joel miller owns my ass @skateboreds - Tumblr Blog

A Slice of Orange

Chp. 4: Three Times

*FKA The Orange Slice*

pairing: joel miller x reader

summary: The most dangerous man in town has been staring at you nonstop, but keeps his distance until the night he walks you home...

tags: smut, medium burn, sexy stuff starts in chp.3, age difference, M/F, a lot of goddamn eye contact that turns into porn, porn w plot, zaddy joel, hand/finger kink, praise kink, mild blood in later chps, TLOU pt.II, NO Y/N

notes: Set at the beginning of The Last of Us Part II when Joel and Ellie live in the Jackson, Wyoming community, a few years after TLOU part I. Deviates from canon apart from that. Characterizations based mostly on the first game.

AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45087460/chapters/113424721#workskin

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The sun is high in the sky as you walk to the general store. The weather had finally taken a turn this week, winter opening itself up to a weak spring, and the breeze has a hint of warmth on it as it plays in your hair. You don’t like winter, so much harder to stay warm and fed properly when it’s nine degrees out and dumping snow. But the summer’s here are incredible, the landscape changing to shimmering aspens and bright wildflowers; going for dips in glittering creeks beneath the mountains, crisp against lapis skies. And normally the notes of promised warmth in the air would be invigorating, just that much closer to your all-too-fleeting favorite season.

But the past couple days have been miserable.

Miserable because you haven’t heard from Joel at all. Haven’t seen him in town, haven’t felt his gaze, nothing. You did spot Ellie once, leaving the day care. She had a pack and it seemed like she was about to leave on patrol. You couldn’t help but stare, hoping for any clue regarding her father. She caught your eye then, and you could see her recognize you. But there was more than that, she seemed…perplexed. Like she was currently figuring out a puzzle and you were a piece that didn’t quite seem to fit. You ended up turning tail as fast as you could, petrified of whatever conclusion she would come to about you.

You mull all this over as you meander between the wooden buildings, the thoughts smooth and dull as river pebbles now due to your repeated handling of them. But you turn it around your head again nonetheless, in case you miraculously reveal any hidden clue. Taking a right, you approach a faded yellow house with a large flat porch. Passing it, you notice two sets of hiking boots perched on the wood, one pair is large and the other smaller, both laid out to air in the cool sun.

Something clenches in your stomach. You are angry at him, for putting a face to your loneliness. For adding a name to your deepest fantasies. For making you miss him. No longer could you daydream without direction, now it all had a painful anchor to someone just out of reach.

You feel sick when you enter the general store, heading to a far aisle. Picking up two cans, blankly examining the labels, you continue to internally wallow until you feel a stare. Rising out of your ruminations, you notice a man by you with sparse hair and a shabby coat, someone you recognize from other night at the hall. Peter, you think his name is, gives you a once over and smiles. You are still getting used to that. Now that Joel had pointed it out, you found waiting eyes everywhere. You honestly hate it. None of them know anything about you. And none of them are the ones that you want.

Peter seems like he may be working up the courage to say something and annoyance rises sharply within you. You have no desire to hear a single word he has to say, so you simply shoot him a look of disdain as turn on your heel, planning a quick escape, but instead find yourself slamming right into somebody’s waiting chest. The two cans you are holding clatter to the ground and you’re prepared to apologize when you notice who stands before you. He isn’t immediately recognizable due to his seemingly very broken nose, two dark blue half-moons blooming under each eye. But you eventually identify him. Adam.

He looks rough. You look at him in shock, at the state of him, but before you can react, his face is twisting into unbridled terror.

He scoops the two cans up quickly and simultaneously takes a step back as he extends them out towards you, his arms rigid.

“I’m s-sorry.” He rushes out, like the words are burning his mouth.

You just stare back, dumbfounded.

The panic rises in Adam’s wounded face.

“Please, h-here, I’m sorry. That was an accident.” he pushes the cans towards you again.

Both Peter and the woman at the front counter are watching the interaction now, the scene entirely bizarre.

Adam seems unable to withstand your silence any longer, simply planting the cans back on the shelf and backing away.

“That was an accident, okay? Just...p-please don’t say anything, I’ll stay out of your way, okay???”

He doesn’t wait for a response and hurries away, exiting the store.

What….the fuck…?

“What’d you do to him?” the woman at the counter asks, her brow lifted in amusement.

Peter seems entirely unsure of you now, his smile replaced by mild concern. You look at him and he raises his hands, turning back to the shelf before him.

Did…..no….he couldn’t possibly have…..could he????

Two feelings rush through you at once, the first being extreme shock but the second …strangely…excitement. You can’t remember the last time someone went out of their way to defend you, much less in such a violent manner, and you feel confused but also something warm begin to swirl low in your stomach.

You suddenly wished you were alone so you could take care of the rising sensation inside you, but you snap back to the watching eyes in the store. Quickly grabbing one can, not caring which is selected, you aim at nonchalance as you approach the counter. The woman gives you a smile of approval as you hand her some rations.

“I love the kind of woman who can scare the shit out of a man.” she says with approval.

You wish you could truly accept the compliment, but if what you think happened, did indeed happen, then you didn’t scare anyone at all. Joel did. His threat is what they recoil from. He isn’t even around but his presence remains strong, everywhere you turn is a reminder of who he is and how much power he has. Over them, but also, over you. But… even if Adam’s fear had nothing to do with you, even if this woman’s respect was not self-earned, the contact high from Joel’s influence and command swims in your head regardless, making you stand taller.

The woman waits for a response so you try for a sliver of the presence you’ve been watching for months and shrug in a blasé fashion, nodding a thanks to her before you scoop up your can to leave, your hand trembling ever so slightly.

**********

The next night, you’re headed home from Vick’s, a wizened, half-senile old man who you can’t understand how made it so long in the literal apocalypse. He owned a surprisingly large collection of books and movies, though, and he was the closest thing you had to a friend here. You would love nothing more to start trading for some of his films but you don’t have any way of watching them at home, not one of the lucky residents with a TV. So, you simply traded an old copy of The Bell Jar for a book of poetry you hadn’t heard of and hold it close to your chest as you near your street, your face twisted in annoyance.

If you were being honest, you had passed desperation and entered full on melodramatics now. You were fuck-ing pissed.

Sure, at Joel, but mostly at yourself. For not being able to let it go. You hadn’t been able to think about anything else for days and if Adam’s broken nose was any indication of anything it showed you that Joel was still out there, just not speaking to you. Out there making violent decisions on your behalf, no less. But still, obviously perfectly content without your presence. You can’t say the same for yourself, and you feel ashamed of the sharp longing for someone you've only interacted with a handful of times. Honestly, you feel haunted. You can still feel the press of his lips on yours, his scruff on your jaw. And you wish he had never helped you at that stupid trading post, wished he had kept that orange in his pocket, so you could go the rest of your life without feeling the loss of something that was never even yours to begin with. And what you really want is to wrap your arms around yourself and cry, but you won’t let yourself do that, so instead you imagine his handsome, rugged face, and throw insults at it.

You stare at the road as a few slip out audibly, words like son of a bitch, and stupid hands, and giant fucking man baby springing forward as you storm towards your apartment. Your free fist is clenched at your side and you’re vaguely aware that you’re perhaps being silly but no part of you cares. Being silly helped when nothing made sense, anyway. And because you don’t want to alarm anyone with a scream of frustration, you turned to the direction where you vaguely understand Joel to live and flip off the air theatrically. You’re only a couple yards from your front door now, and when you turn back to it, pleased with yourself, something stops you in your tracks. A large form is resting on your front stairs and a shot of fear turns into hot embarrassment when you recognize who sits before you.

Long legs stick out before him, one extended and the other folded on the step; he rests his elbows behind him as he watches you, watches what you just did. He looks like he is biting back an immense amount of laughter, his shoulders shaking slightly. The annoyance from before mixes with your humuliation and turns to unreasonable anger.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you snap at him.

Joel’s face registers genuine shock at your tone, his eyebrows shooting upwards.

You can’t stop yourself now, his presence eliciting a guttural response from you.

It’s him. He’s here. You could touch him. Smell him. That wood and citrus. Smell him, taste him.

But you grind out that desire with burning rage at what he could possibly want from you. And how little he’d have to try to get you to give it. The anger continues to snowball, mixing with a sharp and embarrassing relief at the sight of him, and you can’t stop all the words that begin to pour out of your mouth.

“If you’re sitting at my door waiting for me, expecting to get lucky, after a week of silence, you got another thing coming, Buddy-”

You advance towards him now, ready to…well you’re really not sure what you’ll do, but maybe you could point a stern finger in his face. The minute you get closer though, you see the blood.

The light from the stoop illuminates a gash along Joel’s forehead, maybe two inches long, right above his left eyebrow. A thin stream of red clearly had been flowing down his face but was wiped away haphazardly. All the anger fades out of you as you take this in.

He’s hurt.

“Oh my…ohmygod, wha--are you okay!?”

You rush forwards and kneel on the steps next to him, tossing your book aside, your hands automatically grabbing hold of his head and angling it so you can see the cut better in the dim light. He grunts at the sudden yank. Upon closer inspection it seemed not so long, the blood around it making it look worse. But it’s hard to see how deep it goes and there are tiny bits of gleaming amber in there that you can’t identify.

“Well that was an interestin’ way to say hello.” Joel says, flinching as your fingers prod near the cut.

“What happened??” you demand.

Joel lets out a long sigh. For someone covered in blood, he seems completely unfazed. Like it didn’t even really hurt. You suppose for him this might be a minimal injury, his reputation did allude to a dark past.

“Oh, I just sort of…had a beer bottle thrown at my head.” he says, shrugging.

Glass. That’s what was lodged in his wound. You’re at a loss for words.

“I’m fine, it really doesn’t event hurt.” he adds.

You look at him doubtfully as you release his face. He might need stitches, but you would need more light to asses that. He just looks at you serenely though your panic, however.

“Where’d you come back from?” he asks, his expression languid.

“Do you feel confused, fuzzy at all?” you press, ignoring him and lifting his arm, looking for more damage but thankfully finding nothing.

“I’ll tell you if you tell me.” he responds, looking very amused at your concern.

“Vick’s.” you say, turning his hand over in yours.

“Who’s Vick?” Joel asks immediately, his eyes flashing.

“Did you black out or anything?” you question, satisfied with your once over that the gash on his forehead is his only injury, but still worried about the impact of that one.

“I might need some help patching it up, but I’m fine.” his face then turns playful. “Honestly, you shou-”

“If you’re about to tell me that I should see the other guy, please spare me.” you say, cutting him off.

“Oh, come on, I walked all the way here waiting to say that.”

You look at him in disbelief. What happened to him? Why was he here? And why was he so chipper all of a sudden? He was giving you whiplash.

“Well...I suppose you wouldn’t want to see him now. It’s never fun to look at a grave.” he says, his face dropping grim, sighing again.

“Joel!” you gasp, your hands flying to your mouth.

He looks genuinely surprised as he laughs at you now.

“I’m kiddin’, he’s fine. Son of bitch hardly has a scratch on him.”

“Oh, dear God.” you exhale as you drop your face into your hands, a noise of relief rushing out, as well as mild embarrassment at believing him so immediately. He chuckles more at your reaction.

“You thought I killed someone and then just casually walked to your apartment?” his laughter grows. “And then admitted it to you?”

“Shut up.”

“You’re pretty gullible, ain’t you?”

“I’m afraid to say yes to that.” you respond, your face still in your hands, hiding the smile on your lips.

His laughter dies down and there’s a pause before he whispers something.

“That’s the first time you’ve ever said my name…just now.”

You lift your face to find something small and soft in his eyes, as well as flickering uncertainty.

Something twinges painfully deep inside you, stirring up the waves of desire. You didn’t register how close you were to him until just now, how you took his face in your hands without thought, touched his body. And now the tsunami of need threatens to come crashing down on you. Keeping it at bay, you focusing on your confusion instead. You have a lot of questions you want answered.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, voice as soft as his.

“Not happy to see me?” he asks, trying for levity once again. You just keep looking at him, imploring.

He clears his throat, seeming to prepare himself.

“I...uh...well...I couldn’t st-stay away…any longer…and---well I figured…anyway, I stopped at The Bison and then that asshole said what he said and, well, you know.” he gestures to his head, rolling his eyes. “But I, uh, I was…headed here regardless.”

He couldn’t stay away…any longer?

Your head swims and you can’t catch a thought long enough to speak it.

“I probably should have cleaned myself up first but, I didn’t want to go and worry Ellie.” he adds, looking genuinely apologetic to be on your front step covered in blood. “And--” he begins another thought but cuts himself off with a short cough.

This piques your interest, but your mind is reeling too quickly to ponder for long.

“Why were you headed here?” you ask him, grabbing hold to the first coherent thought you can muster.

He observes you, seeming to choose his words, and goes to push his hair back when he flinches at the pain of brushing the gash. He needs that cleaned soon, you think.

“Shit, here come on up, let’s take care of that first.” you say, indicating to your front door.

“I can do it if you lend me—”

“Don’t be silly, I know what to do.” you say brushing him off, it's much easier for you to clean and dress that wound than himself. Plus, you secretly wanted to be able and pay him back for the ration cards he had given you.

Joel smiles and nods, the charm sliding back, and he pushes himself to stand in one easy motion. You try to do the same while reaching for your book and almost stumble back off the step. Joel shoots a hand out though and catches your elbow before you can falter.

Dear lord, how was the man with a head wound more stable than you?

He looks like he is about to say the same thing before you cut him a look.

“Talk and you’ll get another bottle to the head, big guy.” you bite.

Joel steps back and maintains his easy grin as you unlock the front door. You lead him up the narrow, steep stairs to a wooden hallway. Four doors line it, neighbors you hardly talked to. And you turn left at the banister and lead him to the last door, turning your key in the knob.

You’re suddenly very self-conscious of the fact that Joel Miller is walking into your apartment. It’s not the messiest it’s ever been, but it is also nowhere near guest presentable either. You scurry to grab the clothes strewn on the floor, dumping them along with your book in a tattered arm chair that came with the space. You turn back and find him standing in the middle of your room, seeming massive compared to your cramped lodgings. The room is a just small square with your bed in the middle of the wall opposite the door, the sole window on the left wall, a small bathroom to the right. In one corner is a shabby wooden desk holding a hot plate and covered in books and loose papers.

Of all the places in the room, however, Joel’s attention is fixed at the end of your bed. You follow his gaze and find a pair of your black underwear tossed there. He flashes his eyes up to you and your cheeks burn as you snatch it up and hide it under the clothes on the armchair.

“Um, you can sit on the bed, let me see what I have in the bathroom.”

You pass Joel, avoiding eye contact as you try to will your blush away, and open your medicine cabinet for the first aid supply. In a world without many doctors, supplies like this make all the difference, and you always make sure to have enough for an emergency at least. Out you pull tweezers and rubbing alcohol, as well as adhesive tape and gauze pads. You’re glad you did some washing recently and run a clean rag under the sink before heading back to the room.

Joel is sitting on your bed, facing the window. The moon outside is full and from here he is but a silhouette against its soft cascading light. You can’t help but focus on the span of his shoulders, his back, imagining yourself reclining up against him, inhaling his scent.

Your last night with Joel plays in your memory as you go to stand before him. He has removed his usual tan jacket, and sits on your bed in just a grey t-shirt and worn jeans, a leather belt around his hips. You try not to be obvious about looking at his arms, the muscles of his biceps, the veins running up his sturdy forearms. The hair on the tan skin. It’s all so masculine it’s nearly overwhelming.

Joel clears his throat and you snap your eyes up to his. He’s smirking again.

Giant s t u p i d man.

You keep a hold on your cool by mentally throwing insults at him as you sit on the bed, between him and the headboard, angling your bedside light to shine on his face.

The fact that you are both alone in a room, sitting on the same bed, weighs heavy in the air. Bits of the other night swirl in your mind again, your wrists caught in his grip, his hand shoving into your jeans, and your breathing hitches. You think the same thoughts might be playing in his mind from the way his eyes smolder into yours. Slowly, he braces an arm by your hip and leans his head in closer to you. Your heart thuds in your chest but then...he simply angles the gash towards you better, a smile playing on his lips. You try to keep your hand and breathing even as you raise the dampened rag, and gently begin wiping away blood.

“I can pay you back…for the supplies.” Joel says.

You consider this.

“You can just answer some of my questions, and I’ll call it even.”

He looks vaguely hesitant but nods.

You try to decide what to start with, holding all your questions in your mind like a deck of cards.

“Why did you break Adam’s nose?” you finally say, eyeing him carefully.

Joel’s face is smoothed into complete nonchalance as he answers.

“Adam broke his nose?”

You level him with a glare.

“That’s too bad.” he continues, but there is a tiny hint of amusement on his mouth.

“You’re not going to admit it?”

He simply furrows his brows at you like he has no idea what you’re talking about, so you roll your eyes.

“Well, let’s just say you did break his nose…I’d just want to say thank you….you’re crazy and overreactive…but thanks.” you say.

“Well, if I had…I’d say, no problem.” he says, winking. A thrill goes through you, only intensifying when you move from Joel’s face to wipe away streaks of blood on his neck, your hand lingering over the thick corded muscles there, on the scruff of his jaw. You swallow.

“So…you said you couldn’t…stay away…any longer? Does that mean you’ve been…avoiding me?” you ask tentatively, afraid of what he might say.

His eyes are fixed on you as you follow the curve of his Adam’s apple. Eventually, he nods.

“…You didn’t want to see me?” you wonder.

“Next question.” he replies.

“You have to answer!”

“You said some questions, not all.”

Ugh.

“Fine.” you throw at him and choose a new question from your internal stack. “What did the supposed asshole say then…to make you get a bottle thrown at your head?”

Joel stares back at you, seeming to choose his words carefully.

“Something un-gentleman like.” he finally responds.

Okay, this sort of makes sense. Joel was very protective of his family after all. You scan his face and it looks to be clean of blood so you place the rag aside, grabbing the tweezers and rubbing alcohol.

“About Ellie?” you guess.

Joel just shakes his head. You knit your brows together, not sure what or who he could be referring to. He flits his gaze between your eyes then and looks down at your hands as you clean the tweezers. He reaches out, grabbing the tip of one index finger and rubbing it with his thumb before looking back up at you, imploring.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re kind of dense?” he asks, smiling.

You only furrow your brows further and he sighs, flicking your nose. He mouths the word you.

He…he got in a fight over something someone said about you? Joel got into two physical altercations in the same week over YOU?

You swallow dryly.

“Why did you do that?” you ask breathlessly.

“Next.” he says, after a moment.

“But-”

“Next.” he repeats, firm.

He is so goddamn annoying.

You throw him a grimace as you raise your hand and begin picking slivers of glass from his forehead. He flinches slightly, but his body is otherwise relaxed. You consider what to ask next, and suddenly think of Joel cutting himself off when he mentioned Ellie on your stoop, as if he was leaving some other information out. And then you realize for something like medical attention, she isn’t his only option, he had other family here, but he didn’t go to Tommy with this either. Why? And why didn’t he want you to know?

“Okay…you said you didn’t want to go to Ellie…but why couldn’t you go to your brother with this?” you ask, putting voice to your internal confusion.

“He wasn’t really an option.”

“Why not?” you press, setting the bits of glass in a pile on your nightstand.

He looks like he may be about to shut down your line of questioning once again so you hold the tweezers up at him.

“Answer or I stab these in your head.” you threaten.

He narrows his eyes, smirking, and then blows out a long breath before answering.

“He would give me too much shit.”

“About?”

“These are a lot of questions.”

“Joel.” you warn. And when you say his name something flickers in his eyes, something like hopelessness. And then he begins speaking.

...Interesting.

“If he knew I got into an argument over something someone said about....you...he’d just be way too convinced he was right.”

You look at him to elaborate and maybe Joel was correct, maybe you are dense, because he just watches you back, exasperated. To be fair though, your proximity to him, touching his face, smelling that leather and wood of his skin, isn’t helping your comprehension skills at the moment.

He looks ready to drop it once more so you panic and decide to test out your forming hypothesis, molding your voice to be soft and appealing.

“Please Joel?” you say up to him, his name a caress.

There almost seems to be the faintest glow of color on his cheeks before he simply clicks his tongue as if gearing himself up to reveal something he’d really rather not share.

“Well…just to quote him, he’s convinced himself that I have a.....a thing......for you.”

Your hand twitches and you tweeze the skin of his wound. He makes a noise of pain and you drop the instrument, realizing what you did.

“Sorry! Sorry!” you rush.

“Ow.” he enunciates.

You feel breathless.

A thing?? A THING!!???

“Why would he think that?” you ask him, heart thudding.

There is a very long pause as Joel seems to try and read an answer in your gaze.

“Maybe because he’s observant.” he barely whispers it.

You feel dizzy, like you could faint, and honestly maybe you will because the edges of your vision begin to blur and Joel goes out of focus.

Joel’s eyes flash concern and he grabs your jaw steadily. “Breathe.” he commands.

You suck in air suddenly, realizing you had been holding your breath for who knows how long.

“Jesus Christ kid, out of all the things out there that can kill you, you might be the most dangerous to yourself.”

“Shut up.” Your voice is shaky, holding no intimidation whatsoever.

He grins and releases you, running a hand over his jaw as he slides back into nonchalance.

“So, do I need stitches or what?” he asks.

You forgot completely about the task at hand and look back at the gash, snapping yourself out of your haze. It wasn’t as bad as you had previously thought, honestly. It would heal on its own, you were sure now.

You douse some gauze with alcohol.

“No, it’s shallow. Head wounds just bleed a lot.” you say as you clean his forehead before applying gauze and adhesive. You look back at your work, satisfied.

“You’re pretty good at this.” he says, considering. “Not squeamish?”

“My mother was a doctor.” you say, surprising yourself, you didn’t usually bring your family up around others.

“Well that’s useful.” he says.

“Would be more useful to have her around.” you say without thinking. His resulting look at you makes you feel exposed, way too exposed, and you don't know why you even said that, so you stand suddenly and scoot the glass into your hand to dispose of it. But before you can walk away, Joel grabs your arm.

He gives you a long look but eventually just says, “Thank you.”

You nod, heading to the bathroom, and when you run your hands under the sink you notice your fingers are shaking. Swallowing, you splash some water on your neck, waiting for your heart to slow, and then turn back to your room.

Joel is stationed before your window. He stands tall, looking out at the street, surveying the dark road. After a moment he nods subtly to himself.

Protector.

The thought rises within you, unprompted. Something very deeply buried rises to the surface as you watch Joel asses any potential danger. Something you could never admit out loud, but something you’ve craved since the day you lost everyone you cared for. Someone who would take care of things, take care of you.

Strong. Capable. Protector.

The thoughts settle into your body and twist in your stomach, and it takes everything inside of you not to walk over to him and run your hands over the sloping planes of his shoulders, pressing up on the tips of your toes to smell the exposed sliver of the back of his neck. To open your mouth and lick that skin slowly.

“So…who’s Vick?” he asks you then, turning, repeating the question from before, and snapping you out of your reverie. His eyes are squinted and you can sense that he’s been waiting bring this question back up.

“Why? Jealous?” you ask him, pleased at him seeming very much that.

He clenches his jaw and you bite your lip to hide your smile, nodding to your desk.

“He supplies me with those.” you answer.

Joel walks to your desk now and surveys the clutter; tattered books and journals, loose pages and magazines. You think you probably always would have been a person obsessed with words, that living in your head would invariably have been a comfort, but in this new world, it ended up being all you had. Joel settles upon a worn copy of East of Eden, turning it over in his hands. The pang of something old and buried echoes in your chest once more.

“It was my mother’s favorite.” you say very quietly, surprisingly yourself. This is not usually information you would share with someone so quickly, and here you are talking about her twice in one night. You clutch at your fingers to still them.

He turns to look at you, his expression sad and knowing. You don’t want to say more, though, and thankfully he doesn’t ask. Instead, he gently places the book back and this time fishes out a magazine half hidden under the mess. A wicked grin grows on his face as he flips open a long centerfold. He whistles and looks up at you playfully.

“Listen…” you start to say, your face burning.

“I haven’t seen one of these in a long time” he says, turning the image.

“Sometimes the imagination just doesn’t cut it…you know?” you say, clearing your throat.

“You like looking at these women?” he assesses, a flame in his eyes, “They turn you on?”

You pause and then nod truthfully, the look he is giving you clicking a low burner on within you. You need to touch him again, you can’t wait any longer and you think he might lean in before he turns back to the desk and swaps the magazine for something else. But before you have time to realize what it is, he holding up the loose sheet of paper to read it.

“Wait!” you half yell, surging for it.

His eyebrows raise at your sudden shift and he yanks the page high above your head.

“Well, what do we have here?” he chuckles.

“No!” you say desperately, jumping for the sheet. He places a hand squarely in the middle of your chest and grabs the front of your button-down shirt so you can’t move around him. You strain forwards, pulling at his arm, but he doesn’t budge.

“Can’t be worse than the pornography, can it?” he questions you, taunting, his smile widening now.

“I swear to God, Joel, if you look at that paper I will kill you.” you reach wildly for it but make no progress. You pry at his fingers but you might as well be grabbing at a statue’s hand. What’s worse is he doesn’t even seem to be putting much effort into holding you back.

“Many have tried, I doubt you’d be the first to succeed.” he says, all too pleased with himself.

He then holds the paper lower over you and when you jump for it he raises it higher again. You grit your teeth. He’ll pay for this.

“You’re pretty short, ain’t you?” Joel muses.

“I’m not short! You’re just a freak of nature!” you yell, furious.

“Did you just stomp your foot? Like in real life?” he asks, genuinely laughing now.

“Give it back, you big giant baby!”

Joel is still laughing when he brings the page closer to his face. True panic rises. It’s only a matter of time before he finds his name on that piece of paper and realizes the stupid, hopeless things you’ve poured onto it. You wilt in his grasp at the impending doom.

Joel scans the page for a second before his easy expression falters, registering true shock. He turns to look at you, a flurry of emotions passing in his eyes.

Your entire neck is crimson now and you almost hurt yourself with how swiftly you smack your hands your face, hiding. He whispers your name then and slowly releases your shirt. You truly and simply wish the floor would swallow you whole but instead settle on falling back to sit on the edge of your bed, groaning.

A moment passes before you feel the mattress dip besides you as he joins you. Slowly your hands are being removed from your eyes, but you keep your lids tightly shut, the idea of facing him making you nauseous.

He says your name again, a smile in his voice. You peek at him and see something you don’t expect. Joel looks…a little shy. He wears a small grin, abashed, but his eyes are warm and melting into yours.

“Did you…do you…write about me?” he asks, still holding your hands in his.

You want to puke. You want to puke. But you just nod ever so slightly.

There is something raw and tender in his gaze as you look back at him. He takes your face in his large hands and slowly runs a thumb along your cheekbone, leaving a hot mark. Your breath catches in your throat.

“I’m sorry I read…I wasn’t expecting—but you don’t have to feel….I’m sorry.” he finally settles, and somehow his regard is even more soft than before. An expression that reminds you of sunlight and that first time you ever saw him in the stables.

You don’t remember the last time anyone looked at you like that, except in your most intoxicating fantasies. You can’t help it, you feel a tear collect in the corner of one eye.

His attention flits across your face now and you feel totally at his whim, your body leaning towards him. You can smell the pine and citrus of his skin, and you want to turn to his hand to feel it against your mouth, your tongue. Your throat lets out a very small whimper.

Joel groans softly at this, caressing your cheek once again, the look in his eyes growing sharper, proprietary.

“Pretty girl.” he murmurs.

You don’t expect it at all, you’re not prepared for it honestly, but the words from the other night unleash the roaring waves of need within you, suddenly crashing down. And you turn to his warm calloused hand, kissing his palm, then licking up to his fingers, slipping two into your soft accepting mouth. You suck the salt off his skin.

Joel makings a choking sound at this and before you know it, he has pushed you back on the bed and has replaced his fingers for his mouth, crushing it to yours.

You grasp wildly at his hair as he presses on top of you, his weight feeling so good, like you always imagined it. You buck your hips upwards into him, pressing your body to his as closely as you can. Your gasps mix together as you share breath and melt into the kiss, both of your hands frantic, feeling and squeezing each other everywhere. You then sense something increasingly hard press against your thigh and your thoughts turn to one singular need: touching him. You need to feel his length, have to know the soft skin of him in your own palm. So, you ungracefully shoot a hand between your writhing bodies but before you’re able to undo his belt, he has your wrist caught and is hauling it back up, detaining it besides your head.

“Oh no, I’m going to make you cum many, many times before you ever touch me.” He says, his voice gravelly.

You let out a small whine at both your thwarted attempt and his bold promise. Joel drops his mouth to the hollow of your throat, sucking at the skin there, leaving his mark on you, before he grazes the shell of your ear with his teeth.

“Would you like that, pretty girl? Do you want me to make that pretty pussy cum?” he whispers into your ear.

It’s all you can do not to let out a choked sob as you nod.

“Say it.” he commands, sinking his teeth into your neck.

You gasp at the pain but speak. “P-please, I want you to make me c-cum. P-p-lease.”

He growls at your words and crushes his mouth back to yours as he drops his hands to your pants, unbuttoning them quickly, moving his fingers to your already drenched center. He groans into your mouth at how wet you are, circling your swollen clit. You writhe under him, at the long-awaited touch, wanting more, SO much more. He chuckles darkly and moves back to sucking at your neck as he presses a finger up against your entrance, nudging just the tip inside.

You whimper and moan at how slow he is going, wishing he would just slam himself inside of you already. You feel painfully empty, and desperately want the feeling of being full, of him filling you. The more you grind the more he simply slowly circles your clit and keeps his finger just at bay, so you use the only weapon you have in your arsenal, sensing it might work after his reaction to it before. You say his name.

“Please…Joel.” you breathe.

The reaction is quick, he groans loudly and bites your neck again as he slides two fingers inside of you to the hilt. He leaves them in there, still for just a moment, before he increases to a powerful pace. In and out he moves, pressing up inside you, hitting just the right spot. You moan loudly at this, grinding with his fingers, fucking yourself onto them.

“You’re loud, aren’t you pretty girl?” Joel says, sounding pleased.

You can’t reply, too dizzy with the pleasure of it all, moving in rhythm with him. You gasp as he picks up his pace, his fingers fucking you like you always imagined. Their large size feeling so perfect inside of you. So right. Like they were made to fit. You roll your head to the side until you face Joel. His eyes are wild and hungry but remain sure and focused as he watches you twist in pleasure. He follow your every move, your every gasp, not willing to miss a thing. Something deep in you coils around itself, tighter and tighter. You want to feel more of him.

“M-m-mo-re.” you can barely choke it out.

He works a third finger inside of you then, curling them, pumping in and out, in and out, hard and deep. The room fills with the obscene sounds of squelching as your drenched cunt clamps down on his thick fingers.

You drop your head backwards as you feel yourself climb higher and higher.

“Look at me.” Joel commands, his eyes laser focused on yours.

You weakly turn your head back to his, struggling to keep focus on his handsome, rugged face.

“There you go, good job.” he says, the excitement wild in his eyes, and the clarity that Joel Miller is actually three fingers deep inside of you, working to make you cum, hits you hard and fast, sending you over the edge.

You keep your gaze locked on his as something explodes within you, blinding and white, shooting out like fireworks, and you cry out.

“That’s right pretty baby girl, yes, cum for me, cum all over my hand.” Joel coos to you as you do just that that, your entire body tensing repeatedly as something great shatters within you.

“Yes baby, that’s so good. Such a good girl, that’s right.” he keeps on as you fall apart beneath him. He continues to murmur to you as you clutch at his shirt, the bed, riding the waves back down to earth.

You pant, your body jerking weakly through the aftershocks as you lie there, spent. Joel keeps him eyes on yours as he slowly removes his fingers from you and raises them to his mouth, slipping them in. You whimper as you watch him lick the taste of you off himself, his gaze he gaze still locked. And you would think you would be empty after such an explosive orgasm, but the sight of him sucking your wetness off his fingers starts another kernel of desire within you.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He seems to be able and tell how you feel by the wicked grin he offers you. And he raises himself up slightly and in fewer motions than you would think necessary, he has your shirt unbuttoned and you lifted up to pull it off of you, your bra undone and thrown wayward. You barely have enough time to gasp as he slides back on the bed to hook both hands in the waist band of your pants, ripping them and your underwear off in a single yank.

You lay before him, completely naked, and he eyes you like a fox to a hare, all instinct and need.

“You look so fucking good.” he says, his voice low and dark.

You can feel yourself getting wet anew, adding to your cum still leaking out of you.

Joel goes to grab your knees but you push yourself up on your elbows and reach for his shirt, tugging it up, desperately wanting to see and feel his skin too.

“W-wait, I want to see you.” you say, your voice edging on a beg.

He pauses for only a moment before he pushes you back on the bed, reaching behind his head to pull his shirt off in one smooth motion.

You lay breathless at the sight of him before you. His large broad chest is dusted in dark hair, a happy trail coming up from the waistband of his pants to his navel. The planes of his torso, his stomach, are smooth and tan. What is most remarkable, though, are the scars. How did one person have so many? They’re scattered across his torso and arms, ranging from small to long, varying in size and shape. Most notably, however, is a large, incredibly deep looking one on his lower right abdomen. It’s made up of a mangled whirl of skin in the center, smooth and shiny, accompanied by more precise scars on either side. Now you understood why the gash on his forehead was hardly newsworthy to him. What had he been through?

Everything about him exudes power, and danger. It’s clear, rippling off him as he lowers himself down, bracing his large arms on either side of your body, as he licks a hot line up one of your breasts, swirling around the nipple and sucking hard. You arch your back into the feeling, letting him squeeze and suck different places on your tits as you turn to watch the working muscles of his arms. Placing a hand on his bicep, a thrill shoots through you at how firm it is. You trace a small scar there, wishing you could know the story of all of them. Loving the sight of his violent past etched all over him as he hovers above you, moaning over your soft skin, worshipping you. But before you can focus too long on the excitement of these thoughts, Joel is back up and grabbing you under both knees, pulling you to the edge of the bed in one swift motion. A small gasp slips out of you at the lightning fast movement and you push yourself up on your elbows to see Joel. He is slowly sinking to his knees on the ground before your bed, eyes carnivorously focused on your slick center.

Pulling your legs over his shoulders, he grabs your flesh like a lifeline and drops his head to bite the tender skin on the inside of one thigh. You yelp and he licks over the small hurt, kissing it better. A pounding within you rises, your last release long forgotten, feeling wound up all over again, as if it had never happened.

You squirm before him and this time, thankfully, Joel doesn’t make you wait as he squeezes your hips with large hands and drags your cunt forward to his awaiting mouth.

His tongue is hot and velvety against you, licking up between your folds until he circles your clit, over and over again. He moves against you eagerly, enthusiastically, small sounds of pleasure coming from his throat every so often. You can’t imagine the last time Joel would have gone down on a woman but you’re guessing probably a while from the way he strokes you with a tongue so obviously expert, but also passionately uninhibited. Like he can’t quite control himself, like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted and you are the last meal he will ever have. You’re vaguely aware that you are being quite loud as he consumes everything you are, but you don’t care. He seems pleased with your sounds, grumbles of approval sending vibrations on your drenched pussy, his beard pressing up against your softest skin. You tangle your hands into his hair, pulling hard, as he grabs your hips so hard you think he might leave a bruise. You don’t care. You want more touch, more heat, more pressure.

You grind on his tongue, calling out to him.

“JoelJoelJooooeeeeel.”

You repeat it over and over, running together, and Joel responds by sinking two fingers into your aching, wet, hole. You cry out as he presses up into the same blinding spot as before, fucking in and out of you roughly, sucking on your clit, needy.

You don’t notice how much you are moving against him, not even a conscious choice, until he presses his other hand down on your abdomen to pin you against the bed.

The combined pressure from his hand on top and his fingers inside shoot you forwards to the apex of your pleasure.

“I-I’m gunna c-cum-” you gasp, and Joel just lets out a mmmm against you as you cum again, this time all over his desperate tongue. He licks all of it up as you build and break a million times over before him, this one so much stronger, so much more intense. You think maybe you’re screaming out but can only focus on the waves of pleasure washing over you as you writhe on your sheets, lasting much longer than you expect against Joel’s continued fervor, unrelenting.

“Oh god, w-w-w—” you choke, unable to verbalize a single thought.

And Joel doesn’t stop. He stays attached to you, holding your hips through it all, his tongue unyielding. And your orgasm does not decline sharply as usual, the feeling instead turning and blossoming into something thickly raw and electrifying. Your legs are shaking around him now as you find yourself on a new incline, higher than before, your grip like steel in his hair. You don’t know how long this lasts, you don’t know if you are breathing, until Joel suddenly presses his fingers hard up into that same magic place as before and you shatter completely around him, for the third time tonight.

You are a moaning, quivering mess, rigid electricity gradually turning to melted honey in his firm grip, and he still does not stop until your body is eventually motionless.

You don’t know how long you lay there, bits of the world slowly coming back to you, not feeling your limbs, only feeling Joel’s tongue as it works to lick at the apex of your thighs, consuming every drop your spent hole produces. He laps it up sweetly. Gentle. Pressing light kisses to your skin. Eventually he pulls away and still you don’t move, your face slack.

“You alive?” you hear him say, wicked amusement in his voice.

You let out a tiny grunt in response, your eyes still not opening.

You feel the mattress shift as he hauls himself up to hover above you. You feebly open your eyes to glance at him and he looks fucking thrilled. He barely conceals the wicked excitement still present in his eyes, the smile on those magic lips. You scarcely manage to crack a small grin back at him.

“Yoenjururslf?” you garble, your voice just a croak, meaning to ask him if he enjoyed himself, but not having enough energy to correct the gibberish.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.” Joel admits, his smile wide, seeming to understand you anyway.

“Youave…no idea…howlon I…wahnned you toojoodat.” you say back, your voice barely legible, eyes sliding back shut again.

“I want to do it again, but I think it might kill you.”

You nod at that, honestly agreeing.

“Wat aboutyoo?” you ask then, suddenly aware of how difficult it will be to do anything to Joel when you can’t find the ability to move your limbs, no matter how much you'd like to.

“We have plenty of time for that later, sleepy head.” he says warmly.

The promise makes your heart flutter. And you do very much wish you could repay him back tonight, but he actually sucked the life out of you through your clit just now. So that would have to wait.

Joel picks up one of your hands, and it flops back to the bed lifelessly. Case in point.

“Gunna…needelp gettin to…bafroom.” you get out, cracking an eyelid.

He chuckles at this and stands up, extending an arm out to you. You still don’t budge an inch. He raises an eyebrow at you in feigned exasperation but his face still holds that same amusement and light. He seems younger, so many layers removed, so many things gone in that usually hardened face, a relaxed joy now in his eyes, a genuine smile spreading across his lips as he appraises your body with ownership and pride. He looks almost…giddy.

Damn this man really just needed some pussy, huh?

You giggle to yourself at the thought, and at the sheer insanity of what had transpired between you two tonight. You usually don’t let yourself stay happy for too long, fearing when it will be ripped away, but in this moment you can’t help it, you just feel too good.

“Alright, fine.” he grumbles and promptly scoops you up into his arms princess-style; you gasp at the sudden movement, finding your strength to clutch at his neck. He walks you both to the bathroom and sets you down gently on the toilet, and you have to muster the bare remainder of your energy to not slump over to the tiled floor. He turns to wash his hands in the sink, running a damp hand over his jaw. You realize you are staring, the sight of Joel wiping your cum off his face, his salt and pepper beard, making your mouth hang open slightly. He flicks his eyes to yours in the mirror and smirks, leaning over to press a kiss on the top of your head before returning to the bedroom.

After you flush and get up, you look at your reflection in the mirror. The girl standing before you with wild eyes and even wilder hair, covered in hickeys you’re realizing dear God, is someone you almost don’t recognize. And you think that Joel is not the only person who seems stripped bare now. You can see straight through to the hopeful girl hidden in your poems and journals, breathing above the waves for the first time in a long while.

You shuffle back to your bed on trembling legs and Joel is laying there, in just his boxers now, his arms folded behind his head as he observes the full moon through your small window, like you have done so many times before. He turns to you and you pause, suddenly unsure. You want nothing more than to curl up against his massive and warm form, to drift off with his scent surrounding you. But you want it too bad, more than you wanted his hands on your body you crave this, the promise of idle closeness. You are so very scared of being turned away. His gaze is soft as he perhaps understands how you feel, maybe even mirrors it, and simply nods to the space next to him. This fills you with just enough bravery to slide into the covers next to him, swallowing past your doubt to lay your head on his shoulder. Only a second passes before he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in closer, tightly, and begins running a hand through your hair, cradling your scalp. The resulting feeling within you can only be described as pure devastation as you bury your face in his neck and slide your hands over his skin, inhaling deeply. You have no idea what tomorrow will bring, if things will stay like this between you from now on or seesaw back to uncertainty, but for right now, you can’t remember the last time you were this comfortable. He hums quietly, so quietly you wouldn’t be sure if you were imagining it were it not for the low rumble in his chest. And before you know it you are falling asleep in Joel’s arms, faster and deeper than you have in a long, long time.

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joel miller owns my ass