hates you for saying it.
Then like he might fall apart because you did.
His face twists away before the emotion can fully surface. âYou shouldnât have.â
âMaybe not.â
That makes him look at you again.
You shrug faintly, though your own eyes sting now. âBut I did.â
Joelâs breath leaves him in a rough, uneven exhale.
You reach slowly for his hand.
He lets you take it.
That feels like a miracle in itself.
His knuckles are rough and bloodied beneath your fingers, the skin split where bone met teeth or brick or God knows what else. You guide him carefully towards the closed toilet seat.
âSit.â
This time, he does.
No argument.
No sharp reply.
Just a quiet, exhausted surrender.
Joel sits with his elbows on his knees while you clean his hands.
The bathroom is small enough that your legs brush his whenever you shift between him and the sink. Neither of you mentions it.
Outside, the storm gets worse. Snow batters softly against the window. The old house creaks around you, settling into the dark.
You wet a cloth under warm water and wring it out before reaching for his hand again. âThisâll sting.â
âDone worse.â
âI know.â
That shuts him up.
You clean the blood from his knuckles carefully, patient around the broken skin. Joel watches your hands instead of your face.
He always does that when heâs ashamed. Looks at the work, not the care.
You let him.
For now.
The first time the cloth catches a split knuckle, his fingers twitch.
âSorry,â you murmur.
âAinât your fault.â
You almost laugh.
Not because itâs funny.
Because him saying that after everything nearly hurts.
âNo,â you say softly. âItâs not.â
Joel looks up then. His eyes are dark in the low light. Tired. So tired.
Your hand stills around his. âIâm not angry at you for being hurt,â you say quietly.
Something flickers across his face.
âI know.â
âDo you?â
He looks away.
There it is.
You dip the cloth back into the water, now pink at the edges, and keep going. For a while, neither of you speaks.
Itâs easier like this, sometimes. To care for each other through action first.
Words come too jagged for people like you. People who survived long enough to forget tenderness was supposed to be simple.
When his hands are clean, you reach for antiseptic.
Joel eyes the bottle.
You almost smile. âWhat?â
âNothinâ.â
âYouâve been stabbed.â
âDonât mean I gotta enjoy that.â
A laugh slips out before you can stop it. Small. Tired. But real.
Joelâs gaze flicks up at the sound.
And thereâs something so painfully relieved in his face that your chest tightens all over again.
You clean his knuckles. Bandage them. Then gesture carefully to his shirt. âSide.â
He exhales.
But he lifts the hem.
The cut is shallow, thankfully. Messy, but not deep. A graze more than a stab wound, probably from catching himself on something sharp in the dark.
Still, bruising blooms ugly and purple around his ribs.
You crouch a little lower between his knees to clean it.
Joel goes rigid instantly.
Not from pain.
From closeness.
You feel it before you see it. His breath catches. His hand grips the edge of the seat. His whole body locks like he doesnât know what to do with being touched gently when he feels like this.
You pause. âOkay?â
He nods once. Too quickly.
âJoel.â
His eyes close.
âKeep goinâ.â
You do.
Slowly. Carefully. One hand resting lightly against his side to steady him while the other cleans around the cut. His skin is warm beneath your palm. Scarred. Tense. Human in a way he tries so hard not to be.
The longer you touch him, the quieter he gets.
Not withdrawn.
Something else.
Like all that anger has finally run out, leaving only the exhaustion underneath.
When you finish, you set the cloth aside.
âThere.â
Joel doesnât move.
Youâre still between his knees. His shirt is still bunched in one hand. The bathroom light hums softly above you.
Then he says, so quietly you almost miss it, âDonât know how to let somebody see me like this.â
Your throat tightens.
You look up at him.
Heâs staring past you, jaw working like he regrets saying it already.
You reach for his bandaged hand and hold it gently between both of yours.
âI know.â
His laugh is faint. Broken around the edges.
âCourse you do.â
Not cruel.
Not this time.
Just tired.
You brush your thumb once over his wrist.
âYouâre not hard to love, Joel.â
His face changes so fast it hurts.
Like youâve put a hand straight through his chest and touched the most damaged thing in there.
He pulls in a breath that doesnât quite work.
âDonât say that.â
âWhy?â
ââCause it ainât true.â
âIt is.â
âIt ainât.â
âIt is to me.â
His eyes meet yours then.
Something raw and almost frightened moves through them.
âYou donât know what youâre talkinâ about.â
âMaybe not,â you say softly. âBut I know I love you.â
Joel goes still.
Completely still.
You hadnât meant to say it like that. Not here. Not crouched on the bathroom floor with blood cooling in the sink and his hands bandaged between yours.
But maybe thatâs the only place it could happen.
No softness dressed up pretty.
No perfect moment.
Just this.
All the ugly things.
All the sharp edges.
You staying anyway.
Joel looks at you like youâve ruined him.
Maybe you have.
His hand shifts in yours, fingers curling weakly around yours.
âYou shouldnât.â
You smile sadly. âI know.â
His face crumples slightly at that. Barely visible. But you see it.
You always see it.
Then he leans forward. Not all the way. Just enough for his forehead to rest against your shoulder.
The weight of it nearly breaks you.
You freeze for half a second, then lift one hand carefully to the back of his head. His hair is still damp from snow.
You thread your fingers into it gently.
Joelâs breath leaves him slowly against your shirt. Shaking. Silent.
You donât say anything.
Neither does he.
You just hold him there on the bathroom floor while the storm presses against the walls and the fire burns low in the room down the hall.
His arms come around you eventually. Slow. Careful. Like heâs not sure heâs allowed.
You shift closer immediately.
Showing him that he is.
Joelâs hand grips the back of your jumper. Not tight enough to hurt. Just enough to keep you there.
As if you were going anywhere.
Later, you get him to bed.
It takes longer than it should because Joel is still Joel, and Joel refuses to be easy about anything for more than ten consecutive minutes.
He mutters that he can sleep on the couch. You ignore him.
He says he doesnât want blood on your sheets. You tell him youâll survive laundry.
He says your bedâs too soft anyway. You threaten to reopen his side on purpose.
That shuts him up.
Barely.
By the time he finally sits on the edge of the mattress, the fightâs gone out of him again. Not all at once. Just softened by pain and exhaustion and whatever cracked open between you in the bathroom.
You help him out of his shirt.
He lets you.
That alone feels like another confession.
The room is dark except for the lamp on your bedside table and the faint glow of firelight sneaking in from the hall. Snow taps against the window, quieter now.
Joel lies down stiffly, like his body doesnât know how to accept comfort without bracing for the cost.
You pull the blanket over him.
His eyes follow you the whole time.
When you move to switch off the lamp, his hand catches your wrist.
You stop.
He looks almost embarrassed by his own reflex.
âStay?â
One word. Rough. Barely there.
Your heart aches.
âYeah,â you whisper. âIâm staying.â
You turn off the lamp and climb into bed beside him.
For a while, you lie close without touching too much. Giving him room. Letting him decide what he can bear.
Then, slowly, Joel shifts.
His hand finds your waist beneath the blanket. Careful. Questioning.
You move closer immediately.
His breath catches.
Then releases.
You settle against him gently, mindful of his side, your hand resting over his chest where his heart beats slow and heavy beneath your palm.
Heâs quiet for so long you think he might have fallen asleep.
Then, âShe was just a kid.â
Your eyes close.
âI know.â
âI see her face when I close my eyes.â
You swallow hard. âI know.â
His hand tightens slightly at your waist.
âIâm tired.â
The words are so quiet they barely exist.
But you hear them.
You hear everything he isnât saying too.
Iâm tired of surviving.
Iâm tired of losing.
Iâm tired of being this.
You press your forehead gently against his shoulder.
âThen rest.â
Joelâs laugh is almost nothing. âJust like that?â
âJust like this.â
He doesnât answer.
But his body shifts, slowly, almost unwillingly, into yours.
The tension doesnât leave completely.
Maybe it never does.
But some of it loosens.
Enough.
You brush your thumb slowly across his chest. Once. Twice. A quiet rhythm for him to follow if he needs one.
After a while, Joelâs breathing evens out.
Not sleep.
Not yet.
But close.
You think maybe thatâs the best either of you can ask for tonight.
Then he murmurs, almost too low to hear, âYou stayed.â
You look at him in the dark. His eyes are closed. His face turned slightly towards yours. Still waiting, maybe. Still expecting the world to take back anything gentle it gives him.
You press a kiss very softly against his shoulder.
âYeah,â you whisper. âI did.â
Joelâs hand covers yours against his chest. Holds it there.
And for the first time all night, he stops trying to pull away.
Well I donât get it, if you donât have time to write then just donât write. It doesnât make sense to go from posting one chapter a week to one a month. Honestly it makes me not want to read anymore. Weâre all busy and no one is forcing you to write.you should make the chapters shorter and post more often or if you donât feel like it just donât do it at all.
this is not only because u touched my girl but also i'm so tired of fandoms rn. ever since normies invaded our spaces, fandom etiquette is DEAD
because in what world you feel compelled to demand for content that is FREE and done with care like you're asking a machine to churn out shit because oh no! you're not going to read anymore as if the victim here is you âčïž
TWIN there are NO victims here !!!! this is a fandom space, where we share things out of love that take our times as we pour hours of dedication into writing and giving this content for the love of the artist, fandom, of writing, all of the above, etc.
content creators are pillars on the fandom. everyone has a role, and yours is as simple as to enjoy, especially if you don't contribute with nothing but your participation in these curated media pieces by us. we love to see reviews, comments, reblogs, likes, yadayada because it gives a sense of purpose and fulfillment that someone can enjoy what you do! (can be editing or just posting in general, you do you!)
we don't want this. it does nothing. it only causes the contrary, btw. what exactly do you win upsetting someone over them not fulfilling your update quota? again, we're not machines: we're people with lives, jobs and classes. families and friends.
if you feel compelled to post a passive agressive ass bs on anon like this, i'm just going to assume you have none of the above and are jealous someone is vulnerable enough to share a part of themselves and be loved by strangers that it touches online. is it the truth? maybe not, but idcâyou sound miserable, anyway.
Thank you for this, baby đ€ I agree with everything you said.
Fic writers are not typing machines. We have lives and things that affect us and sometimes our minds just arenât in the right place to write. Iâve been seeing this kind of entitled behavior more and more, and honestly, it needs to stop.
Two years ago things werenât like this. when I started writing here on tumblr (not even two years ago actually) it wasnât like this at all. This fandom felt so different, there was so much mutual support and communication. And I donât want to be misunderstood, that still exists and there are so many sweet kind people who support us in every fic we write and Iâm really grateful for that. But at the same time I canât help but notice a certain hostility from some readers toward writers.
The way some people consume fics lately like theyâre products is exhausting. Iâve seen a lot of fellow writers feel drained and disconnected from what they do because of this. the support isnât what it used to be; many people donât comment, support, or reblog anymore, they just take and take and ask for more.
Iâve received a few nasty messages these past months and Iâve never given them any attention or a response that would feed into it, but this time I genuinely couldnât believe it. The fact that they felt entitled to tell me how and how often I should write is⊠fucked up.
Anyway, I really hope you can understand where Iâm coming from. And if youâre one of the people treating writers like this, then please, just leave.
And to the rest of you, thank you for being so sweet and kind and nice to us. đ€
summary: joel has sworn to protect you and keep you safeâbut when the line between care and desire blurs, both of you are forced to confront what you really want.
 based on this request
cw: smut (mdni), loss of virginity, unprotected p in v, use of nicknames (kiddo âcause I like it icky, sweet girl, baby, pretty girl, darlinâ, sweetpea), oral (f rec), breathplay (not previously talked about, heat of the moment, be better in real life), implied legal age difference, girly!reader, but the girl can shoot, too
wc: 5k
a/n: if lana releases a new song, I write a joel fic! thatâs just how it works
now playing:Â White Feather Hawk Tail Deer Hunter â Lana Del Rey
Itâs the bow in your hair that gets Joel thinking. Dark red satin adorns the crown of your head, beckoning him in.Â
He watches as you read your book, the sun warming your skin. Itâs the first truly nice day of the yearâwarm enough that you can sit on the porch of Joelâs cabin, only wearing one of his flannels over your cotton dress. Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, and a slight crease forms between your brows as your eyes scan the pages.Â
The sight alone is enough to send Joelâs blood further south than it should be.
He knows itâs wrongâall of it is. The two of you, tucked away in a cabin just a few miles west of Jackson, together from dusk until dawn and dusk again. Joel tells himself itâs to keep you safe. Right by his side, where nothing can happen to you. The only bad man that might get you is himself, and heâs sworn to God that heâd never let it get that far.Â
But then you started sleeping in his bed. Nightmares used to plague your rest, causing you to wake up with sweat drenching your hairline and tears staining your cheeks. You didnât find peace again until his arms held you tight against his chest, his soft mutters reaching your ears.Â
Iâll take care of you, kiddo. Donât you worry. Go back to sleep, I got you.Â
And he took care of you. Kept you fed, clothed, and safe. Made sure you were happy, eager, and bright-eyed.Â
You were no fool either. A smart girl, more than willing to learn. He taught you to shoot, even though it made his heart race when he saw you holding a shotgun for the first time. The longer you stayed with him, the more he realized that you were far from helpless. While you hesitated to even point your gun at a deer, you were more than capable of shooting an infected from a good fifty yards away.Â
The more sunrises you saw together, the more Joel grew to think of you as an equal. He didnât keep you like a miniature housewife, destined to press his shirts and keep his shoes by the fireâno, you were every bit as tough as he was.Â
Still, seeing you sitting in the sun reminds him of your innocence and how much he hates that you had to sacrifice it at times for your survival.Â
He would do anything to keep the light in your eyes lit for as long as possible. Even treat you like a kid from time to time when youâre so much more.
By the time the moon had taken the sunâs spot, Joel had been left with his own thoughts for too long.Â
Youâre sitting opposite him at the dinner table, picking up four peas with your fork, one on each prong, and telling him about the ladybugs you found today.
âThey were much more orange than red,â you recall eagerly, âAnd I donât think they were the seven-spot kindâI counted at least nine.â
âMhm,â he mumbles some kind of acknowledgement while his eyes find the ribbon in your hair again.Â
âLike, I mean, of course they were still ladybugs,â you go on, oblivious to his feeble attention, âBut, like, they looked real different than the ones we had last summer.â
Heâs noticed before that his way of speaking has bled into your vocabulary. You never used to say those kinds of things back when the walls of Jackson still surrounded you. It makes his teeth hurt to see the influence he has over you.Â
âThey were pretty, right?â he grumbles.Â
You roll your eyes, a half-grin tugging at your mouth corners.
ââCourse they were,â you reply.
âThen it donât matter, kiddo.â
Dismay turns your face sour, and you huff softly.
âGuess it donât.â
âDoesnât,â he corrects.Â
âYou just said âdonât!âÂ
He doesnât mean to raise his voice, but he does anyway. âYeah, well, Iâm grown, I can say whatever I want.âÂ
Your eyebrows furrow angrily. âWhatâs with you today?â you mutter.Â
His eyes snap to yours.
âNothinâ,â he replies gruffly, âNow, eat your peas. And quit playinâ with âem.â
You stare at him for a few seconds before you grab your fork and go back to piercing your peas one by one.
âChrist,â he mumbles to himself, then rubs a hand across his face.
The dinner continues in silence, lingering uncomfortably thick. When heâs in a bad mood, you can usually cheer him up, but once you start sulking, the day might as well be over.Â
He knows itâs his faultâhe approached the whole thing wrong.Â
It takes you forever to finish your plateâyouâre too busy frowningâso Joel is half tempted to send you to bed to sleep it off. Knowing that it would only make things worse, and frankly, itâs not his place, he holds off on that.Â
Your chair squeaks loudly as you push it back, empty plate in hand, and make your way to the sink. Your footsteps fall heavily when you walk to your room without saying goodnight.Â
Joel knows you want him to follow youâyouâre waiting for an apology, one that you deserve but wonât get. Instead of indulging you, he starts rinsing the dishes, then wipes the counters clean. He hears the sink in the bathroom run, then two doors shut within seconds of each other. At least, youâre not slamming them. He takes that as a good sign.Â
Once thereâs nothing left for him to clean, he sighs to himself, then leaves the kitchen. He stands in front of your door longer than he likes. You painted it a couple of weeks ago, colorful flowers and berries decorating the frame. He had worked his ass off to find you paint that was still somewhat usable, then even managed to find some thinner so that the acrylic wouldnât be so thick.Â
He traces one of the flowers for a few seconds, following the delicate line that you had drawn, before he rolls his hand into a fist and knocks.Â
Thereâs a soft shuffle behind the door, then your voice follows. âWhat?â
Sometimes, Joel has to admit to himself that he misses the shy you. The one that didnât talk back.Â
âItâs me,â he calls out.Â
âYeah, I figured.â
You and your sass.Â
He rubs his eye once, twice, then sighs.Â
âCan I come in?â
Silence stretches for a few moments, and his heart drops. You couldnât be that mad. Could you?
But then your reply echoes through the oak wood. âYeah.â
His fingers press against the door handle, and it swings open with ease. Youâre sitting on your bed, bedsheets pulled up to your navel. The shirt youâre sporting belongs to himâold and worn, but soft to the touch. Its neckline is so stretched that he catches a glimpse of your collarbones. Itâs a comfort to him that youâre at least still wearing that, despite the disgruntled expression etched into your face as you look at him.Â
The red piece of silk is still tied in your hair, sitting there like a warning sign. He ignores it.Â
Joel flicks his hand, signaling you to scoot over, and you do. When he sinks down on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaks softly.Â
Itâs quiet as neither one of you speaks for a moment. Then Joel clears his throat.
âSoâŠâ he mumbles, âLadybugs, hm?â
He can tell that you donât want to smile, but the corners of your mouth twitch.Â
âTell me âbout âem,â he encourages quietly.Â
âThought it donâtâdoesnât matter,â you argue. The disappointment in your voice makes his old heart ache.Â
âIt does,â he murmurs. His hand rests on your knee, the blanket disconnecting you. âIf it matters to you, it matters to me.â
He tilts his head to catch your eyes and sees them softening in real time.Â
âA whole bunch of âem were down by the creek,â you say, âOn that one tree stump, you know?âÂ
He nods. You continue.
âDo ladybugs have families?â
The question is so tenderâso youâhe has to close his eyes for a few seconds.
âMhm,â he muses, âDunno much about bugs, but I figure they do. They all gotta come from somewhere, and where you come from, thatâs your family, right?â
You shrug softly.Â
âThen I guess I donât have one,â you say blankly.Â
Joel shakes his head instantly.Â
âThat ainât true, darlinâ,â he disagrees, then rubs his jaw.
âGuess I didnât explain that one right,â he mutters to himself, then goes on, âThere ainât just one type of family. Sometimes, itâs the place and people where ya come from, and then other times, itâs the people who wish ya came from the same place as them, you know? The ones who wish they had known ya all your life.â
âSo you wish youâd known me all my life?â you ask tentatively.
He winces.
âSometimes,â he replies cautiously, âBut itâs good that I didnât.â
âWhy?â
He shouldâve expected this. This is why he never explained the heavy stuff.Â
âYou know, sweetpea, itâs real late, donât you think?â he states, looking out the window. His joints groan as he stands up, but he doesnât get far. Your hand finds his biceps and holds him back.Â
âWait,â you plead, âYou canât just⊠please, what do you mean? Why only sometimes?â
Joel feels himself growing grayer by the second. As the words get stuck in his throat, he gestures vaguely between him and you.Â
âThis whole thing⊠itâd beâitâd be bad if Iâd known ya since you were a little girl.â
âBecauseâŠ?â you prompt quietly.Â
ââCause Iâd beâpeople would thinkâŠ,â he drifts off, muttering under his breath, âGoddammit.âÂ
Joel struggles to meet your eyes; he grabs your hands, both of them, and slowly brings them up to his lips. The kiss on your knuckles is soft as a feather, like a butterflyâs wings.Â
He doesnât look up as he continues, âKnowinâ you back then would mean I wouldnât be allowed to like ya the way I do now.â
The sweet look of confusion on your face makes space for realization.Â
âOh,â you say softly.Â
He nods, still not reciprocating your gaze.Â
âYeah.â
âWell, then Iâm glad you didnât know me then. âCause I like that you like me that way now.â
Finally, he drags his eyes up to meet yours. Honesty twists your expression into one heâd love to bottle up and keep for bad daysâtenderness.
âWhat am I doinâ here?â Joel asks quietly, then brushes his knuckles across your cheek. You canât help but melt into his touch, lashes fluttering shut.Â
Itâs always like this. One of you pushes, the other pulls away, then you find your way back into the shadows of that grey area neither one of you wants to leave. No oneâs done anything wrong yet.Â
Joelâs hand moves to smooth down your headband.
âShouldnât be wearinâ that when ya go to sleep,â he mumbles, âDonât want ya chokinâ on it if it slips down.â
âIâd wake up before that,â you reason.Â
He disagrees quietly, then undoes the bow and knot until it slips from your hair. The flimsy material stands out against his sun-kissed handsâhis skin freckled and wrinkled, the silk smooth.
âYou donât know anything,â he says. Itâs not intended as critique, so you donât take it that way.
âI know enough.â
Joel wants to grab you by the shoulders and shake you until you understand just how wrong you are. Instead, he lets the piece of fabric dance around his fingers, wrapping and unravelling it consistently.Â
âYou should be runninâ for the hills,â he remarks, âAnd I should be cuttinâ my hands off for thinkinâ âbout the things I wanna do to ya with âem.â
There it isâyour breath hitches, and Joel is left to wonder whether that was one step too far, the one that just secured his place in hell.
But youâre moving before he has time to take it back. You push away your blanket, exposing the smooth skin of your thighs, before you sit back on your heels in front of him. He forces himself to look you in the eye.
âIs it that bad that I want you to do whatever youâre imagining?â you ask.Â
âYes.â His voice trembles with restraint. He knows he should leave before he does something he canât undo. But he staysâfrozen in place, your knee almost touching his.Â
Your bottom lip quivers. Â
âThen I donât care about being good,â you reply.Â
Joel has been holding back the flood for months nowâand you just cracked the dam with one sentence. The ribbon slips from his fingers and falls to the floor.Â
His hands cup your face and pull you in before his lips crash against yours. The soft give of your lips beneath his own draws him in deeper, chasing your tongue with his own. He tastes the remnants of toothpaste on your teeth, then something that is just you.Â
The guilt lingers deep in his chest as he kisses you, but something about the way your breath changes drowns out his doubts long enough.Â
Heâs the one to pull away first. With his chest heaving and his pupils blown, his gaze finds yours. He expects to see regret, or worse, disgust on your face. Instead, he sees pure, quiet, unfiltered adoration.Â
âGoddammit,â he grumbles.Â
A flustered grin lights up your face.Â
âAgain?â you whisper.
âGod, no,â he mutters, âYou kiss me like that again, and I ainât stoppinâ.â
âThen itâs a good thing Iâm not asking you to stop.â
Before he knows it, your mouth finds his again. The vibration of your giggle against his lips sends shivers down his spine, and he should know betterâbut he doesnâtâwhen his hands come to rest on your waist.Â
It starts with the slip of his fingersâbrushing against your knee, then higher. Joel curses himself for continuing until you rock your hips, just a couple of inches, but itâs enough to snap away the last of his restraint.Â
He leans forward, slowly guiding you back until your head hits the pillows, without your lips ever leaving his.Â
Situated between your thighs, he peppers soft pecks down your neck, then drops his forehead against your collarbone.Â
âTell me to stop,â he pleads, âNow.â
You shake your head. âI want to keep going.â
A sliver of awareness spreads across Joelâs face. âSweetheart,â he starts, âThis is a big thing. Like⊠a really big thing. And weâreâIâm already doinâ enough damage just by kissinâ ya.â
Joel has spent more than enough time thinking about it: you undressed in his sheets, him kneeling between your thighsâthe slow ruin of the thing either one of you called familiarity.Â
Everything feels as wrong as it feels right.
âI want this, Joel,â you insist quietly. His frown lines deepen.Â
âYou shouldnâtââ
âBut I do.â
Joel wonders if this is a test from God Himselfâhe hadnât paid that much attention to the man in the sky in the last few years.Â
âYou donât understand how hard youâre making it fâme, darlinâ.â
You sit up slightly, then reach for him. Your fingers interlock on the back of his neck, your grip tight and determined.Â
âDo you want me?â you ask.
âYou know thatâs not the issue,â he responds.Â
âThatâs not what I asked. I asked if you want me.â
He takes a deep breath, then nods. âYou know I do.â
âThen trust me when I say you can have me.â
âYouâll be the death of me.â
Joel curses himself before he kisses you again. This time, he lets his hands dip under your shirt. His calloused fingers trace your smooth skin until they reach your ribcage, settling there. The kiss is clumsy; you grin as your teeth hit his, wild fervor evaporating from your every pore.Â
Goosebumps spread across your body when Joel pulls away to meet your eyes.Â
âIâll do it right,â he declares, âI promise.â
Then his fingers find the hem of your shirt and pull it off of you. He discards the piece of clothing carelessly, too hypnotized by the sight in front of him. You hold your breath as his eyes wander, taking in every inch of skin laid bare.Â
âGot the prettiest girl Iâve ever seen begginâ for some old man right in front of me,â he murmurs. The nerves in your chest ease a little, and you shake your head at him.Â
âNot just some old man,â you correct, then cup his cheek. His weathered skin is rough against your touch.Â
He doesnât reply, and you know he disagrees; instead, he presses his lips to your forehead before they wander further down. As he trails kisses from your breasts down to your belly button, his fingers find your nipples. He tugs and twists gently, eliciting gasps from you as warmth spreads through your body.Â
You bite the inside of your cheek to stifle the noises, embarrassment flushing your cheeks. Joel notices and kisses your stiffened bud, then looks up at you.Â
âDonât hide those sounds, sweet girl,â he rumbles, âWanna hear ya. If ya want me to fuck you, ya gotta meet my demands. First one is: You donât get to hide.â
âWhat are the others?â Your voice grows more breathless as Joelâs fingers dig into the waistband of your panties.Â
âSecond one,â he begins, simultaneously tugging at the fabric that covers your core, âYou tell me what you want me to do. And thatâs all Iâll do.â
As soon as your panties meet the floor, he sits back on his heels. His eyes wander, taking in every bit of you. You look away, trying to escape his stare.
âAnd the third one,â he says, then catches your chin to tilt your face upwards, âYour eyes stay on me.â
With that, he settles between your legs, breathing in the scent of your arousal. His lips brush against your inner thigh, slowly inching towards where you want him.Â
You grip the sheets like your life depends on it and force yourself to watch. When he kisses the space where your thigh meets your hips, it makes you shiver.Â
Your hands find their way into his curls, just tugging softly, hoping that it will lead him right where you want him. But Joel takes his timeâhis tongue drags over your sensitive skin, kissing one lip, then the other. He looks up at you and nods in approval when he finds your gaze already on him.Â
âDonât look away,â he reminds you before he spreads your legs even further and licks a broad stripe across your clit. Your grip on his hair tightens as pleasure sparks throughout your body.Â
He is gentle at first, spending time exploring your body. Joel listens to the kind of movements that make your breath hitch, watches for the ones that make your thighs shake. When his lips encircle your clit, sucking slightly, and your entire body jerks, he chuckles in satisfaction. The vibration travels up your spine, causing you to tilt your hips.Â
Joelâs hands rest on your hips, encouraging you to lock him in between your legs.
Soft gasps tumble from you, growing more and more desperate as he laps at your core, his spit and your slick mixing.Â
You feel your chest heaving as his tongue draws figure eights on your throbbing clit.Â
Lost in pleasure and the promise of him, you dip your head back into the pillows, moaning freely. You pull a little harder on his hair until he groans into your cunt.Â
You feel yourself stumbling closer to the edge, a second heartbeat coming to life between your legs. Warmth pools in your lower belly, and you almost taste the sweetness of relief until Joel pulls away suddenly.Â
âHeyââ his voice echoes through the room, âWhere are those eyes, darlinâ?â
You almost complainâyour entire body is on fire when you force your gaze to snap back to him. The corners of his mouth twitch, and his tongue parts your folds again.Â
âJoel,â you moan, so close to tasting the letters that make up his name. His grip on your hips tighten, firm enough that itâll surely leave you a reminder in the morning.Â
âI got you, baby,â he whispers before he goes back to circling your clit with the tip of his tongue. The sounds that filled the room were downright sacrilegiousâhis deep growls and your breathless whines mixing.Â
Stars explode behind your eyes as you come on his lips, your arousal slickening his chin. He laps relentlessly, working you through your release until heâs drawn out every aftershock he can get.Â
âThatâs it, pretty girl,â he praises softly, âLookinâ so pretty fâme when you cum.â Every part of you still pulses, oxytocin traveling through your bloodstream, as Joel pulls away.Â
His hands travel up to your stomach, holding you down gently before he leans in to kiss you. You taste yourself on his lips, the sweetly tangy flavor blooming across your tongue.Â
Joel lets you catch your breath and tenderly kneads the flesh on your hip as you come down. Seeing you rendered speechless, Joel prompts, âHowâre ya feelinâ, sweetpea?â
You look for words to describe the cocktail of emotions coursing through your mind and end up with the weak recollection, âGreat.â
He chuckles, rather smug about himself. âYeah?â
You nod, then blink through the heavy haze of release still clouding your mind. âYeah,â you reply.
âGood,â he mumbles.
The mattress squeaks underneath you as he shifts his weight, and this time around, itâs your turn to stare. The bulge in Joelâs pants causes the saliva to collect in your mouth.Â
You reach blindly, fingers finding the edge of his jeans, but he stops you before you can pop the button.Â
âHey, easy does it,â he says, âWe donât gotta do any more today if you donât want to.â
You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. âI wouldnât be trying to get your pants off if I didnât want to keep going, would I?â
âSmartass.â
âRule number two, I tell you what I want, and you do it, right?â you tease, looking up at him hopefully.Â
âWell, I havenât heard you say what you want yet,â he counters.Â
You bite your bottom lip.Â
âI⊠I want you,â you stammer.Â
Joel raises his eyebrows, then cups your face between his rough hands. âYou got me, donât you?â
You glance at him pleadingly, but he shakes his head.Â
âWords, sweetpea. If you canât say it, you donât want it enough.â
You swallow your embarrassment and sit up. Slowly, your eyes find his before you say, âI want you to- to fuck me.â
He chuckles self-contentedly, then nods. âThere you go, darlinâ. If thatâs what you truly want, Iâll do it.â
Then he starts to undo the buttons of his shirt, one by one. You feel the nerves prickling in your stomach, and you grow more restless with every sliver of skin he exposes. His jeans follow his shirt to the floor. Your mouth goes dry when his boxers dropâJoel is more than well-endowed.Â
He feels your stare and meets your eyes, the cockiness on his face making space for a much gentler expression.
âYouâll be fine,â he promises, âWeâll go slow.â
When your back hits the mattress, and you spread your legs to make space for Joel, he doesnât immediately follow. Instead, his eyes drift to the cherry-colored ribbon on the floor. A mischievous sparkle in his eyes, so unlike Joel, makes the butterflies in your stomach jump.Â
He reaches for it, then holds it up for you to see.
âYou got any idea how pretty this looked in your hair today?â he asks. âDrove me damn near insane.â
A bashful smile steals itself onto your face. âI found it in the sewing kit.â
âYou donât say,â he mutters. His eyes dart between you and the ribbon until his face grows almost apologetic. âWould ya wanna wear it? Now? Itâs been like a damn light signal, calling me in all day. Might as well have it with ya at the finish line.â
You nod slowly. As you lean forward, you expect Joel to fasten it at your hairline, but instead, he threads the headband under the lengths of your hair and then ties it around your neck. Not too tightâyou can breathe easily. You almost feel like a present wrapped to be unpacked.Â
Joel nods approvingly, his fingers resting at your collarbone, while he admires his handiwork. âReal pretty,â he murmurs.Â
With light pressure, he guides you back into the pillows, then chases your lips with his own. The kiss steals the breath right from your lungs, and you barely even notice it when his palm finds its place on your upper thigh. With his other hand, he fists his aching cock and guides himself through your soft folds, collecting your arousal. The pressure makes you squeal slightly, but Joel swallows any sound instantly, his lips never leaving yours. Then his bulbous tip nudges against your hole.Â
âDeep breath,â he instructs, right against your mouth, âAnd big stretch.â
You feel as if youâre being impaledâin a good way. The unfamiliar sensation of him splitting you open has your eyes rolling back, your fingers snapping up to wrap around his biceps tightly. Joel feels your breath ghost over his face as you gasp.Â
âEasy, kid,â he mumbles, âThatâs it. Youâre okay. Want me to rip off the band-aid?â
You shake your head instantaneously and say, âYou said weâd go slow. You saidââÂ
âMhm, yeah, I know, darlinâ, I know.âÂ
His jaw ticks with restraint as he rolls his hips just a little, advancing further into your warmth. You feel every vein decorating his cock; youâre sure heâll mold your walls to his exact shape in no time. The burn aches and stings, but the pressure underneath makes you want more. Your eyes find Joelâsâyours pleading and needy, his cool and collected.
A certain degree of smugness etches itself into his face as the hunger surfaces in your expression.Â
âYa ready?â he asks.Â
âYes, yes, please, Iââ
The first real thrust knocks the air out of your chest. Your fingernails dig into his arms, leaving red, half-moon-shaped marks on his skin as you feel the coarse hairs at Joelâs base meet your pelvis. Youâve never felt so full, stretched, and fed at the same time.Â
When he pulls back, his cock drags along the gummy spot on your ceiling, making you gasp as pleasure sparks and runs up your spine.Â
âHowâs that, pretty girl?âÂ
Joel holds your chin with his free hand, forcing your eyes to meet his own.Â
You can only nod, feeling the faint pain dissipate and turn into desire as he pushes back into you.Â
He chuckles and eases his grip on your chin.Â
âHow âbout some words, sweetheart?â he asks.Â
âItâs good, Joel, itâs⊠itâs so good. Please, I need more,â you answer, almost frantic in your desperation. Your hips buck up all on their own, pushing to meet his.Â
âSo you donât want it slow no longer?â he teases, still keeping still even as you writhe and pout.Â
âJoel,â you whine, âCâmon, please.â
He snorts softly, then nods. âWeâll work on those manners, darlinâ. But for now, youâre gettinâ off easy.â
While Joel finds his rhythm, listening for the spots that make your breath catch and your eyebrows knit together in pleasure, you feel the warmth begin to collect in your lower tummy. Even with your lips clamped together, you canât help the sounds that make their way out of youâsoft moans turn wilder, more eager, more uninhibited.
âThatâs it,â Joel praises, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead, âWanna hear you, pretty girl. Donât you dare hide any of those sweet sounds.â
He fucks you deeper, the wet sounds of your cunt echoing sinfully through the room. Joelâs entire body is tight, running on pure adrenaline and need as his cock kisses your cervix. His deep grunts fill your ears, growing darker and more animalistic with every thrust.Â
He drags his fingers through your folds and finds your clit. The first circle he draws feels like pure energy, pulsing throughout your entire body from your core to your toes. His other hand surprises you. At first, you think he means to cup the back of your neck with his big palm, but instead, he threads his fingers between the red ribbon and your skin. The added pressure on your throat makes your head swim.Â
âThat okay?â he rasps, his eyes searching yours.Â
You nod almost instantly, feeling your walls flutter around him as the room grows quieter from the lack of oxygen. Joelâs eyes are glued to youâhe makes sure not to overdo it. He takes in every micro-expression as his fingers adjust the pressure on the satinâa little more, then a little less. He decides when you breathe and how much. And you love it.Â
 Youâre not sure what pushes you over the edge at the end: maybe itâs the constant pressure on your clit, or the way his cock fills you up until you feel him in your guts. Or maybe itâs the delightful sensation of your airway being controlled by him. Or maybe itâs the praise.
âLook so sweet, baby, lettinâ me ruin you like this,â he groans, âGod ainât forgivinâ me for this, but I bet ya will.â
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Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader, brief F!Reader x F!OC
Summary: The longer, more dangerous patrol routes around Jackson are designated to you and one Joel Miller. You both have an understanding with each other, talking wasnât the biggest concern for either of you, but being confident in each other was. He wasnât a bad friend in your scavenged life, but then again you were beginning to think you didnât want to be just his friendâŠand thatâs got you more than a little sexually frustrated.Â
Word Count: 6.3k (idk what happened, yâall)
Warnings: oh lord, okay: implied f/f attraction, implied f/f smut, use of sex toys, masturbation, language, pet names, p in v smut, sexual frustration, pining, mutual pining, reader is a hot mess, no use of y/n
A/N: okay, so this took a wildly different route than i anticipated? but i kinda like the way it turned out. Iâm sure some scenes seem disconnected or the characterization doesnât flow throughout but i got tired of reading and re-reading the entire thing and said âeh, itâs as good as itâll getâ. please let me know what yâall think?
Your hands released the hold they had on the lapels of his shirt, moving lower to rip open the snap buttons on his shirt to expose the top of his chest.
He didnât give you the chance to explore as he took your hands in his own and guided them to feel the hard length of him through his jeans.
âThis what you wanted, what had you so goddamn irritable all those weeks before?â He taunted in your ear, his warm breath on the side of your neck sending shivers down your spine. He twitched underneath your hands, and you felt your underwear dampen even more.