adversary
a/n: Merry Christmas and happy holidays! just jumping on to post some Joel, hopefully you enjoy! 💕 not beta’d and barely proofread, but thank you to @just-here-for-the-moment for taking a look- this ones for you!
Warnings; 18+ no minors, bit of an age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, Joel laying down the law and making sure you’re not in your head, allusions to past trauma, toxic relationship with Joel, but both parties like it- let me know if I missed any!
Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader
word count: 1k
reblogs are appreciated
Masterlist
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Surviving in the world, as it stood, meant keeping your face unreadable, and your mouth shut.
When Tommy had arrived in Jackson, he’d been easy to accept. He’d been humble and grateful, hardworking and eager to cement his place. Quiet. Peaceful.
Joel was a different beast. He tested your limits, broke the façade that had been crafted with care and time and trauma. The mask you’d created for safety, for the good of the community, had come terrifyingly close to cracking under the strength of his gaze.
Maria had been wary when he’d shown up, and who could blame her judging by the things Tommy had whispered to her in their dark hours, but then again she’d been wary of you too.
She still was. Sort of.
Mostly it was a distant respect, what she felt for you, what you imagined everyone in Jackson must feel for you, If how they treated you was anything to go by. You were content with this though. A peaceful, quiet life was more than anything you could have hoped for. When people averted their eyes from you, when they kept their conversations short and to the point, when they left you alone, you took it as a sign, took it as good fortune. In this world, you were lucky to have this.
Your solitude was the first thing Joel threatened. It was the first thing he took, and it wasn’t the last. He also took the comforting silence of an empty, safe, house.
He took your hard-won peace.
“Open the door.” His voice slipped through the cracks in the door like smoke, raising your heartbeat, as well as your blood pressure.
“I thought we agreed we wouldn’t do this again.” You opened the door, just a crack.
“Go away, Joel.”
“We never agreed on anythin’, don’t play dumb with me, woman, I saw you lookin’ at me this mornin’ just like I was lookin’ at you.” The toe of his boot slides just inside, stopping you from slamming the door in his face.
“I don’t want you right now.” You crossed your arms, yet didn’t move. This was the game you always played, and he was wise to it now, so he laughed.
“Yes you do, I can practically taste it.” It’s pitch black outside the house except for the glint in his eyes, he’s obviously in a good mood, which only sours yours further. “Let me in baby, I’m in a givin’ mood, let me be sweet to you.” His hand reaches through the crack in the door and strokes, petal-soft, at the skin of your arm. Instantly your body betrays you, blooms for him while outwardly, you seethe.
“Come on darlin’,” His voice is warm honey now, “let me in so I can do all those things I know you like.” His towering frame presses closer, slipping through the widening crack in the door, and you let him.
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A filthy moan slips past your mouth, and into his ego.
“Such a good girl, takin’ this cock just how I need you to take it.” He swirls his hips, pressing deep enough to pull another moan despite the useless vow of silence you’d promised to no one except maybe your own pride.
“Shut up-“ you pant with an embarrassing lack of any real bite, inwardly cursing him for how good it feels, while physically clutching at him harder. He laughs, slowing his movements down.
“You like it when I talk though, I can feel how fuckin’ wet you are right now, drippin’ all over—“ you pull him closer, kissing him in the foolish attempt to disguise the noises you couldn’t seem to stop making, as well as stop him from pouring more gasoline onto the fire he lit in your veins.
He got the hint, blessedly. He was in a giving mood, being real sweet despite how disrespectfully he was fucking you.
His skin slips against yours, sweatslicked and warm as he crushes you to the mattress with every heavy stroke, his cock is so hard you vaguely wonder if he’d been imagining this. That thought turned you on, to know that despite the usual aversion, the perpetual scowl on his face that he’d been craving you for god knows how long - it made him seek you out. Whether or not you wanted to be the object of his desire, you still didn’t quite know.
Thoughts spiraled though and soon the moans turned into frustrated sighs. The inner conflict he embodied for you chased away the pleasure, replaced it with inadequacy, with that ever-present melancholy and anxiety that was the new normal in this world. You felt him stop, felt him pull away, pull out of you with a grunt and the sour feeling swells. He can sense you’re not in it anymore, resigned to have to shower and chase the orgasm once he’s gone you blindly reach for the blanket—
“Turn over, hands and knees.”
“What? I thought-“
“Do what I say. Turn over.” His tone is serious and unquestionable, and it lights you up from the inside, even though you’d never admit it to him.
Once you get into position his hands are heavier, rougher. A heavy crack lands on your ass and you gasp, shocked, distracted. He enters you in once brutal thrust, giving you no time to get accustomed before he’s pulling you up, your back meeting his chest.
“There it is, gotta get you out of that pretty little head, fuck you dumb.” He pants the words in your ear, his fingers slipping between your legs to pinch your clit. “That’s it baby, feel that?” His words are clipped, one hand working between your legs while the other holds your breast possessively, keeping you pressed tight.
All thoughts are knocked out of your head by the heavy stroke of his cock, mindless, euphoric, rhythmic and divine. Tighter and tighter the coil winds, a full body clench only inches away from the brainless buzz of pleasure and when his teeth sink into the curve of your shoulder it snaps.
He grunts as your cunt squeezes him tight, clenching around his cock, milking him dry as he grinds himself deeper, as deep as he can.
He says nothing as he dresses, nothing still as he walks down the stairs and out of your house. He never does, and as the blood cools and the exhaustion shoos away your consciousness, you vaguely wonder if you’d ever need him to.
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