Warnings: ALL the angst, some fluff, mention of sexy times, implied character death, something else that I don’t want to give away.
A/N: My first fic in many years. This is something I’ve been wanting to write for a while. I hoped it would help me come to terms. Did it? Yet to be determined. Let’s be honest… nothing will truly prepare us.
…………………….
It was snowing again. Thick, dark clouds hung heavily in the night sky. The world outside the window glowed an ominous purple-orange, unnaturally bright, light reflecting off the fallen snow. The wind howled outside the solid walls of your home in Jackson.
You’d been standing at the window for longer than you realized, staring out into nothing. Waiting. Hoping. A street lamp flickered across the road bringing you back to the present. Blinking, you shook your head and inhaled deeply. Your knees were stiff from lack of movement. The pain in your hips and lower back returned as you stirred from your trance. You placed both hands on your lower back and leaned back into them, desperate for some relief. But it did nothing.
Only his hands, large, warm, and strong, provided any comfort now.
You laid naked, facedown on your bed, with your arms folded under his pillow. Your clothes and his tossed haphazardly around the room. Hot, autumn sunlight, soothing and syrupy, streamed in through the open window in the bedroom. Kneeling astride your thighs, his hands pressed into your back, kneading your sore muscles. Eyes closed, you focused on the strength of his touch and the smell of your bed linens: you, him, sex. When he finally lifted his hands from your back, you grumbled. He laughed softly as he placed his hands on either side of you and leaned forward. His warm lips placed a gentle kiss on your right shoulder before trailing a line of kisses towards your neck. A small moan escaped your lips as he nipped that spot at the base of your jaw; the familiar white-hot heaviness growing at your core. You turned your head to look up at him, your lust-filled eyes meeting his, dark and needy. The corners of his mouth curled up into a small smirk. Turning over on to your back, you placed your cold hands on his chest, and smiled back up at him. Shifting his weight, he raised his hand to your neck, stroking your jawline with his thumb. Heat radiated outward from his fingertips, warming your very soul. He lowered his lips to yours and kissed you feverishly.
Your cheeks burned briefly at the memory before the cold seeped back in. You swallowed thickly and turned away from the window. Your living room was frigid and bathed in that strange purple-orange light that only ever made an appearance in winter. So deeply lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t turned the lights on or started a fire before the sun had set. You toyed with the idea of turning on the lamp closest to you and maybe making a pot of tea. But as quickly as those thoughts came, they fled, replaced by that sinking feeling of dread. It had been building for hours. Crawling its way into the deepest recesses of your brain, like frost creeping across a pane of glass. You caught yourself slipping and took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts back again, keeping them at bay. You crossed the room, grabbing his favourite quilt from his chair and wrapping it around your shoulders. A cloud of his scent enveloped you. Musk, wood smoke, whiskey. Sinking down into the worn, plush couch, your eyes drifted to the empty seat beside you. His spot. A memory of you curled tightly into his side as he strummed the guitar flashed in your mind. Without thinking, your eyes snapped to his guitar, immediately regretting it; you had been so careful. It sat in the corner, alone, bathed in the cool, winter light. A thin layer of dust covered its surface. He should play more. Again, you felt the dread creep back in and your eyes fill with tears.
It had been too long. Their usual patrol of the lodge had never taken this much time. But you knew. Deep down, you knew.
……………………
A loud, hesitant knock startled you awake. The stagnant room was still cold and dark. Your head shot towards the door, relief flooding your insides momentarily, before you reprimanded yourself for your own stupidity. Why would he be knocking on his own front door? The fear quickly replaced your self reproach. Someone was knocking again. Your mind was telling you to run as fast as you could to the door, desperate for news. But your body was paralyzed. You knew.
You licked your dry, chapped lips and uncurled your limbs. Your body was stiff and cold. Standing up from the couch, you grabbed the edges of his quilt and wrapped them even tighter around your shoulders, desperate for warmth and comfort. And for him. The hardwood floor creaked under your bare feet. Reaching the door, you grasped the metal doorknob, and turned. A strong gust of icy wind pushed the door inward and swirls of snowflakes blew in through the crack. You took a step back to allow the door to open fully.
Tommy.
His face was sickly pale, his brow furrowed, his eyes glazed. You frowned and stared deep into those dark eyes. They had such similar eyes. But in that moment, you remembered Joels’ were splashed with a trace of amber. Even his eyes exuded warmth. Tommy’s hands reached out and grabbed your own from the edges of the quilt. Your immediate reaction was to pull back from his frozen touch but he held firm. He took a deep breath, slowly closing and then opening his eyes, steadying himself.
That was all you needed. The confirmation you’d been waiting for. You cursed your intuition. The intuition that had kept you alive more times than you could count. The intuition that alerted you to the changes almost seven months ago. You just knew. Your body started shivering uncontrollably then. Your eyes filled and you swallowed repeatedly, not allowing the tears to fall. Tommy watched you carefully, unsure if he even needed to say it. The words he’d been rehearsing in his head. You stepped back suddenly and ripped your hands from his. The threadbare quilt fell to the floor behind you. The frigid wind and blowing snow continued to invade your home through the open door. But you didn’t feel it. You felt nothing. Emptiness. Numbness.
A kick from your insides, strong and hot, suddenly jolted you back to reality. Your hands instinctively pressed to your swollen belly as you stared straight through your brother-in-law, unseeing. Another kick directly under your palm. Tommy stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Silence blanketed the entryway. He bent down and picked the quilt, Joel’s quilt, up off the floor. Gently, he placed it back over your shoulders then wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.
Then, and only then, did you let the searing tears fall.
Warnings: ALL the angst, some fluff, mention of sexy times, implied character death, something else that I don’t want to give away.
A/N: My first fic in many years. This is something I’ve been wanting to write for a while. I hoped it would help me come to terms. Did it? Yet to be determined. Let’s be honest… nothing will truly prepare us.
…………………….
It was snowing again. Thick, dark clouds hung heavily in the night sky. The world outside the window glowed an ominous purple-orange, unnaturally bright, light reflecting off the fallen snow. The wind howled outside the solid walls of your home in Jackson.
You’d been standing at the window for longer than you realized, staring out into nothing. Waiting. Hoping. A street lamp flickered across the road bringing you back to the present. Blinking, you shook your head and inhaled deeply. Your knees were stiff from lack of movement. The pain in your hips and lower back returned as you stirred from your trance. You placed both hands on your lower back and leaned back into them, desperate for some relief. But it did nothing.
Only his hands, large, warm, and strong, provided any comfort now.
You laid naked, facedown on your bed, with your arms folded under his pillow. Your clothes and his tossed haphazardly around the room. Hot, autumn sunlight, soothing and syrupy, streamed in through the open window in the bedroom. Kneeling astride your thighs, his hands pressed into your back, kneading your sore muscles. Eyes closed, you focused on the strength of his touch and the smell of your bed linens: you, him, sex. When he finally lifted his hands from your back, you grumbled. He laughed softly as he placed his hands on either side of you and leaned forward. His warm lips placed a gentle kiss on your right shoulder before trailing a line of kisses towards your neck. A small moan escaped your lips as he nipped that spot at the base of your jaw; the familiar white-hot heaviness growing at your core. You turned your head to look up at him, your lust-filled eyes meeting his, dark and needy. The corners of his mouth curled up into a small smirk. Turning over on to your back, you placed your cold hands on his chest, and smiled back up at him. Shifting his weight, he raised his hand to your neck, stroking your jawline with his thumb. Heat radiated outward from his fingertips, warming your very soul. He lowered his lips to yours and kissed you feverishly.
Your cheeks burned briefly at the memory before the cold seeped back in. You swallowed thickly and turned away from the window. Your living room was frigid and bathed in that strange purple-orange light that only ever made an appearance in winter. So deeply lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t turned the lights on or started a fire before the sun had set. You toyed with the idea of turning on the lamp closest to you and maybe making a pot of tea. But as quickly as those thoughts came, they fled, replaced by that sinking feeling of dread. It had been building for hours. Crawling its way into the deepest recesses of your brain, like frost creeping across a pane of glass. You caught yourself slipping and took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts back again, keeping them at bay. You crossed the room, grabbing his favourite quilt from his chair and wrapping it around your shoulders. A cloud of his scent enveloped you. Musk, wood smoke, whiskey. Sinking down into the worn, plush couch, your eyes drifted to the empty seat beside you. His spot. A memory of you curled tightly into his side as he strummed the guitar flashed in your mind. Without thinking, your eyes snapped to his guitar, immediately regretting it; you had been so careful. It sat in the corner, alone, bathed in the cool, winter light. A thin layer of dust covered its surface. He should play more. Again, you felt the dread creep back in and your eyes fill with tears.
It had been too long. Their usual patrol of the lodge had never taken this much time. But you knew. Deep down, you knew.
……………………
A loud, hesitant knock startled you awake. The stagnant room was still cold and dark. Your head shot towards the door, relief flooding your insides momentarily, before you reprimanded yourself for your own stupidity. Why would he be knocking on his own front door? The fear quickly replaced your self reproach. Someone was knocking again. Your mind was telling you to run as fast as you could to the door, desperate for news. But your body was paralyzed. You knew.
You licked your dry, chapped lips and uncurled your limbs. Your body was stiff and cold. Standing up from the couch, you grabbed the edges of his quilt and wrapped them even tighter around your shoulders, desperate for warmth and comfort. And for him. The hardwood floor creaked under your bare feet. Reaching the door, you grasped the metal doorknob, and turned. A strong gust of icy wind pushed the door inward and swirls of snowflakes blew in through the crack. You took a step back to allow the door to open fully.
Tommy.
His face was sickly pale, his brow furrowed, his eyes glazed. You frowned and stared deep into those dark eyes. They had such similar eyes. But in that moment, you remembered Joels’ were splashed with a trace of amber. Even his eyes exuded warmth. Tommy’s hands reached out and grabbed your own from the edges of the quilt. Your immediate reaction was to pull back from his frozen touch but he held firm. He took a deep breath, slowly closing and then opening his eyes, steadying himself.
That was all you needed. The confirmation you’d been waiting for. You cursed your intuition. The intuition that had kept you alive more times than you could count. The intuition that alerted you to the changes almost seven months ago. You just knew. Your body started shivering uncontrollably then. Your eyes filled and you swallowed repeatedly, not allowing the tears to fall. Tommy watched you carefully, unsure if he even needed to say it. The words he’d been rehearsing in his head. You stepped back suddenly and ripped your hands from his. The threadbare quilt fell to the floor behind you. The frigid wind and blowing snow continued to invade your home through the open door. But you didn’t feel it. You felt nothing. Emptiness. Numbness.
A kick from your insides, strong and hot, suddenly jolted you back to reality. Your hands instinctively pressed to your swollen belly as you stared straight through your brother-in-law, unseeing. Another kick directly under your palm. Tommy stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Silence blanketed the entryway. He bent down and picked the quilt, Joel’s quilt, up off the floor. Gently, he placed it back over your shoulders then wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.
Then, and only then, did you let the searing tears fall.
nearly every character pedro pascal plays is like a charismatic intimidating figure with some sort of skill in combat meanwhile every photo i see of that man irl has this energy
The panic versus the control. Quick and urgent movements versus slow and methodical. Someone who is terrified to lose everything versus someone who already has and refuses to do so again.
Summary: Yours and Joel’s newest patrol task is exploring the old mall not far from Jackson. You learn what Victoria’s Secret really is. (She was NOT having an affair with former president of the United States Colonel Sanders) AKA grumpy cranky joel and you get down and dirty in an old Victoria’s Secret.
A/N: @gracieispunk believed I could so I did. This is my love letter to her <3 she helped me out big time. She knows what she did 😉
Edit: this is part 1 of my new series “Mall Rats”
Warnings: smut, fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, doin it in front of a mirror (thanks gracie!), reverse cowgirl, joel is a dick, joel is condescending, reader is charming just like me, Joel does all the work because reader is a lady and Joel is an asshole.
W/C: 4.7k
“Weird looking stairs,” you mumble as you take in the unique environment. Beneath your feet are metallic steps with deep lined grooves, in front of you is Joel, stepping down the staircase. In the enclosed building, the walls are lined with different shops, there’s a few different seating areas. Old posters, advertisements. Colorfully painted walls are overgrown with roots and vines.
“S’cause they’re not regular stairs,” Joel says with a gruff voice. “S’called an escalator. Didn’t have to walk up and down the steps, you could stay stationary and it’d move ya up an’ down.”
“Sounds cool.”
“No,” Joel mutters. “Not cool.”
None of this is cool to Joel. In fact, it’s the opposite.
Tommy and his crew had stumbled across this mall while on patrol. Of course they couldn’t be one hundred percent sure, but they deemed it largely safe of infected. He wasn’t sure how picked over it was, but he figured it would be a good task for you and your curious mind. Comb it through for supplies, clothing, entertainment. Take notes and report back to him.
So what was Joel there for?
To chaperone you, of course. Keep you out of trouble, keep you safe, answer your million and one questions.
It was Tommy’s sick and twisted idea of a joke. Joel’s new patrol project involved two of the things he disdained the most: Malls, and you.
Comedy gold.
“No,” you mock his tone with a silly face, “Not cool.”
Joel rolls his eyes and ignores you. When you reach the bottom of the steps, he looks at his surroundings as he reaches in his bag for his flashlight. Turning it on he says, “We’ll start down here and work our way up. Scope everything out, get familiar. Then you can start combing through the stores for supplies and what have you. You stick by me. No wanderin’.”
“Don’t you mean we?” you ask. “We comb through the stores.”
“No, sweetheart, I don’t. S’your job, not mine. I’m just here to keep ya from gettin’ killed.”
Whatever. Joel can bitch and moan about this all he wants, but you’re grateful for the opportunity to explore the infinite wonders of the mall. It’s not like you’ve got much else to do. You’re indoors, safe from the elements and infected. You’re not complaining.
You reach into your own bag and pull out your flashlight. You turn it on, and the light flickers dimly. You smack it with your palm a couple times before the light finally goes out, then turn to Joel with a sweet smile on your face. “You wouldn’t happen to have a couple extra–”
“You’re lucky I do,” Joel glares at you as he digs through his belongings to find a couple of double A batteries in his pack. You hold out your hand and he begrudgingly drops the batteries in your palm. “Quit fuckin’ around. Be prepared next time.” He’s certainly jolly today.
You replace the batteries and turn your flashlight on, and begin to make your way through the bottom level of the mall. Joel’s said nothing since giving you the batteries.
“So what did you do here? Or, not here specifically. Just like, malls in general,” you ask as you make your way through tables and chairs. A big sign on a nearby wall informs you that this area is called the food court.
“I did nothing. Malls were always packed with people, way too busy. Too many teenagers. Expensive too,” Joel scrunches his nose as he catches a whiff of something foul at an old hot dog stand. “But other people, they’d come here and shop for clothes, get somethin’ to eat. Could catch a movie f’ya wanted.”
“So where’d you get your clothes from?”
Joel shrugs. “Dunno. Just kinda always had them in my dresser, I guess.”
Sounds like Joel.
There’s a Panda Express, something called Auntie Anne’s that you and Joel are looking through together. He’s eyeing the cooking equipment and you’re baffled as you stare at a five gallon drum of nacho cheese on the floor.
“That cheese is probably still good,” Joel comments.
“You’re joking.”
“It ain’t the real cheese like we got back in Jackson. Auntie Anne’s was a pretzel shop, lotta people would dip ‘em in that cheese.”
Auntie Anne’s doesn’t have much to offer, so you and Joel move right along. Next stop is Kentucky Fried Chicken. You point to the man on the logo. “Who’s that?”
“Colonel Sanders. He was the president way back when.”
You know better. “No, he wasn’t.”
“Sure he was,” Joel says. “You weren’t there. You don’t know.”
He’s such a dick. You roll your eyes and leave him and Colonel Sanders to their own devices as you walk through the rest of the food court.
Joel doesn’t realize you’d left. He tells you another Kentucky Fried Fun Fact and when he’s met with no answer, he looks up to find you at Cinnabon at the end of the food court.
He makes his way to you then kicks you with his boot. “Didn’t I tell you to stay next to me?”
You ignore his question and ask him your own. “What’s Cinnabon?”
“M’serious,” he says. “No more wanderin’.”
“Yeah, yeah. No wanderin’.” you mock his Southern accent once more. But more importantly, you demand answers. “Tell me about Cinnabon.”
“They’re just cinnamon rolls. Cinnamon. Bun. S’in the name, genius.”
“I’m guessing you didn’t like those much either, then.”
“Actually, they were pretty good. Big and gooey, covered in icing. You were supposed to split ‘em with someone but I never did.”
“Ah, right. You and your sweet tooth,” You smile.
“I don’t have a sweet tooth,” Joel lies. “Keep movin’.”
So you do. There’s a lemonade stand here and there, but mostly shops now. A bookstore, jewelry stores. Something called “Wet Seal”. You ask Joel what it is, to which he replies “Fuck if I know.”
A shoe store has piqued Joel’s interest. He’s looking for a new pair of boots as you stare out the window of the shop, wondering who the hell Victoria is and what secret she’s hiding. Joel taps you on the arm to tell you to follow him as he leaves the shoe store.
“What’s Victoria’s Secret?”
“Oh,” Joel says. “Nothin’. We don’t need to go there.”
Oof. Bad move, Joel. Now you have to find out what the deal is with Victoria’s Secret. You take off for the store, ignoring Joel’s orders to stick by his side. “Did she have a secret affair with President Colonel Sanders?”
“No, god dammit. Get back here. We ain’t goin’.”
“Why not?”
“I just don’t wanna.”
But you do. So you ignore his bitching and approach the store, stopping when you realize exactly what kind of store it is. “Oh.”
Joel catches up to you. “Mhm,” he mumbles. “S’just underwear. Now c’mon, I’m tired of chasin’ ya.”
“No way,” you argue. “I need new underwear. I’m actually going commando right now, so this is perfect.”
Joel makes a face like he’s in pain and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ. Boundaries.”
You don’t believe in TMI.
You enter the store, entranced by the women in the photos and the black sparkly floor. There’s a big table with panties laid on top, drawers underneath that indicate sizing. You open the drawers with your size and begin sifting through the underwear. All different styles, patterns, colors. Way cuter than the few you have back in Jackson.
You pick out a few different pairs. Brown with pink polka dots, pink with red roses. Some bikini styles, some boyshorts. You hold up a white pair with lace and a little blue flower sewn on the center of the waistband. “Joel, look! Aren’t these cute?”
“Just adorable,” he mumbles without bothering to actually look. If his voice were any more full of sarcasm he’d choke. Joel keeps his eyes firm on the ground, like he’s being intimidated by the mannequins and their threatening panties. You giggle and he shoots you a warning look.
You look for a few more pairs, then find a few pairs that look a little different. You hold one up, trying to figure out which side you put your legs through. When you look at the nearly bare-assed woman in the advertisement that reads 5 for $20 above you, you realize how it’s meant to be worn. Oh, you think. Neato. You stuff a few of the thongs in your bag. Could be fun.
Joel’s still behind you, eyes still focused on the floor, off in his own, prudish little world. You wonder what he’s thinking. There’s a fire engine red thong in the drawer, with sparkles and lace. You know, the works. And you know it’ll be just perfect for a special someone. “Hey, Joel. Found some for you.”
“Not interested.”
You loop the thong over your index finger and pull back with your other hand, then shoot it at Joel like it’s a hair tie. It hits him square on his nose and he catches it in his hand, then throws it on the ground as he pouts. “Alright, enough. You’re done. We’re leavin’.”
You shake your head. “Tommy said I’m in charge.”
Joel groans. “Oh, for the love of god. In charge, my ass.”
You know better than to keep arguing. So you just walk towards the bras, ignoring Joel’s voice in the background telling you to get back here. He hates it when you walk away from him when he’s speaking, so he always follows you so that you hear every last word. It works out, though. You get to do what you want, and Joel gets to give you his stern talking-to. How’s that for a compromise?
The bras are set up similarly to the panties, with different drawers for different sizes. Joel’s still going off about how you never follow orders, how you probably don’t even need any of this, you’re just doing it to get under his skin. And it’s working. Something about how when we get back to Jackson, I’m telling Tommy to take me off of patrol with y–
You interrupt. “The fuck?”
“What?”
“What does any of this mean? 30A, 30B, 32A, 34C, 34DD?” You hold up different bras and show him the tags.
“Those are sizes, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, I gathered that, thanks. But what’s my size?”
“Why’re ya askin’ me? Just grab one so we can go. Christ almighty.”
Men. No help at all.
Surely a store that specializes in bras must have some sort of sizing chart or something. There’s end caps with different beauty products, you stuff a strawberry flavored lipgloss in your pocket as you search. The register might have something, you guess. And lucky you, you’re right. Under the counter are a few measuring tapes and charts.
Predictable Joel follows you, of course. He says nothing as you read through the instructions. First wrap around your back, under your armpits and just above your bust. That’s your band size. Then do the same with your bust, and subtract the band size from the bust. There’s your A, B, C, D and so on.
You take off your hoodie and stand in just a tank top, no bra. When you said commando, you meant it. Joel watches you as you wrap the measuring tape around yourself.
“Sweetheart,” Joel interrupts, and he sounds exhausted. “What are you doin’.”
“Making you a Cinnabon, what’s it look like?” you mumble with your chin smushed into your neck as you try to read the numbers on the tape.
And Joel thought Ellie was annoying.
You’ve got the measuring tape twisted and tangled behind you, and you don’t even realize it. The inner contractor in Joel can’t bear to watch any more of this fuckery. “Give me that,” he spits, yanking the measuring tape away from your body. “You’re useless.”
Joel looks over the directions for a moment before tapping your arms. You lift up, he wraps the measuring tape properly around your body. There’s a nearby pen and he scribbles the number down, then lowers the measuring tape, his thumbs skating over the clothed flesh of your breasts. Your nipples harden as his fingers brush them accidentally.
And you thought the thong you shot at Joel was red. It doesn’t even begin to compare to the shade of crimson Joel’s face turns as he realizes what he’s done. Quickly, he drops the measuring tape and writes down the second number and your bra size. “Ther-” his voice cracks and he clears his throat. “There. Go find your bra. Then we’re leavin’, and I’m not arguin’ this time.”
You smirk at his vocal mishap. “Okay. But I have to try them on first.”
“You never make things easy for me, do you?”
Joel follows you as you look for a few different bras in your size. You pick out a few that match your panties, and a few others. There’s a silky black bra with so much memory foam padding that it rivals your pillow at home. Again, perfect for your special someone.
Joel’s smelling different perfumes when you sidle up to him and lay the bra on his head, the large cups sitting on either side of his scalp. “Mickey Mouse,” you tell him.
Joel glares at you as he removes the bra and drops it on the floor. “You are giving me a fuckin’ aneurysm.”
You look pleased with yourself, which only makes him more pissed off. But the table next to Joel catches your eye. There’s a pretty satin babydoll dress, with a matching pair of panties. It’s a nice light pink color, with pretty floral lace. “Hmm.” you mumble, thinking to yourself.
Joel watches your eyes leave his face as you become distracted. “What?” he turns his attention toward where your vision is focused. “Oh. Nope. You don’t need that.”
“Why not?”
“You said you needed underwear. S’lingerie. All them frills and lace…” Joel trails off.
“I think it’d be nice for a date night.”
Joel’s jaw clenches slightly. “I do not envy the poor bastard who takes you home,” he says. He’s probably just annoyed, at his wit’s end with you. Probably not jealous. Definitely not jealous. “But guys don’t give a shit what you’re wearin’, honey. Just wanna get what’s underneath. S’a waste of time.”
You shrug and grab your size in the lingerie anyway. Then you take off towards the dressing rooms to try everything on. You enter the first room on the right, and Joel sits at a bench directly across, just a few feet away from you.
You try on a couple of bras and feel pleased when they fit and support you. They make the girls sit pretty, too.
You take off the bra and eye the pretty babydoll and its matching bottom. So you try it on, and it’s gorgeous. It frames you nicely, sits right above your ass to show off the panties. You admire yourself in the mirror for a while before deciding you’ll save it for a date night. Fuck what Joel says. Maybe he doesn’t like lingerie, but that doesn’t mean you can’t.
Things are going smoothly until you try to unhook the babydoll in the back. It’s stuck or something. You fidget with it for a second, accidentally smacking your elbow against one of the dressing room walls in the process.
“Y’alright in there?” Joel calls out to you.
“Fine, just uh…” You step out of the dressing room. “Need your help with the hook in the back. It’s stuck.”
Joel looks like a deer in the headlights when you stand before him, clad in your pink satin babydoll and matching panties. You leave the changing room door open, Joel stares at your ass on the mirror attached to it. He’s all flustered, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Lord have mercy.”
“Yeah, I know. You’re not a lingerie guy.”
Joel swallows thickly. “I don’t know about that, exactly.”
“No?” You raise an eyebrow. Joel, suddenly a man of few words. How much nicer he is when he’s quiet, you think. “How about you unhook it so I can change?”
“Yeah I could uh…do that.” Joel stands up, then carefully holds the straps of your dress between his fingers. His featherlight touch leaves goosebumps on your shoulders. “Shouldn’t be wearin’ this. It’s very impractical.”
“I know, Joel. You mentioned that.”
His hands trail lower down the straps, his fingers resting against your skin. “Uh huh. Cheap material…could get torn very easily f’ya aren’t careful.”
And then his fingers are moving up the straps again. He places two hands on your hips and turns you around, fingers skating across your ass cheeks. You feel his body step closer to yours, his hot breath on your neck as he whispers, “M’sure it's not stitched too good. Probably not easy to clean, either.” He catches you off guard when you look at yourself in the mirror. He’s staring intently at the reflection of your body, then his eyes flicker to yours.
“Right,” you agree.
Joel’s scanning your body again, observing how the fabric falls around your curves just so. He looks hungry, like the moment you peel your eyes from him he’ll devour you.
“Are you gonna take it off of me?” He ignores your question as he pinches the bottom of your babydoll between his fingers, the soft satin tickling your skin as he moves the fabric. “Joel?”
“Yeah, hon. I’m gettin’ there. Be patient f’me, now.” Your stomach flutters at the low timbre of his voice, the way he purrs in your ear. Joel absolutely does not like lingerie. Not one bit, god dammit.
His eyes are darkened with lust as he sucks in a breath, admiring the way your breasts sit beneath the clothing, the way it drapes over your stomach and rests on your hips. One of the straps falls off your shoulder and he clicks his tongue. “See? S’no good.”
“Guess so,” you agree, and he places the strap back on your shoulder, his fingers lingering for a moment too long as he contemplates his next move.
“Closer,” he pulls your hand towards himself, and you step backward. He lets his hands slide down your body over the lingerie and you watch him frown in the mirror, his hands stopping when he reaches the bottom of your dress. “N’it covers up all these pretty curves…” Joel lifts up the fabric, inspecting the craftsmanship of your panties. He takes note of the way they’re darkened beneath your core, sticky with your arousal. “These panties…thin, huh?” He traces a finger delicately over the strap on your hip, pulling it back and snapping on your skin.
Your breath hitches in your throat. “Joel,” you breathe shakily, “You’re teasing me.”
“M’sorry, darlin’. Just tryna show ya somethin’.” You watch as he trails a finger over your mound, dragging it across the damp cloth and finding your clit over the fabric. He rubs steady circles as he whispers, “See, now look at that. You’re stainin’ em. Makin’ a big fuckin’ mess of yourself.”
You bite back a moan. “Joel, what are you doing?”
“What’s it look like, I’m makin’ a Cinnabon.” Joel mocks you from earlier, but you don’t catch his snide teasing. You’re foggy headed and lost in this moment. “I just said I’m tryna show ya somethin’. Now hush while I’m speakin’.” He pushes your panties to the side, smirking when he feels how soaked your soft folds are as he drags his fingers up and down your slit. Your knees weaken and wobble, and Joel wraps an arm around your waist to guide you back some more. He sits on the bench with you on his lap, tapping a foot in between yours. You spread your legs and your stomach flutters feeling his hardness press against you. You watch him through the mirror as he speaks quietly into your ear, his breath tickling you as two of his thick fingers breach your entrance and push inside. “You said this lil’ number would be nice for a date, right?”
You nod while whimpering, turning your face into his neck. With his other strong hand, he holds your jaw and turns your attention back to the mirror in front of you. “S’matter? Don’t be gettin’ all bashful on me now,” he murmurs. He’s curling his fingers, swirling them inside you and memorizing every inch of your walls. “Watch how I touch ya.”
You watch his fingers twitch and dance under your pretty pink panties. You peel your eyes away to look at his face, and he’s focused on his hand between your thighs.
“S’pose it could be nice for a date,” Joel breathes. “You’d wear this, what, under a pretty dress or somethin’?”
You nod again.
“And then when that pretty dress comes off that evenin’, then what happens?”
“I-I dunno, Joel.”
“I know you don’t, sweetheart. I’ll tell you what happens. Your gentleman's gonna take one look at this little getup and rip it right off. Leave it in shreds on the floor and break your poor heart.”
You’re waiting for Joel to do just that. But he doesn’t, he just keeps fingering you under your panties. Two fingers deep inside you, thumb painting circles into your clit. There’s a heat building in your stomach, tickling you from the inside. Joel takes a moment to lift you up, undo his jeans and pull himself out before he begins to rock against you. His head nudges between your cheeks, warm and smooth and hard. How you wish you could see it, hold it in your hand, feel him with your tongue. You squirm against him and find his free arm, hugging it tight to steady yourself on him. Joel chuckles in a low tone.
“But I know you feel pretty,” Joel continues, “M’gonna work around it for ya, baby, but only if you’re good t’me. You know what that means?”
You’re irritated as you shake your head no. Joel’s using his fingers to taunt you, tease you. He knows just how he’s working you up, giving you just enough to keep you squirming but not enough to send you over the edge.
“It means–” Joel pulls his fingers away from your core and you groan. “Shush. Quit your whinin’.” He pushes you up by your hips so he can pull his pants down a little further, then sits you on his lap again, this time with his cock sitting between your folds and your panties pulled as far to the side as he could get them. With his hands still on your hips, he guides you up and down, up and down, coating himself in your arousal. You can just barely make out the shape as his tip rubs against your clit. He continues, “Means no more wanderin’,” he pulls the top of the babydoll down and watches your tits fall out, his both hands leaving your hips and sliding up to play with your breasts. “Y’come prepared for patrol,” he notches his stiff cock at your dripping entrance, “And I’m in charge. Not you. We clear?”
You nod. You’re not sure how he did it, but with Joel’s teasing, he’s seemingly melted away every bit of attitude in you.
“Good girl. Now don’t say I don’t do nothin’ for ya.”
With that, he thrusts up into you, parting your insides. You watch his cock disappear inside of you before throwing your head back on his shoulder with a moan. Joel smirks before using a firm yet gentle hand to guide your head back where he wants it. “Watch,” he coos, reminding you. “You’re pretty like this.”
Joel uses his hands on your hips to bounce you on his cock, then lets them glide up your body. He palms your breasts, squeezing and watching your flesh move and bulge under his fingers. He gropes you a couple of times while pinching and twisting your nipples, enjoying the way your moans change pitch with the action.
While Joel plays with your nipples, you ride him. Your thighs ache and tremble, knees shaking. You bounce yourself on him a little longer before letting yourself go limp.
Joel takes the hint, drops his hands to your hips and picks up where you left off. You lean back and let him do his thing. “Gonna make me do all the work for ya, huh?”
You say nothing, just let those sweet sounds fall from your lips as he fucks you. You reach between your thighs and touch what you can of him, unsatisfied with the way you didn’t get to before. Joel makes a noise, seemingly enjoying it.
He kneads your ass as he uses his strong arms to move you up and down, snapping his hips against yours. “Fuck,” he hisses. He lets out breathy sounds, grunts and growls tickling your ear and making the hair on your neck stand straight up. He’s sweating, soaking through his shirt and making your back feel damp. You’ll take what you can get of Joel right now, but you’re wishing you could see him better. Feel him more, his skin, watch his muscles twitch under you. Or above you. You don’t have a preference at the moment.
“Joel,” you moan. “Oh, Joel.”
He smirks, pleased with the noises you make. Pleased with your lack of words, your lack of attitude. How docile for him you are. He would have fucked you long ago if he knew you’d be like this. So well behaved.
He turns his face into your neck and bites down. Hard. He soothes the marks over with his tongue, whispering nothings into your skin. You find your clit with your hand and begin circling it while Joel fucks into you. You think you have the right. Joel, however, disagrees.
“Hey,” he smacks your hand away. “What’d we talk about? Who’s in charge?” You move your hand between your thighs again, and Joel circles your wrist with his fingers and holds it away from you. “I asked you a question.”
“You are, Joel,” you breathe.
“S’right. Means I take care of ya,” In the mirror, you watch Joel let go of your wrist and find your clit himself. “Thought you’d know better. Just sit pretty. S’all ya gotta do.”
“Joel,” you whisper, “Let me come,”
“What’s the magic word, hon?”
“Please,” you beg. “Please. Make me come for you, I want–I wanna come on your cock, please. Please, Joel.”
“Wrong,”
You huff, exasperated and frustrated.
“It’s Cinnabon.”
Joel shifts himself on the bench, finding the perfect angle. He continues fucking you, effortlessly finding that sweet spot inside you. He pulls back the hood of your clit, fingers painting the sensitive nub as he begins his work. Your thighs tremble and shake, he keeps you pressed tight to his chest.
He’s magic. You’re moaning with abandon, eyes darting between the picture between your thighs and his face, and he’s playing with you like he owns you.
“Right there,” you tell him. “Right there, Joel.”
Soon enough, your moans become breathier and broken, spread out between a medley of curse words and Joel’s name.
“Yeah,” he says. “Look at you, comin’ so nice on my cock.”
You squeeze Joel’s working arm as you come, nails digging into his hot skin, feeling his tendons and muscles twitch under your fingertips. Your walls pulse and contract with your orgasm, the pleasure built up deep inside you spilling over and coursing through your veins.
You’re limp against Joel, letting him use you as he chases his own release. He sits you straight up, bounces you harshly for a moment before breathing through his gritted teeth. You pull your attention from the mirror in front of you and focus your vision on your lap, watching as he comes inside you. Watching yourself soak his cock. He keeps you moving, his spend spilling out of you and over your pink panties.
Joel pulls your body off of him and sits you back down. His spend continues dripping out of you, spilling onto the bench. He gets your clothes out of the dressing room and places them next to you, then stands you up and unclips your babydoll dress in the back. You forgot about that. But he did say he was getting to it, after all.
He pulls the garment off of you, then helps you out of your stained panties. He helps you into a new pair of panties, the white pair with the little blue flower on the waistband. “So you’re not goin’ commando anymore,” he says. Then he dresses you in one of your new bras, your shirt and your pants. The lingerie lays crumpled on the floor.
“So you still don’t like lingerie?” you ask.
Joel shrugs. “Keep it. I don’t care,” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “You tried your shit on, we’re leavin’.”
That’s fine by you. Next stop is Bath and Body Works. You spotted it earlier, and you actually know what that store is. You’re low on body sprays and you’re gonna make Joel help you pick out some new ones, even if you have to drag him kicking and screaming.
‘Cause Tommy said you’re in charge.
NO MORE TAGLIST!! Follow @strang3stories and turn on notifs!
tags: jackson-era Joel pov, angst, canon-typical violence/references to death, established relationship, Joel is an ass man, consensual somno elements, posessive!joel, body worship, dirty talk, male masturbation, spitting, touching, come marking
a/n: easing back into writing and started 2 little wips that are sort of "introspective-joel-pov-smut-fics" - here is the first one! 💕
“Fuck. I need you.” He rasps - an edge to his voice, “Would you let me look at you, honey? Just let me look.”
Or - Joel gets off just from the sight of you
He’s strung as tight as a bow. The lingering adrenaline a notched arrow, leaving him about to snap. Blood seeps into his jeans - splattered across his knees, where he had jerked the knife from the man’s neck.
It had been a mercy killing. A stranger, but they had all seen the bite. He had been the only one to do something about it.
He’s told others that you get used to it. The killing - that after a while, survival wins out.
You get over it.
But you don’t. Instead, it clings to him like a shadow, following him home - down the worn, familiar path. Inside the gates, back to Jackson.
Heavier than it’s been before. An itching beneath his skin. If he was over it, he wouldn’t have to turn himself off. Shutting away a part of himself, only to fight to come back - clawing his way out later.
An aching reminder at how short life could be. That yes, things were different - but he was never really safe.
Not really.
His path brings him to you. A beacon, guiding his way back.
His - your - home coming into view, just as the dawn creeps over the fall, wooden fences. The misty grey brightening into gold and pink with the sun, as he’s unlocking the wooden door, shouldering it open.
A look thrown out the window as he scrubs his hand clean in the kitchen - seeing that the garage light is on. That she’s home, that she’s okay. An automatic check, before his weary feet take him upstairs.
Joel sheds the layers, the jacket thrown over the railing at the top of the stairs. Fingers fumbling with his belt, pulling the worn leather through the loops before his stained jeans crumple on the floor, as he pushes the cracked door open.
The light from the hallway stretches across the wooden floor, creeping into the dark room. Where you still lay sleeping, curled on your side within the blankets and sheets. Missing him in your dreams, that space next to you long empty.
Cold - where your fingers reach out, searching for him.
His path diverts, moving to you instead of the attached bathroom. The edge of the bed sinking under his weight, a soft sound as you stir.
“‘Welcome ‘ome.” You murmur, still half-asleep. A little wiggle as your bent knee hitches higher, the oversized shirt you’re wearing bunching up around your hips.
He reaches out, just the ghosting of his fingers against the soft skin near your knee. The fluttering of heavy lashes as you fight sleep, only to be pulled under again.
Joel’s hand shifts. A warm palm pressing against your thigh. Against soft skin, so different than his own calloused touch.
Home.
It is, isn’t it? As close to he’s had in years. Decades. The old apartment in the QZ had never felt that way, not with the faded floral walls. Those small rooms that still held ghosts.
But here, his own touch lingers. Yours, melding with it. It would never be like before - the picking out of furniture, of paint. But it’s his clothes in the closet. His worn guitar that rests against the couch. His wooden carvings lining the top of the mantle, above the fireplace.
And you - you're scattered throughout. Woven blankets and thick sweaters. Books, covering damn near every surface.
A little bottle of found lotion tucked away in the bathroom. He can smell it now, as he leans over you. A bristly kiss pressed against your cheek, the curve of your shoulder.
Amber, vanilla, caramel.
He’s pulled back to the memory, the light shining in your eyes when he handed the beaten bottle over. The minuscule amount you had worked into your knuckles - the soft sigh of contentment.
A bright laugh when he had pulled you close, the murmured “smells good” against your throat, as you had squirmed in his grasp - smiling as you read the fragrance notes out loud.
Something stirs in him, then. The press of his thigh against yours, as he leans over. Eyes dragging down to the bare curve of your ass, his hand tracing cup your thigh to palm your flesh.
His already uneven breath hitching, as you sigh. That little smile - his name - murmured out as you rock instinctively into his touch. Still on the edge of sleep, lulled off into a deep sleep with the cooling of summer.
Waking you up wouldn’t be unusual. Half the time you’re already up after these early-morning patrols. Waiting for him.
How he waits for you, on those few days where it’s you out there, instead of him. His jaw working with irritation until you’re home and back and safe, and he’s stripping your clothes from you himself.
It’s selfish to wake you, on a morning where you sleep so deeply. Even with the stress that’s eating at him, simmering in his veins.
But maybe… maybe he can just-
Joel is leaning, his mouth against your neck. A shift as you stretch, baring your skin to him as your lips curl in a smile. A soft, sleepy hum as you reach for him, fingers curving over the thick muscle of his forearm.
The hand on your ass drifting up - across to the small of your back. Meeting noting but warm, bared skin beneath your shirt.
“Fuck. I need you.” He rasps - an edge to his voice, “Would you let me look at you, honey? Just let me look.”
Heavy-lidded eyes open then at the sound of his voice - his words - as you tilt your head. A slow sweep over the breadth of his shoulders, the curve of his stomach. The spread of his thighs as he kneels behind you. The already half-hard tent of faded boxers.
You had been waiting for him. Anticipating his return, eager for his touch. The cloud of sleep begins to clear as he palms himself, the bed shifting as your hips shift, thighs spreading open for him.
“I can take care of you,” Your voice is scratchy - husky, in the early morning. A hand pressing again on your back as you begin to roll over, holding you in place.
“You already are,” Joel groans, as your hips tilt up, off the bed. Knees pressing into the mattress as he nudges your thighs wider, fitting between them, “Stay just like that, alright?”
The combination feels erotic. His smell on the shirt you wear. The tingling throb between your thighs, the desire in his voice. How much he wants - enough that just the sight of you has him hard, thumbs catching on the waistband of his boxers to free himself.
You relax into the bed, as you watch. The weight of his hand as it moves to squeeze your ass. A pressure as he tugs, opening you up.
“Fuck.”
Joel spits in his palm, before it’s wrapping around his cock. A rough groan as some of that need is eased, with the sharp stroke of his fist.
Just letting himself look. Admire.
A sight that is only his, fingers sinking into soft flesh. The way you trust, how effected you are already - the shallow rock of your hips as the sound of skin-on-skin fills the room.
“You got a pretty little pussy, honey.” He hears himself saying. Watching how you clench at his praise, the little gasp that follows. “Pretty little holes. All for me, right?”
He can feel the weight of your gaze. Darkening, as your hunger grows low in your belly. Darting between his face and the sharp flick of his wrist.
Rarely getting to see him take, like this. Usually he would have been buried in you, by now. There’s the urge to ask, but there’s a power in this - wanting to watch him get off to you. Not having to lift a finger to do so.
“All for you.” You sigh, “Always.”
His jaw grits, teeth clicking together. A bead of precum joins the slick of his spit, that angry fire in his belly transforming.
So different that the little mouse he had taken to bed, all those months ago. Your hands covering your mouth, muffling the moans, until he had pried them away. Pinning them against the pillows, whispering filth in your ear.
Now, he can see the greed in your eyes. The way you glisten, when his own gaze drops. The shift of your thighs as he takes a second to rub himself against the curve of your ass. Dipping down to press against your core.
The tip coming back slick, in a new kind of way - fueling the pressure, building in his belly.
Your moan breaks the early-morning quiet. His name on your lips again - more urgent than before.
The little beg only sends him closer, a rough groan in his throat. His own hand too familiar - used to the quick and precise touch he needs to get off, when he had to.
In the before. In the during - when it was only words that the you of you had exchanged. Heated looks that lingered late into those lonely nights.
Hasn’t felt the urge to, since he’s had you.
He expects you to ask him to fill you, eyes caught on the enticing lift of your hips.
Caught off-guard for the briefest second, a heat flushing over his cheeks, when you shift beneath him instead. Flipping over, onto your back.
Eyes bright, teeth sinking into your lip as you smile.
“Wanna watch.” You admit, and that tension in his shoulders settles in his chest, turning sweet.
His fist tightening around his cock, as your thighs splay over his. Opening yourself up under his gaze, stretching out in front of him.
And fuck, what a sight. There’s a rolling wave deep in his core that he chases with the rock of his hips.
His hand fits perfectly against the curve of your waist, eyes caught on the way your fingers catch on the hem of your shirt.
Pulling it up over your breasts, a path that his eyes follow greedily.
“Christ, darlin’.” The words rumble in his chest.
A rough exhale as your own gaze drops to his fist. The pace that he’s picked up - the peek of the flushed tip when he strokes down to the base.
Already about to burst, like he’s a man half his age. Could say it’s just his own touch, the urge to relieve the weight of his stress.
But he knows it’s more. That warmth in his chest, a tenderness that has only softened the rough stone of his heart since he’s left Boston.
It’s there in the way that he could linger on the slick place between your thighs. But instead he’s watching you watch him. Focusing on the part of your lips, the shine in your eyes.
“‘m close.” Joel breathes, his words low. Rough. “Where do you want it?”
He’ll catch it in his palm if he needs to. If it helps you go back to sleep, after. He hasn’t given up on that wish - to let you drift off for a little longer.
The look you give him, the little smile that turns mischievous, has his stomach twisting into knots. Like butterflies, he thinks.
Your hand drifts down, knuckles brushing over the jerk of his. Soft fingers tracing over hot, swollen flesh. Only to curve over your mound, to spread yourself open for him.
“Fuck.” He breathes, again, “There?”
The answering hum is low, desperate.
“Wanna hear you ask me.” Joel pushes - needing to hear you say it, knowing it will push him over the edge.
You squirm beneath him, affected by the edge to his voice, the soft command.
“Want you to come on me.”
“Where, baby?” The word slides from his lips without thought.
The eye contact breaks, your gaze darting away with embarrassment. But after a moment it’s back - the soft heave of your breasts as you suck in a breath, steeling your nerves.
“Want you to come on my pussy, Joel.”
He can’t help the rough groan, ripped from his chest. The shift of his thighs as he pulls back, as that pressure builds. The pleasure surging instead of ebbing, as he tips his cock downward.
The next stroke of his fist pushes him past the threshold. Relief sings in his veins as he spills across your mound. Painting your abdomen with his release, eyes fluttering closed as his hearing goes fuzzy.
Drowning out his long moan, as you push yourself up. He meets you instinctually, arcing over you as his mouth is drawn to yours.
As his spend drips down the crease of your thigh, so warm against soft skin.
It feels like a weight is lifted, like he’s back in his own skin again. Relaxing into the fingers that scratch into his hair, the tongue that sweeps against his.
But it’s only a few moments before he remembers. Coming back to himself, as he fits his hand between your thighs.
Fingers dragging through his release, bringing his slick fingers to circle against your clit.
Because there’s no way you’re going back to sleep after this. Not if he knows you - which he’s now certain that he does.
"Thank you honey." He murmurs, with lips that press against your cheek.
The smallest smile after, as your own part with a moan - as he croons against your skin.
"Now let me take care of you."
thank you for reading! was excited to explore a little idea I had 💕
observations [joel miller x neurodivergent f!reader]
summary: You're not like the other girls, but it'd be easier if you were. Joel Miller doesn't see it that way.
ratings/warnings: T [lots of feelings of insecurity, reader is neurodivergent, this very soft, Joel is very soft, reader is in her 30s, Joel is in his 50s]
wc: ~2k
a/n: please go to @ezrasbirdie-updates to be notified of updates! this was a present to myself on Joel's birthday lol. I've been having some feelings lately and I needed to work them out. Like why go to therapy when I can write fic, I guess. Jk I am looking for a new therapist as we speak ANYWAY this is me like opening my chest up and showing you my soul so I hope it's helpful to someone.
masterlist | joel miller masterlist
You want to like Jackson. You want to like its bustling town square and the cute little storefronts. You want to like the colorfully painted houses in the neighborhoods on the outskirts of its tiny downtown. It reminds you of a snow globe, frozen in time, immune from the horror of the rest of the world.
It should be an oasis, and you should be thankful you stumbled upon it when you did. And you are thankful. You’d fall to your knees with gratitude if Maria Miller requested it.
The problem is the people.
Okay, not the people of Jackson. It’s just people. It’s always other people, anywhere you go. Infected you can deal with; understand them, even. Their motives are clear—they want to tear you apart and infect you.
People, however, are not so simple, and they never have been.
In the early days, when everyone struggled to stay alive long enough to find their next meal, all social norms and niceties flew out of the window. Introductions were short and to the point, small talk was a luxury no one could afford, and there was no time for interests or hobbies or long conversations. Everyone was too fucking traumatized for any of it.
Most people still are.
But Jackson, in its little snow globe with its electricity and hot water and dances on the weekends—this place is different. The social norms returned, and you found yourself amongst kind people that you could not for the life of you figure out how to communicate with.
You've always been different.
Your parents called you quirky. Strange, interesting, marched to your own beat, whatever—you were different, and growing up there were plenty of people who made sure you knew it. Even the adults let you know how odd you were. Even when you tried to be like everyone else.
Especially when you tried to be like everyone else.
When you arrived here five years ago, you observed everyone, listened quietly to their conversations and how they spoke to each other, picked up common phrases they used, and built a patchwork mask out of it.
It was a spectacular failure.
So you tried being yourself, and they didn’t like that, either.
No one is ever overt about their discomfort with you, but you’d learned a very long time ago what it means when someone says, “You’re so enthusiastic!” with a furtive eye roll at whoever they’re with.
So you spend most of your time with your mouth shut, nodding thoughtfully at whatever the other person’s saying.
“You’re a good listener,” they say, and you thank them for such a nice compliment.
They’re all very kind to each other, and even polite to your face, but all the invitations to their dances and bonfires never seem to make it to you. You can count on one hand the number of times someone’s willingly invited you to anything.
No one has anything bad to say about you, not really. You’re fine in an abstract way. The concept of you is perfectly likable—loveable, even. But the actual person? The real you? She’s always a bit too much. She has a terrible habit of misjudging the closeness of relationships. She’s too loud, too chatty, too domineering. Too weird.
And they all know it.
Ellie Williams might be your only friend. She is all of seventeen years old, so you’re not entirely sure what that says about you. She’s the only person who seeks you out, usually with her guardian trudging behind her.
Joel isn’t much of a talker. He seems to prefer watching you and Ellie talk with what you can only describe as polite disinterest. He shifts on his feet, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes dart around like he’s looking for trouble. You want to tell him you understand, but there is no trouble; that he’s safe and so is Ellie. But you bite your tongue because you don’t know either of them well enough to blurt out anything so familiar.
He does put up with your presence when you go to their place on Rancher Street to watch movies, even if he doesn’t say more than a few words. And after a few months of your presence, he even lets out a chuckle or two. It's warm and inviting, but almost verboten; like he's sharing something never meant for you.
You know far too much about both of them. You know Joel’s birthday is in September and Ellie’s in the spring. You know he won’t eat cake. You know he coughs early in the morning when he’s getting his horse ready for patrol. You know his knees ache in the evenings, and Ellie teases him for this relentlessly.
You know he had a daughter once, and you know Ellie sometimes wishes she was really his. They told you none of this, and you’d never asked. You’d just watched them together, and it told you everything.
Unfortunately, no matter how much you’d like to adopt her, you can’t spend all your time with a teenager. Everyone already thinks you’re odd enough, and the last thing you need is for them to find you even stranger.
So you come out to the river and sit on the broken-down pier, much further past the perimeter than allowed. Sometimes you sketch the horizon, sometimes you read, and sometimes you just listen to the babble of the river below you. You haven’t had too many problems. Raiders rarely come so far out and Infected tend to stick to more populated areas—or the ones that used to be, anyway.
It’s a beautiful day. The sun beats down hard from the cloudless sky, warm enough in the sunshine to tie your hoodie around your waist and cool enough to keep you from becoming a sweaty mess. Summer’s almost over, and the leaves are already starting to turn from green to shades of ochre and carmine.
Footsteps from behind shake you from your current daydream—a particularly lovely one involving diving into the largest pile of leaves you’ve ever seen—and you whirl around, hand flying to the pistol holstered on your right hip. Your eyes land on Joel Miller.
Shit.
In addition to being Ellie’s guardian, Joel is, technically speaking, your direct superior in the patrol rankings. You’re not on patrol right now, but he’d caught you completely unaware and way outside the allotted zone.
It was only a matter of time before you got caught, you suppose, but did it have to be by one of the few people you haven’t completely alienated?
“Afternoon,” he says in that thick drawl.
“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you say, gathering up your things and preparing for whatever scolding he’d give you before sending you back and warning Ellie to stay away from someone so reckless.
“Mr. Miller?” He chuckles, and it still feels like it’s not meant for you to hear. “No need to make me feel like an old man, darlin’.”
The endearment throws you, but you’re more concerned that you’ve offended him. It always starts like this—an attempt at a normal conversation and you opening your big mouth to say something you think is funny or charming or, in this case, respectful, and then falling headfirst into awkward silence.
“Oh, I mean—Joel. Sorry,” you offer, fighting the zipper on your bag with shaking hands. “I only meant—”
“I’m just teasin' you, sweetheart,” he says softly. You still as he sits down next to you on the edge of the pier, close enough that his denim-clad thigh presses against yours. He’s so warm. “What’re you doin’ all the way out here?”
There doesn’t seem to be any trick or joke or disappointment wrapped under ten layers of context. But you’ve been wrong before.
“It’s quiet out here,” you explain, and he doesn’t pry for more. But now you’re curious. “Why are you out here?”
His shoulder rubs against yours when he shrugs.
“Noticed you weren’t around. No one seemed to know where you were. Got worried.”
“About me?” You ask, cocking your head, glad to have a reason to look at him. Joel is otherworldly handsome, all strong cheekbones and sharp jaw and pouty, soft lips. You don’t care if he’s in his late fifties—if he wanted to kiss you, you’d let him.
He makes eye contact with you, though, and your intestines feel like they’re trying to escape through your skin.
He flares his nostrils, eyebrows raised. “That so surprising?”
Shit shit shit.
“No—it’s—it doesn’t have anything to do with you,” you explain, desperate to find the right words. “It’s just that no one ever really worries about me?”
It sounds pathetic when you say it out loud. He doesn’t say anything, and the silence grows more uncomfortable by the second. You’d divulged far too much information in those two sentences.
“Anyway—” You start, but he interrupts.
“I’d be mighty upset if somethin’ happened to you, comin’ out here all by yourself,” he says quietly, not looking in your direction.
Your mouth opens and closes. “Oh,” is all you can manage. And then the obvious question—”Why?”
“Like havin’ you around,” he says, as if you should know; as if you haven't spent years with nothing but people pushing you away as politely as they can.
“You do?” You ask, fully aware of how it sounds, but you’re not fishing for anything. You’re just surprised.
“Who wouldn’t?” He asks, and he’s looking at you again, eyebrows scrunched in a question. He’s sitting so close you could climb into his lap.
“Lots of people,” you laugh, incredulous. “I’m weird.”
He scoffs. “If you’re weird I must be, too,” he says, bumping your shoulder. You squint at him, hoping you’re picking up the right signals.
He’s flirting.
“You're a little weird,” you say, mentally crossing your fingers.
Joel tilts his head and smiles, and butterflies bloom in your stomach. “That so?” He asks. Warmth fills your cheeks, and you lose some of that nerve. He clears his throat. “You’re very pretty, if you don’t mind me sayin’.”
You absolutely do not mind.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” you say, and he chuckles, bringing his hand to your shoulder.
“You let me know if you go off like this again?” He asks, but it's not really a request. “I won’t bother you or nothin’, just…I’d like to know where I can find you.”
But you don’t think you’d mind being bothered by Joel at all. “Sure,” you agree, trying to play it cool. “I’ll tell you.”
He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “We better get back. Gettin’ dark.”
Looking at the sun getting low in the sky, you’re inclined to agree. You gather your things and shoulder your backpack. “Joel?” You ask.
He grunts something that sounds like “hm”.
“Thanks. For giving a shit about me, I mean.”
Joel furrows his brow. “Of course.”
He’s quiet for a moment, like he's struggling with himself.
“How do you feel about having dinner together? Some night. Whenever. My place or yours.” The invitation lodges itself deep in your heart. He can’t know what something so simple means.
“I’d really like that.”
He breaks into a smile. “Yeah? Ain’t much of a cook, but I thought we might figure somethin’ out. Ellie says I’m gettin’ better at makin’ pasta.”
“I love pasta,” you admit.
“I know you do, darlin’,” he says.
You talk the whole way back, leaves crunching under your boots and birds singing in the trees. He doesn’t say much at all, just nods and laughs and asks you questions, and when you reach the back gates self-consciousness creeps up the back of your neck.
“Sorry,” you giggle, your nerves biting at your insides.
“For what?” He asks, and he seems genuinely confused.
“Talking so much,” you clarify. For dominating the conversation. For telling him too many things he doesn’t want to hear. For being too much.
“I like listenin’ to you,” he says. The dull ache in your chest disappears.
You still try to reel yourself in when you get to your door, smiling and thanking him for a nice time. He lingers, though, and rubs the back of his neck.
It’s extremely cute.
“You, uh, you ain’t hungry now, are you?” He asks.
“Starving, actually,” you say. “Why?”
“I was thinkin’ we could just make dinner together now if you want. Ellie’s at her friend’s—”
“I would love that!” You speak much too quickly, much too excitedly, but by the way his face lights up, he doesn’t seem to mind.
Summary | Your last day alone with Joel should mean you spend it tangled up together, making the most of those last moments you have alone with him. But there are doubts creeping into his mind about what's best and things truly do come to a head.
Word Count | 5.9K
Chapter Warnings | I cannot stress this enough - ANGST. Joel is a little mean in this one but makes up for it I promise. Consumption of food, explicit smut, rough sex, possessive sex, unprotected PiV sex, oral sex (f) receiving, squirting, creampie, dirty talk, breeding kink, the briefest slice of daddy kink.
Authors Note | Well, this was hell of a rollercoaster, wasn't it? Sorry for the sheer spectrum of emotions I'm about to put you through, I can only apologise. I wanted to give a HUGE shoutout to @cupofjoel for letting me brainstorm the ideas for this chapter. Her love for these characters is inspirational and I am so grateful she helped me with these ideas. And thank you to each and every one of you that continues to support this story and who love Joel, Pretty Girl and Tommy as much as I do. If you enjoy this, please consider commenting, reblogging or coming into my ask box to scream with me. And, as always, If you want to support me, you can donate to my Ko-Fi.
A reminder that I no longer use taglists - to keep up with my writing, please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs and turn on notifications to keep up to date.
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi
The sun is only just starting to rise when Joel wakes the next morning. There’s very little light draining in through the curtains, but he can make your face out perfectly. He thinks if he were to ever go blind, he would have looked at you so much that your face would be permanently burnt onto his brain. He can make out the curve of your cheek, the way your lips are relaxed, and the way you inhale through your nose and blow out the air through your mouth. Not snoring, per se, just another one of your quirks that he loves. Loves just like the rest of you.
He's suspected for a while now that you felt the same as he did, that your feelings for him moved beyond the love you should have for him as your brother-in-law, that you loved him with just as much passion and ferocity that he loved you with, and that was dangerous. He tries to tell himself that it’ll be okay, that when Tommy turns up tomorrow with Joshua, he’ll slink back to the shadows, become Uncle Joel again, and only have you when he has to have you, when he buries himself inside you under the watchful eye of his brother and tries to give you another baby, but he knows it’s futile. He’s never going to be satisfied again.
He drags a frustrated hand over his face, pulse pounding behind his eyes. He wants to roll over, drag your warm body into his and never let you go, wants to keep you here forever, but he knows he can’t be that selfish, so instead, he gently pushes himself up from the bed, lower back screaming at him as he does. He’s behaved liked a horny teenager this whole week, pretending that this bubble of you and him is what real life is like, and not only is he going to pay for it with a broken heart, but he’s also paying for it with real aches and pains shooting through his aging body.
He drags on some clothes, leaves you sleeping soundly in bed, makes a pot of coffee and takes himself outside. He goes to sit down on the bench near the fire pit, but he’s reminded of his confession of a few nights ago. The one where he admitted he fucks another woman but can’t bear to fuck her on her back, because she’s not you. She doesn’t sound like you, but when he’s got her on all fours and he closes his eyes, he can just about convince himself that his cock is dragging in and out of your pussy instead. She’s a nice woman, he doesn’t deny it, and he knows he’s fucking her over by keeping her hanging. He makes a mental note to call her when he gets back and call things off.
His feet take him to the water’s edge, where he thinks back to yesterday, pressing you against that wood of the jetty, fucking into you, even though he knows you were sore, because you were just that desperate for him, that desperate for another child. He almost walks away to find somewhere else to sit, but then realises this entire fucking place is just full of the memories of him and you, he’s not going to find somewhere that you don’t permeate his thoughts.
He sits on the gravel of the shore, listening as the wind brings gentle waves of the lake crashing near him. The warmth of the coffee mug is burning into his skin, but he doesn’t move to set it down – the pain reminds him that he’s alive, that he can feel things. He just doesn’t know what to do with it.
He thinks about Tommy. About how he trusted him with this sacred thing, with holding and touching his wife to give them a family, to give them their dream, and how he took that trust in his hand and fucking crumbled it to dust, falling in love with her and letting her fall in love with him. He thinks it’s kind of poetic really, because ever since they were boys, growing up in Texas with their parents, they’ve shared mostly everything. Bedrooms, cars, the weight of their parent’s dying, looking after Sarah when she was younger and her mom had left, and they’d done it without falling out, without ruining their relationship. Now, the one thing they really shouldn’t have shared is going to change it all. He’s convinced when Tommy see’s the two of them he’s going to know something has changed, he’s going to be angry, he’s going to take you back for himself and that’ll be it, so he has to do it first. Joel cannot lose his brother, cannot lose this part of his family that means so much to him.
Despite you saying you could fix it, that you had a plan, that he would trust you, he just cannot see it, cannot see a way where someone doesn’t get hurt. He’s the big brother here, the one who should be sensible, so he knows this is it. He’ll give you this baby and that’ll be it, because if he continues to cash in this one night he gets to have with you a year, he’s only going to end up hurting you both, hanging on to this hope that maybe, one day, he’ll have more. He has to be the bigger man, so no matter how much it’s going to hurt, he’s got to give you up.
When you wake, much like yesterday morning, you’re alone. You reach over to the empty side of the bed, arms under the covers, but unlike yesterday, Joel’s side of the bed is cold, which means he’s been awake for much longer than he had been yesterday. You roll onto your back, listening out for any sign of him, the padding of his feet in the kitchen, the sound of the shower in the bathroom, but it’s silent, save for the rustling of the trees in the wind from outside.
You lie there, staring up at the ceiling, thinking back to last night. To the way you’d opened your heart to him, finally. God, you loved him something fierce. Loved him in a way that made you hurt. You finally said it out loud, spoke the love you felt to him into existence. Whenever you’ve said it before, you could almost convince yourself that it was the kind of love it should have been, familial and warm, but there was no denying it anymore. This love was like fire, burning inside you, threatening to burn out of control if you didn’t do something about it.
Joel had placed his heart in your hands, asked you not to break his heart, and by God you were going to try and keep it whole. Cradle it in your hands, nurture it, keep it safe. The plan was tenuous at best and you knew it, but Tommy needed to know. You had to tell him. You would, before this week was out, you were going to fix this.
You had one more day though, one more day of being wrapped up with Joel, and you’d be damned if you were going to waste it. You drag yourself out of bed, picking out some comfortable clothes – one of Joel’s t-shirts that smells like him, and your sweatpants. You head to the kitchen, there’s still no sign of Joel. You pour yourself a cup of coffee from the pot, tip some creamer into it, when you spot him.
He's stood at the edge of the water, skimming stones across the lake. His broad frame sticking out against the foliage and the water. Almost like he can sense you’re watching him, he turns around. You smile over the lip of your coffee mug, raising a hand to wave at him, but he doesn’t wave back, just turns back around and continues skimming stones across the water.
It hurts, the cold shoulder he gives you. After spilling your hearts to one another last night, the way he fucked you like you were the last person on earth and your time was running out, and now this? You suck in a deep breath, damping down the flare of anger that spreads through you. He doesn’t get to do this, you think, not now, not today. You finish your coffee, eyes still trained on the way his back pulls and flexes as he throws his stones. Maybe he just needs time, is what you think, some space, where you aren’t constantly crowding him, constantly in his presence.
You settle on the couch, TV playing low for background noise as you try and focus on the book you’re reading. You think you lie there for hours, watching the sun move across the sky, but he still doesn’t come to you.
Your stomach growls and you think if you’re hungry, he must be as well, so you make BLT sandwiches, his favourite, and you take them down to the shore where he’s just sitting, looking out onto the water. You sit down next to him, close enough that he could reach out and touch you, but with enough distance to not crowd his space. You hand the plate to him, and thankfully he takes it, setting it between his feet, picking up one half of the sandwich to start eating.
It's silent except for the sound of you both eating and for the first time ever, it’s a little awkward. Not the usual, comfortable silence where neither of you have anything to say but are content to just be in each other’s company. You both have plenty to say to each other and you both know it as well, but neither of you want to make the first move.
“You alright?” You ask softly, deciding it’s better to just get this over and done with.
His response is short, “I’m fine.”
You sigh, frustration bubbling under your skin, “You certainly don’t seem fine.”
“I’m just tryin’ to do the right thing.” He won’t look at you, eyes continuing to face to water.
“The right thing,” You scoff, shaking your head, “What happened to trusting me?”
He’s quiet for a moment and you’re sure if you listened hard enough you could hear his brain working to come up with his answer, “It just ain’t right,” He speaks quietly, “You ain’t mine to keep.”
“You’ve changed your tune,” You hiss, “I hate to break it to you Joel, but that isn’t just your decision to make, there’s two of us here.”
“I’m tryin’ to make it easier, make sure no-one gets hurt.”
“You’re hurting me right now,” You point out, because he is, this distance is cleaving you in two, “And you’re going to hurt yourself too,” You reach out and touch his arm with your hand, glad that he doesn’t flinch away from you, “The only person who doesn’t get hurt is Tommy if you keep going like this.”
“You’ll be okay though,” He mumbles, placing his big hand over your own on his arm, “He’s good to you, you’ve got your family, you don’t need me.”
“Stop it!” You wail, “Don’t say that about yourself,” Lifting yourself to your knees next to him, hand on his shoulder to try and get him to look at you, “I will always need you Joel, do you understand me?” You grab his chin in your hand, tugging him to look at you, his eyes just as glassy as your own, “Why are you doing this?”
“What’s your master plan, huh?” He asks, suddenly talking louder, more commanding, “You gonna ask him to share you? Let his brother have you whenever he wants? That how you’re gonna fix this?”
“Don’t fucking patronise me,” You accuse, pushing him with your hands, using the momentum so you can stand, “You promised to trust me Joel, promised me you’d let me fix this, what happened to that?”
“I just don’t see how we could ever fix this.”
“You’re unbelievable,” You spit, “For once in your life could you stand to make yourself happy?!”
“Not if it means hurtin’ Tommy,” He shakes his head, “Should never’a let ourselves get so caught up in this.”
“Joel, stop it,” You’re crying now, because it sounds like he’s telling you this is it, that he’s through, that it’s been a mistake, that he regrets it, and you can’t bear that, he’s standing up now too, towering over you, “I love you, doesn’t that mean anything?”
“Of course it does,” He murmurs, “I love you too, but it was never meant to happen like this, we were never meant to love each other this much.”
“So that’s it, we break our hearts because you’re scared to ask for what you want?” You sniffle, trying to dampen down your tears, keep things together, “Scared to let me fight for us?”
“There ain’t no way any good is going to come from this.” He motions his hand between the two of you.
It’s like a punch to the gut when the words leave his mouth, because it’s a total lie. Your beautiful son came from this. The happiest years of your life came from this, and you’re pretty sure Joel’s happiest years came from this too.
“So that’s it then?”
He doesn’t answer this time, just shakes his head and sighs, moving to turn away from you, so you swivel on your heel, rubbing your hands furiously over your cheeks to wipe away your tears. You make sure to slam the door to the lodge behind you, sure that Joel can hear your anger. You walk straight through the lodge and into the bedroom, throwing yourself down on the bed, face planted in his pillow.
You wrap your arms around it, taking in a single deep breath of his scent before you scream into the pillow, sobs soon following as you let out your frustration and anger and heartbreak. Why did life have to do this to you? Why did it have to throw you down this path, desperate to have a family with a man who simply couldn’t? In this moment you curse Tommy for suggesting this whole stupid fucking arrangement and for being so kind and understanding and only ever wanting to make you and his brother happy. Curse your own heart for being so easy to fall, eager to love, and you curse Joel Miller for taking that easy and eager heart and being reckless with it. He asked you not to break his heart, yet here he is breaking yours.
Joel knew almost immediately he’d fucked up. The way your bottom lip had wobbled as you turned to walk away from him, the way you slammed the door, and the way that two hours later, when the wind was too cold and he walked back to the lodge, he could still hear you crying in the bedroom. What a fucking mess he’s caused. Trying his best to not hurt anyone, and here you are, crying into a pillow because of him.
He’d wanted nothing more than to push that door open, get down on his hands and knees and beg for your forgiveness. Take your hands in his and pray for you to forgive him. He stays in the living room, thumbing through the book you’d been reading, watching some random sports game on the tv, until he couldn’t hear you crying anymore. He’s panicking, can feel that familiar tightness in his chest at the mess he’s made, not quite sure what to do. His brain is telling him to stay where he is, to stick to the plan – it hurts now, but maybe tomorrow when Tommy and Joshua arrive, and Sarah is here, it won’t seem so bad. On the other hand though, his heart is telling him to move, to go to you, scoop you into his arms and make it all better.
Joel Miller is a weak man where you’re concerned, and he cannot bear the hurt he’s caused, can’t stand that he’s the reason you’ve spent that last day you could have had together in tears, shut in the bedroom because he pushed you away. He stands, brain going into fix-it mode. He toasts some bread, spreads a thick layer of butter on it and covers it in jam, just like he knows you like it. He makes you a cup of tea with a splash of milk. Steeling himself outside the door, he taps his foot to it, mainly to let you know he’s coming in rather than looking for permission to enter.
The room is faintly lit by the bedside lamp on your side of the room. You’re led on the bed, curled into a tight ball on one side. He’d have thought you were sleeping if he didn’t know you better – if he didn’t know exactly how you slept – the exact cadence of your breathing and the way your body went lax when you finally nodded off. You’re facing away from him when as he walks over, places the steaming mug and the plate of food next to the lamp. He sits down on the edge of the bed, reaching over to grip your wrist, pulling you up like a ragdoll and into his arms. You’re a dead weight as he wraps your arms around his neck, his own resting around your back as he nuzzles his face into the warmth of your neck.
He can’t look at you right now, knows it’ll break his heart, but he revels in the way that you tighten your arms around him. That’s a good first step, he thinks. He lets his lips press softly to the delicate skin of your neck, not in a way that it usually does when he’s trying to turn you on though.
“I’m so sorry, pretty girl.” Is all he can really think to say in this moment, but it’s poor, and he knows it.
He pulls away from you slightly, glancing at your face as he does. He was right, it does break his heart. The skin of your face is blotchy from the tears you’ve cried, eyes red and bloodshot, you look exhausted, and the heaviness in your bones is testament to that. He reaches over and picks up the steaming mug, holding it out to you as a sort of peace offering. You take it in your hands, blowing the steam away lightly before taking a sip, hissing when the hot liquid burns down your throat.
In any other circumstance, he’d laugh, press a kiss to the tip of your nose and tell you to be patient, but he’s likely going to get slapped if he tries to lighten the mood like that right now, so instead, he takes one of the slices of toast, cut into a triangle and holds it to your mouth.
You shake your head, “Not hungry.” Your voice is hoarse.
“Just a bite,” Joel implores, “I made it just how you like it.”
You don’t look at him, your eyes trained directly on the cup in your hand, but you nod lightly. His hand moves the slice of toast close enough to your mouth that all you need to do is lean forward and take a bite, which you do. He watches as you chew and then swallow and is quietly relieved when you lean forward and take another bite. He doesn’t force the other slice on you, leaves it where it is so you can have it if you want it. Instead, he lets his hand drop to your knee, warm and comforting as you sip at the tea again.
You set it down on the nightstand, finally accepting it’s too hot right now, and Joel is surprised when you turn and throw your arms around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder, crying once again.
“Oh pretty girl,” He coos, one hand resting at the nape of your neck to keep you anchored to him, the other around your lower back, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
He’s rocking you back and forth, gently, trying to soothe you as you cry into him, fighting back his own tears as well. He can hear you mumbling something into his shoulder, but he can’t make out what it is.
He gently pushes you forward, “What was that, baby?”
You shake your head, sniffle again, as a fresh wave of tears start falling, but you manage to get out what he had missed you saying earlier, before you’re falling back into the comfort of his shoulder, “I love you so much, Joel.”
His hand is resting on the back of your head as you hold onto him tight, “I know, pretty girl, I love you too,” He dips down, lips pressed to the top of your head, “I’m so sorry,” He speaks again, “Please forgive me.”
You pull back from him, moving to wipe your tears away, but Joel moves quicker, palms resting on your cheeks as his thumbs brush away the drops from your face. He’s looking at you now, his beautiful, sad eyes, trained on your own, “Do you regret it?” You ask quietly.
He shakes his head, “Of course not, baby,” He leans forward, kissing your cheek softly, “I could never.”
You try and shake your head, but his hands are keeping your face still, “Then w-why,” You falter a little, hiccupping over your words, “Why d-did you say n-nothing good could come of t-this?”
He swallows, because he was wrong. So fucking wrong to say that, to say anything that he said to you earlier. He was frustrated but most of all he was scared, and he hurt you and now he’s not sure he can actually salvage this.
“I was scared, pretty girl,” Joel admits, “I’m scared of how much I love you and what would happen if I can’t have you anymore, and I thought it would be easier, y’know? Easier if I just tried to pull away, get you back where you belong with Tommy, but I didn’t mean it, I promise I didn’t mean it.”
“We made a baby,” You sniffle, “He’s something good.”
“Oh, pretty girl, you’re breakin’ my heart,” Joel sighs, God he wants to make this better somehow, “Everythin’ about this is good, I’m just a mean old man sometimes.”
Your hands are circling his wrists now, anchoring yourself to him, your eyes looking straight into his own, like you’re searching his very soul for any ounce of regret. He’s hoping you’ll see the truth, that he doesn’t regret this relationship with you, only his words from earlier.
“Will you let me fix this?” You ask, “Will you let me speak to Tommy?”
“If you think it’ll help, pretty girl, I’ll let you do anythin’.”
You seem satisfied with his answer, because all of a sudden, you’re surging forward and kissing him. Lips soft and gentle against his as he presses his hands into your face a little harder, just to make sure you’re real, that this is what you want. You open your mouth against his, letting your tongue into his mouth, his working against your own as you let out a throaty moan, swallowing it down into his own mouth as he shifts you both, laying you down onto the sheets on your back.
“You gonna let me make it up to you, pretty girl?” He murmurs, pulling back just a touch from your mouth, “Gonna let me show you how sorry I am?”
You nod, but he doesn’t move, he’s waiting for your permission, “Please,” You whine, lifting your hips into his, feeling him already semi-hard in his pants, “Make me feel good Joel.”
So he does. He reaches his warm hands under his shirt that you're wearing, pulling it up and over your head. Your chest is bare underneath it, you didn’t bother with a bra today, mainly because you’d imagined you’d be spending most of it naked anyway. He trails his hot mouth down from your neck, kissing the skin between the valley of your tits, before he’s sucking one into his mouth. Your fingers tangle into his curls, keeping his head right there as he flicks your nipple with the tip of his tongue, pulling it into a stiff peak before he lavishes it with the attention of the flat of his tongue. He pulls his mouth from you, switching sides to your other breast – callused thumb working the nipple from before as he gives the same attention to this one, all whilst you’re grinding your hips up into him, friction causing a pool of wetness to gather between your thighs.
Once he feels like he’s worked you up enough here, he pulls away, wrapping his hands around your wrists to drag your hands to your tits. He settles your hands on them, looking up at you through hooded eyes as he drags his tongue over the skin of your tummy, “Play with them,” He demands, “Use your fingers on those perfect tits whilst I eat your pussy, pretty girl.”
You do as you’re told, rolling your nipples between your thumb and pointer finger as he drags your sweatpants off your legs. You spread your own legs for him as he settles between you, his mouth licking gently over your folds, before he’s using two fingers to spread the lips of your pussy, baring your aching cunt to his face.
“Dripping fuckin’ wet for me already, darlin’,” He growls, biting into the soft skin of your thigh, sucking to leave a mark, “Always so fuckin’ eager for my cock, ain’t ya?”
Fuck, you love it when he’s like this. When his need to fuck you, to mark you, takes over, when he’s possessive with you, when he’s rough with you. When he uses his mouth and teeth to mark you as his own, even if you’re not, not really, not fully.
You buck your hips into his face, silently begging for him to make you feel good. He splays a wide palm over your tummy, pressing you down into the mattress to keep you still, as his warm tongue slips inside your hole, licking the slick that’s been gathering there for him. You get off on this, the way he laps at you, tasting you, groaning into you like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. He drags that perfect tongue all the way up your pussy, giving one singular flick to your clit with the tip of his tongue before he’s plunging two of his fingers into your cunt. You arch your back off the bed, crying out as he fucks you with his fingers, tip of his tongue teasingly flicking against that bundle of nerves. He’s rough with it, the way his fingers pound into you, but you don’t care. Let it hurt, is what you think, let me carry this delicious pain and ache with me for days so I can remember him like this.
He's pushing you so fast towards that edge. That knot that is pulled so tight inside you threatening to push you over the edge as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks.
“Oh fuck!” You exclaim, hands squeezing at your tits, “Joel, I’m-” You let out a high-pitched squeal, muscles clenching around his fingers, “Gonna come.”
He doesn’t bother to respond to you, just carries on exactly as he is until you’re literally screaming his name into the room. You push down onto his fingers and finally feel that tight rope snap inside of you, pleasure bursting at the base of your spine, throttling through the rest of your body like wildfire. You’re half aware of the fact you’re soaking the sheets as you continue to writhe your hips against his mouth. He’s pulling away from you, slipping his fingers from you, chuckling in that way that he does when he’s proud of himself.
“Fuckin’ love when you squirt for me, pretty girl,” He growls against the skin of your tummy as he trails his mouth back up your body, he’s pushing the two fingers he had inside you past your lips when he’s level with your face, smirking as you clean yourself off him, “Gonna let me fuck you now?” He asks, you moan in response around his fingers, “Gonna fuck you so good, pretty girl, give you all the babies you want.”
He pulls back enough to drag his shirt over his head, throwing it somewhere behind him, pushing his own sweatpants down his legs, kicking them off to the bottom of the bed, letting his throbbing cock free. He’s settling between your thighs, your own hand reaching down to grip him, guiding him to your aching cunt. He swats your hand away, hands gripping the headboard above you as he pushes into you.
You let out a gasp as he buries himself inside you to the hilt. He never fails to take your breath away when he’s inside you, slotting into you perfectly, stretching you just right. You’re so full of him, his body crowding over you from above as he starts dragging himself in and out of you. It’s rough, and it’s fast, he’s desperately trying to tell you that he’s sorry, that he’s built just for this, put on this earth to give you everything you wanted whilst making you feel good.
“I can’t,” Joel chokes out, “I can’t be gentle with you, pretty girl.”
You know, because he’s splitting you right open down the middle, both hands gripping the headboard as his hips slam into yours. He’s so fucking deep, his cock punching right into the depths of you. Your hands, settled on his sides, grind into his skin, nails digging in so hard you’re sure you’re going to puncture his skin, draw blood.
“D-don’t care Joel,” You manage to speak, before a particularly loud wail leaves your mouth, “Just… don’t fucking stop.”
And he doesn’t. Looking up at him, he’s like a man possessed. He’s fucking you so hard, so good, that you’re crying, tears of mixed pleasure and pain rolling down your cheeks as he tries to prove how sorry he really is, how much he regrets what he did, what he’s said. He was a fool to think he could get away with his attitude, and he will stay here, cock buried inside you for as long as he must to prove his remorse to you.
His low, rough grunts are mixing with your needy moans. He drops down, body pressed right to yours. He finds your hands at his sides, brings them up above your head, his fingers tangled in your own as his mouth bites and sucks at the skin of your neck, along your collarbone, leaving marks across your perfect skin, marking you as his own.
“You my good girl?” He rasps into your ear, breath hot against you as he uses his tongue to literally lick the salty tears from your face, “Cryin’ on my cock like a good girl, huh?”
“A-always Joel,” You mewl as he shifts your bodies slightly, his cock brushing against that spot inside you, making you cry out, “Always your good girl.”
“I know you are, pretty girl,” He grunts into your ear, “Mine, aren’t you?”
And you agree, because fuck it, you are. You are his. You’ve been his since the first time he knelt between your legs and asked Tommy how you liked it. You might be Tommy’s girl first, but you’re just as much Joel’s as you are Tommy’s. They both lay claim to you, both own you in some way, and you’re perfectly okay with that.
“Fuck, Joel,” You hiss quietly, turning your head so your cheek is pressed against his where he’s settled his face in the crook of his neck, “Please,” You beg, “Please come inside me.”
“You want me to fill you up, mama?” He asks, hips still bruising against yours, the slap of his skin on yours, the wet squelch of your pussy around him filling the room.
“Give me my baby, daddy,” You almost whisper to him, hands squeezing his where they’re still entwined above your head, “Let go for me, Joel.”
He pulls out of you abruptly, manhandling you with a roughness you’re not used to so you’re on your front. His hands pull at your hips, angling your ass up for him as he’s pounding straight back into you. He’s gathered your hands at the small of your back, your face pressed into the mattress. This new angle mean’s he’s driving into you in a completely different way as before, and you have to push your face further into the sheets, so your screams are muffled. Joel doesn’t like that though, his drags his fingers through your hair, fisting it tightly, pulling you up, so your screams of pleasure are echoing around the room.
“Don’t you dare,” He growls, “Don’t you dare hide these sounds from me, pretty girl.”
This angle is new. Your hands are gathered in one of his at your back, his other hand tangled in your hair means you’re arched off the bed for him, and you think if you could reach a hand down, you’d be able to feel him in your stomach he’s so fucking deep inside you.
It happens all of a sudden, he’s so fucking still, but you can feel him pouring himself into you, you can hear him spitting your name and a string of profanities as he lets go of the tight grip he has on your hair. He’s buried so deep inside you, his front draped over your back, the entire weight of him on your body, but he’s trying to push himself deeper into you, trying to get what he’s just planted inside of you to take. He’s just as desperate as you are for this, to see you swell with his baby again.
Once his brain is working again, he slips from inside of you, collapsing onto the bed on his back, dragging you with him. He pulls you so close, his thighs spread wide so your body fits between them, your front pressed against his as you drape you entire self on him. He grabs your hands, bringing the wrists he was just gripping to his lips, kissing softly at the skin to soothe you.
“Too much?” He mumbles into the top of your head, his chest heaving against yours as you both try and catch your breath.
“Just enough.” You mumble back into the sweat-soaked skin of his chest.
It’s silent for a moment, both of you drifting in a haze of pleasure and exhaustion, but he speaks again as he wraps those arms around you, anchoring you right where you are, “I will spend the rest of my life proving how sorry I am to you.”
“I believe you,” You muse, “I will always believe you.”
And that’s how you both fall asleep, his arms cradling you to his body. He wishes that he could freeze time, enjoy this for longer than the few seconds he has before you fall asleep. He’s sick of your time always running out, of that ticking clock counting down to the unknown. He has no idea what’s going to happen once this weekend is over. Has no idea what you’re going to say to Tommy, what you’re going to propose to him. He’s never been good at relinquishing control, especially when he can’t for the life of him tell what’s going to happen. But, if there’s one thing he does know, it’s that what he said to you last night is true. That he trusts you with his life, and he will follow you blindly into whatever abyss you’re going to drag him into.
Pairings: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Female Reader
Summary: Hours past curfew, you sneak your way through the alleyways of the Boston QZ. You haven’t seen Joel Miller in months but you have nowhere else to go.
CW: Alcohol abuse, mentions of drug use, unplanned pregnancy, canon typical violence
Welcome to my first ever Joel Miller fic! I’ve been lusting after some amazing TLOU fanfiction for quite some time and definitely had to get over imposter syndrome before tossing this out into the world. Special thanks to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for being a menace in my comments and encouraging me 💜
Master List
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You wrap the flaps of your threadbare coat around you as you slink through the familiar dark alleyways. The zipper had broken a month ago and your shoddy button job was destroyed after nearly being torn apart by infected outside the QZ last week. Supplies are low this winter and there’s nothing for it but accepting what you have and just dealing with it. The cold biting through your thin clothing was nothing compared to the dread you felt in your heart.
How did this happen? How the fuck could you let this happen?
Ducking behind the familiar blockades to avoid the night patrols, you swallow down the shame and regret. Like your meager possessions, they’re just a part of you now, leading you toward the one person in the QZ you’ve been avoiding for almost three months.
Joel Miller.
The man that saved your life more times than you could count. The man that taught you how to set traps and look for animal tracks. The man who taught you how to draw others in so you and yours could survive on their leftovers. The man who called you sweet girl, even after the terrible things you’d done. His brother, Tommy, never understood Joel’s methods and motivations. You did.
Your heart is in your throat as you remove the loose slab that seemingly closes up the basement window of the five story apartment building. You place it back, careful to make as little noise as possible. The backway to their apartment is familiar. You’d taken it enough times with the Miller brothers that you could find it with your eyes closed. Stay low on the main level, avoid the windows. Up three flights of stairs. Knock five times. You hear shuffling and a grumble.
“Yeah?” a gruff voice asks. You’d know that voice anywhere. You see the shadows of his legs through the bottom of the door.
“Joel. It’s me.”
The door is unlocked and open before you can say anything else. Joel takes you in, eyebrows raised. You can only imagine how you look. Pale, thin, and frozen.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks incredulously as you push your way inside. “It’s three hours after curfew!”
Your hands are shaking and you feel sick. That raw, tender thing that you thought had died when the world fell is bare and vulnerable. Joel narrows his eyes at you, looking you up and down. He says your name, calm and direct. It’s surprising how steadying that small thing can be after going so long without seeing him.
“I’m pregnant,” you whisper, holding your breath so you don’t sob or vomit all over their… his living room floor.
Joel blinks, eyes roaming slowly down to your still flat belly and back up to your face again. His hands clench and unclench at his sides as he silently stares at you.
“What did you just say?” he asks, voice dangerously low.
He remains so still but you can sense the rage beginning to simmer underneath his sharp and hardened exterior. A whimper escapes your lips when you try to answer and you cover your mouth with both hands as your body bends, folding in on itself. Your knees hit the floor with a crack that has Joel moving quickly toward you and gently touching your shoulders with his large, warm hands.
“Joel I… I don’t… I can’t…” you sob, chest burning as you tried to just fucking breathe…
He sinks on his knees in front of you, wincing only slightly. His eyes never leave yours as his strong hands rub soothingly up and down your arms.
“Breathe, sweet girl,” he says lowly, mouth so close that you can feel his exhale on your lips. “In and out with me. There ya go. That’s it.”
You inhale as deeply as you can, feeling the iron crackle of your lungs as they try to expand beyond your panic. Exhaling, you grasp at Joel and curl your fingers in the flannel fabric that’s rolled at his elbows. His own hands still on your arms, thumbs still moving in soft soothing circles.
“Good girl, that’s it. Nice and slow.”
Tears flow freely down your face and you can’t bring yourself to care. Your heart clenches at the thought of what the future might hold for you and another sob escapes you. You can’t do this. You can’t. You might as well have been eaten alive by infected for all the good surviving did you.
Something shifts in Joel, then. His normally stern face and cold eyes turning soft, the small bit of humanity you knew was left inside him shining through as he takes your face gently in his hands. Your lower lip trembles as he wipes your tears away with his thumbs, eyes moving over your face until he slowly pulls you closer.
“C’mere, sweet girl,” he says, sighing as you bury your face in his chest and sob uncontrollably.
Large, calloused hands roam your back as your own comparably small ones cling to his. He’s talking to you but you can barely make out the words he’s mumbling as he holds you. You feel his breath on your ear as he moves his lips to kiss your temple, one of his hands cradling the back of your head as you slowly settle under his touch. It could have been ten minutes or an hour for all you knew.
“What am I gonna do, Joel?” you ask finally, voice small and muffled in his shirt.
He sighs, pulling your face back to meet your eyes. His face is stern again but you can still see the soft glimmer of light in his eyes as he looks at you.
“I dunno, sweetheart,” he says finally, thumb soothing the apple of your cheek.
You just nod, knowing there’s nothing to be done. There’s no use in him lying to you, as much as it would comfort you. You wipe your nose on the back of your sleeve, grimacing at the mess it leaves on the tattered material. Standing up, you wrap your arms around yourself again, shoulders slumped.
“I’m sorry for bothering you, I…”
You can’t look at Joel. You can’t bear to see the anger and disappointment in his face. He moves toward you but you back away, closer to the door. The authority in the way he says your name this time makes you jump.
“Where the hell do ya think you’re going?” he asks, moving between the door and you. “You wanna get caught outside curfew by fucking FEDRA? Earn the both of us a nice vacation in a dirty cell, or worse?”
Something sharp and angry inside you snaps.
“Considering I’m the only one who hasn’t gotten picked up at all since we came to Boston you can fuck right off.”
“Really? That’s what you want me to do?”
“It’s what you Miller boys do best right?” you snap, heart jumping as Joel flinches.
It was a low blow and you regret it immediately. Joel inhales sharply and waves to the door as he moves to the kitchen.
“You wanna leave? Be my guest,” he growls, pulling an unlabeled bottle of liquor and a glass from a cabinet before sitting at the small, rickety dining table.
For the first time Joel looks small to you, sitting alone and hunched as he pours his preferred method of oblivion into the tumbler. The smell of whiskey hits your nose, the familiar scent an odd comfort. You slowly move toward him, sinking down into the seat opposite him. The chair that belonged to the man you both are mourning. Joel’s fingers are tapping on the side of his glass.
“I’m sorry,” you all but whisper.
Joel works his jaw but avoids responding by taking a large drink of the amber liquid. He takes a deep breath and then exhales, shaking his head.
“You’re staying here tonight,” he says roughly.
He’s staring you down, daring you to argue with him. You don’t. You can’t. He’s right.
“I appreciate it,” you say mildly, toying with the sleeves of your coat again. “Can I…”
Joel raises an eyebrow and takes another drink. You hate asking Joel for things, especially after the past few months of barely seeing him at all. Shame hits you as you realize you weren’t the only one Tommy abandoned.
“Can I please sleep on the couch?” you ask.
“I am not letting you sleep on the couch, sweet girl,” Joel scoffs. “You’re sleeping in the bed. S’not like you haven’t practically lived here since we came to Boston.”
You swallow, not meeting his eyes.
“I don’t… I don’t want to sleep in our room. His room. Please.”
A large hand placed itself over your fidgeting fingers and squeezes. Your eyes meet his look of understanding.
“Take my bed tonight. Tomorrow we’ll see what’s to do, okay?”
“We?” you ask, your fingers slightly threading themselves through his on the table.
His thumb briefly runs over the back of your hand before he disentangles himself. He sniffs out another derisive laugh, shaking his head as he goes to ready his bed for you.
“Yes, we. You don’t have to do this alone, sweetheart.”
Tears threaten to spill over again at his words and you try to breathe evenly to control them. The constant tears were one of the first signs that you’d noticed. That and the fact that your breasts were so tender you’ve had to avoid sleeping on your stomach. You listen as Joel changes the sheets on his bed and pulls clean blankets from his trunk.
“Alright, you should be set. If you need anything just let me know,” Joel says, exiting his room.
“Thank you,” you reply and he nods. “Joel? Do you… where’s Tommy?”
The combination of Joel tensing up and exhaling is an interesting one. He’s not a man who wears his emotions on his sleeve like his brother.
“I wish I could tell ya, sweet girl. When he left we… well it could’ve gone better.”
You snort, trying to imagine the two brothers getting through that separation without punches and insults being thrown. Definitely impossible. Your own conversation with Tommy hadn’t gone much better.
“But… you know where he went right? With the Fireflies?”
Joel just looks at you, shaking his head. You know you sound hopeful. Maybe even naive. After all, you’re the one who chose to stay in Boston. This is all your fucking fault and now you’re dragging Joel into your shit. You already owed him too much.
“Sweetheart, he hasn’t contacted me in months. He’s not with the same group he left with.”
Your stomach drops and you stare at him.
“So… so we can’t even tell him? I…”
Joel moves and kneels in front of you, clasping your hands in his again.
“I’ll do everything I can to find him. I owe him an ass kicking for a few other things so this is just more incentive,” he jokes, earning a small sniffled laugh from you. He squeezes your hands again. “You’re not alone, sweet girl. I promise.”
———
Joel drains his third glass of the night as he stands in his bedroom doorway, watching you. Your small frame is curled in on itself, buried in the extra blankets he’d grabbed from his trunk. He’d never call you fragile. Joel knew better than anyone that your smaller frame boasted a feisty and, at times, lethal woman who would do anything to protect those she cared about.
The sight of you when he’d opened his door felt like a punch to the chest. It was as if the shell of you had wandered back to him, lost and vulnerable. Joel sighs, fist clenching around his glass as he heads toward the kitchen. He has no pills and damn did he crave them tonight. He wouldn’t have taken them though, not with you here.
Sitting down on the couch, Joel leans his head back and closes his eyes. He cannot fucking believe this. The relief at seeing you on his doorstep immediately gives way to anxiety as he starts to plan next steps. Find Tommy, if he can. Keep you safe. Gather everything you might need. Avoid FEDRA. Keep you alive.
The hurt and anger Joel feels toward Tommy flares bright, bitterness continuing to grow. Fuck Tommy and his hero complex. Fuck him for leaving you.
Familiar regret washes over him, all those “what if’s” playing in his head on repeat. What if he’d tried harder, begged Tommy to stay? What if he didn’t let you leave, found you before you disappeared into the QZ? What if he’d ignored his fear and told you how he felt all those years ago?
What if…
The comforting haze of alcohol gently rocks Joel to sleep as he slumps over on the couch.
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Thank you so much for reading! If you’d like more of this story please let me know! 💜
Edit: the readers have spoken! My Brother’s Keeper will be returning with more chapters.
This is for the Enemies to Lovers Angsty Joel ask. I was thinking a new reader with show Canon Joel? But if that’s too much work and it works better with Lavender Joel and doc that’s fine too!!
aaa thank you so much for responding!!
OMG HI BESTIE!
Thank you so much for the ask and for being patient! I hope this fits with what you're looking for. Thank you for reading and reaching out! Love you!!!
(This ask came in from @dundienominee and they're tagged with permission HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOVE!!!)
Loathe/Lust
You have every reason to hate Joel fucking Miller. He knows it. It doesn't stop him from coming to you for help.
Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader
Warnings: Legal age gap (reader is 27 and has known Joel since she was 25, Joel is 46.) SMUT :D Canon typical violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only.
Length: 7.4k
Spring, 2013
At the end of the world, there were very few constants.
One, you were fucking tired of jerky.
Two, there was never a shortage of people who needed healing.
Three, you hated Joel fucking Miller.
Everything else could shift and change but those things were facts.
Jerky was a staple of every meal because, with QZ food, there was no such thing as fresh. There was often no such thing as enough, either, but fuck were you tired of jerky.
And QZ life wasn’t easy on anybody. People needed a lot of patching up here. You’d come up through FEDRA school, 17 and a junior in high school when the outbreak happened. You were tapped early for your aptitude for biology and taught the very basics for helping to keep people alive. You didn’t know much about the world before, you’d been a teenager when things went to shit, but you knew what they taught you barely qualified as medicine. Still, you did everything you could to help people. It was nice, having purpose in this shitty life.
Then there was Joel. Joel fucking Miller. Joel fucking Miller, drug smuggler. Joel fucking Miller, guy who got your brother mixed up in his stupid illegal activities. Joel fucking Miller, the man who introduced your brother to fucking Marlene. Joel fucking Miller, the person you really blamed for your idiot brother taking off across the country to help the goddamn Fireflies as though there was a single fucking thing people could do to fix this disaster, to bring down FEDRA. Without Joel fucking Miller, Nathan never would have gotten hooked on drugs to begin with, never would have been vulnerable, never would have fallen for Marlene’s bullshit.
If it wasn’t for Joel fucking Miller, you wouldn’t be here, alone.
But you were.
And you hated him for it.
And he knew that you hated him for it.
Which is why it was a hell of a shock when there was a knock on your door late one Thursday night, just before curfew, and Joel was there, grimacing and panting for breath.
You narrowed your eyes at him.
“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” you snapped, almost slamming the door on him. He threw his hand out and caught it before you could, his thick fingers closing around the edge of it.
“Not any happier about this than you are, Brat,” he spoke through clenched teeth, using the nickname your brother always called you. The name he’d called you for 22 years before he went across the country because of Joel fucking Miller. “But I don’t exactly got another choice.”
He adjusted his leg so you could see it in the light. A knife was embedded there, right where his femoral artery would be.
“Shit,” you muttered.
“Can’t exactly go to the clinic with this,” he said. “But you’re dumb enough to take that fuckin’ doctor’s oath seriously so…”
“Calling me dumb probably isn’t the smartest move when you want me to save your goddamn life,” you glared at him.
“I ain’t wrong.”
“Fuck you,” you sighed, opening your door wide and stepping out of the way. He limped inside, going for the couch. “Don’t even think about it, asshole. Kitchen table, if I’ve got to clean your blood off my floor I’m not trying to get it out of the fucking carpet.”
He grimaced but obeyed, heading for the table and sitting down heavily in one of your mismatched wooden chairs. You went to collect what you’d need to - hopefully - keep him from fucking dying in your apartment and came back, propping his injured leg up on another chair before pulling a third one up alongside him. You put a towel down below him and took your scissors and cut his jeans, exposing his leg where the knife was sticking out.
“At least you weren’t dumb enough to pull it out,” you muttered, examining the wound. “Know how big the knife is?”
“Big,” Joel said wryly.
You glared at him.
“I meant in inches. Not that you men can judge inches worth a damn…”
“I can,” he said. “And it’s about 8 inches. Trust me, I know.”
You rolled your eyes. Of course he did.
“Alright,” you said, actually meeting his gaze. His eyes were oddly gentle, a softness to them that made your heart ache a little when you looked at him too long. “I’m going to do what I can here and I have my shit set up and ready to go but if this thing shredded your femoral artery, you’re going to bleed out and die in just a few minutes and there won’t be a goddamn thing I can do about it. I’m as prepared as I can be for a heavy bleed but if you’re really fucked you’d need someone to take a blood vessel from one part of your body and use it to patch the femoral and it should go without saying that I can’t do that in my fucking kitchen. I could put a tourniquet on you and try to get you to the clinic but…”
“FEDRA would just finish me off,” he nodded. “I get it.”
You paused for a second, looking at him.
“I really will do everything I can,” you said, actually earnestly speaking to him for a change. You felt… bad for him. For Joel fucking Miller. You didn’t like the guy but you didn’t want him dead.
You pulled on gloves.
“Look, Brat, I know this is a win/win for you, alright?” He smirked a little. “Either I owe you or I’m dead and you don’t have to fuckin’ deal with me anymore. Promise I won’t haunt you if I finally got myself killed, OK?”
You nodded and tried to wrap your head around the idea that Joel fucking Miller might be dead at your kitchen table in a few minutes.
“Anything you want me to tell people if…”
“Don’t have much I’m leavin’ behind,” he said, actually serious now. You weren’t sure you’d ever heard him be serious before. He sighed. “Been fine with dyin’ for a while. About time it caught up with me. Just tell Tess and Tommy I’m sorry for fuckin’ ‘em over. Sorry to you, too, for draggin’ you into it. Don’t have anyone else.”
You nodded again. Why was Joel making you feel bad for him? Making you think of him like a person instead of some asshole now? When it’d be on you to keep his stupid ass alive?
“Right.”
You cracked your neck and loosened your body up before putting a hand on his bare thigh. His skin was warm and soft, his leg muscled and thick.
“This is going to hurt like a bitch,” you warned him. “But you need to stay completely still, otherwise something that wasn’t already fucked up might get fucked up. I’ve got to pull the blade out as straight as I can, try to get it to go the same path it went in, OK?”
“OK,” he nodded, his large hands going to the base of his thigh, like he was going to hold himself still. He looked at you again. “Meant what I said. It’s really… it’s alright if it kills me, OK? Don’t want you to feel like shit if it does. Not your fault.”
“Yeah, I’d hardly feel like shit for taking you out, Miller,” you rolled your eyes even though the idea of him dying mad your stomach turn. Maybe it was because it would be on your shoulders and you didn’t want anyone to die because of you. Even Joel fucking Miller, the man you hated more than anyone else. The thought that part of him wanted to die made your chest tight. You took a deep breath. “Here we go.”
You pulled the knife out as quickly as you could while also holding it steady - which, as it happens, wasn’t all that quick. Joel hissed in pain but, to his credit, didn’t move.
There was a fair bit of blood once the blade was freed but it wasn’t a full-blown arterial bleed. You breathed a sigh of relief.
“Good news, you’re not going to bleed out on my kitchen floor,” you set the knife down and grabbing gauze, putting pressure on the wound. “You missed your femoral artery. I still need to get this bleeding to slow down before I can stitch you up and you’ll need to take it easy for a bit but you’ll be fine.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” he smirked a little but still. He looked relieved.
“You’re a constant disappointment so I’m used to it.”
He snorted and relaxed back into his seat, crossing his arms, watching you hold the gauze to his leg. His bare, strong leg. You swallowed.
“Hear from your brother at all?” He asked.
You looked up at him, eyes narrowed.
“Every now and then.”
“He doin’ OK?”
“Fine, from what I can tell,” you replied. “Doesn’t have anyone giving him a steady stream of fucking drugs which I’m sure helps.”
He shrugged.
“Demand is demand, Brat,” he said. “Don’t blame the supply.”
“Want me to go back in and cut your femoral artery?” You snapped. “Because I can make that happen.”
“Honey, I don’t think you could cut the femoral artery of someone who was tryin’ to kill you if you had the chance,” he smirked. “Not gonna do it to me. You should work on that.”
You just rolled your eyes and changed out the gauze.
“In just a second I’m going to get to stab you over and over with a needle,” you looked up at him through your eyelashes. “Think I’ll see just how close together I can get these stitches. Can’t wait.”
It didn’t take long for the bleeding to slow and you did, indeed, stab Joel fucking Miller 20 times in the leg with a needle.
“There,” you said, looking over your handiwork. “Looks like you’ll live to ruin lives another day.”
“Livin’ the dream,” there was a hint of bitterness in his voice. You set the needle down and took off your gloves before getting up.
“Alright, you’re not going home tonight,” you said, squatting down so your shoulder was tucked into his underarm. “It’s after curfew, anyway, and I’m not about to let you waste all the trouble I just went through by getting picked up by fucking FEDRA. I’m moving you to the couch and going to set you up so that leg is elevated. You can go home in the morning.”
He nodded and shifted in his chair until part of his weight was on you. He was big, bigger than you really realized, his weight more substantial than you’d expected. He was so broad. You hadn’t been close to him before, had never realized it. He sat heavily on the couch and he hefted his injured leg up as you grabbed some towels to stack below his ankle.
“Comfortable?” You asked, hands on your hips.
“Think there might be a pea under one of these cushions…” You flipped him off with a roll of your eyes. He smiled. “I’m good. Thank you. For… well, all of it. Appreciate it.”
“Yeah well,” you shrugged. “I’ll work on that so next time I can finish you off.”
He smirked.
“Whatever you say, Brat.”
You woke up early but Joel was already gone.
You didn’t see him again until he showed up at your door almost a week later, not long after you got home from a shift at the clinic.
“Who’d you piss off this time?” You asked.
“Just you.”
He held out a book and you frowned and took it. It was Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.
“What…”
“Saw you had some of her on your bookshelf there,” he nodded toward it. “But didn’t see that one and it’s the only one I’d fuckin’ heard of… Anyway. Thought you’d like it.”
“I do but…” you turned the book over in your hands. It was a nice copy, with a cloth cover and a ribbon bookmark. It would have cost a small fortune on the black market. You looked up at him. “Why are you giving me this?”
He shrugged.
“Saw it, thought of you. Wanted to say thanks for not killin’ me.”
“You really don’t…”
“I know.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “See you around, Brat.”
He left while you were still staring at the book.
It was three months before he was back at your door again. You’d read Pride and Prejudice twice since then, disappearing into the story, reluctantly thankful to Joel fucking Miller for the best escape you’d had from the QZ in years.
This time, it was after curfew and he was clutching his arm, soaking wet as it poured rain outside. You just sighed and wordlessly opened your door.
He came in and sat at your kitchen table while you grabbed towels and gave him one.
“Don’t have a knife lodged in there do you?” You asked, grabbing your stash of medical supplies.
“Not this time,” he dried his face and roughly pressed the towel to his hair. “But it’s a nasty cut that hasn’t stopped bleedin’, think I need stitches.”
“Can you take the shirt off?” You asked, going to the kitchen to wash your hands throughly.
“Think so,” he called after you.
You stopped in your tracks when you turned around. The shirt was off and Joel was… fucking beautiful. His chest and arms and shoulders were broad and sculpted, his stomach a little softer and inviting. You wanted to touch him, not as someone treating him but as someone experiencing him, enjoying him. You shook yourself mentally.
He was Joel fucking Miller. You were not going to get turned on by Joel fucking Miller.
“You just love giving me an excuse to stab you repeatedly don’t you?” You said, sitting in the char beside him and pulling on gloves.
“Figured you’d be bored,” he smirked. “Got a big knife if you want to try to take me out this time…”
He nodded to his belt and you looked down instinctively. He did, indeed, have a large knife strapped to his side. You rolled your eyes.
“Sit still while I do this,” you demanded.
“Yes ma’am.”
You disinfected and cleaned the wound before you started stitching it. You could hear Joel grimacing as you did and you tried to ignore just how good his damn arm looked as you worked on it.
“How’s Nathan?” He asked after a minute. You looked away from his wound to glare at him. “What?”
“He’s not here,” you snapped. “You can’t get him involved in your shit, can’t get him running drugs for you again, can’t get him putting his life on the line to feed his damn addiction, you can’t take advantage of his weakness so you can make more goddamn ration cards! So stop fucking asking!”
He was quiet and you went back to stitching.
“S’not why I ask,” he said after a moment.
“Then why do you?” You kept your eyes on your work this time.
“I’m not the one who got him hooked on that shit, you know,” he said, ignoring your question. You scoffed. “It’s true, I’m not. He was hooked well before I met the guy…”
“And how’d that happen?” You asked, harsher than you really meant to be.
“His dealer was a piece of shit,” Joel said. “Asshole named Robert. He knows who’s most vulnerable, who’s desperate, who he can overcharge and drive into debt. Nathan owed him money. A lot of fuckin’ money. He didn’t have it and Robert wasn’t too happy about that. So… I intervened.”
“Intervened?”
Joel shrugged and you glared at him, needle in your fingers.
“Sorry,” he said. “But… Robert’s an asshole but he’s smart enough to know that I’d fuck up him and his guys. So, I made him back off. But Nathan still needed the drugs so…”
“So he took up with you,” you finished for him, making the last stitch and tying it off. You cut the thread and sat back in your chair.
“Somethin’ like that,” Joel said, titling his arm to look at your work. “Wasn’t tryin’ to get him into trouble. Was tryin’ to keep him out of it. Seemed like a good kid. Didn’t deserve to get killed because some asshole was takin’ advantage.”
“And you expect me to believe you?”
“Not really,” he shrugged. “But still. You deserved to know. And I do hope your brother’s doin’ OK. I know you think I’m bad news but the Fireflies ain’t exactly the Girl Scouts.”
“Well, nothing is anymore, right?” You took off the gloves and started cleaning up. “Sit tight, I’ll find you a shirt. It’s after curfew because apparently you can’t piss people off at a reasonable time. You can take the couch again.”
“See, Brat, it’s all part of my plan,” he smirked. “Come here too late for you to send me home so I can sleep on your strangely comfortable couch…”
You rolled your eyes and found a shirt your ex-boyfriend had abandoned at your place when you’d broken up. You handed it to him and he went to the couch, not needing your help this time.
“Try not to sleep on the side with the stitches,” you said. “That should go without saying but…”
“But you think I’m an idiot?” He asked, brows raised, a hint of a smile on his lips.
“Something like that,” you said, turning to to go bed yourself. But you paused, doubling back. He’d settled back in on the couch, his uninjured arm behind his head. He frowned at you, questioningly. “Thanks. For the book, I mean. Hadn’t read Pride and Prejudice since before the outbreak but it was nice, reading it again. Though I think I’d rather you owe me a favor than get the book…”
“Still owe you the favor,” he said and then looked at the spot on his arm where the stitches were. “Two, now.”
You smiled a little. At Joel fucking Miller.
“Good to know.”
He was gone by morning.
The next time you were able to talk to Nathan via radio, you asked how he’d meet Joel. You asked about Robert.
“Oh yeah,” he said, as though this should have been obvious to you. “Think I owe that guy my life, honestly…”
“He was selling you drugs that could have killed you, Nathan,” you wished he were about 2,000 miles closer so you could grab him and shake him.
“It’s all relative,” he said. “He sure as shit didn’t do to me what Robert did, I’ll say that.”
Joel fucking Miller.
What if your brother was only alive because of Joel fucking Miller?
It was two months before you saw him again.
This time, it was at the clinic. He was sitting in one of the small triage areas, just a curtain around the bed and you sighed when you saw him. He smirked.
“What’d you do now?” You asked, looking down at the chart.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m here to lie about symptoms so you’ll give me antibiotics to take back to Tommy. Think an injury of his got infected outside. Don’t want anyone lookin’ to closely at it.”
“Jesus, Miller,” you sighed. “Alright, what symptoms do you supposedly have?”
He rattled them off and you nodded along before sighing again.
“Let me get you antibiotics,” you said. “It’s a miracle none of you have fucking died, you realize that.”
“And I’m sure that’s a big disappointment for you,” he smirked.
“Every goddamn day.”
You went to the medicine cupboard and unlocked it, grabbing the pills you needed before closing it again when a strong hand grabbed your shoulder and ripped you around, so fast it made your head spin. You recognized the man standing so close to you that you could smell him. He’d been in the clinic a few times over the last few weeks, always complaining of pain. Everyone turned him away for drug seeking behavior but you could tell, the last time he was here, that he was getting desperate.
“Look you little bitch,” his large hand went for your throat before you had a chance to even fully realize what was happening, your eyes going wide. He thrust you back against the cabinet with a thud, knocking your head against it so hard that you felt your brain rattle in your skull. You dropped the bottle in your hand and it clattered to the ground as you instinctively clawed at his hand. He tightened his grip. “I’ve tried being nice, I’ve tried asking. You’re going to give me what I fucking need or I’ll kill you and get it from someone else, understand?”
He squeezed tighter, your vision starting to get spotty. You couldn’t breathe and it’s not like you’d taken a deep breath before diving in the deep end of your parents’ pool. You wouldn’t last long without being able to breathe. Panic flared, acute and sharp, and your body scrambled to fight, to kick and scratch and punch to get a breath but it wasn’t working, he wasn’t letting you go. Your head was getting light and your vision was already narrowing when, suddenly the hand disappeared.
You collapsed to the ground, coughing and gasping for air and looked up to see Joel on top of the man, a knee in his chest as he brought his fist down on his face again and again and again. The man tried to get his hands up to protect his face, then tried to land a hit on Joel but neither worked. Joel was almost eerily quiet as he pummeled the man, grunting with every blow, an almost unhinged look on his face.
“Joel!” You tried to yell for him as you pushed yourself to your hands and knees. Your body felt so weak compared to just a few minutes before. You couldn’t really talk, an unfamiliar, raspy sound the only thing that left you. You tried again, anyway. “Joel!”
You managed to make it to your feet and caught Joel’s elbow as he pulled it back one more time and he stopped, turning to look at you with that mad look on his face but it vanished the second he saw you. He dropped his arms, panting for breath, his eyes running over your face and neck. You pulled him back from the man as a nurse ran over to start examining Joel’s victim.
One of your hands went to your throat, cradling it gently and feeling for damage and you pointed to the pill bottle with the other one.
“Should get out of here,” you managed, though it sounded more like a garbled mess than actual words. But he seemed to understand. He picked up the bottle and gave you a last, lingering look before leaving the clinic.
One of doctors looked you over and said you’d be fine eventually, you just needed to rest. They offered you some pain pills - the same ones Nathan had been hooked on, the same ones the man today had been willing to kill you for - and you turned them down, just trudging home and collapsing on the couch when you got there.
It wasn’t the first time you’d been attacked. It was the end of the world, after all, it had happened a few times before. But it was the first time you had the feeling that you were about to die. Even when you’d been held at knife point for ration cards you’d had the feeling that everything was going to be fine. Yeah, you’d be short on some ration cards that day but you’d be fine.
Not this time.
You tried to relax, drifting in and out of consciousness on your couch, trying not to think of the man with his hand around your throat. The way his fingers had bruised you, the way his palm had crushed into your windpipe. The ruddy tone of his skin, the desperate and angry look in his eyes, the stink of his sweat. It was all there, every time you closed your eyes and relaxed too much it was there.
You’d just drifted off again when there was a knock on your door. You groaned and forced yourself off the couch and opened the door, your hand cradling your throat. You were half expecting it to be a coworker, coming by to check in on you.
Instead, it was Joel.
“Don’t try n’talk if it’s gonna hurt your throat,” he said. You frowned a little at him. He had a canvas bag over one shoulder. “Can I come in?”
“Not going to try and finish the job right?” You asked, voice strained and scratchy.
He rolled his eyes.
“Move, Brat.”
You made a face but stepped aside, anyway. Joel went past you to your kitchen, put the bag on the counter and started rifling through your cabinets. You followed him, frowning.
“What…” your hand was still against your throat, voice raw.
“Will you go sit down?” He gave you a look over his shoulder before going back to sifting through your things. “Jesus Christ…”
You threw your hands up but obeyed, sitting at your kitchen table and watching as Joel finally found what he was looking for. A pot, apparently. He put it on your stove and turned it on before going into the bag and pulling out a jar that he emptied into the pot. He stirred it for a moment before going into your freezer and finding the ice. He put some handfuls into a towel and came to the table, pulling out a chair and moving it so it was right in front of yours. He sat down and was so close to you that his thigh slotted between yours and you just sat there, looking at him, eyes wide.
“Move your hand,” he nodded toward it and you realized you were still holding your neck. You obeyed and he gently took your chin in his large hand - his knuckles cut and bruised - adjusting your head so he could examine your throat. “Damn, Honey, he got you real good.”
“Yeah, well…”
“Hush,” he ordered. “Hold your head still.”
He released your chin and lightly trailed his callused fingers over your throat, his touch lingering over where you knew was probably damaged and bruised. He took the ice in the towel and pressed it delicately to your skin.
“See, you do know how to listen,” he said. “Even does you good every now and then.”
You scoffed but you took the ice bundle from him, your fingers brushing his as you did. He sat back a little, his eyes running over the rest of you, his leg still between yours, the other brushing the outside of your thigh.
“He get you anywhere else?” He asked eventually. You shook your head a little. Joel nodded. “Good.”
“Why are you here?” You asked, voice a little clearer than it had been the last time you spoke.
“You need to eat somethin’,” he said. “And I owed you.”
“Why don’t I get to pick the favors?” You glared at him.
“I’ll still owe ya,” he shook his head a little. “Dyin’ to know what you’d cash it in on.”
“You and me both.”
It didn’t take long for the soup he brought to be done and he poured you a bowl of it. He got you both glasses of beer, also from the bag he’d brought. Your eyes went a little wide at your first bite of soup.
“What?” He frowned.
“This is good,” you said, going back for another bite.
Joel laughed.
“Don’t act so surprised. I’m not totally useless.”
“How’s your hand?” You asked, looking at his knuckles. He flexed his fingers for a moment.
“Fine,” he shrugged. “Had worse.”
You considered him for a moment. He frowned.
“What.”
“Why’d you do it?”
His frown deepened.
“Do what?”
You rolled your eyes.
“Save me. And beat the shit out of that guy. You hate me. Why’d you do it? Was it just that you didn’t want to lose out on the person who will stitch you up in the middle of the night or…”
“Don’t hate you,” he said, taking a sip of beer.
You scoffed.
“You hate me,” you said, taking another bite of soup. The weirdly good soup. “I know you hate me.”
“How do you know I hate you.”
“Because I hate you,” you said, though you were starting to think that wasn’t true anymore.
“Yeah, noticed that,” he smirked a little.
“You call me brat…”
“Nate called you brat,” he replied. “And you are a brat. Seemed appropriate.”
“You’re never nice to me,” you said. “Well, except right now…”
“You’re never nice to me,” he shrugged. “Didn’t want to make your hatin’ me something that wasn’t fun for you, figured I should be mean back.”
“Hating you isn’t for fun you dick,” you glared at him.
“It’s not?” He looked a little amused by it all. “What’s it for then?”
“It’s for ruining my brother’s life!” You dropped the spoon into the bowl with a clatter and set the ice pack down with a little too much force. “For getting him mixed up in your fucking smuggling operation and getting him involved with the fucking Fireflies and making it so he left town and I’m just left here, alone! I’m alone, I have no one and nothing and it’s all your fucking fault!”
You weren’t entirely sure when you started crying but you were. The overwhelming, gasping, choking kind of crying that you had to fight to breathe through. You could feel it in your chest, the pressure of the tears building up behind your eyes, every pain you’d suffered the past year welling up and bursting free at once, all of it directed at Joel.
“Oh, Honey,” he leaned forward and gently took your face in his hand, drying your cheek with his thumb. His legs were on either side of yours. He delicately pulled you against him, your face going to his shoulder, his arms wrapping around you, cradling you securely against his broad body. “I’ve got you, it’s OK…”
You stayed against him like that for a long time. Longer than you wanted to admit to. But it felt nice to be there in Joel’s arms. You didn’t have anyone here, didn’t really have friends outside of work. Your ex-boyfriend had broken things off a few months back and the idea of dating again the QZ sounded hellish so you just hadn’t done it. Joel, in that moment, felt like someone you had. He was someone that made it so you weren’t totally alone.
After a while, you’d calmed a bit, your tears slowing and your breaths coming easier. You kept your face buried in Joel’s shoulder, shifting a little so your nose was pressing against his neck.
“You didn’t answer the question,” you said, voice thick and rough from the tears and your injury. “Why’d you save me?”
He sat back from you ever so slightly, his hands taking you by the shoulders and guiding you back up so you were looking him in the eye. You wiped your nose on the back of your hand.
“You might hate me but I never hated you,” he said, his eyes oddly soft and earnest. “Not once.”
“Joel,” you said quietly. His hand went from your shoulder to your cheek, his fingers threading into your hair. You were suddenly, acutely aware of how little distance there was between the two of you. It seemed like too much.
He slowly, cautiously moved closer to you, his eyes going from your own to your lips and back again but he stopped just short of kissing you. Like he was waiting for you to close the distance, asking your permission.
You gave it.
You pressed your mouth to his and it was delicate at first, your lips brushing his, feather light but electric. Then, Joel’s grip on you got stronger, his kiss growing firmer and more insistent, his tongue slipping into your mouth and tasting you. You let out a little moan, an ache growing between your legs.
Joel released your face and his hands traveled to your waist and he adjusted as he pulled you closer so that your legs went around him and you were suddenly in his lap. You could feel his hard length through his jeans and you realized that he hadn’t been joking about knowing the size of the knife. You groaned a little, grinding your hips down against him, and Joel moaned into your mouth, his hands sliding down and around your back, fingers spread wide over you.
“You sure about this?” He asked, peppering kisses along your jawline between words.
“Yes,” you panted, needy. “I want you…”
“Fuck, Honey,” he breathed. “No idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”
His mouth reached the damaged skin of your throat and he delicately kissed each bruise on your neck, his lips warm and soft. His fingers lightly traced your bruises.
“He still alive?” He pulled back from you enough to look up at you from your position on his lap. You draped your arms over his shoulders and nodded. He frowned. “Shoulda killed him for touchin’ you…”
“Not worth it,” you said, kissing him again, harder this time. His hands moved to your front, unbuttoning your shirt.
“Yes, you are,” he said, his mouth close enough that his lips brushed yours when he spoke. “Promise you, you are.”
He nudged your arms down and slid your shirt off, pulling away from you to look down at your half naked body.
“Fuck, Honey,” he groaned, his large hands coming to your stomach and spreading warm and wide against you, moving over you, skimming over your skin with his rough fingers. He pulled you tight to him as his hands went for your bra clasp, unhooking it as he pressed his lips to your shoulder. He took it off, too, his hands finding your breasts, cradling them in his large palms, his thick thumbs brushing your nipples. “Jesus Christ, got no right lookin’ this fuckin’ good…”
He kissed over the swell of flesh before he found your nipple, sucking it into his mouth, licking the tip with his tongue, making you moan, your back arching into him. He did the same to your other breast, his fingers sinking into the flesh of your back like he couldn’t get you close enough. When he released you, he looked up at you, panting and desperate.
“Lemme take you to bed,” his hands slipped down your back to your hips, pulling you down firmly against his hard cock. “Need inside you…”
You just nodded quickly and his hands moved to your ass, holding onto you from below as he stood with you in his arms. You let out a little yelp as he did before he carried you down the hall to your bedroom.
He lay you down so gently on the bed it was almost shocking, kissing you deeply as he did. You fumbled with his shirt until it was unbuttoned and you could slide it off his broad shoulders and cast it aside. Joel moved to your jeans, unbuttoning them and hooking his fingers around them and your panties, pulling them down your body together, crawling back and kissing down your body as he did.
“Oh Honey,” he said once your pants were on the floor and he was kneeling between your thighs. He was looking down at your dripping slit. He spread your legs a little wider, opening the core of you to his gaze, before he ran a single finger over your folds. He left it against your clit, giving it the gentlest pressure. “You’re so fuckin’ wet. You achin’ for me?”
“Fuck, yes,” you were practically squirming below him, your whole body raw and needy, the heat in you burning. “Please Joel…”
“Gonna make you come first, Honey,” his finger started working in slow circles, the pressure growing. “Make sure you’re ready for me. Get this pussy so fuckin’ wet for me.”
He sank a thick finger inside you, moving his thumb to your clit, and he moaned as you whimpered at his touch.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” the hand not working your pussy went to your lower stomach, his fingers spread out wide against your skin. “Jesus Christ, you feel incredible, fuckin’ incredible and that’s just my finger, fuck…”
He worked you harder and you rocked your hips against him, your hands going to your breasts and holding them, squeezing them.
“Holy shit,” he moaned at the sight. “Fuck, need you to come Honey, need you to come for me so I can get inside you, come on baby.” He added another finger and hooked them up into the softest part of your core, making your breath catch in your throat. You started tightening around him, the heat in you growing. “There she is, can feel it, come on Honey, come all over my fingers, you can do it. Come for me, don’t make me beg for it, baby, need you too fuckin’ bad…”
You came, gasping his name when you did, your hold on your breasts relaxing as your whole body throbbed with your release.
“Fuck, there we go,” he worked you through your orgasm, his fingers never stopping. “Doin’ so good coming on these fingers Honey, getting yourself all ready for my cock. Gonna take such good care of you, baby, promise I will.”
Your body went slack and he smiled and almost devilish smile, sliding his fingers from your body and sucking them clean before he opened his pants and took them off. He climbed between your legs, crawling up your pliant form, kissing a trail up your body until his lips were on yours and you could feel his thick length brushing your dripping core.
“What if I want you to?” You panted, your hands running over his bare back.
“Want me to what?” He asked.
“Beg for it.”
He smiled a little.
“Please Honey,” he whispered, his nose brushing yours before he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “Please, let me inside you. I’m past fuckin’ want you, baby, I’m past needing you. I swear not havin’ you is gonna fuckin’ kill me. I will beg you all damn night if you want, I’ll beg you all damn year if it’ll make you give yourself to me.”
You laughed softly, your fingers twisting in his hair as you pulled him closer.
“Guess you should fuck me then,” you smiled before you kissed him.
He felt as desperate and needy as he sounded, his thick head catching on your entrance before he pushed into you in one long, firm stroke. You gasped at the stretch of him, feeling every inch of his cock as he opened you to him, the tip of him finding a place inside you that you didn’t think anyone had reached before. You were so exquisitely full it was like your body had been holding space for him your whole life. It was something entirely new, so good you were almost happy the world ended just so you could find a feeling like this. You looked up at him, your eyes wide, wondering if he felt it too.
“Fuck,” he panted, holding himself within you as your body adjusted to taking him, his eyes searching yours. “Jesus Christ, I’ve never… fuck, Honey, I ain’t gonna last long, you feel too good, too goddamn good.”
“Joel,” you breathed. It was all you could think to say, every thought that wasn’t him gone from your head. Your pussy was already starting to tighten around him, just from the feel of his cock inside you. “Fuck, please…”
“You already about to come baby?” He asked as he started to move inside you, slow and heavy at first. You moaned and nodded quickly. He thrust into you, hard and firm. “Fuck, fuck, not gonna last when you come, can I come in you, need to come inside you, fuck Honey I need to come inside you.”
You just nodded again even though you weren’t on birth control and you sure as fuck didn’t know what was happening between the two of you outside of this bed and the fact that you knew this wouldn’t be a one time thing. It couldn’t be, not when he felt this good, like he’d been made to fuck you and you’d been made to take him into yourself. You wanted him to leave part of himself inside you, plant it deep so you could feel him there all warm and wet tomorrow.
With your nod, he started fucking you - really fucking you. His cock was so deep when he pushed into you you could feel the thick weight of him pressing up against your skin, like you’d be able to see him inside your body if there was enough space between the two of you to look. He pulled back almost totally, leaving just his head inside your grasping hole before fucking back into you, every stroke hard and desperate and your nails sank into his back as your hips rose up to meet his on every thrust. You never wanted him to leave your body, wanted him to make a home deep inside you so you could always be this full, this complete. His body worked your clit and your pussy got tighter and tighter around him, your head swimming with the pressure of it all, your body so needy it felt like you might burst.
“Want to come with you,” you whimpered. “Please, come for me Joel, I’m so fucking close, want you to come deep inside me, please…”
“Fuck Honey,” his thrusts stuttered and he groaned. “Gonna fill you up so good, leave this pussy so fuckin’ full of me, fill you up again and again…”
He thrust deep, so deep it almost hurt and you felt him start to pulse inside you. Your hands went to his lower back, pressing him impossibly deeper and you cried out as you came around him, your channel milking his cock, throbbing around him until there was nothing left inside him to give to you.
He collapsed on you as you went limp below him and he pressed a kiss to your shoulder as he panted for breath. He stayed inside you as his cock softened and you could feel him leaking out of you.
“Holy shit,” he said eventually, kissing your throat and then your chin and then your lips. He kissed you deeper as he slid out of you and lap beside you. You hesitated for a moment but he reached over and pulled you on top of him, so your head was on his chest and your legs were nestled between his own. His cock was wet against your skin and you liked it, the reminder that he’d just been inside of you. “Fuck, Honey…”
“Yeah,” you laughed a little. His hand went to your back, tracing up and down your spine.
“Still hate me?” You could hear Joel fucking Miller’s cocky smile on his voice.
“I will if you never fuck me again,” you kissed his chest.
He laughed.
“Don’t gotta worry about that. Even though you still found a way to be a brat during the best goddamn sex I’ve ever had.”
You smirked.
“Would it be the best sex you’ve ever had if I didn’t?”
“Guess not,” he said. “S’it OK if I stay the night? Think we got some shit to talk through but I ain’t got it in me to do it tonight.”
“If you insist,” you teased, pressing yourself a little tighter to him. He held you a little closer. “Night, asshole.”
You said it the way you’d say baby or love. You meant it that way, too.
He laughed a little.
“Night, Brat.”
His voice was soft, like it was when he called you honey. Something told you he meant it that way, too.
