Welcome to my recommendations! Below, please find fics sorted by main characters in The Last of Us including Joel Miller, Ellie Williams, Tommy Miller, Tess Servopoulos and more…
For each character, fics will be sorted by NSFW/SFW content, then series/one-shots. All will be tagged as pre/post outbreak.
Newly added fics are always marked with an '✨' - they will be removed between list updates to make way for new content!
PLEASE NOTE: There will be NO NSFW content featuring Ellie as a minor.
All NSFW content is 18+ ONLY. 🔞
Don't see your fav fics? SUBMIT THEM HERE.
NSFW
A Future Together by kteague (pre/post outbreak) [multi]
Breaking the Rules by theywhowriteandknowthings (pre-outbreak) [multi] ✨
Burn for Me by @psychedelic-ink (post outbreak) [one-shot]
Burning in a Hopeless Dream by tightjeansjavi (post outbreak) [multi]
Crave by @allfoolsinluv (no outbreak) [multi]
Exile by psychedelic-ink (post-outbreak) [one-shot] ✨
Feral by @ohraicodoll (post-outbreak) [multi]
Lost in the Darkness by softlyspector (no outbreak) [one-shot] ✨
Moment’s Silence by @nexusnyx (post-outbreak) [multi]
Punisher by beskarandblasters (pre/post-outbreak) [multi] ✨
September by @wheresarizona (post-outbreak) [multi]
Stay In Bed by @psychedelic-ink (pre-outbreak) [multi]
Strawberry Wine by @pedrito-friskito (pre + post outbreak) [multi]
Take Care of You by theidiotwhowritesthings (pre-outbreak) [multi] ✨
Text Me, Texas by @alt-vera (pre-outbreak) [one-shot]
Twenty Years Later by @yelena-bellova (post-outbreak) [multi]
SFW
Domesticity Looks Good on You by @girlscull (post-outbreak) [one-shot]
NSFW
Don’t You Dare Fall in Love by @ohcaptains (no outbreak) [one-shot]
SFW
Domesticity Looks Good on You by @girlscull (post-outbreak) [one-shot]
NSFW
Backseat of his Brother’s Car by @soulofapatrick (pre-outbreak) [one-shot]
I’ll Have Another by @wyn-n-tonic (pre-outbreak) [one-shot]
Stay In Bed by @psychedelic-ink (pre-outbreak) [multi]
SFW
NSFW
Crave by @allfoolsinluv (no outbreak) [multi]
Long, Long Time by @devnmon (post-outbreak) [one-shot]
The official preview for my new Joel series coming this week is under the cut !! im not sure how many chapters itll be but i have 5 planned so far and i will be posting a new one every week
Series summary: An affair with Joel in post-outbreak Jackson results in a pregnancy that neither of you are prepared for.
if u wanna be tagged lmk here or over DM
“You won’t tell anyone?”
“That ain’t nobody’s business but ours, baby”, he strokes your cheek with his thumb, looks you up and down for a moment, “It’s just between you and me”.
You slink down onto his lap, your legs resting on either side of his thick thighs, and his hand finds your waist again. Time is running out and you know you have to leave soon, as soon as possible really, but you need him somehow and you can’t pull yourself away.
“Isn’t it wrong?” you ask, knowing the answer,
He shrugs, doesn’t look even a bit bothered, and you know that after the last twenty years, being the side piece for a woman like you can’t be considered anything other than very, very right.
You stay quiet for a little while too, feeling the warmth of his touch, slowly winding your hips to find him already hard again in his jeans.
“Can I come back? On Friday?”, you wrap one of his curls around your finger, pull it taut for a second before letting go, and watch it spring back into place, “Jay has patrol again, so-”
“Whenever you want, sweetheart” he murmurs, and kisses you carefully, “I’ll write down my work schedule, door’s always open for ya”
summary: it’s that day again. you don’t know why joel’s so withdrawn, but you help him manage it in the best way you know how. based on 'cool about it' by boygenius.
warnings: angst angst angst, angsty smut (sorry), 18+, mdni, implied age gap (joel 50s, reader late 20s) grumpy & sad joel, drug use, alcohol use, oral (m receiving), p in v, creampie, shoulder kisses, pet names & slight praise, body worship kind of, feelings but also joel is bad at feelings, established...situationship. thing. pining (but don't tell them that). romance?? how dare you accuse them of such treachery
note: i am so sorry...this is pure unbridled self-indulgence. pls forgive me. also this is set in boston qz, reader and joel have a similar relationship to the one he has with tess, but she doesn't exist in this au (i'm so sorry). also i am kind of so proud of this one
It's been years since you met him, since you've begun to crack his otherwise hard exterior, helping him shed every icy layer to reveal the tired, aging man beneath it all. You've both gone to unbelievable lengths to protect one another against any trouble, or enemy, or plague, that has cast itself in your way. Each night concludes with your limbs tangled together, hands tucked safely within each other's reach. A promise, so quiet it's hardly binding—I've got you.
You've never defined exactly what it means when he calls you sweet pea, or when his lips drop a chaste kiss to your forehead in the morning, or when his hand lingers on your elbow a little longer than normal in the QZ. It never needed to mean anything, so the two of you never spoke about it. You belong to him; he belongs to you.
And yet, every year, on the exact same morning, Joel Miller wakes up a stranger to you. His eyes return to the icy dark depths that you met him with, and his hands find purchase in his pockets rather than absentmindedly rubbing circles on your skin. Every year, without fail, he retreats to his past, a place he won't ever let you see, despite your every wish.
i came prepared for absolution, if you'd only ask
A few years after you met him, you had tried asking him to explain, to let you into his head. It wasn't an attempt at intimacy, or a vulnerability that resembled anything that you hadn't seen from him before, but he'd done nothing more than shake his head.
"M'fine," he'd said. The entire day, every time you asked, no matter how softly, his answer remained unchanged. "Don't feel much like talkin'."
So instead of talking, you'd resorted to letting him come back to you on his own time, in his own way. With rough hands pushing you down to lay on your back, his eyes far away even as he brought you to the edges of bittersweet ecstasy. His kisses were always softer, more distracted. But it was the only communication you ever got out of him on those days.
When he rolled over at night, his hands curled into loose fists, you let him be. He never refused your touch, but you knew enough to recognize when it wouldn't come as any comfort to him. Not on those nights. Never on those nights.
The closest you'd get to falling asleep in his arms on those nights was with a hand placed purposefully between your chest and his back, just close enough that he might lean into it, should he shift in his sleep. And in those soft brushes of skin against cloth lay a million questions.
Forgive me, you'd begged inwardly one night. Forgive me for not understanding, and I'll forgive you for not sharing.
When the sun rose on a new morning, he was always back to the man you were used to, that you had grown dependent on. When his hands reached for you, and when his mouth painted swirls on your chest, you knew that it was out of want for you, not to distract himself from the ghosts of his own past.
He always praised your body's reaction to him, and you always relished in the way that his hips rocked against yours, stretching you out for him—tongue, fingers, his hard intrusion—on those mornings after.
You'd left it at that, for a year or two.
once i took your medication to know what it's like
He'd been resorting to more intense solutions when you decided to do it. When that day came as it always did, you watched as he drowned out the hours with whiskey and pills. You never knew where his supply came from or who was responsible for getting him his drug of choice; you could only sit idly by and watch his features droop from the effects of the dangerous combination, shuffling to your shared bed before he'd pass out until the sun rose on the next morning.
It only took three instances of this before you'd resolved to go through the day exactly as he would, as if it might help you understand. Perhaps it wasn't anything you were meant to understand, but you'd grown weary of seeing him motionless for hours on end. Usually, you never said anything. You didn't really believe he would take enough to cause any real damage; you were blindly faithful in his will to live.
"Joel," you'd said one year. That was all. One syllable, so familiar, and yet it bled with enough warning in your tone that he paused. Don't.
Glass raised, the rim already pressed to his lips—the lips of which you knew every crack and curve—pills already dissolving on his tongue, he'd paused. His eyes never looked at you, though. He sat there, frozen but for the whiskey sloshing gently in the glass before he resumed, swallowing the dark liquid in one go. With hardly a glance in your direction, he'd collapsed to the bed.
You didn't know exactly why you did it, or why it had been that year that you'd become fed up, but you couldn't ignore the fear that struck your chest when you saw him hit the mattress. Before you knew it, you'd swallowed the pills, scowling at the burn of whiskey down your throat.
It had never been your choice of liquor, but you braved the sting in your foolish hopes that it might tell you something about the gray-haired man in your bed. Like drinking his whiskey might envelope you in his arms and whisper his secrets to you.
Laying down beside him, you'd curled up to his side. He was already deep in his drugged slumber; he wouldn't be conscious enough to move from your touch. With a hand on his chest, poised over his heart to reassure yourself that he still had one, you closed your eyes and succumbed to the heavy press of sleep.
When he woke, saw your own empty glass and pill bottle left open on the table, he shook you until you startled awake. Eyes bleary, the effects of the drugs wearing off, you caught him staring down at you, his nose brushing your cheek and his lips a hair's breadth from touching yours.
"Don't ever fuckin' do that again, sweet pea," he snarled, but his words held no malice. You tried to ignore how big his eyes were, pupils blown wide.
You'd wanted to snap at him, to tell him the same thing, but you heard the desperate begging in his voice. The unspoken please. So rather than causing a scene, you'd nodded slowly and let your fingers brush the hem of his shirt. "Okay," you'd whispered. "I won't. Never again, Joel," you repeated, a mantra as you slipped your hands underneath his shirt.
Sliding his arms under your body and pulling you to him, he pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, then your cheeks, both of your eyelids. He finally bent to your lips, chasing the taste of you and finding only his own mistakes on your tongue.
The day had passed. He had survived. With the gentle lull of his hips slotting against your own, he had breathed shakily into your mouth as your hands wandered along his skin. Like clockwork, Joel Miller had returned to you, if only for a short while.
i ask you how you're doing, and i let you lie
One day, the pills ran out. The whiskey didn't do anything on its own, so Joel was stuck to find something else to distract him. Whether you were the one that flushed his pills or found who was supplying him, you'd never admit. It was much too close to a confession of something than either of you were comfortable with, so you'd stayed quiet. Helped him find a new vice.
These days, you've lost count of how many years you've seen him withdraw into himself, a shell of the man you know. You've stopped trying to follow where his mind goes when the sun rises on that early autumn day, and he's never made the attempt to explain. For just one day a year, the two of you are silent except for a few mumbled words. Your hands rarely touch on those days, always a few centimeters from each other as he sits at the table.
A reminder. That you're there, that he's there, and that the day will pass. It always does.
His new vice becomes you before long, and you can manage that. He's never particularly rough on those days, anyway; he just needs your body to distract his mind. It takes him a bit to sink into the comfort of your curves, but you always help him get there. Until he's twitching under your hands and letting his eyes flutter closed as you expertly undo his jeans.
You never make him fuck you when he's like this, but you're happy to oblige when he slips a hand between your thighs, reaching for your core and always finding it ready for him. If it pleases him, you let him take whatever he needs.
With whispered moans that make your chest constrict and rough fingers pressing bruises to your hips that he'll kiss away the next morning, he gets through the day.
Today, you know it's not one of those mornings. He's already been awake for a while when you open your eyes, based on his tense posture as he sits on the edge of the bed. He's facing the window, which means his back is to you, withholding his face from yours.
Of course, you don't need to look at him to know what his face will look like. His chin is tucked toward his chest, and his eyes will be closed, hands clenched together as if in prayer. But you know better than to think of Joel Miller as a spiritual man. Whatever faith he might have had all those years ago has withered into scraps. His only faith is in your constant presence in his bed each night.
You sit up slowly, and the sound of rustling sheets makes him twitch his head to the side, the sight of his jaw ticking the only acknowledgement of you being there. With slow movements, you move to sit behind him, your legs on either side of his hips but never close enough to touch. He's gotten better at allowing for a few more moments of contact, and you think this means he's making progress.
How could you ever be sure, though? When he still won't reveal the pain of today?
"Did you wake up to see the sunrise?" you ask gently, leaning forward and bracing your hands in front of you, waiting. His response will determine how you'll distract him for the coming hours.
As usual, Joel doesn't say anything, but his back reclines an inch. It's all you need.
"I'll bet it was real pretty," you continue, trying to keep your voice soft. This is one of your many routines; you lift your hands and press them to his back, just enough for him to feel your fingertips. You don't know if he listens to anything you say, or if he even cares. This part is just for you. This is how you get through these days.
You lean just a bit further, letting your forehead rest on his shoulder. Your hands slide around his middle and your stomach flips selfishly at the feeling of his muscles tensing beneath your featherlight touch. Reaching down for his lap, you rest your palm against his jeans, feeling him twitch against your hand. There he is.
Maybe it's sad, maybe it's fucked up, but fuck what anyone else would say. This is what he needs, the only thing that helps him stay out of his nightmarish memories, whatever they may be. You'll never ask him to show that side of himself, not anymore.
Pressing a kiss to his shoulder, you deftly work the button on his jeans, pushing the zipper down and reaching into his waistband until his half-hard cock comes free. It rests heavy in your hand, and you're comforted by the weight of it. His shoulders are too broad for you to see it, but you're not bothered by this. With another kiss, this one landing on the soft skin of his neck, you give him a languid stroke.
Joel's chest rises and falls as he breathes, and you can feel his arousal stirring as he grows firmer in your grip. His hands begin to unclench, but his fingers remain flat on his tights, never touching you outside of where your legs are hooked to his, your chest flush with his back.
The room is silent except for his breathing, every second getting more shallow. You can feel the tension in his back release a little, and you let your thumb rub a slow circle over the slit on his tip, precum just starting to leak onto your hand.
You stay like this for a few minutes, one arm wrapped around his stomach and your other hand on his cock, tugging slow enough not to overwhelm him, and fast enough to keep him pulsing in your hand.
Only when his hips buck involuntarily do you let go, moving from your place behind him to the floor. Your knees hit the wood hard, but you ignore the pain as your hands slide up his thighs.
His own hands remain still on his jeans, and he lets you interlock your fingers with his own. A small mercy. Today might not be as bad as the years before, and you dip your head to lick a stripe from base to tip before closing your mouth around the head of his cock.
Joel's fingers twitch in your grasp, and you squeeze back, hardly noticeable. Just enough to act as thanks. Thank you for letting me do this. For you.
You never look up, afraid of what his eyes will betray when your mouth is around him. You know this is only a distraction, a slow respite from his thoughts. So you ignore the impatient pulse between your thighs and take him as deep as he'll go, your hopes lifting when you hear his shaky sighs.
One of his hands released yours and lands on your head, smoothing your hair as his hips fight to keep still. Your head bobs up and down, your spit mixing with his precum to leave a shining mess on his shaft.
He pats your head softly, the wet sounds of your mouth on him the only noise in the room. But then he's opening his mouth, and he's combing his fingers through your hair, and he's mumbling, "thank you, sweet pea," just quiet enough that you think you're imagining it.
Maybe you did. He doesn't say it again, and you don't look up to see how wrecked he looks. You're content to remain on your knees the entire day if it means he can relax, let go of whatever's haunting him.
But then he's pulling your head back, his cock leaving your mouth with a wet pop. Hands under your arms, he tugs you to stand in front of him. This time you do let yourself look at him, but his eyes don't lift to meet yours. He tugs your shorts and panties from your body, and once you step out of them he splays his hands on the backs of your thighs to pull you onto his lap.
His head is still tipped toward where your bodies rest against each other, rocking your pelvis against the length of his cock with a shuddering sigh. But you don't mind the view; you sit just a few inches taller than him in this position, so you can brace yourself against his shoulders, your chin resting against the top of his head.
He reaches down to rub a few quick circles on your clit, and you let him move your hips when he's ready, lodging his cock at your entrance. You're dripping, you have been this entire time, but you'd shoved down the heady desire that had punched its way through your body until he was ready. Now, with his hand guiding his tip into your sopping cunt, you let out a breath. There he is, a voice in your head repeats.
He pushes your hips down at an agonizingly slow pace, your pussy swallowing every inch of him, the sounds of your moans colliding at the feeling. "So good to me," he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your sternum and tilting his head back, closing his eyes. "Perfect."
You know that he doesn't think he deserves your praise, but you give it to him anyway. "That's it," you hum, squirming with his cock buried to the hilt. It's all you can do not to lift your hips and drag yourself up and down his length. "Take what you need, Joel."
He never lasts long when he can feel your walls squeezing his cock for all it's worth, your body betraying you when your mind just wants to remain warm and wet and ready for him all day long, until he's ready to be done with you. But with one look at you, his dark eyes finally connecting to yours, he blinks. "Thank you, sweat pea," he murmurs again.
You lift your thumb to his forehead and you trace the lines on his weathered skin, watching as your touch releases the tension from his face. All that's left is his desire, his need for you, however distracted it may be.
Joel lets himself enjoy this, as he rocks his hips into yours, the head of his cock brushing that spot deep inside you until you're shaking in his hands, forehead tipped against his as you let your moans fill the space between the two of you. He lifts your hips, pulling you nearly all the way off of him until he shoves you back down, the delicious squelch of your pussy on his cock wrenching a knee-buckling groan from his lips. "Where?" he asks, as he does every time.
You don't need to tell him, but you do. "Fill me up, Joel," you coo, a shot of pleasure spreading throughout your entire body. "Come with me, I'm right here with you."
"That's it, darlin'," is all he groans before he's wrapping his arms around your back, tugging your chest to him in a tight embrace. His face disappears into the space between your breasts and you feel his entire body quiver with yours as you reach your peak. Warmth floods your core as he spills his release into you, your walls fluttering with the intensity of your orgasm. You pull him to you, returning his near-painful embrace.
You're as close as lovers, as close to one another as you can physically get, but it'll never be enough.
The high after he comes inside you is fleeting. Only a few minutes pass before the line inevitably returns to his brow and his frown deepens after he softens. He doesn't lift you off of him, though, so you soak up the feeling while you can.
"Better?" you whisper, eyes locked on his.
He nods slowly after a moment, his mouth set in a grim line. "Always," he mumbles gently, his hand cupping your jaw as his thumb strokes your bottom lip. He presses his thumb into your mouth to the first knuckle, letting you taste salt and old sweat and your nectar on his skin.
You know better than to believe him, but you don't argue. Not today, never today. So you lift the corners of your lips in a sad smile and pretend that it doesn't feel like water rising in your lungs every time this day comes.
but we don't have to talk about it
i can walk you home and practice method acting
i'll pretend being with you doesn't feel like drowning
tellin' you it's nice to see how good you're doing
even though we know it isn't true
Joel will never tell you what's on his mind. Never today. September 26th won't ever mean anything to you, so why would he bother? For him, it's everything and nothing all at once. Brown curls and sparkling young eyes and blood crusted on his arms and the unforgettable weight of death in his arms.
Another year older, he sighs, his heart clenching in grief. Another year older, and another year further from everything he's lost.
tysm for reading, here's a box of tissues. :') i love u all
I'm planning my first TLOU fic. Joel centric. But, which idea do you wanna see first...?
Option 1:
We're in the Jackson era of the TLOU storyline... Reader was only young during the outbreak, now in late twenties. Reader has been put on a patrol schedule with Joel and they become good friends.
They get chatting, the topic being 'what he misses' about the world before the outbreak. Joel jokes he misses sex, and reader confesses she has only ever had inexperienced lovers and doesn’t get the “hype” around sex since she has only had it a few times and it was mediocre and never orgasmed. Joel seeks to change that...
[Most likely a one-shot. Two parts at most]
Option 2:
No outbreak, instead a complete AU. Reader is a stripper in a club that does dodgy dealings with a mafia group.
Reader knows there's a man who comes in, never stays for a lap dance or to watch the girls. He sits at the bar in his suit, hands a package to the barman, drinks his whiskey and leaves again.
One evening, a patron is getting too handsy, and the man in the suit steps in.
The man, of course, is Joel. And he's mysterious, sexy, and completely aloof.
[Story will develop, most likely a multi chapter]
BOTH contain smut. Both contain some violence.
I'm planning my first TLOU fic. Joel centric. But, which idea do you wanna see first...?
Option 1:
We're in the Jackson era of the TLOU storyline... Reader was only young during the outbreak, now in late twenties. Reader has been put on a patrol schedule with Joel and they become good friends.
They get chatting, the topic being 'what he misses' about the world before the outbreak. Joel jokes he misses sex, and reader confesses she has only ever had inexperienced lovers and doesn’t get the “hype” around sex since she has only had it a few times and it was mediocre and never orgasmed. Joel seeks to change that...
[Most likely a one-shot. Two parts at most]
Option 2:
No outbreak, instead a complete AU. Reader is a stripper in a club that does dodgy dealings with a mafia group.
Reader knows there's a man who comes in, never stays for a lap dance or to watch the girls. He sits at the bar in his suit, hands a package to the barman, drinks his whiskey and leaves again.
One evening, a patron is getting too handsy, and the man in the suit steps in.
The man, of course, is Joel. And he's mysterious, sexy, and completely aloof.
[Story will develop, most likely a multi chapter]
BOTH contain smut. Both contain some violence.
Welcome to my recommendations! Below, please find fics sorted by main characters in The Last of Us including Joel Miller, Ellie Williams, Tommy Miller, Tess Servopoulos and more…
For each character, fics will be sorted by NSFW/SFW content, then series/one-shots. All will be tagged as pre/post outbreak.
Newly added fics are always marked with an '✨' - they will be removed between list updates to make way for new content!
PLEASE NOTE: There will be NO NSFW content featuring Ellie as a minor.
All NSFW content is 18+ ONLY. 🔞
Don't see your fav fics? SUBMIT THEM HERE.
NSFW
A Future Together by kteague (pre/post outbreak) [multi]
Breaking the Rules by theywhowriteandknowthings (pre-outbreak) [multi] ✨
Burn for Me by @psychedelic-ink (post outbreak) [one-shot]
Burning in a Hopeless Dream by tightjeansjavi (post outbreak) [multi]
Crave by @allfoolsinluv (no outbreak) [multi]
Exile by psychedelic-ink (post-outbreak) [one-shot] ✨
Feral by @ohraicodoll (post-outbreak) [multi]
Lost in the Darkness by softlyspector (no outbreak) [one-shot] ✨
Moment’s Silence by @nexusnyx (post-outbreak) [multi]
Punisher by beskarandblasters (pre/post-outbreak) [multi] ✨
September by @wheresarizona (post-outbreak) [multi]
Stay In Bed by @psychedelic-ink (pre-outbreak) [multi]
Strawberry Wine by @pedrito-friskito (pre + post outbreak) [multi]
Take Care of You by theidiotwhowritesthings (pre-outbreak) [multi] ✨
Text Me, Texas by @alt-vera (pre-outbreak) [one-shot]
Twenty Years Later by @yelena-bellova (post-outbreak) [multi]
SFW
Domesticity Looks Good on You by @girlscull (post-outbreak) [one-shot]
NSFW
Don’t You Dare Fall in Love by @ohcaptains (no outbreak) [one-shot]
SFW
Domesticity Looks Good on You by @girlscull (post-outbreak) [one-shot]
NSFW
Backseat of his Brother’s Car by @soulofapatrick (pre-outbreak) [one-shot]
I’ll Have Another by @wyn-n-tonic (pre-outbreak) [one-shot]
Stay In Bed by @psychedelic-ink (pre-outbreak) [multi]
SFW
NSFW
Crave by @allfoolsinluv (no outbreak) [multi]
Long, Long Time by @devnmon (post-outbreak) [one-shot]
Apologies if it takes me a little while to add your recs to my rec list!
I read everything before I add it so i can add any missed trigger warnings and know how to tag them. 🥰
(And I've been away from tumblr for a while but hi I'm back with LOADS TO ADD so watch this pace...)
Summary: Joel stumbles upon your dirty mag, noticing your favorite pages bear a striking resemblance to himself! Takes place in Jackson sometime after TLOU
Word Count: 4.6k
Warnings: 18+ MDNI SMUT!!! This is not fluffy even a little bit, kind of pervy joel, kind of sleazy too, smut, female masturbation, cunnilingus, soft dom!joel, shy reader, consensual PIV sex, humiliation kinda, joel loves a full bush, begging, joel is dominant but not like, aggressive?? let me know if I missed any
A/N: Y’all, I am very very very proud of this one! Please enjoy this depravity. And have a lovely holiday weekend <3 I am just a few shy of 1k followers, but consider this my thank you for all of your support 😸💗
Edit: we’re at 1k!!! Thank you so much holy shit!!
If you really like this story, please leave me a comment! Check out my masterlist
Javier Peña is Joel’s pornstar doppelgänger. I don’t make the rules.
After a long day, Joel was ready to relax and enjoy a bonfire with you. It’s how you spent a lot of summer nights in Jackson, you and Joel and sometimes Ellie just sitting around the fire, sharing stories and shooting the shit.
Tonight Ellie was at Dina’s having a sleepover, leaving just you and Joel together. It was nice to spend nights alone with Joel. Sometimes you’d talk about anything and everything and other nights you’d just share a comfortable silence. After everything you went through on your way to Jackson, it was nice to enjoy some peaceful nights with Joel.
Upstairs, Joel changed into some plaid pajama pants and a slim fitting t-shirt and made his way through the hall and to the top of the staircase, his heavy footsteps alerting you of his presence.
“Joel?” you shouted to him from the kitchen. You were preparing a snack in preparation for the bonfire. “Can you grab me a hair tie please?”
You were peeling apples and slicing bread to make pudgy pies for you and Joel to share. It’s one of the campfire snacks he introduced to you and Ellie. Back before the outbreak, he said, people would use canned pie filling or peanut butter and Nutella as filling for the toasted sandwiches. Now you had to get more creative, so you opted for spiced and sugared apple slices. You preferred berries, but apples were Joel’s favorite filling for dessert. You didn’t mind. He used to make these for his daughter.
“Where can I find one?” he called back.
“On my bedside table, right by the lamp,” you stepped closer to the staircase so you didn’t have to raise your voice as much. “It should just be a plain black one.”
Joel nodded and walked to your room. At your bedside table, he didn’t see any hair ties. Just some jewelry and a comic book Ellie lent you that she wanted you to read. Perhaps it was in the drawer?
Joel opened the drawer and rummaged around your belongings. There was a bottle of your favorite almond scented lotion from the local soap maker, your journal and some pencils, but no hair tie. He should have called out to you to ask if there was another spot your hair tie might be at, but curiosity got the better of him. He knew it was wrong to snoop through your personal belongings, but he couldn’t help himself.
Joel pulled the drawer out a little further and lifted your journal up. His eyes widened at what he saw. It wasn’t your hair tie, that was for damn sure.
Under your journal was an ancient porno magazine, probably from the 70s or 80s. Joel didn’t bother checking for a date. He had to know what the hell was in this old ass magazine that you were using to get yourself off. He remembered these kinds of magazines from when he was a teenager. They were often tacky and somewhat over the top compared to the explicit videos he’d watched on the internet before the outbreak, but they did the job. Who was he to judge?
Joel sat on your bed and flipped through the pages of the magazine. There were women in frilly chiffon lingerie with bushy and unkempt pussies, just the way he liked them. That was one nice thing about the outbreak, a lot of women ditched the beauty standards of the 90s and 2000s and went au naturale. Joel loved it as a young man then and he still loves it now, decades later.
The magazine nearly flipped itself open to one particular centerfold. It was a man fucking a woman from behind, her back arched and hair covering her face. They were at the edge of the bed, her fingers gripping the retro floral duvet cover. She was beautiful, but it wasn’t her who captured Joel’s attention. It was the man.
He was tall, dark, and handsome with a thick downturned mustache, not unlike Joel’s. He had dark hair and dark eyes as well. Even his nose was similar to Joels, strong and sharp with a curve. Joel couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. The pages were worn and the corners were dog eared, leading Joel to believe that these must be your favorite pages. His ego soared, as if it needed to be any bigger. He always had a feeling that you had a thing for him.
Downstairs, you were growing irritated. “What is taking so long?” you muttered to yourself. Joel was taking forever to find the hair tie you had so neatly placed next to the lamp on your bedside table. After turning off the burner of the stove, you paced through the kitchen and up the stairs.
“You are such a man, you know? You guys are terrible at looking for things. If it was a snake it would have bit you,” you grumbled out, half talking to yourself and half talking to Joel. You opened your mouth to continue speaking as you walked into your room but froze when you saw Joel on the bed, thumbing through the pages of your dirty secret.
“I found your spank bank,” Joel taunted with sarcasm, not yet looking at you. He flipped through a couple more pages before turning to face you, his intense stare meeting your flustered expression.
You were frozen in embarrassment, completely unable to speak, unable to move. Your face felt like it was on fire and you could hear your heart pound in your ears.
Joel’s low and gravelly voice filled the silence. “Didn’t mean to embarrass ya, baby. It’s okay. Human nature,” he winked at you with a crooked smile.
You quickly stepped over to him and tried tugging the magazine out of his hands, but he held on tightly. “Joel,” you pleaded as your sweaty fingers slipped off of the paper.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he chided you. “This dude here kinda looks familiar, doesn’t he?” Joel looked at you with a knowing expression as humiliation filled your chest. Yeah, he looks just fucking like you. Leave me alone.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Joel,” you muttered angrily. You were about to burst into flames, whether from embarrassment or anger you didn’t know. You didn’t care. How dare your body put your shame and embarrassment on display? You were giving Joel exactly the kind of sick satisfaction he absolutely did not deserve.
“Oh, baby. I think you know exactly what I’m talkin’ about. Look at how you’ve dog-eared these pages,” he used his pointer finger to trace the bent triangles at the corners of the pages. “Guy looks just like me, doesn’t he? Is that what you like so much about these pages?” his southern drawl had your stomach doing flips. “I know they’re your favorite, magazine practically opened right up to them.”
You ignored his question. “The pages were like that when I found the magazine,” you tried lying, but it was a futile attempt. This was bullshit. Joel was the one who was caught red handed, and yet you were bearing the brunt of the humiliating situation. Only Joel Miller could spin this situation to work out in his favor.
“Sure, sweetheart,” you reached for the magazine again, but Joel pulled it out of your reach. “You know baby, you didn’t have to fantasize with a dirty old magazine if you wanted to fuck me. All you had to do was ask.”
You said nothing, just glared at him. Joel wore a loathsome smirk as he wiggled his eyebrows at you.
“Wish I knew this is what you were usin’ to get yourself off at night. All those pretty noises, all this time. They were all for me, weren’t they?”
Any words you could think of got caught in your throat, it felt like dry swallowing a pill. You just looked at Joel with pleading eyes, begging him to stop making you feel like a fool. If you weren’t so embarrassed, you’d be yelling at him for rifling through your private belongings and calling him presumptuous asshole for insinuating you fantasized about him. Of course, he was entirely correct in his assumption. You were completely and utterly infatuated with him. Even when you weren’t using his doppelgänger to get yourself off, you were thinking of him all day long.
“Please,” you finally choked out, feeling tears prick your eyes. You couldn’t take any more of this torture. “Just stop.”
“Oh, sweet girl,” he spoke with a soothing tone. Joel placed a hand on your thigh and twiddled his fingers along the fabric of your pajamas. “You know I’m just gonna keep buggin’ you until you tell me what I want to hear.” Joel looked at you with his sparkling brown eyes, darkened with lust. “So what do you like about these pages, baby?”
Turning your face towards your lap, you whispered your response to his prodding question. “I like the way he’s fucking her,” If that’s all it’d take to make him stop, might as well spill your guts.
“Yeah, I do too. It’s sexy, isn’t it?”
“Mhm,” you mumbled, glancing at the familiar image. Joel was 100% right. Those were certainly your favorite pages. You didn’t even need them anymore, the picture was tattooed on your brain. “I like how the man looks.” you admitted with bravery.
“I bet you do. Because he looks like me, right?”
You nodded your head shyly. You couldn’t believe yourself, giving up and letting Joel win. He’d never let you live this down. But maybe if you butter him up a little he’ll let you off easier. “You’re more handsome, though,”
“Oh, baby. Gonna make me blush,” Joel replied to you with a saccharine smile. He really did seem genuinely flattered by your comment. “This is really what you look at when you’re playing with your pussy?”
“Yeah, kind of,” you say, feeling some confidence fill your chest. “I pretend it’s you fucking me like that.”
“Is that right?”
“Mhm,”
“You’re such a good girl for me, baby. I like knowin’ you think of me like that,” he praises you for finally letting go of your embarrassment. He doesn’t only want to tease you. If this is what you fantasized about, he was gonna make your dreams come true.
Joel takes one of your hands in his own and moves it to your center, pressing your fingers against your core. You gasp at the feeling of your wetness on your pajama pants. “Think you can do somethin’ for me?”
“What?” you murmur.
“I want you to give me a show, baby. Show me how you touch yourself when you’re lookin’ at that magazine,” Apprehension fills your bones once again at his words. “Don’t be nervous, sweetheart. I just wanna see how pretty you look when you come. And after you do that, I’ll fuck you just like how he’s doin’. What do you say?”
“Just like, touch myself?” you laugh awkwardly at his request. This cannot be happening. Right?
Joel sets the magazine down and helps you to the top of the bed. He leans you against the pillows and kisses your lips for a second, and every time his tongue mingles with your own your anxiety melts away, little by little. This is all so surprising, maybe he does really want to make you feel good.
He kisses you gently and with care, using his lips to encourage you to let go again. He kisses the side of your mouth, then your jaw, your neck, and down your body before lifting up your pants and looking at you expectedly, asking permission to remove your clothing. You nod and he helps you out of your pajamas. It’s all so sudden and you feel exposed, all naked and laid out for Joel.
“You’re beautiful,” Joel says earnestly as he takes one of your wrists and guides your hand to your needy pussy, encouraging you to show him what you look like when you’re whimpering at the thought of him in the middle of the night. You don’t touch yourself yet, though. You cover your center with your hand, slightly embarrassed by the thick tuft of hair surrounding your vulva.
“I haven’t shaved in forever,” you say sheepishly. It’s kind of silly, worrying about body hair at the end of the world. But you can’t help it.
“That’s alright, sweetheart” Joel says as he reaches for the magazine and flips to one of the first pages he saw, a woman spread eagle with her full bush on display. She’s smiling and radiates confidence. “See? It’s a beautiful thing. It’s how they’re meant to be.”
You’re skeptical. “Do you really think so?”
“Of course I do. I love your pussy, it’s beautiful just how it is,” Joel grips your thighs and parts your legs, and your fingers gently drop to touch your dripping center. Joel reaches forward and places his hand over yours, helping you circle your clit with your middle finger. It’s slow at first and you squeeze your eyes shut, still feeling slightly awkward. Masturbating for someone else to watch is completely different from sex. You feel vulnerable, like you’re being studied under a microscope. You don’t feel that way for long, though.
Joel continues to help you circle your clit until he senses you becoming more confident, then removes his hand to watch you do your thing. Your fingers swirl around your hole as you gather your slick, then travel up again to rub your clit in those same circles he helped you create. You let out little gasps and whimpers, and it’s music to Joel’s ears. Finally, he has an image to match with the moans and other noises he hears from your room.
Usually you can get yourself off fairly quickly but with Joel in front of you, it takes a little longer. You open your eyes and peek at him. His dark and hungry eyes are focused on your center, but they flick up to your own. He smirks devilishly at you for a half second then goes back to watching your actions, almost obsessively. He is obsessed.
The sight of him pushes you closer to the edge, and he watches your pussy twitch as you finger your clit even faster. His expression changes then. He’s no longer looking at you with adoration and lust. Joel looks angry and jealous, with a furrowed brow and a scowling frown. You tilt your head slightly in confusion but before you can think Joel lunges forward and rips your hand away from your cunt, pinning it next to your torso.
“Let me taste you?” he whispers. You nod hurriedly in response. Lick me, touch me, do anything.
He presses a kiss to your clit and you gasp in surprise. “This is my pussy now,” he growls. Now that he knows what you look like touching yourself for him, he can’t just sit there and watch you anymore. Joel’s desperate, he needs to make you come. “From now on, you’re only gonna come when I say so. Do you understand?”
You mumble incoherently and Joel swats your thigh, not satisfied with your answer. “Do you understand?” he repeats, his voice dark and serious.
“Yes, Joel,”
“Good girl. You just relax now, let me take care of you,” he instructs you. Your head falls to the pillow, and you let out a soft exhale as Joel wraps his strong arms around your thighs and pulls your pussy to his face. Joel inhales your scent deeply, enjoying your aroma.
He licks a long stripe from your slick hole all the way to your clit, flattening his tongue against you. He licks every inch of you, memorizing your folds with his deft tongue. When he’s satisfied with the way he’s worked you up, he focuses on your clit, flicking it with his tongue before inserting two fingers inside of you.
“Joel,” you gasp out, hands reaching for his salt and pepper curls. Your thighs clamp around his head and he removes his hands from your body to spread them out again.
“You stay open for me now,” he commands. He plunges his fingers back inside you and curls them upward, hitting that spot that makes your knees weak and your eyes see stars. You moan loudly when Joel’s lips attach to your clit once more, this time gently sucking on the sensitive bud. He’s drunk on your taste, completely addicted to your flavor. His tongue continues dancing on your center and you pull him close to you, rutting your hips into his face. Every once in awhile you swipe his nose and he uses the opportunity to dip and twirl his tongue inside of you.
This is the best way to eat pussy, Joel’s learned. Find out what makes her tick and keep doing that, let her grind on his lips and nose. Right now, your wish is his command.
You reach down and grab his not working arm to bring it towards your breasts. Joel picks up what you’re putting down immediately and trails his hand over your breasts, pinching and twisting your pebbled nipples. That’s all it takes to have you coming in his mouth.
You cry out his name as you buck your hips into him, fighting the urge to push him away when the feeling becomes too intense.
Joel doesn’t allow you to catch your breath. He flips you on your tummy and drags you down the bed, his fingernails pressing into your skin. “You did so good for me, baby. You gonna let me fuck you now? Just like you pretend, right?” He pulls his shirt over his head and steps out of his pajama pants behind you.
“Yes, Joel, please,” you whine.
“I like hearin’ that. Keep beggin’ for me,” Joel demands as nudges your thighs apart with his knee. He teases your slit with the tip of his cock, painting his precum on your skin. He pushes the tip inside, not yet dipping all the way inside you.
“I need you,” you sob with desperation.
“Need me to what?” He knows what you need, but Joel’s gonna make you spell it out to him.
You let out a groan of frustration and back your ass into his hips. Joel chuckles at your annoyance. “Come on now. Tell me what I want to hear,” he repeats his words from earlier. “Put that pretty mouth to use.”
“I need you to fuck me,”
“There you go. Was that so hard?”
Joel wraps his hands around your hips, his fingers digging into your lower stomach and his thumbs pressed firmly into your lower back and slams his hips into you. His fingernails leave dents in your skin.
You yelp at the sudden contact, not expecting him to go so hard and fast. His thick cock stretches you out and you can feel the tip hitting you deep inside.
“Always knew this pussy would feel good,” he mumbled behind you, beginning his firm pace.
You arch your back into him, using your body to tell him what you need. You love the way he feels, so strong and holding you so tight. It really is a fantasy come to life. “Don’t stop, please,” you cry for him.
“Mmmm,” he hums. “You love this cock, don’t you?”
“Yes, Joel,”
“That’s right. It’s all for you, baby,” he continues pounding into you.
Joel stops for a second and flips you over on your back. He apologizes, “Sorry, sweetheart. I know I said I’d fuck you like them in the magazine but fuck, I gotta see you,” he says. “Can’t let you hide those tits from me anymore.”
Joel pulls your legs up and places them over his shoulders, opening you up even deeper for him. He lets out a moan at the change in position.
He admires the way you look, all of it just for him. Your half lidded eyes, mouth open and spilling out moans and obscenities with every snap of his hips. You’re completely fucked out.
You reach down to thumb your clit and he smacks your hand away. “What’d I say earlier? You come when I say. I didn’t say, did I?” he scolded you.
“N-no,” you stutter out.
Joel takes your wrists into his hand and pins them above your head. “Can’t trust you, sweetheart. Thought you were gonna be a good girl for me,” He snakes his other hand between your thighs and circles your sensitive clit with his thumb ever so lightly. Torturing you with what could be and never giving you more.
The wet squelching noises of your pussy and the slapping sound of skin hitting skin have your head spinning. Joel fucks you at a merciless pace, frenzied and desperate. He’s savoring the way you’re squirming under him, straining your wrists against his locked grip. He knows it’s agonizing, almost painful the way you’re aching for release. But he’s determined to teach you a lesson.
“Please,” you choke out. “Just make me come,”
“I don’t know that you deserve it, baby, Touchin’ yourself to that picture of my lookalike? That’s awful selfish of you,” he chided you. “Depriving me of this?”
“Joel,” you whined. You’d do whatever it took to get some release.
“Tell me how long you were needing me,” Joel panted. “Weeks? Months?”
“I don’t know. Forever,” you admitted. “I need to come now, please.”
“Forever? I wish you said somethin’ earlier, baby. You wouldn’t be in this mess,”
You didn’t know how much more you could take. Tears of frustration were streaming down your cheeks, each of his thrusts hitting deep and massaging your insides. You were right there, you just needed permission to let go.
Joel was right there with you, also struggling to hold on. He wanted nothing more than to keep fucking you without allowing you to finish, but he’d never seen something so erotic and sexy. Your body, tangled in his own, your twitching thighs and furrowed brow. And he was responsible for all of it, responsible for turning into this wreck.
“You’re takin’ me so good, sweet girl. Beggin’ and askin’ me so nice,” he whispered. “You do one last thing for me, and I’ll let you come.”
“Anything,” you gasp. Now his wish is your command.
“You focus right here. Look at me, and don’t close your eyes. Keep makin’ those pretty noises for me, just like you always do,”
You’re not even consciously trying to follow his orders, you just do. You can’t break your stare from his dark and hungry gaze, his lip curled in a nefarious smirk. Breathy moans and high pitched squeals escape your mouth.
“Always knew you’d be my good girl. Alright now. Let go for me,”
That’s all you needed to reach your peak. The warm, coiling feeling in the pit of your stomach erupts, shooting electricity through your veins. Your vision goes blurry and you hear staticky ringing as you cry out for Joel. It’s all you can feel as wave after wave of pleasure rocks your body.
Joel’s thrusts are sloppy now as he chases his own orgasm. Your fluttering walls and the way you whisper his name like a prayer are all he needed to reach his peak. His hips are stuttering and his muscles jerk and tremble as he pulses inside you, painting your insides with his seed. Joel hovers above you, placing wet kisses and tonguing your salty skin. He’s addicted to the way you taste.
It only hits you now how surreal this entire evening is. Joel’s above you, collecting himself and catching his breath and you’re still pinned beneath him. Of course, you imagined fucking him many times prior to this but it was never this way. You couldn’t complain, though.
Joel interrupts your thoughts with a kiss, sweet and gentle and loving. A stark contrast to the way he fucked your body just moments before. “So apple pudgy pies, right?”
You giggle. Joel is such a typical man, wanting a snack right after sex. At least he’s not already passed out on top of you, the way other men often do. “Yes Joel, just like you asked for,”
Joel backs away from you then with a cute little fist pump, as if he’s winning a prize. “Fuck yeah,” he whispers, walking to the bathroom completely nude. He’s got such a nice and plump ass, you notice.
He comes back and wipes you off with affectionate care, being extra conscious not to irritate your sensitive skin after the rigorous fucking. He helps you into your pajamas then and kisses you on the top of the head. “I’m gonna get the fire goin’, meet me out there?”
“Sure, Joel,” you respond with a smile. “I have to finish up with the apples first, though.”
“Take your time. I’ll be out there,”
You sit up and kiss Joel one last time, the way his lips slide against yours gives you butterflies. It’s a little late to feel that way after what you just did. You go to the bathroom then go downstairs and finish prepping the apples, stirring them over the stove. Once they’re finished, you prepare the sandwiches and make your way outside to sit next to Joel.
The warm glow of the fire illuminates his skin and he looks so handsome, his features look so defined by the light and shadows. He helps you put the sandwiches in the pie irons and then places them on the grill above the fire, careful to make sure they’re not getting too much heat too quickly.
The fire begins to shrink, flames not reaching quite as high as the sandwiches need. You turn your head around you looking for some more firewood, but the sound of ripping paper interrupts your search.
It’s Joel, tearing out pages of a magazine. Your magazine, from before. You look at him with confusion.
“I told you, sweetheart. You won’t be needin’ this anymore. You come to me,” he explains with a low voice, flipping the cast iron pans. “I took good care of you, right?”
You smile shyly. “You did,”
“And I intend to keep takin’ care of your needs,” he promises.
You nod wordlessly, still smiling. A few more moments pass before Joel removes the irons from the fire and removes your pies to cool off, then slices them in half. They’re golden brown and the spicy, sweet, warm smell is sinfully delicious. The gooey apples spill from the bread slightly. Your tummy grumbles at the sight.
The dessert has cooled enough, you decide. Taking a half of one of the sandwiches in your hand, you bring it to your mouth and take a small bite, the cooked apples are like lava in your mouth. You hiss at the burn on your tongue and lips.
Joel looks at you with disapproving concern. “Tsk,” he mumbles with displeasure. “You’re terribly impatient, aren’t you?” his tone from the bedroom is back. Reaching forward to take your chin between your fingers, he swipes his thumb along your bottom lip, collecting some of the apple filling. Your eyes widen, you’re startled by his touch.
“I’ll fix you, though. Teach you some self control,” he sucks his digit into his mouth and pulls it out with a pop, humming at the sweet flavor. “Lord knows you need it.”
All you can think about is sucking his cock the same way he sucked his thumb. You wonder how the soft skin of his dick would feel on your tongue. How he would taste, how he’d look as you take him deep down your throat.
A/N Hello!! This is my first time I have ever posted any of my writing on here! @peterhollandkait inspired me to start writing again so this one is for you, bestie! <3 I hope you all enjoy it! Likes, comments, and shares are all appreciated. I highly recommend listening to “Lift me Up” by Rhianna “Shrike and As it Was” By Hozier when reading this!
Summary: After a run in with some clickers at an abandoned hospital, Joel opens up to you about his fears of losing you and Ellie after he nearly sees you get killed by a clicker.
~Word count : 4.4k~
Warnings: +18 mentions of blood, slight gore, sad!Joel angsty!Joel mentions of death, lots of swearing, implied smut, soft!Joel m/c is faceless no y/n m/c is short with tattoos
Years of turmoil were etched into his face like the vast ridges of misty mountains standing tall in the distance behind you. Every crease, every ridge on his worn face reminded you that he was a survivor, just like you. You wondered often if Joel Miller ever smiled, if he ever laughed, if he had ever loved.
________________
Joel Miller remembers the day he met you like it was just yesterday. You had left a mark on him; quite literally. He remembers how you had no hesitation in trying to kill him. He remembers the sound your combat knife made when it whizzed past his head and through the rain pelting around him. He remembers the blade slicing through the thin skin of his brow, opening the wound like a blooming rose petal. He remembers your sheer fierceness, your soul desire to survive and endure.
He had always liked that about you, though, he would never admit it out loud.
He remembers the feeling of blood trickling down his brow and his weathered cheek. He remembers Tess screaming through the howling wind that she would kill you. The sound of her gun cocking, his hot breath against the frigid air. He remembers how you didn’t flinch from his booming voice. He wasn’t angry at you, no. He was angry at his partner for trying to kill you. If it were any passerby that were to try and kill him, he wouldn’t blink an eye. You, you were different. You had skills that he found could be useful for his survival. So he spared you, saved you even. You would never admit out loud that Joel Miller had saved you that day. You simply couldn’t.
Joel saved you for his own benefit, as he explained it to Tess, who reluctantly agreed with his reasoning. This however did not stop the woman from resenting you, loathing you even, for reasons you could never understand. Your knife skills proved to be a real asset to the group. You never showed fear. You were quick on your feet when needed. Your lack of height came in handy when small spaces were needed to be squeezed into. You were important for the group's survival and you liked knowing they relied on you.
Smuggling supplies into the Boston QZ was easy work for you. You moved through the shadows like a swift deer, silent and sure-footed. You had only been caught by Fedra once in the past year and it wasn’t your doing. Joel and Tess had a new recruit join you, who ended up being a Fedra rat. You didn’t hesitate slicing through them either. Fedra caught you in the act, and a week of lock up hardened your spirits more. When your time in lock up came to an end, you found yourself outside Joel and Tess’s apartment, seething. You felt betrayed, and after all you had done for them? Betrayal was your biggest fear, but you would never admit it out loud. You swiftly kick the tattered door open, listening to the sound of the wood smack the crumbling wall on its hinges. Joel and Tess had been waiting for you, naturally. You took no hesitation to send a knife whizzing past his head, and embedding itself into the weathered wood beside him, snagging the flannel fabric on his forearm and tearing through the fibers. He and Tess slowly raised their hands up in a truce.
You wanted nothing to do with it.
“What the fuck was that?” you seethed through your gritted teeth.
“Think you can just set me up with some fuckin Fedra rat?” You took a step forward, yanking the blade from the wall before Joel had turned to you, a stern look across his weathered face.
“Easy now, we didn’t set ya up darlin. '' Your nickname spilled from his lips like warm flowing whiskey.
You scoffed at him, tucking your knife back into the holster around your hips securely. “Oh yeah?” You mused. “What the fuck do you call that then, Joel? Sure as hell looks like you fuckin set me up.”
He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. You were a menace when you were pissed and he knew he had to talk you down. “It’s my fault, I had the wrong judgment of character. It's not gonna happen again alright?”
You didn’t trust him.
Not trusting him meant your survival was on the line. Alone, you could endure for a period of time. For how long? You were never sure. With Joel and Tess, your chances of survival increased and you would be damned if you allowed yourself to go down before them. You were afraid of dying alone, but you would never admit it out loud. After a short debate in your racing mind, you agreed to trust him, one more time.
“Fine. But I swear to god Joel, you fuck me over like this and next time, its you who i’ll be taking down.” Your threat was not an empty one and with a slight nod from Joel, you let your shoulders relax for a mere moment.
Joel and Tess never fucked you over like that again and you found yourself growing attached to the pair, they were the only family you had. Tess still wasn’t fond of you but the one thing she could admit, was that you were a force to be reckoned with.
Tess sacrificed herself to save you, to save Joel, to save Ellie. Your last moments with her were moments you would never forget “save who you can save.” She whispered, “Take care of him, please. No matter what..He needs you.” Joel was yanking you and a screaming Ellie out of the State House and to safety before you could promise Tess that you wouldn’t fail her. It was too late, she was gone.
Traveling with a teenager had its challenges. Despite them, you found Ellie to be a delight, at times, and treated her as if she was your sister. You wanted to protect her at all costs. Ellie was fond of you as well. What she loved most about you were your tattoos. You weren’t covered in them by any means, but she was fascinated by them and their beauty. Most were fading from the sun and harsh elements but Ellie said that’s what made them so fuckin cool. Joel liked your tattoos, he had the same curiosity as Ellie did, but he would never admit it out loud. Joel was too good for his feelings. He didn’t know how to feel anymore. He’d tell himself that, day in and day out. Even when his heart was twisted and pulled by your mere presence, he told himself feelings were dangerous. He was constantly burning in a hopeless dream. He dreamed of a future with you in a different world where he had no fears of his feelings. Where he didn’t fear if he would ever see another sunrise with you and Ellie by his side. He burned there, day in, and day out.
You were running low on medical supplies and they were hard to come by, especially in these parts. Small cuts and bruises were washed away with the cooling, trickling streams. Gauze was too precious to be wasted on small injuries. You had found an abandoned hospital outside a QZ. You and Joel had silently prayed that it hadn’t been picked over. The weather would be changing soon. Winter was approaching and without the proper supplies, you’d all be fucked. Taking the risk ended up paying off. The hospital wasn’t stacked with supplies but it still felt like a gold mine. While you and Joel gathered up gauze, bandages, medicine and a first aid kit, Ellie found some thick blankets to keep warm. Carefully, and quickly stuffing your loot into your backpacks, you and Joel both looked at each other with the same sense of relief. Your odds of surviving the brutal winter were increased.
Relief, as quickly as it came, dissipated before your very eyes. A shiver rolled down your spine. Your senses heightened when you detected the sound of a clicker. You froze up immediately, slowly turning your head to look at Joel. He slowly raised his finger to his lips and shook his head while you had quietly grabbed a hold of Ellie’s jacket and pulled her behind you and between Joel protectively.
You could feel his whisper before you heard it but there was no detection of fear in his voice. “From now on we are silent, not quiet. Silent, got it? Let's move.” With his gun raised in defense and your knife clutched between your calloused hand, you slowly took a step forward, minding the shards of glass beneath your worn boots. The three of you moved silently through the deserted hospital. Each step felt like your last. Any second one of you could make a noise and it would be all over. You’d go down for either of them, you silently told yourself. All it took was one sickening crunch of broken glass beneath your boot and your heart stopped. Three clickers appeared from the shadows and charged at you, you had given away your cover just like that.
Joel had immediately yelled for you to run while grabbing a hold of Ellie and pulling her along with him. Your feet carried you on instinct, the blood was pumping fiercely through your veins. You could feel your pulse pounding in your ears as the deafening sounds of Joel’s gun rang through the stagnant air. The first clicker went down with 2 shots to the head, it shrieked as it fell to the floor, twitching for a moment. Joel watched it happen in a flash, one clicker charged at you from the side, knocking you through a jagged broken window, the shards cut through your tattered clothes, slicing at your skin and sending searing pain through your veins. The adrenaline coursed through you as you sent your blade piercing through the clickers neck, splattering blood across your face like a paintball gun. deafening shots rang through as the final clicker dropped dead to its final resting place. With an immense groan you pushed the once living thing off your body, breathing heavily as you hauled yourself up, feeling dazed but alive.
You hadn’t even heard Joel scream your name.
He was at your side in seconds, grabbing your face in his calloused hands as he searched your eyes desperately. You had never seen him this feral in these moments. His hands moved from your face, to your neck and arms, nervously checking for any bites. You could see the relief wash over his features when he found no marks. “You could have fuckin gotten yourself killed.” He seethed, his coarse fingertips prodded against the thin skin on your throat. “You never fuckin turn your back on a clicker. Ya hear me?!” His grip softened on you before he released you, kicking the mass of flesh on the tarnished floor with his boot.
“I didn’t fuckin get myself killed Joel.” you deadpanned, feeling the adrenaline begin to wear off as you wiped the blood from your face.
He spun around for a split second, nearly giving you whiplash from the movement. “Not another fucking word. Let’s go. Now.” He spat out before walking ahead of you.
Joel refused to speak to you as the three of you left the hospital before trekking into the nearby woods. Ellie didn’t dare try and crack jokes this time around. You couldn’t blame her. You felt guilty for making a sound, for putting her and Joel in danger. For not being careful enough to watch your footing. You wished at that moment that the clicker had taken your life, for Joel and Ellie’s sake. As you walked through the forest, Ellie came up to your side and briefly grabbed your hand. Giving it a light squeeze as a silent reassurance that she didn’t blame you and she was relieved that you were alive. You squeezed her hand back, feeling the reluctant tears prick in the corner of your eyes.
Twenty minutes had passed and Joel, who was a good foot ahead of you, came to an impending stop, nearly causing you to bump into his broad back. He refused to look at you. “We’ll camp here for the night. It’s too dark out here to keep goin.” he muttered.
All you could do was silently nod and follow his orders. You felt weak.
Ellie had settled into her sleeping bag and knocked out shortly after from the pure exhaustion the day had brought. She was just a kid after all. This left you and a still brooding Joel. Your feet ached, your skin felt raw and there was a slight chance you had a concussion. You silently sat along the rivers bank, cleaning your knife and using a tattered rag to wash the blood from your hands and face. A twig snapped behind you, and you turned, knife drawn and fear in your eyes as you were met with Joel. Slowly, lowering your knife, your eyes softened before re-focusing on the clear rippling water below, illuminated by the moon’s ghostly light. “Let me guess, you came over here to yell at me some more, yeah? You know, you oughta be more careful, making noise like that. My fingers coulda slipped,” You muttered before you felt his hand grasping your shoulder.
“No. I didn’t come here to yell at you more darlin. Although, if that’s what you want, I can certainly deliver,” He taunted for a moment before clearing his throat. “I need to look at your cuts. I know you’re gonna be stubborn and fight me on this but some of ‘em could be deep. Can’t have you gettin’ an infection. You don’t want to end up losing a limb.” His grasp left your shoulder, leaving the skin beneath the tattered fabric feeling warm. You reluctantly stood from the riverside and followed his towering stature to his sleeping bag where you wordlessly plopped down beside the oil lamp. it was too dangerous to light a fire. There were more than just infected to fear.
Joel returned with the first aid kit in tow as he slowly sat down in front of your smaller frame. No words were exchanged between the two of you as you undid the buttons of your torn flannel and slid it down your arms, wincing as the fabric scratched against a particularly deep gash in your forearm. You discarded the fabric to the side before assessing the damage yourself. There were shards of glass embedded in your skin and the long gash up your forearm cut through the arrangement of flowers inked permanently into your skin. “Well, it could be worse.”
You joked but immediately regretted it as his hardened gaze landed on you.
“You’ve got a mile fuckin long gash on your forearm and shards of glass stickin out. Don’t fuckin take that tone with me.”
You swallowed hard then, looking away from his harsh gaze.
“I had ‘em y’know..I fuckin had them, Joel.” You spoke above a whisper, trying to convince yourself that you weren’t almost wretched from this cruel earth just hours ago.
You watched his chest rise and fall with a deep exhale through his nose as he pulled out the tweezers from the first aid kit, using his other hand to grab the oil lamp and pull it closer so he could see the shards of glass protruding out of your skin better.
“You could have fucking died. One second too late and we wouldn’t be fucking having this conversation. You’d be lying on that fucking hospital floor with a bullet through your skull.”
You looked at him then, your mouth falling open slightly. You knew that Joel would have to kill you if you had become infected. It would just be business at that point. He’d make it quick as seeing you suffer would be too much for him to bear.
“You think I'd let you live as one of those things?” He stifled a chuckle. “I’m cruel darlin, but I would never let you live through that. So do yourself a favor. Don’t fucking put yourself in a position where you can get bit. You’re fuckin smarter than that.” He had gently grabbed your forearm then, twisting it around to see where the glass was before he looked up at you.
The moonlight softened your features and casted an alluring glow. For a moment, he glanced down at your lips. They were cracked in some places from the elements and he knew you had a nasty habit of picking the skin off your lips from anxiety. Despite that, the urge to kiss you was brewing deep in his gut. Whether he would fall into the trap of his emotions, was all up to him.
“Squeeze my hand if it starts to hurt, alright? Those shards are pretty deep so I'm gonna have to dig them out.” He spoke calmly.
You appreciated his honesty in that moment and didn’t hesitate to grab his hand. Not because you were concerned about the pain, but because you wanted an excuse to be closer to Joel Miller in the moment. Your smaller hand gently grasped his calloused one, interlocking your fingers as he pulled the first shard out, causing you to hiss under your breath from the sudden pain.
He liked the way your hand felt in his, your skin wasn’t nearly as rough and worn as his. Your fingers were delicate and your palm was warm. He found himself subconsciously rubbing the outside of your hand with his thumb in slow, gentle movements.
Joel Miller cared for you and it terrified him.
The next few shards were easier to pull out and he laid the discarded pieces on what was left of your flannel.
“I’m sorry for yellin at ya the way I did.” He finally spoke. “I just, seein’ the clicker on you like that..hearin’ Ellie’s screams.” He took another deep breath.
“I’m not good at this kinda shit.” He admitted. “If you would have fuckin died back there, I don’t know what I would have done. I can’t–I can’t lose you darlin. I wouldn’t be able to go on after that. The fuck would I have to live for?”
You were in shock. Joel Miller had never once opened up to you in this way. He was a man of few words but you could sense his vulnerability and you wanted to nurture it.
“Joel,” You spoke softly.
“Joel, look at me, please.” You squeezed his hand then, meeting his gaze which appeared to be much softer.
“You have Ellie to live for Joel. You would have to go on for her and you and I both know that.”
He didn’t want to admit that you were right. Losing you would be too much for him. He had already lost Tess, Sarah. Losing you would be the end for him.
“No, you don’t get it, do ya? You mean something to me. Fuck. You mean so much to me. All I do is fail Ellie. I failed you both today. I should have gotten that clicker. I was too slow. It's my fault.”
You slowly scooted yourself closer to him then, releasing your hand from his grip before you hesitantly grabbed his face, feeling his patchy stubble tickle your palms. You held Joel Miller’s face like your life depended on it. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The closeness was suffocating for you both. You swore you could hear Joel’s rapid heart beating against his rib cage. Beating for you.
You slowly dragged your finger along his skin, letting your thumb brush the scar above his right eyebrow, a permanent reminder of the first time you met. A ghost of a smile graced Joel’s face and your heart skipped a beat at the sight of his dimple.
“Joel, you fuckin listen to me and you listen to me good.”
“I promised Tess that I would protect you and Ellie. I promised her that I would take care of you, Joel. I don’t break those promises. If something were to happen to me, you have to promise me that you’ll carry out her final wish. You have to promise me, please Joel.”
His hands slowly came to wrap around your wrists and for a moment, you thought he would push you away. Instead, he slowly brought his hand to your cheek. He had wanted to feel your skin for so long now. He had dreamt about it. His thumb lightly brushed against your lower lip and he felt you suck in a harsh breath from the contact. He brushed away a bit of dried blood and dirt from your cheekbone as he searched your eyes, seeing the fear in them.
“I promise I will protect Ellie, darlin. My one condition is that you promise me that you’ll continue to fight like hell. Please, if you’re gonna die, you better do it in style.”
You fucking giggled. Joel fucking Miller made you giggle and it was pure music to his ears. He had never heard your laugh before and now that he had gotten a taste, he wanted more.
“Alright, alright, cowboy, If I die, I promise, I will go out in style. I swear to it.”
Your noses had brushed against each other in that moment, your lips were so fucking close that he could taste your breath on his skin.
“I’m going to lose my fuckin mind darlin if I can’t kiss you right now.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. It was an inner thought that turned into word vomit and he immediately panicked.
“Shit–that wasn’t..I– that was supposed to stay in my head and if it makes you–”
His ramblings were cut off by your lips pressing to his in a searing kiss. His thoughts were drunk on you the second he got a taste, he knew he was done for. His eyes slowly fluttered shut as he gently hoisted you into his lap in one swift moment. Using one hand to gently cup the back of your head while the other was firmly grasped around your waist. The kiss was slow, you were both savoring each other before the desperation kicked in and you were clawing at one another’s clothes before Joel pulled away, his eyes wild, lips swollen from you and his hair tousled.
“We can’t.” He breathed out “I want to but I have to finish cleaning your wounds. There’s still that gash I have to stitch up for ya..”
You surprised yourself and him when you let out a frustrated groan. All these years of pining after this hardened man, had you feeling desperate and he had no idea just how badly you had wanted him. You kissed him once more before placing two kisses against his jaw and reluctantly slid out of his lap. “We’re finishing this later, Miller.” You spoke with a lazy grin.
He looked at you with a knowing smirk as he pulled the thread and needle out of the first aid kit.
“Course we are darlin, can’t have you sleepin alone after tonight.”
Joel was incredibly gentle as he stitched the gash on your forearm up. He watched your face for any signs of discomfort but you were a fuckin trooper. Once he finished, he gently wiped the area down with the wash rag, making sure there was no dried blood or dirt left before he wiped the residue from your face. Stealing a couple kisses here and there because he just couldn’t help himself.
“That wasn’t my first near death experience.” You suddenly spoke as he packed the medical supplies up and a short nod of his head reassured you he was listening.
“You remember the day we first met?”
“How could I not? You threw a knife at my face with zero hesitation.” He gestured to the scar you had left.
“Glad to know you still remember that.” You smiled slightly before continuing.
“I ran into some raiders. Thought I could lose them in the cover of the forest but they were quick. Thank fuck for the rain. Then I saw you and Tess and thought it was a trap. Thought I was done for but like you said, I’m only allowed to die in style.”
“Anyway, I never have told you this before because well, my pride gets the best of me. You saved me that day Joel. You didn’t have to but you did and I never properly thanked you for it. Just don’t let it get to your head, alright? You’re already a big enough pain in my ass as it is.” You jokingly said and Joel laughed. A real fucking laugh and you could see his eyes crinkle in the corners and your heart swelled at the sight.
“You laughed mother fucker!”
“I did not! You’re mistaken, just had somethin caught in my throat. Think it was a damn mosquito or somethin.”
“Can you two shut the fuck up? Geez man, can’t a kid get some sleep around here or is it too much to ask? Get a room, you two are GROSS!” Ellie chimed in from the confines of her sleeping bag.
Joel laughed again.
“Sorry, kiddo. We’ll use our inside voices, alright?”
Ellie stuck her middle finger up in response.
“Damn.” He said. “She’s somethin ain’t she? She gets the swearin from you, I’m sure of it. Who woulda thought that a tiny thing like you would have such a mouth to her huh?”
You lightly punched his shoulder then before pulling him in for another kiss.
“You like when I swear, Miller.”
“That I do darlin, that I do.” he mumbled against your lips.
After having a small portion of food, Joel invited you into his sleeping bag. He wanted to hold you for a while till he would have to take the first watch. He loved how you fit in his arms so perfectly. He loved how you nuzzled your face into his shirt, breathing in his scent with a smile on your face. He rested his chin against the top of your head, looking up at the vast expanse of stars above and for a brief moment, Joel Miller was happy. He was so fuckin happy that you were his and if he were to die that night, at least his last moments would be with you, here in his arms were he felt like he was home. You were his home. You and Ellie were the two people worth saving. He saved you both. He protected you. Keeping you and Ellie safe is what kept his heart pumping, his feet moving and his lungs filled with air. God help any mother fuckers who would stand in his way.
Summary: You spent your entire adult life supporting yourself and barely getting by. It’s why a life of ease offered to you by a mysterious stranger sounded so foreign and unbelievable. Joel Miller, dressed in flannels that had seen better days, didn’t look like the kind who could promise you the world on a plate, but he seemed desperate to help out. All he asks is that you let him take care of you. That wouldn’t be so hard. Would it?
Summary: Joel wants you. The only problem is you're the on the arm of one of his partners. Mafia!au
Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader
Word count: ~10.2k
Warnings: angst, on page descriptions of abuse and an abusive relationship (not w Joel), smut (piv, Joel tells you how he tortured someone while he fucks you), biting, insecurity and negative self thought, protective!Joel, anxiety and dissociation, canon typical violence and torture, blood and injuries, death, graphic descriptions of injuries and death, implied (no explicit descriptions) past sexual assault, you and Joel torture your abuser together, reader and Joel are both a lil (a lot) fucked up
A/N: Hi! Please be sure to read the content warnings! They do contain spoilers but, this is not my usual content or style for those of you that are regulars here. If I missed something you think should be included in the warnings, let me know and I'll add it. I'm very nervous about posting it because it's not my usual fare so to anyone who actually reads this: Thank you! As always, I would love to know your thoughts! Please please please, be sure to leave feedback! I'm not sure where this one came from but I needed to get the idea out of my system so here we are.
“Look,” he says, “I ain’t fuckin’ happy about this, but it’s not like I could say no. Miller wants you there, so you’re there.”
You watch Robert adjust his tie in the reflection of the dark car window, but don’t answer. The landscape beyond the window is a mystery to you, pitch black as it is.
When the silence lasts, uncomfortable and thick, he turns to you. You avert your gaze immediately, staring down at your bare legs instead, velvet smooth, polished up in a way that makes you sick. You feel like a doll on strings.
Humiliation that seems to come with just existing in his presence weighs heavily on your shoulders. You’re sinking into the mud of your life, drowning in it, and you don’t know how to climb out again.
It’s everywhere. In your bones and between your teeth and nothing will ever be enough to muck it away.
You make yourself sick, because you don’t know if you just can’t see a way out or if you’re too weak to try.
“Hey,” his voice is low and dangerous. He grabs your chin and turns your head forcibly, so you have to look at him. “Did you fucking hear me?”
You swallow the venom that surges up the back of your throat, biting the words down instead, the violence that grips your heart. “Yes,” you say through gritted, aching teeth.
“Okay,” he releases you roughly, shoving your face away. “Fuck. I don’t know why you always have to be so difficult. Lose the attitude.”
You don’t respond. You aren’t meant to.
Lights appear in the distance, marking the end of the private drive up to the estate.
When the car eventually stops, the driver opens Robert’s door, but not yours. You take a few deep breaths, alone in the cab for a moment. Your heart beats hard against your ribs, anxiety tearing a hole through your lungs.
Your heart rate slows, until you can breathe without your chest hitching, until your hands stop shaking.
Steadied, you open the door and step out of the car. Robert shakes his head at you, his mouth a violent downward twist. His thoughts are clear by the tense, impatient lines of him.
Fucking useless. Can’t do anything right.
You hurry around the car, and take his hand when he extends it to you.
His grip tightens on yours until it becomes painful, the bone and tendons in your fingers grinding together. You’re reminded again of all your mistakes, of how violent the man next to you is, how you should have known better than to get involved with someone like him, that you should have heeded your instincts.
“You’re not going to embarass me are you, baby?” he hisses in your ear. “You’re going to be a quiet, pretty thing tonight, aren’t you? Just like I asked?”
You nod and his hand loosens on yours. “Good,” he pats your ass. It’s both patronizing and possessive in a way that you don’t like, in a way that makes you feel more like a thing than human. Hatred infects you like a disease, grows thick and dense inside your skin, like moss over the bark of an ancient tree.
You imagine breaking his fingers, cutting them off one at a time.
“Don’t want you getting confused about who you belong to again,” he continues, his hand drifting lower until the tips of his fingers brush the back of your thigh.
Not for the first time, you imagine what it would be like to drive a knife into his skull, to slowly press one deep between his ribs, straight into his heart. You wonder what it would feel like to have his blood rush over your fingers. Would his blood smell like iron and salt? You can only imagine it stinks. Like garbage, like piss.
The inside of the estate still surprises you, even though you’ve been there more times than you can count over the last year.
Though the house is huge, it isn’t opulent. The styling of it is more western, down to earth, even comfortable. It’s impressive nonetheless, and certainly bigger than any home you’ve ever stepped foot in. The tones of it are softer, less glass and steel and more wood and earth tones.
You’d heard rumors that Joel kept horses somewhere on the property. Sheep, too.
Rumors eventually confirmed to you by the man himself. A little secret.
Robert hands his jacket over to an attendant in the foyer, while you wait, shivering in the air conditioning that blasts from a vent overhead. You fidget with the edge of your dress. It’s incredibly short. It’s something you never would have worn before you met Robert. The neckline of it is off the shoulder, though the sleeves trail to your wrists and drip from your hands.
It makes your tits look good, he had said when you tried it on for the first time.
It’s a dress that you’ll be easy to fuck in, he had said.
You have never been able to enjoy these events, these self-congratulatory little parties. You aren’t allowed to. You are pretty eye candy, voiceless, for Robert.
Or, you had been at first. Until he figured out he could leave you to your own devices and find other women to fuck.
You had dreaded these parties, until Joel took more than a passing interest in you.
Robert might have been blind to it, but you hadn’t been. Joel Miller’s attention had lingered on you from the very first night you met, his gaze heavy from across the room. His hand had been warm and large over yours when you were formally introduced just that once.
He hadn’t spoken to you again until Robert started leaving you on your own, though that didn’t stop him from looking. Brown eyes that cast nearly black in the low lighting had met yours over and over, and even when you didn’t look back, you could feel the heaviness of his stare.
And unlike with Robert’s attention, Joel’s didn’t feel like a threat.
Inexplicably, Joel had started spending most of his time lingering by your side when you were eventually left alone. It went on like that for months before Robert noticed. Before he’d noticed someone being kind to you, before he noticed you actually enjoying yourself.
The first time Robert left you on your own Joel had approached you almost immediately. He had complimented your dress, his voice a raspy drawl that made something in your chest twinge and your pussy throb. He had been magnetic, something both incredibly dangerous and safe lingering around him like a balm, his cologne sharp and familiar and consuming. “Just wonderin’ how you’re gettin’ on,” he’d said. “You’re always here but you never make any friends. Robert doesn’t let y’do much talkin’ to other folks.”
“I didn’t know this was the sort of place to make friends.”
Joel had grinned. “Well,” he’d glanced around. “You might have a point there.” When his gaze slid back to yours, heat erupted under your skin. He’d looked at you like he could see right to the middle of you, to the dark soul that lived between the slats of your ribs, like creatures in the deep, dark earth. “We can be friends though.”
And despite his tone, the low cut of his voice, something told you he meant it. Joel would be your friend.
He’d stood there and talked to you for much longer than he should have as the host, as the most powerful man in the room.
Each occasion, he spent more time by your side, until you came to look forward to those parties because it meant Joel would spend his entire night by your side.
When Robert finally noticed, the night he struck out with some other woman and went looking for you, things hadn’t turned out well.
You can’t remember now what you’d talked about that final evening, all you know is that you’d laughed, felt comfortable, smiled and smiled.
Probably the same things you and Joel always talked about.
Music, usually. You talked about music a lot with Joel. About his favorite artists and yours. You remember finding out the penchant he shared with you for old country music, and thinking it must be something like divine intervention that brought you before him. Linda Ronstadt. Willie Nelson. Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline, Hank Williams. All common favorites.
He used to play guitar, he’d revealed to you eventually, and you swore the tips of his ears went pink. He sings, he’d said another time, but only when no one could hear.
He’d talked about his daughters a lot, one from a previous marriage that had lasted less than a year, and the other adopted, the child of a friend who had passed too soon. Her mother was a woman he spoke of with great respect in his voice. He’d never mentioned their names, or any major details about them, and you knew why. His wasn’t a world where people could be easily trusted.
You hadn’t known if you trusted him either, but you had felt safe with him. Until one day, you realized you did.
You trust Joel.
Joel had told you all kinds of things that some part of you suspected he didn’t tell anyone else at those parties, that he didn’t want to tell anyone else.
You found out that he did, in fact, keep horses and sheep. That he called his mother when he needed advice and that his girls stayed with her on the nights he hosted these events. That, really, he took all his cues from a woman named Tess. “Robert ain’t as important as he thinks,” he’d said to you, his arm along the sofa behind you, carefully not touching you. “Sorry to say it like that. But really, it’s me and Tess.”
That last fateful night, he had touched you — your cheek, the corner of your jaw, his eyes dark and focused. He had cupped one large hand against the side of your head and examined you, hungry gaze sliding over your face. Breath caught in your lungs, you hadn’t dared lean into it, not sure who was watching.
His hand had drifted down the side of your throat, skimmed your collarbone, and you hadn’t stopped him, hadn’t wanted to, not even when his fingers brushed the skin just above the neckline of your dress.
Joel is older than you, and viciously handsome. He’s broad shouldered, the muscle in his forearms thick and scarred, sleeves rolled to his elbows, biceps straining against the material of his shirt.
He always wears the same thing, black trousers and a white button up with too many of the buttons left undone, the vein that runs down the side of his neck on display, the arches of his collarbone. He’s golden skinned and dark eyed and the gray in his hair and beard makes you weak.
He always has a gun tucked in his belt, and on more than one occasion the knuckles of those broad, veined hands, have been laden with bruises, the scars outlined starkly against the newly broken skin.
The sight of the bruises, the blood, always made your mouth water, your throat dry. You’d wondered what was wrong with you, that the sight made you hungry.
“You’re stunnin’, bright eyes,” he’d said, hand sliding away almost reluctantly to pick up his glass. “Hope Robert knows what he’s got.”
He doesn’t, you’d wanted to say, and he never would.
“Is that a Bonnie Tyler reference?” You’d asked instead. “Never would have expected that from you.”
“One of my daughters is in an 80s pop phase,” he’d said with a shrug, an explanation for his familiarity. “Some of it’s pretty good. And, well, if it fits, y’know? And I say it does.”
Butterflies had erupted in your stomach, like you were a school girl with a crush.
It was a pleasant feeling.
It hadn’t mattered. You don’t know what Robert had seen, just that it had been enough to condemn you.
All you know is that the car ride home had been particularly painful that night, an onslaught of harsh words and threats. Robert in your face, his hand gripping the back of your neck, jealousy lashing against you like a storm wind.
“He’d eat you alive. You have no idea what kind of man that is. How fuckin’ dangerous. The people he’s killed. How he kills ‘em. Don’t ever let me catch you talking to him again.” His grip had tightened, “You think you can fuckin’ cheat on me?”
You think it had less to do with how dangerous he was and more to do with his attention, his very kind attention. The bruises you sported the next day were proof of that as Robert laid out photos on the dining room table and forced you to look at Joel’s work. People he’d tortured, murdered, hurt.
According to Robert, at least.
“You don’t get where he is without blood on your hands. That the kind of man you want? Huh?” His breath had been hot against the back of your neck, sour in your nose, his palm forcing the back of your head down so you couldn’t look away. “Doesn't matter. You’re never going back there.”
He’d released you with a hard shake, leaving you alone with the photos.
But all you’d really been able to wonder, as you stared at the pictures, is what those people did to deserve it. And if Joel might do the same to Robert.
You’d imagined it for just a moment. His corpse. Blood on Joel’s hands, between his teeth, a snarl on his mouth.
For you.
It’s a delusion that sustains you, even if you know it would never happen.
You can’t imagine, anyway, that Joel would care, if he knew what was happening. He’s kind to you because he’s attracted to you, because of the slutty little dresses you wear. He wouldn’t upset whatever delicate balance his business partnership with Robert rested on, for you.
There’s nothing beyond that, you tell yourself, there can’t be. The only reason he hadn’t tried to fuck you, and relegated himself to looking and talking, is because his business is tied up with your boyfriend.
You haven’t been back to the estate since that night, months ago.
And apparently Joel has been asking after you for all that time. Which is what has brought you back tonight.
Robert likes you to believe that he and his partner are equals, but if Joel could demand something like this, and Robert listened, you know exactly who’s really in charge.
Not that you hadn’t known that before and not that it matters for you. You’re under his thumb no matter who’s in charge.
You’re afraid of Robert, afraid he’ll do something worse than he has already. You’re reminded of it everyday. His house is littered with other womens’ things. There were others before you, there will be others after. And you’re terrified that something worse might happen before you get a chance to figure out how to leave. If you can figure it out.
Now, Robert offers you his arm, covering your hand with his. You relax despite yourself, because for the next few hours at least, you are safe. He’ll be distracted, he’ll pay you very little mind. So long as you can avoid Joel, the evening might be a relatively peaceful one.
He leads you up a winding staircase, where you note the absence of pictures or art on the wall, though there are clearly studs where something had been hung. You imagine the staff taking pictures of his daughters down, covering them carefully, storing them away somewhere safe. At the top of the landing, you’re pulled through a door into a large living room, currently converted into an event space.
Robert’s mouth presses to your ear beneath the low yellow lighting. “Remember what I said.”
He pulls away and leaves you alone in a sea of veritable strangers.
You swallow and move toward the bar, unsure what else you could do, very carefully not looking around or at anyone for too long, afraid your gaze might meet his, that you might attract his attention.
Your efforts are wasted.
It doesn’t take long for the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end.
When you turn, Joel is watching you from across the room. You can’t read his gaze, and so you turn away without acknowledging him, without ordering a drink.
You silently beg any entity that might be listening not to let him approach you. And though you can feel the weight of his eyes, he doesn’t.
You find yourself wandering further into the house, past dining rooms and low couches and chandeliers that somehow manage to fit the aesthetic. Away from his watchful, heavy gaze.
Lucky for you, there’s plenty of room to wander, away from both of them.
There’s a balcony, and though the night is balmy and warm, no one has slipped through the parted doors.
So you do.
Joel trails you through the living room, past the sitting rooms and the dining room.
You tug at the edge of your dress as you walk. It’s short, like it always is. It barely covers your ass and anyone that looks at you could tell that you’re uncomfortable in it.
That first day he’d seen you, you had been wearing something similar, something that left little to his imagination. A dress that accentuated every dip and curve of you — your plush thighs, the soft of your belly, your ass.
You’d looked vaguely uneasy, like you weren’t sure how you'd ended up there.
But he had to give you credit where it was due, because you kept your chin tipped up.
Even if your eyes were round with anxiety and you seemed wary of the man whose arm your hand rested on.
When your eyes had met his, you hadn’t looked away. You hadn’t even blinked.
He’d tried to brush it off, the desire that ripped through him at the mere sight of you. It had happened before. Sometimes the fuckers that work for him got luckier than they deserved, and dragged an unsuspectingly beautiful woman through his door.
This one though, you, had seemed different.
He had known pretty much from the moment he’d seen you that he wanted you.
He hadn’t wanted to keep his eyes off you, and had briefly entertained the fantasy of stabbing your dirtbag boyfriend in the throat to sweep you off your feet. Just so he could have you.
He hadn’t been sure you’d appreciate the sentiment though.
But there was something special about you, and he wanted you to want him. So, he watched you come and go from the parties he hosted, always on Robert’s arm. You lasted far longer than any of the others he’d ever brought along.
He’d let you catch him watching you, let you watch him look at you. Your eyes were steady, vivid in a way he hadn’t encountered before.
You hadn’t squirmed under his gaze, you’d looked back, because Robert was never paying attention to you and when he was you looked uneasy.
Joel could never quite put his finger on what you were thinking in those moments, when Robert looked at you, whispered something in your ear, just that he thought you looked afraid.
It worried him, but he was never sure where to place it. If he was seeing something that wasn’t there because he wanted you.
And when he finally spoke to you, he couldn’t stop thinking about you, waiting for the next time he might get the chance. Just to get to sit close to you and listen to you talk about music, or your job, or any other mundane thing.
You had a way of loosening his tongue, just by looking up at him with those pretty eyes, shining beneath thick lashes that dusted your cheeks when you glanced down. Somehow he’d told you about Sarah and Ellie, about his ex-wife, about playing the fucking guitar when he hasn’t played or even spoken about playing outside his girls for years.
There’s a darkness in you too, one that he’d glanced a few times. Usually when he sported bruises and cuts on his hands, sometimes his forearms. He knows you know where he gets them.
He shouldn’t have touched you the last night he saw you. He suspects that was the reason for your absence, that Robert had seen something.
It was a stupid move, even if he’d wanted to do more. He’s wanted to pull you into his lap, kiss you until his lungs burned, tug down the hem of that pretty dress, fuck you in front of everyone in that room.
And since that night, all he’s been able to think about is you. Worried you might disappear and not sure why.
Now, he watches you slip out onto the empty balcony.
Joel follows you, closing the doors firmly behind him. You lean against the stone balustrade. You don’t turn at the sound of the doors closing, but your shoulders go stiff.
The balcony is lit in warm yellow light, moths swarming and fluttering against the lamps.
“Joel,” you say, your voice strangely flat. “Don’t you have guests to entertain?”
“They’re mighty good at entertainin’ themselves. Samplin’ the product and all.”
You turn to meet his eyes. “Right.” Your voice is humorless.
“Haven’t seen you around, bright eyes. What’s kept you away?” He approaches and leans next to you.
Your chest hitches at the proximity, and he lets himself drink you in for a moment.
Maybe he should feel bad about looking at another man’s girl, but he can’t bring himself to. “Maybe your parties are boring.”
You don’t smile when you say it. Usually, you smile at him. He’s gotten good at getting you to smile.
But there’s a distance in your eyes today. You don’t quite meet his gaze.
“I don’t think it's that,” he says. “You look real pretty though.” He lifts a hand, touches the hinge of your jaw, the pulse point in your throat, because he can’t help himself. You look soft, ethereal, in the faint light, glowing from the inside out. Your heart beats against his fingers before he moves his hand to the base of your neck, your clavicle, to the top of your dress.
Your skin is like velvet against the calloused pads of his fingers. Vanilla floats in the air around you, thick and sweet, lingering.
He flirts with the silk material of your dress, toys with it between his fingers, your nipples peaked against the delicate material. You suck in a sharp breath and your hand circles his wrist to push his hand down. “You have to stop,” your voice trembles. “You can’t. I can’t.”
Joel looks at you again, but you still aren’t looking at him, head turned to the side.
Your eyes dart around the balcony, to the windows and the door. Fear rolls off you in an acrid wave.
“Why are you with him, sweetheart?” He steps closer to you. “Your boyfriend is in there tongue fucking another girl right this second. You know he is.”
You swallow thickly and Joel brushes his hand along your collarbone when you don’t move away. “Joel—”
“Look at me,” he says, gripping your jaw lightly. You could move away if you wanted but you don’t, bright eyes finally meeting his. The familiar edge of fear lingers around you, and uncertainty flashes through him as it always does about what you’re really afraid of.
“What’s he holdin’ over you, huh? You can tell me. There’s nothin’ I wouldn’t do for you. I was goin’ crazy waitin’ for you to come back here.”
“Nothing,” you reach up for his hand, and try to push him away.
He tightens his grip just a fraction, and you flinch. Joel freezes, a sense of dread burrowing into his chest.
He frowns, carefully turning your head so he can look into your eyes, when he sees it. Your makeup has smudged under his grip, there’s a patch of discolored skin on the base of your neck. It extends onto the top of your shoulder.
It becomes apparent it's a bruise when he shifts his hand to depress his thumb against the discoloration and you wince.
“Joel,” your voice is low, begging. “Stop.”
Panic flickers in his gut, followed by fear that turns almost instantly into rage, into bloodlust. He sees red. He sees that fucker’s head on a pike.
“Did he do this to you?”
You jerk away from him and step back. “Stop.”
“Yeah? He listen to you when you tell him to stop?”
You blink at him. There’s nothing in your expression, your face blank. “Stop telling him to bring me here,” you say, like nothing happened, like he hadn't seen what he just did. “It’ll be easier for both of us.”
He reaches for you but you step back out of his reach, staring down at your toes. You shake your head, “You’ll just make it worse.”
“Make what worse?” He growls.
You don’t answer, and shake your head again, pressing your lips firmly together. “Darlin’,” he takes a step closer. “Make what worse?”
You swallow and meet Joel’s eyes. There’s violence brewing there that makes you want to flinch away, cower. And maybe you would, if it weren’t Joel. “You don’t know what he’ll do to me. Right now he thinks you wanna fuck me and that’s bad enough. If he…if he thinks I—”
“I’m gonna ask one more time, honey,” he reaches for you, cups your face between gentle hands, so different to how Robert had held you in the car. He holds you like you’re glass, like you’re delicate and precious.
Anger pours off him in hot waves, but it’s not directed at you, never at you. For you.
Some primal part of you reacts to that, likes the protective warm cut of it.
“Make what worse?” He brings your face close to his, thumbs stroking over the apples of your cheeks. “What’s he doin’ to you?”
You swallow thickly and close your eyes.
“Look at me,” he says and waits until your eyes flick open. “He won’t leave here alive. You just have to say the word. He’ll never touch you again.”
You have a feeling that if you confirm it, he wouldn’t let him leave alive anyway.
You wonder if it's wise to trust Joel. To be again the helpless little maiden that needed saving. It was how you’d fallen in with Robert in the first place after all.
But some part of you had known about Robert from the very beginning, that he would only ever want and take from you.
But Joel…he’s the right hand of a woman. He calls his mother for advice. His daughters are his world.
“I owed money to the wrong people,” you say suddenly. “Loan sharks because I was behind on rent. And he got me out of it. Made me feel safe.” You pull out of Joel’s grip and cross your arms over your chest. “But that didn’t last. And if I — if I step out of line, he’s gonna—”
“What? Get his money back? Tell ‘em to go after you instead?”
It’s not what you’re worried about. The loan sharks are no longer what you worry about.
But hearing Joel say it like that makes you feel stupid, hearing him think you’d be that stupid hurts. But he doesn’t know about the other womens’ things you’d found at Robert’s place. Things they wouldn’t have left behind.
“Fuck you,” you spit. “No. I’m afraid he’s gonna fucking kill me if I try to — if I — I don’t have anywhere to go. And I think there were others before me. I’m stuck. I don’t have family or money or a huge fucking house somewhere in the middle of nowhere to hide in.” Your hands are trembling but you clench them into fists. “Stop asking me to come back here,” you snarl. “It just hurts me.”
You only make it half a step backwards when his hand curls around your wrist again. His grip is loose. “He ain’t walkin’ outta here tonight, sweetheart.”
“Joel—”
“No.” He tugs you back and you can’t find it in yourself to resist him. “See sense. I can help you. I can protect you.” His hands travel to the sleeve of your dress, the material pushed gently down your arm. “It’s alright,” his voice is almost a coo, like you’re a startled animal.
You glance away, blinking back the tears that threaten to line your eyes, when his breath hisses from between his teeth.
There’s no way to lie your way out of those marks, so you don’t. “He was mad because you looked at me. Because you touched me,” you explain instead.
“Because of me,” he says flatly, forcibly calm. Guilt bobs beneath the surface, the still rocky dregs of violence. “Was this the first time?”
You don’t answer, which is answer enough. It’s an answer he knew before he asked.
Joel tenderly pinches your chin between his thumb and his forefinger and tilts your head back. His eyes are sincere, dark vows. “He ain’t gonna touch you or anyone else again. Never. That’s a promise.”
Joel’s bedroom is vast. You’ve been there for hours.
Shortly after depositing you there, the music in the main part of the house had stopped. You could hear the guests leaving in droves.
From the wide windows and the balcony doors in his room, you’d watched the cars disappear down the drive, tail lights burning red into the distance.
One of the members of staff had dropped off something for you to eat, more than you could ever hope to consume in one sitting, in fact. And then you’re alone again.
You wonder what’s happening. Joel hadn’t said what he planned to do, you just know that you’d relished in the calculating look in his eyes, the violence lacing the tension in his shoulders, while his hands were gentle with you, guiding you to sit on the edge of sofa in the sitting area of his room, telling you nothing was off limits, to use whatever you’d like.
“But stay in this room for now,” he’d said. “Just for now. Clear?”
“Clear.”
And so you did.
To pass the time, after all the cars seemed to have gone, the house eerily silent and still, you explore his room.
You think about Robert, his hands around your throat, the bruises that litter your arms and torso. He was usually good about striking where it wouldn’t be seen, but something in him had broken and never recovered that night he saw Joel with his hands on you.
You think about that as you paw through Joel’s closet and then his dresser and then through the ensuite bathroom.
He keeps several pairs of reading glasses in his bedside table. Next to the lamp is a book about constellations with a bookmark in the shape of a butterfly marking his page.
It’s pink and purple.
Joel has a pink and purple butterfly bookmark in a book on stars next to where he sleeps.
On his dresser, there are a few framed photos. Joel with two smiling teens who must be his daughters. In another, one of the girls stands with a woman who you figure must be her mother for all their similarities. The two girls in matching soccer uniforms. Joel and a man you don’t recognize, but figure might be his brother or a cousin. The girls, younger and childlike, with an older woman that could only be Joel’s mother.
You trace the outline of one of the fames and think about how Joel said he’d told his girls about you. That ain’t usual. I don’t talk about this side of things with them. But you don’t really count as bein’ on this side do you? They wanna meet you sometime.
You flick through the stack of records on the console below the TV, next to an ancient record player. Something in your chest loosens when you recognize all the titles, all the music you and Joel talked about, that he hadn’t just been saying whatever he thought you wanted to hear.
The 80s pop one of the girls is into at the moment is there too. And you think about how much time they must spend together as you pluck at the string of a guitar propped on a stand below one window.
Eventually, you decide to take a shower. You use every one of Joel’s products and even though they smell like him, it’s somehow not like him at all, not good enough, not like his skin, like his breath.
You pull your panties back on afterwards because you don’t have much of a choice but leave your dress on the floor and pull on one of Joel’s flannels instead.
It's one that’s particularly worn, and though it smells sharply like detergent, you imagine it's something he wears when he tends to the horses, the sheep. You imagine you can smell hay and leather if you breathe in hard enough.
Joel’s vast closet is mostly flannels and t-shirts and blue jeans. It suits him better, you think.
You pace, flick the TV on then immediately off when the noise of it startles you.
Eventually you curl on the bed, what must be Joel’s side of the bed, on top of the covers. You feel like it would be too much fuss, too familiar, to get beneath the sheets, despite having gone through all his things and left them strewn around.
Then, as the purple light of dawn starts to spill over the horizon, the doubt starts to creep it.
Had things really been that bad between you and Robert? Maybe you were making something out of nothing. It wasn’t wrong for a man not to want someone else to look at what was his, and you’d been all too eager to lean into it.
If Joel had kissed you that last night, you would have kissed him back, you would have let him devour you. He could have asked to fuck you in that room full of people and you probably would have agreed.
Worse yet, maybe Robert would tell Joel exactly what he thinks of you, each and every fault that warranted a reminder on your skin that you were not perfect and never could be. You’d never be good enough. And maybe Joel would believe him, storm back into this room, the darkness you saw swirling in his eyes directed at you, and tell you to get out, to go back to your boyfriend and learn to be good, better.
You fall asleep somewhere between the threads of dawn and your worries, tucked between the two like the maw of something hungry is pressing down on you.
The soft sound of the door snapping closed wakes you.
You sit upright so quickly your vision spins. Joel stands there, between the little sitting area and the bed.
You scramble off the bed as he comes closer, suddenly aware of the true mess you’d made and how you’re in nothing but his shirt and your underwear.
Embarrassment floods your system. The pictures are askew and out of the order they’d originally been in, some of his clothes are still scattered on the floor, the book on constellations is open to a random page, butterfly bookmark tucked into the cover so it didn’t get lost.
Joel approaches you slowly.
His face is creased, eyes sharp as they take you in. His forearms glisten with sweat, his neck too. You can see the pearl of it at the hollow of his pretty throat.
His shirt and arms and face are covered in flecks of blood.
He yanks a blanket off the back of the sofa he passes, and when he unfolds it and lifts it to curl around your shoulders, you flinch.
His hands still.
Hands that are still bleeding and so raw it's a wonder that you can’t see bone.
“Hey,” he says, his voice that soft drawl it’s always been. “You just look mighty cold. I know this is gonna sound empty after goin’ through all you have,” he says, tucking the blanket around your shoulders. “And I’m sorry, honey, so sorry, I didn’t realize before. But I will never hurt you that way. Never. I know it’ll take time for that to feel true.”
You blink at him, only realizing then that you’re shivering, that you’re cold and that’s why he’s wrapping you in a blanket. Your gaze shifts from his face to his hands again.
You don’t know how to answer him, how to ask what happened.
Instead, you cup his hand in yours.
He hisses through his teeth when your palm brushes against the bloody flesh, the open, still weeping wound.
His skin is slick with sweat beneath your hand when you lift the other to the side of his face. Though Joel has touched you plenty of times, you’ve never touched him in return. Too afraid of, too loyal to someone who treated you like shit.
He closes his eyes for only a second and leans into your touch.
“Is he dead?”
Joel sucks in a sharp breath, gaze darkening. “Not yet.”
“Oh,” you murmur, not really sure if you want him to be or not, still running your thumb over his abused flesh, though Joel doesn’t make a sound of protest.
It’s gross, probably. It’s certainly unsanitary but you can’t seem to stop.
It’s Joel’s blood, but the drops of it further up his arms and splattered on his face and shirt, that’s definitely not his. That is definitely the blood of a man who’d made your life a living hell for over a year.
You get the insane urge to kiss his knuckles. You want his blood on your mouth.
Instead you keep a steady pressure there until he suddenly grunts, the only indication that you’re causing him pain.
You don’t say anything, just hold the blanket closed against your chest with one hand and drag him to the bathroom with the other. He snags a first aid kit from one of the cabinets you pass and hands it to you without comment.
The bathroom is cooler than the bedroom, Joel’s gaze lingering on your discarded dress on the floor, the shower you left in disarray.
You stand so close together that just breathing is enough to bring you together.
“You hate those, don't you? The dresses?”
“Yes,” you answer viciously and set about cleaning the wounds on his hands. Carefully cleaning and washing out the lacerations before adding an ointment and rolling gauze around his knuckles. “I want you to tell me what you did,” you say. “All of it.”
He hesitates. “Bright eyes—”
You look into the black depths of his eyes, the faint worry that lines his gaze. Maybe he thinks that now, in the cool calm of the bathroom, with the sun of another day rising, that he’d gone too far in the night, that he strayed and you would condemn him for it.
“Tell me,” you say again.
He breathes out through his nose and nods.
You finish wrapping both his hands and then wait. Joel anchors his hands on your hips and gently maneuvers you so that your back is to the counter.
He leans over you, his body a solid wall against yours.
He dips his head next to yours, his nose skimming against yours. His breath is warm against your lips, mustache tickling your cheek. The sweat that had been beading on his skin is drying now, leaving the hair at the base of his neck a mess.
“I made him tell me what he did to you,” he says, his voice low. “Every single thing.”
“Why?” You want to drop the blanket and push yourself against him, to feel the heat burning off him in torrential waves melt into you, turn you into something buttery and malleable. He smells like all the things in his shower, like motor oil, like sweat and something that’s uniquely Joel. Something you want to cover yourself in.
Just so everyone knows there’s a heart you belong in.
It surprises you again, that feral clawing need that’s making you fucking drip. He’s going to tell you about beating someone and you’re wet over it. You think about his blood on your mouth again, about knives stuck between ribs.
“Because I wanted to be angry,” his voice is a snarl against your mouth. “I was already — I was already mad. But I wanted to know, because I didn’t want to hold back from wonderin’. Wanted him to admit it and I wanted to hear it straight from the horse's fuckin’ mouth.”
You shiver and Joel moves his hands from the counter to the blanket. He pushes it off your shoulders. The thick material pools at your feet. His hands hesitate around your waist, so you cover them with your own and press them to your hips.
Joel falls into you with a groan, hands squeezing the supple flesh. “And he told me. Took a little convincin’.”
His voice is more wrecked by the second, thick fingers tracing inside the flannel you wear.
But you need to know. You want him to tell you what he did. What he did for you, just as you’d imagined in your own violent daydreams.
He’s panting against your mouth. The vein in his neck strains against his skin when he grits his teeth. “‘M sorry, darlin’. You wanna know why he’s not dead?”
You nod frantically as he works the buttons open on the flannel and pushes that off your body too. You decide to shove your panties down yourself, letting them tangle around your ankles. He pulls back just enough. Enough to see your body, the bruises that still linger, the other marks you hadn’t dared hint at.
He licks his bottom lip and then gnashes his teeth, a muscle jumping in his jaw when he meets your eyes. “Tell me.” He only looks at you, big hands spanning over your back, tracing up to your shoulder blades and then back down to your hips until you’re covered in goosebumps and your nipples tighten painfully.
“Because I thought you might wanna do it.”
You breath hitches, and your eyes go wide.
The world narrows down to just the two of you, the way your chest rises and falls, the way he doesn’t look away from you, waiting for your response.
You’re crossing some fucked up boundry together, that you can never come back from, and you don’t care.
“You can think on it,” he says, voice velvet soft and smooth, just for you, lips brushing your temple when he tilts his head again, breaking away from your eyes.
You can’t find your voice, can’t trust it not to break. Something hot clutches at your throat. If you open your mouth, you might scream, you might beg.
For what, you aren’t entirely sure.
Joel’s fingers trail down your body, pause against your lower belly. “Can I, sweet girl?”
“Yes,” you whisper, turning your face against his cheek, your nose pressing delicately into the skin there. “Yes.”
Joel runs the tips of his fingers through your folds. You’re embarrassingly slick with want, but you don’t have a chance to feel embarrassed because he groans into you, hitches your ass up onto the counter behind you.
It's cold and you jump but quickly hook your arms around his shoulders and hitch your knees against his hips. His free hand undoes his belt, you hear the zipper, feel the rough tug of the fabric of his trousers against the insides of your thighs, all while he patiently draws tight little circles around your clit.
Desperate to feel his skin, some part of the molten lava of him, you shove one hand into the collar of his shirt. His skin has erupted in sweat again, the push of you together seeming to drive him mad.
You press your face to his throat and inhale, licking over his salty skin, suddenly very aware of the fact that he hasn’t even kissed you.
He’s never kissed you and you don’t care.
The slick sound of Joel fucking his own fist fills the air, burning up all the oxygen in the room. “Joel—”
“Tell me you want it,” he moans. “I need to be sure.”
“Yes.”
“More than that, sweetheart,” he mumbles against your cheek, his breath hot against the shell of your ear, the edge of your throat. “He told me everythin’ he did to you.”
You pause, but only for half a second. “Joel, I want you to fuck me. And I want you to tell me what you did to him.”
The head of his cock nudges at your folds, brushes against your bundle of nerves, before you reach between you and notch him at your entrance.
He’s big, bigger than you’ve ever had before, and it takes a moment despite how wet you are, to get him all the way in.
“Will it fit?” You wonder out loud. Your voice sounds far away to your own ears but the groan it pulls out of Joel is almost too close, loud in your ears like his voice is trying to find a way to live inside you.
“It’ll fit,” he murmurs, sinking into you. “You’ll take it.”
It burns, stretches you open, but you don’t mind. You like it, you want it. He waits, his chest heaving against yours.
You can’t quite suppress the urge to scrape your teeth along the tendon in his throat. You want to bite him, to dig your teeth into him and leave a mark. “Relax,” Joel soothes. You can feel the bandages you’d so carefully wound around his knuckles brush softly against the ridge of your spine, the divots at the base of your back, the plush curve of your ass. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, squeezin me so goddamn hard.”
His thumb traces over your clit again, his other hand continuing to rub your spine until the tension in your body releases, your cunt pulsing around him. “There ya go, honey,” he coos. “So good. Good girl.”
You clutch him harder, clenching your eyes closed as the burn turns from pain to pleasure. The heavy weight of him inside you nearly choking you.
“I’m splittin’ you in two, ain’t I, honey?” He coos, a little condescending.
“Yes,” you breathe in his skin, the salt and tang of his body.
You’re falling apart but it’s comforting, somehow.
Maybe because you know he holds the pieces.
“Move, Joel,” you croak, not lifting your face from his shoulder.
It’s slow at first, his hips rocking against yours more than anything. His hands move to your hips when you rake your nails down his clothed back, digging your heels into the backs of his thighs.
You do bite him then, sinking your teeth into the space just above his collarbone. He groans and snaps his hips roughly against yours. Joel pulls away, tilts your head back with one palm as he fucks into you, his thumb slipping over your lips, dipping only briefly into your mouth when it falls open, trailing spit across your cheek.
“You wanted to hear it, didn’t ya?” he pants. “You want me to tell you how I fucked somebody up for you?”
“Yes, Joel.”
He grunts, eyes roving over you. You watch color rise in his cheeks, the bloodlust you like returning to his gaze. “I made him tell me. Everythin’,” he punctuates the word with a thrust that makes you see stars. “He’s sittin’ down in my fuckin’ garage covered in his own blood, baby,” he says. “For you. I didn’t wanna make it quick.”
Joel keeps fucking you, his body warm and heavy against yours, tilting you back until your head collides with the mirror over the counter. His hand supports your lower back, his mouth by your ear so you can’t see his eyes.
“I popped his knee cap outta place. He’s missin’ a couple fingers. Leg is probably shattered.” His voice is low and dangerous. “Everytime he told me somethin’ new, I gave him somethin’ to cry about. I saw red. I told you, I wanted to be mad. I wanted the excuse. I wanted to kill him the first time I saw you, jus’ to have you but now—”
You keep your arms tight around him, clinging to him. He slows his pace, pulling out almost all the way just to slam back into you. He hits something deep inside you that you swear has never been touched before, it sends you careening right to the edge, on the precipice of bliss. “—now I want it to hurt.”
Blood on his hands, blood between his teeth. For you.
Just like you dreamed.
It’s sick, maybe, but you don’t care. “I broke his fuckin’ nose,” Joel grunts. “Cut my knuckles on his teeth. Knocked ‘em down his throat.”
He pulls back from you, to look into your eyes, one hand pressing to the back of your neck while the other goes to your clit again. “You gonna come like that, bright eyes? While I tell you how I fucked somebody up for you?”
Your eyes roll back and then flutter closed.
His thumb slips through your folds, circles your clit again, pushing you ever closer to the edge. Your pussy clenches around him, a sob breaking past your lips. “Yeah, you like that,” he mumbles, kissing down your neck and over your chest, sucking one nipple into his mouth.
It doesn’t matter because Joel’s fucking you hard again the slap of his skin against yours loud in the otherwise silent house.
Your orgasm sneaks up on you despite the heat coiled in your belly, Joel’s voice in your ear again, his voice a rasp that makes you shiver against the cold mirror pressed to your shoulders.
Pleasure pulses through you in waves, your mind going fuzzy when the euphoric feeling never really reaches an end, prolonged by his fingers until you whine and push his hand away. You curl your fingers around the base of his cock, feel the way he slides into you, how you drenched him.
His skin is burning hot, slick with sweat under the fingertips of your other hand still on the back of his neck. You shutter against him, clutching so hard at his shoulders and then his hair he groans. “Fuck you’re tight, sweetheart,” he mutters.
His arm is firm around your hips, shifting you, using you, the way he wants. You comb your hands through his hair, slide the other beneath his shirt, feeling the flex of the muscle in his back, the damp skin. “Come inside, Joel,” you say. “It’s okay.”
He lets out another pained moan, hitting something deep inside you that makes your toes curl. It only takes a few more thrusts before he comes, his cock pulsing inside you.
“I got you, I got you” he mutters under his breath, cradling you to him, not stopping, fucking himself deeper into you. “You got another one for me, I know it.”
When your second orgasm racks through you it's from his cock and words alone.
You bite him again and this time you taste blood on his skin.
It’s midday when you and Joel finally lie down together.
He had helped you clean up before tucking you into his bed, still entirely nude. You’d watched him change after he took a quick shower, then listened as he made several phone calls — to the security that kept a vigilant watch night and day, to a couple of associates to take care of the oncoming mess that would come with what he’d done to Robert, to Tess, and then finally to his girls.
His voice changes when he talks to them, softer and mellowed, apologizing that they can’t come home for another day. He promises to make it up to them.
When he finally slips in behind you, you’re exhausted. From the rush of adrenaline you’d been running on, the panic, the fear, then him everywhere, everything. With blood on his hands for you.
Not just anyone’s blood. Your abuser’s blood.
You settle down against his firm chest, his belly is soft against your back, his facial hair scrapes against the skin of your shoulder when he kisses you there.
He fucks you again like that, his hands roaming your body, his cock nestled inside you from behind. You’re both careful of the ways your bodies are hurt unlike before.
It’s quiet, this time there are no words.
Joel stays inside you.
And just before you fall asleep, you think this is what being safe must feel like.
Someone brings you a pair of jeans, clean underwear, a bra, a t-shirt, and sneakers. You recognize them as your own articles of clothing from Robert’s place.
You don’t ask how they’d been procured for you.
You don’t bother with the t-shirt, hunting down the old flannel of Joel’s from the night before instead.
Joel stares at you for a moment when he sees you, and you do the same to him. You’ve never seen each other in clothes that weren’t —
Well.
Uncomfortable, and not entirely you.
He’s wearing jeans and boots and a t-shirt beneath a flannel. His hair is clean, soft gray waves.
“I meant what I said,” he drawls quietly. “I want to give you the choice.”
“What if I said I want to let him live?”
Joel’s jaw goes tight and he glances away. It’s clear he thinks you’re judging him, now, with rest and the clean light of day to show the dirt on his soul. “Well, I said I’d give ya the choice.”
You almost consider it. But you remember the other women and you know you can’t.
“Can we — Can I see him?”
Joel gives a curt nod and leads you through the house that seems more like a family home than it ever has. Somehow, someway, all the elegance of the previous night has been stripped away. Replaced with kids soccer and archery trophies and badly drawn art and photos of family members.
You don’t pause, figuring you’ll have time for that later.
Maybe.
If Joel doesn’t send you away once you’ve dealt with Robert, and now that he’s had your cunt.
It’s the same treacherous thought from before, that he only ever wanted to fuck you.
Elaborate thing to go through for pussy, though you don’t doubt people have done crazier things to get laid.
The garage is vast.
It smells like iron and salt. It smells like motor oil and piss.
Robert laughs when he sees you, the sound a wheeze that turns into a cough.
“She’s a dick jumper, I fucking told you,” he says, spitting blood onto the floor from the chair he’s bound to. “You deserved everything I ever fuckin’ gave you,” he spits at you. “All of it was to make you better.”
Joel’s eyes are on you, his gaze boring into the side of your head. Assessing, waiting.
He's given you a gift, and thinks you might reject it, that he might have gone too far, that is might scare you.
It doesn't.
“Better?” you ask curiously. “How?”
He coughs and grins through his broken teeth and his broken nose, the matted watery blond hair stuck to his forehead. His wrist looks broken, his leg too. There’s blood seeping slowly from a stab wound on the top of his knee. He’s missing fingers.
Joel hadn’t been lying about the work he’d put in.
His face is broken, covered in dried, crusted blood. Eyes blackened, nearly swollen shut. He's missing a patch of hair on the right side of his head.
“Made you know your place,” he slurs as you get closer.
You grab a fist full of his hair and yank his head back, depressing your other hand on his broken wrist. He screams and you relish in the sound. “Is that what I sounded like when you were teaching me to be better? Maybe I get it. It’s a nice sound.”
You do it again, listening to something crunch. You let him recover and he laughs again, the sound pained this time. “He’s gonna be just the same as me, bitch.” He spits at your feet. The glob of it lands next to your sneaker. “He’ll be worse.”
Joel’s by your side in an instant. You hear a rib crack when his fist collides into Robert’s side. “You’ll mind your manners,” he growls as a scream lances the air. “Ain’t very gentlemanly of you.”
“Fuck…you…Miller,” he pants, each word a struggle.
“Oh, I get it,” Joel says. “You think you’re gettin’ outta this.”
Something shines in your peripheral vision and you turn to find Joel offering you a switchblade. Despite what he’d just said to Robert, his gaze softens when you meet his eyes. “It’s still your choice. You ain’t gotta.”
But you want to.
You can taste it. His bloodlust and yours. It's in the air. It’s heady.
You reach out and curl your fingers around the hilt. “Together,” you say.
Joel doesn’t even blink, just slides his hand over yours. “You’re both fuckin’ crazy,” Robert says, his voice hoarse, real fear starting to leak into his voice.
You step closer, moving your hand from his hair to brace on the back of his chair. Joel mirrors you, silent.
You guide the blade to the base of his throat, watching a prick of blood slide down his skin. “You took everything from me. It’s only right I take it back.”
“No—” he chokes off when you press the blade closer.
You stare at him. “Everyday,” you say, “For more than a year. You beat me. You told me how to dress. You fucked me whenever you wanted, even if I didn’t want to. You made me feel alone. You told me what to do, what not to do.”
Joel’s hand tightens over yours on the knife.
Robert garbles out your name and Joel leans his knee into his broken leg until something snaps, the howl he emits terrifying in its pain. “You don’t get to say her fuckin’ name.”
“Were there others before me?”
“What?” His face is snotty with tears.
“You know what I’m talking about. Were there?”
He’s crying now, sobbing, fingernails scrabbling at the wood of the chair, his wrists rubbed raw from the bonds. “You have all this power. You help good little girls out when they’re in a tough spot and no one to remember them and do whatever you want with them. Were there others like me?”
You tighten your hand on the knife and Joel leans into his knee again until he screams “Yes! Yes, yes, please, fuck, please—”
“What happened to them?” You dig the knife into his throat, blood trailing over his chest in a thin line, darkening his already filthy shirt.
You have to know.
He doesn’t know, he says. Just turned them out eventually with nothing when he got bored. You know it's a lie, that at least some of them died, by his hand or someone else’s when he got bored. “How long did I have left?” You ask.
The fucker laughs. “You were better behaved than the others,” his head lolls. “Was thinkin’ of keepin’ you.”
You’ve heard enough. You grit your teeth and jam the knife forward, blood spurts over you and Joel’s joined fingers. He chokes on it and you don’t blink, watching the life leave his eyes. It burbles for a long sickening moment, still dripping over your hands.
It feels better than you thought it would. Thick and warm and liberating.
Joel pulls you away from him and the knife stays stuck in Robert’s throat.
Your fingers are sticky with blood when you cup Joel’s jaw. He doesn’t seem to mind the blood. You stare at him for a long moment, shaking, not able to breathe. “It’s over,” he says.
You finally release the air in your lungs, still trembling as he tugs you away, through the garage and back into the hall. The air is cleaner there, cool in the air conditioning.
“Does that make me like him?” You dare to ask. “Does that make me worse?”
“No.” His voice is hard with conviction.
There’s blood on your face too now from the way he’s cradling you. You don’t mind either.
Joel leans in slowly. And when he finally kisses you, it’s so tenderly that something in your chest aches. It burns and burns and then expels itself from you violently.
You hold onto Joel hard, kiss harder, and he lets you.
When he sinks into you, his body pulses with a heat that makes you ache, even if the floor is cold.
Woo! What a ride! If you made it this far, thanks for reading! Comments, replies, and reblogs are so appreciated. 💕
genre: smut, minors dni, no outbreak au, strangers to lovers
word count: 7.2k
summary: Joel has been experiencing knee pain for the past two months. When he finally sees an orthopedist, he learns that he has some minor damage to his meniscus. The doctor prescribes him anti-inflammatory medication and physical therapy, recommending swimming. At the pool, he meets you.
warnings: conversation about past failed relationships + sexual relationships, sarah's off at college, reader being briefly self conscious about her body, touch starved joel, oral (giving), both reader and joel not being intimate with anyone for a while, piv sex, riding for the first time, ass play, messy, joel showing small signs of relationship anxiety, sexual tension, size kink, dirty talk, joel is mentioned to be older than reader but how old isn't specified, praise kink, joel being...well-endowed
a/n: this ended up being more emotional and longer than I intended lmaodfbvfg whoops?
Joel worries his bottom lip between his teeth. His right knee bobs nervously, his jeans making a sound every time. The early morning sun filters through the small window. A soft yellow light bounces off the picture frames on the orthopedist's desk. She’s not here yet. The kind nurse had let him in early, saying she would be there shortly. It smells like medicine. It’s too clean and he doesn’t like it.
His stomach turns. Some part of him actually hopes the doctor doesn’t come in. Joel’s not hopeful about the results. His knees have been bugging him for the past two months. Locking painfully whenever he sat too long and got up. Or when he was sitting in the truck for too long. It just started to ache out of nowhere. It had gotten worse. He’d give in, finally, after Sarah practically begged him on the phone to see a doctor. After all this time he still couldn’t say no to his sweet girl.
The door opens with a click. Joel becomes stiff, eyes nervously following the woman. She takes a seat. Placing the folder neatly on the shiny table, she opens it and smooths it out with the flat of her palms.
“Good morning, Mister Miller.” she says, not bothering to look at him. “I've taken a look at your knee x-rays and it seems that you have a bit of damage in your meniscus.”
His molars catch the smooth inside of his cheek and sink into it. She just said a whole lot that he doesn’t understand. He shakes his head. She’s finally looking at him, sharp eyes peering between thinned lashes.
“Is it serious? What does that mean?” he asks, hands finding the curve of his knees.
“Well, the good news is that it's not a major injury. There’s just a bit of damage in the tissues and can be treated with some medication and physical therapy. You won’t need surgery unless it escalates. Which, hopefully, it won’t.”
“Okay, that's good to hear. What kind of medication and therapy do I need?”
“I'm going to prescribe you some anti-inflammatory medication to help reduce the swelling and pain in your knee. And as for physical therapy, I'd recommend you try swimming. It's a low-impact exercise that can help strengthen the muscles around your knee and promote healing. I also have some stretches I want to show you. I want you to do them daily.”
She closes the folder, picks up a deck of Post-it notes, and starts scribbling something.
“You were a contractor, right? I’m going to need you to refrain from heavy lifting for a while. No jumping, no running, no extreme movements that can affect your knee. Some walking is fine, but not a lot.”
“Well,” he smacks his lips. Now relaxed, he leans back into the chair and crosses his arms. “There goes my weekend plans.”
“Do you work out a lot? Because this is quite common in athletes.”
“Uh…It was a joke.”
“Oh.”
Suddenly he’s fidgety again. Not wanting to look dumb, he explains. “Because you said jumpin’ and runnin’ and no one spends their weekend jumpin’ do they?”
A nervous laughter bubbles in his throat, and he manages to swallow it down. She nods and peels the paper away. Handing it to Joel, she looks at him with a small smile.
“Sorry about that, it’s still early. And you’re right. They don’t.
You step into the small shower cabin and allow the cold water to trace over your skin and wash away the outside. The elastic of your swimming cap digs into your forehead, the goggles applying pressure right above your head. Slightly irritated, you sneak two fingers under where the plastic starts, allowing your head to breathe one last time before taking a dip in the pool. You come here almost every day. It’s relaxing, soothing.
Your fingers slip as you twist the knob, turning off the spray of water. You might be biased due to your childhood, but you love the pool. You love the chlorine that fills your lungs with every breath. It’s sharp and pungent, leaving a slight burn in your lungs. During summers your parents would send you off to summer camp, which you thoroughly enjoyed. Though, calling it a “camp” felt wrong. It wasn’t outdoors, and you would return after the day ended, just like regular school, but instead of math, there was swimming and basketball.
You remember those days fondly, which is why you sigh blissfully at the scent whereas a lot of people would wrinkle their noses.
Walking to the pool, you roll your shoulders. You wince upon hearing them crack. It’s been a long week. Your gaze lifts to the ceiling. The soft pitter patters of rain echoes. You love to swim when it rains. It also meant there would be fewer people, and no children. You don’t have anything against the tiny humans, but they had a habit of being loud.
You spot an older couple, their bodies swaying in a lazy backstroke, their voices spilling out in laughter. You also notice one other person that’s aggressively swimming back and forth. In one lane, you notice a man. His cap and black goggles make it hard to catch a glimpse of his face. It’s hardly inappropriate, but you can’t resist stealing a few more glances at him.
You take in his broad shoulders, thick neck, and shapely arms. You narrow your eyes. You catch a glimpse of his salt and pepper beard, the darker hue of his mustache hinting at the color of his hair. Your eyes drop to his hands, hidden in the water up to the knuckles. He clenches them into fists before releasing them.
Your curiosity piques. You’ve never seen him before, he looks lost. He’s standing above the built-in stairs which are mainly used for people who are just learning to swim. He takes another step lower. The light blue water splashes over his soft stomach and he jerks away. You instinctively smile. You usually don’t reach out to people. If they smile at you, you smile back or talk about the weather. But the stranger’s nervous energy prompts you to take a couple of steps closer—close enough that he can hear you. You take a deep breath, pressing your nails into your palms, you push down the thoughts about your own appearance. No one really looks that good in a one piece. You feel exposed, which is why you usually dip into the water as fast as you can before anyone can get a good look.
“Hi there,” you squeak, with an awkward lift of your hand. The man stiffens and turns. Your own image is reflected back at you thanks to the goggles he wears. “Sorry to bother you, I was just…wondering if you need help?”
He stares at you in silence for a brief moment, his brows drawn together with confusion. But a moment later he relaxes, his shoulders drop and he playfully shakes his head.
Finally, he removes the goggles, and you see his eyes— his gorgeous, big brown eyes. Your breath catches in your throat. You’re suddenly feeling very clammy and sweaty.
“Is it that obvious?” he asks, a grin teasing at his lips. “My doctor said I need to start swimmin’ before my knees give out entirely.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
He waves his hand in dismissal, “Don’t be. It's nothin’ that serious, just small damage to my meniscus. I know how to swim, so it’s nothin’ like that but I guess my nerves are fried from worryin’ all weak about the results. My brain still ain’t convinced that everythin’ is fine.”
God, he’s gorgeous. All you can do is focus on the movement of his lips. Him speaking is enough to fluster you. You need to get it together before he thinks you’re a creep. You part your lips, but the words die in your throat as you watch him. He starts climbing the steps one by one with an extended hand. The water cascades down his body, his trunks sticking to his thighs. In a fit of panic, you glue your eyes to his.
“I’m Joel by the way.” he takes your hand and gives it two firm shakes. You introduce yourself but all you can hear is your own frantic heartbeat.
“I’m glad it’s nothing serious,” you blurt out. You have no idea what to say or what you’re doing. “If you’re nervous we can do a couple of laps together if you want—if you’re comfortable with that, of course.”
You swear your heart stops when his eyes flit across your face, assessing how serious you are. His smile never fades. You inhale sharply when his tongue darts out from between his lips, sweeping over his damp bottom lip.
“I bet you say that to all the older guys.”
“Only the cute ones.”
Clearly, the circuits between your brain and mouth are heavily damaged because there’s no way on god’s green earth did you just say that. You blink fast. Images of you choking out another you vivid in your mind. You’re insane—only the ones that are cute, who even says that? No more romantic comedies for you.
Joel pushes his shoulders back. He exhales a deep breath, his chest heaving.
“Well, ain’t that kind of you.” he takes a step back into the water, some part of you regrets not sneaking at least one more glance at his nethers. “I guess I should take you up on your offer. It’s only polite.”
A nervous bubble of laughter escapes your throat. You don’t say anything and follow him into the pool. You’re glad to be finally submerging your body in water. Ever since you were little you would believe that water had magical healing properties. You would go into the water, thinking that someone it would speak to you. Despite being an adult, you still think that sometimes. It just makes life a little bit more fun. You know it’s stupid to think of chloric water having any kind of benefit to your body, however, it’s hard to break old thought patterns.
Joel dips head first, and after watching his distorted silhouette underwater, you follow. You smile, bubbles coming from your nose. Your spine cracks as your body becomes more fluid. You turn around so you are facing upwards. Light bounces on top of the small waves. The ceiling is nothing but a blur of white and blue. Some part of you wishes this was an open pool so you could feel the vibrations of raindrops hitting the waterline.
Turning again, you notice Joel moving up. His head pops above water. You take one last glance at his body before propelling yourself up, joining him.
Your eyes follow the way waterdrops smooths a line down from his neck to his shoulder. Your mouth goes dry.
“So,” you say. “Did your doctor give you any specific exercises?”
He shakes his head, “She just told me to go swimmin’. And not to put pressure on my knees.”
You think for a bit before answering, “Alright then. We’ll just take it slow, so a couple of laps first, take small breaks in between.”
“You…really don’t have to, you know,” Joel looks almost guilty before his eyes move away from yours. Confused, you raise an eyebrow.
“I don’t have to what?”
“Swim with me.”
You feel your heart shattering into tiny pieces of glass that stick to your lungs. His voice is barely above a whisper, cracking at the end of his sentence. Your body moves towards his by instinct. The most natural thing would be to place your hand on his cheek and pull him for a tender kiss. Your body singing at you to do it. And man, you’re tempted alright. You want to trace the seam of his lips with your tongue, taste the chlorine on his lips.
You ball your hands into tight fists, thankful to be hidden underwater. You recognize the loneliness that maps across his handsome countenance.
“I know I don’t have to,” you say instead. He looks back at you with surprise, eyes immediately dropping to your wet lips. “I want to.”
He lets out a breath of relief, and nods, a smile gracing his lips. “A’right then. As long as I’m not keepin’ you from anythin’.”
The swimming had gone well. Joel definitely had the body and stamina for it, and the more laps he did, the more confident he became with his strokes. You found yourself staring at him openly, stealing glances before you dipped below the water, hiding your embarrassment.
However, he was still a beginner, and he’s knees began to ache after the tenth lap. He insisted that you continue without him as he sat at the side of the pool. You were hesitant at first but agreed, however, your cheeks burned from the mere prospect of that man watching you swim.
When you’re done, you catch him staring at you with a fond smile lingering on his lips. You imagine that’s the same look he’d give you with the first rays of sunlight after a rather passionate night.
Your pussy bottoms out, heat spreading between your legs. You inhale sharply, accidentally snorting a bit of water. It burns and your eyes water, but you manage to swallow down the frantic coughs that threaten to rip from your throat.
“Sweet little mermaid.” he mutters as you approach, eyes following you with greed. Your breath hitches, and Joel loses his grounding for a moment. He clears his throat and looks away. “You swim well.”
“Thanks,” you answer. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
You ignore the heat that emanates from his thigh, your arms accidentally brushing against the hard muscle. You clumsily push yourself out of the pool and take a seat next to him.
“How’re your knees feeling?” you ask.
He lets out a hum, stretching his legs underwater. “They’re fine. Hopefully, this works.”
“I’m sure it will.”
"Even if it doesn't work out, at least I won't be going home empty-handed," he says with a smile. Your eyes flick to him and widen slightly. Very inappropriately, your nipples tighten. A blush starts from his neck and spreads across his broad chest, you notice the goosebumps bursting over his skin. He starts to fidget with his thumbs. “And by that, I mean that I got to meet you. I think I put that weirdly.”
The world comes rushing back and you feel the soft waves of the pool on your skin again. You smile. Without thinking much, you playfully nudge his shoulder with your own. A soft chuckle parts his lips as he leans into you. Neither of you moves away from the other.
“So,” you say, flinching at how high-pitched you sound. “Is there a Mrs. Joel?”
He laughs. The sound reminds you of an open field with colorful flowers dancing side to side with the wind. Instinctively, you sigh, your lashes kissing your cheeks.
“Nope,” he answers. “What about you?”
You shake your head, “I’ve been single for two years.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Well,” you look ahead, the old couple you spotted before is getting out of the pool. “My heart got broken quite a few times. I think without noticing I closed myself off after my last relationship. I find it hard to open up now and—” you cut off, your gaze drifting back to him. You bark an uncomfortable-sounding laugh and drop your head to your chest. “Aaand, I have no idea why I’m telling you this. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, darlin’. For what it’s worth, I haven’t been with anyone for a long time either.”
You grin and raise an eyebrow, “I find that hard to believe.”
Joel smiles but it’s a soft one, like he’s remembering something—or in this case, someone. With unblinking eyes, you wait for him to elaborate. He notices your gaze, his smile stretches into a grin.
“It’s not that interestin’ of a story,” he sighs. “I had my daughter when I was quite young. Mother left. And until Sarah went to college there was no one. After she left…I had a couple of flings but that’s pretty much it. Nothin’ long term.”
“You have a daughter?”
“Uh, yeah.” he answers, scratching the back of his head. You feel kind of bad now that you made him feel awkward. That wasn’t your intention at all. You’re surprised, but you find it to be sweet that he has a daughter. It must’ve been hard to raise her on his own.
Before you can say anything, you sense him pulling back, both emotionally and physically. His shoulder isn’t pressed against yours anymore, the lack of contact makes you ache. He moves his legs languidly under the water, your gaze follows the movement.
“I know it might be awkward. And not ideal. But I would love it if we could get to know each other more.”
Your ears burning, you take his hand into yours, squeezing it tightly. If he’s surprised by your sudden gesture, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t look at you and you squeeze again, drawing his gaze back to you.
“That’s not why I asked. That was probably a bit insensitive of me, I was just surprised and it came out wrong.” you let out a breath of relief when his thumb begins to draw slow circles over your skin. A shiver settles at the base of your spine. “And I would very much like to get to know you.”
Your heart skips a beat at the way his entire face lights up. Looking at him proving to be similar to looking into the sun, you lower your gaze and grin. You feel dizzy.
“Does that mean I can ask for your number sunshine?” he asks and leans closer. His warm breath fanning your cheek.
You nod, “Of course.”
The pleasant buzz that thrums in your veins soon shift into one of simmering annoyance. Of course, someone took—no, stole—your umbrella. It’s just your luck. It’s raining cats and dogs and all you can do is watch the heavy drops collide with concrete as you wait outside. You look up to the sky, pleading that it stops. You love the rain, love listening to it, but only if you’re surrounded by your cozy home wrapped in a blanket. Or if you’re swimming.
You could’ve handled a soft drizzle, sometimes you even enjoyed walking under the rain, but not this. You swear one of those drops alone can poke an eye out. It’s deafening. Thunder echoes, and you can’t help but flinch. Everything is so loud. Your body is refreshed, but at the same time, your muscles are drained from all the swimming. Exhausted from the workout and the excitement, all you want is a cozy nook with a steaming cup of tea and a good book.
You don’t have much else to do until the rain stops, therefore, you think of Joel. He’d been truly a splendid surprise. Sometimes life sucked but moments like those made it better. After exchanging numbers, he’d promised to call you as soon as he was back home.
A smile tugs at your lips. You find it cute that he said he called instead of texting you. You’ll get to hear his voice which is a huge plus.
You’re viciously ripped away from your thoughts when a loud honk echoes above the rain. With your hairs standing on edge, you see a truck with the window pulled down. You narrow your eyes. The rain and headlights create a thick fog, making it difficult to see clearly.
“Joel?” you call out, hoping that you’re seeing right.
“Hey,” he answers, leaning over and popping the door open for you. “Hop in.”
You take the first step, a bit uncertain with your movements in fear that it might be an illusion created by the stormy night, but it’s not. The leather seat under you is solid and so is the man sitting next to you. You wipe your face with your sleeve.
“Thanks. You basically saved my ass right now. Some asshole stole my umbrella.”
He grins, “It’s the least I could do.”
The rain pounds relentlessly against the windshield, the sound a chaotic symphony that drowns out everything else. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and you flinch as a particularly loud crack splits through the air. You jump in your seat. Joel’s hand lands softly on your thigh, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You look at him, surprised, and he meets your gaze with a small smile.
“Is this alright?” he asks, his voice gentle as he squeezes.
You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. His touch is warm and inviting. Like a soft caress that makes your skin tingle. You feel a sudden urge to lean into him, to climb on top of his lap, and allow his wide hands to roam all over your back.
Joel starts the car and drives onto the road. The world outside is a blur of colors and lights. Neon signs flicker in the rain, casting a rainbow of colors on the wet pavement. The buildings are tall and imposing, like ancient giants looming over the city. The headlights of passing cars slice through the darkness, creating sharp streaks of light that dance across your vision.
You watch the world pass by in a daze, lost in thought. The rain is a soothing sound, like a lullaby that whispers you to sleep. Joel’s hand on your thigh is a comforting presence, grounding you in reality.
The rain grows louder, the drops striking the windshield almost violently. Much to your disappointment, he pulls his hand away, leaving you feeling a sudden emptiness. You open your eyes, watching as he shifts gears and maneuvers the car through the busy streets.
You lean your head against the window, watching the world outside blur by in a dizzying whirl. You don’t have much to say and that’s okay. His presence isn’t forcing you to make awkward small talk. You’re completely content just being here with him, a moment you’re positive that you’ll never forget, no matter which direction your relationship with him goes.
When you finally pull up to your house, dread washes over you. You want to invite him inside for something warm, as a thank you for rescuing you from the rain. But you’re not entirely sure that you should.
You push back your worries.
“This is me,” you break the silence. "Would you like to come inside for a bit? I have tea and coffee— or perhaps you would prefer wine to warm you up?"
The last addition was meant as a joke, a little bit of humor to break the tension. Joel’s lips are tightly pressed together, his knuckles almost white from how hard he’s squeezing the steering wheel. After grueling moments of silence, he swallows and turns off the car.
“Wine sounds great.”
The sound of your front door closing behind you feels momentous. Ironically enough, you don’t get to open the bottle of wine. You kiss him first, and he follows, pushing you up against the wall with possessive hands. You barely manage to push the door closed. He’s all consuming. Inhaling your chlorine scented skin and drinking lust from your lips. He kneads your breasts in his large palms and you gasp into his mouth, he swallows the sound. Parting away, he licks the seam of your lips before leveling you with a steady gaze.
“I promised myself to take this slow,” he rasps, panting heavily. When the first hints of laughter tickle the back of your throat, he takes hold of your hips and presses them firmly together. You feel the hardness of his length through the fabric of his jeans. Your eyes roll back. “That feels good don’t it—fuck—I just don’t want to fuck this up, you’re really nice and—”
“Joel,” you say, cupping his cheeks and forcing him to meet your gaze. “Calm down. You’re not going to fuck this up. We’re in this together. I really want this, you do too. But if you want to go slow, have that wine, we’ll go slow. But I don’t want you to be stressed out of your mind no matter what you choose, okay?”
He exhales a breath, deep and steady. “Okay,” he says, hands squeezing your hips. “Okay. Sorry ‘bout that. I hope I didn’t scare you off.”
“You could never,” you say, brushing your lips together. “So, what do you wanna do?”
“I think I want to show you to a good time, sweetheart.”
“Meaning?”
“I want to fuck you.” he swallows. “If you want it too.”
“Oh, believe me. I do.”
You catch the curve of a mischievous smile before he crashes into you, claiming your lips in a heady kiss. He pushes a leg between your thighs and your grind down, gasping at the friction. Warmth gathers under the tissue of your stomach, everlasting. It’s been so long since you felt like this. The heat of someone tearing you apart and pulling you back again.
A pleasant tingle spreads from your legs up your spine. Joel licks into you, his tongue moving over yours. He nips at your bottom lip. You whine when he parts away, his lips leaving a trail of wet kisses down your neck. He feels your pulse with his lips. An involuntary giggle leaves you as his mustache chafes the skin. He teeths at the flesh and you grind your hips down once more, wetness growing between your legs.
“Sweetheart,” he breathes shakily. “Show me to the bedroom.”
The trip to the bedroom is a disorienting one; A blur of limbs and kisses being traded with one another. You feel like a teenager, not being able to keep away not even for a second. You don’t bother to close the bedroom door. Joel pulls your shirt off, your ears left ringing at the force of it while your hands fumble with his zipper. Joel chuckles and bats your hands away. The way you furrow your brows goes unnoticed. He dips his head, closing his lips around the tight nipple.
Your legs start to shake. He flicks his tongue, the tight nub pebbling swiftly. Your head falls back, a deep moan coming from the back of your throat. He sucks and moves his jaw, applying pressure. While one hand rests over the curve of your waist, the other promptly toys with your unattended nipple, pinching and twisting until it’s hard and aching.
“Shit—Joel—” you gasp, voice quivering. “It’s been a while, it feels so good. Fuck.”
He parts away from your chest, the tip of his tongue swirling deftly around the areola. His warm breath makes you shiver. “That’s okay honey, I’ve got you.”
“Take this off,” you mumble in a daze, pulling at the hem of his shirt. You bend your knees to cup his erection, it pulses under your palm. “And take these off too. I want you in my mouth.”
“You’re killin’ me, sweetheart,” he breathes out. “You’d like that, huh? My cock in your mouth, cummin’ down your throat as you wrap them pretty lips around me—what a sight it would be.”
“Fuck yes,” you choke out, gently pushing him towards the bed.
You’re almost delusional in the way you speak and move. He’d painted you a picture you so desperately wanted to make into reality. You tug off his shirt as he kicks off his jeans along with his underwear. A sharp exhale parts your lips when you feel his dripping cock against your lower stomach. Heavy and hot, pressing against your skin. You wrap your fingers around the base and they barely close around him. The tips of your ears burn.
“J-Joel, oh my god,” you say with awe. “I-I don’t know if I can take you all.”
His fingers touch the back of your neck and he pulls you between his legs as the two of you tumble onto the bed. He gently squeezes, your body melting at the touch. His lips touch your ear.
“Sure you can, sunshine. We’ll just take it nice and slow, a’right? I’ll fuck this pretty little cunt with just the tip if I have to, it feels good all the same.” his thumb traces your bottom lip, and slowly, he pushes the digit into your mouth. Your eyes fluttering, you suck his thumb. “Just get my dick nice and wet with this dirty tongue of yours. Been twitchin’ since you uttered the words.”
He pops out his thumb and leaves wet streaks across your cheek. You move down his body, dragging your nails down the swell of his stomach as you get closer and closer to his length. Joel hisses when you wetly kiss the tip, a bead of precum forming. You wrap one hand around the base and rest the other over his stomach, fingers caressing the coarse hairs that form a sinful trail.
“You’re so big,” you whisper, lips dancing over the length of his throbbing cock. He moans. “That swimsuit of yours doesn’t do you justice at all.”
“If you continue to talk like that I’m going to bust,” he chokes, hands fisting the sheets. “Please just—” he swallows. “Just stop toyin’ with me.”
Answering him with a throaty hum, you dip your tongue into the slit, groaning at the taste of him. His cock twitches against your lips, smearing precum over the tender swell of it. Parting your mouth wide, you take the bulbous head between your lips and flatten your tongue. You feel a vein that curls underneath his length. You groan and take him deeper. He’s been truly blessed, the width stretching you wide, forcing saliva to dribble from the corners of your mouth. Your cunt clenches around nothing. Slick glistening at the insides of your thighs.
You’re still worried about not being able to take him all. You want to feel every inch of him buried deep inside, and even though Joel assured you that it would be okay, you still want this to go perfectly. It’s been a long time for you both, you want it to feel good for him too.
“Deeper,” he croaks out and when you look up, you find those gorgeous, dazed out, brown eyes looking down at you. “Can you?”
Your lids flutter heavily. Nodding, you force your head down, your chin straining as you take him halfway. Your vision blurs with tears. Spit oozes down his length, your throat convulsing at the pressure.
“You’re takin’ it so well,” he praises through grit teeth, his southern drawl deeper and more noticeable than before. “So fuckin’ well. You feel so good—I ain’t gonna last sweetheart.”
Encouraged by his sudden honesty, you mentally grin. And with more fervor than before, you bounce your head up and down while stroking the rest with your hand. Briefly you remove your lips, swipe your palm over the head and move it back down, coating the rest of him with slick. You take him again, his thighs tightening around your frame, shaking uncontrollably as he forces his hips to remain still.
Moans echo from the back of Joel’s throat, filling the room with his deep cadence. He reaches out for your hand and locks your fingers together, holding you and guiding your hand further up his stomach. You’re a bit unbalanced now. His cock spears almost painfully down your throat. While trying to limit yourself with only the half of his length, his cock twitches, and throbs. You repeatedly swallow around him, your hand starting to shake.
Large drops of precum coat your tongue and go down your throat, his grip on your hand painfully tight. You breathe heavily through your nose. He’s about to come. With a ferality you haven’t felt with anyone before, you push apart your legs and force yourself down against the sheets. The soft fabric doing little when it grazes your aching clit. You moan around him.
Then you find yourself empty. A gasp rips from your throat at the way Joel pulls you off his cock, breathing in heavy pants. Your gaze drops to his cock. The head a beautiful shade of red, glistening with precome and spit. You lick your lips.
“Sorry,” he grunts, pulling you so that you’re straddling his waist. He pushes himself up by the elbows, face only an inch away from yours. “I didn’t wanna come just yet. Need to feel you around me, sunshine.”
He closes the distance and claims you with a devout kiss. He tastes himself on your tongue, hips jerking up in a weak attempt to seek you out. You breathe him in. The scent of chlorine and something so undeniable Joel fills your lungs.
“Don’t keep me waiting then,” you grin against his lips. He mimics your expression grinning as he lays back down. He guides you to raise your hips, and briefly, worry crosses your face.
A question quickly follows, “What’s wrong?”
“I…fuck, it’s stupid. Don’t worry about it.” but of course, he doesn’t let go and fixes you a look that has you spilling your guts. “It’s just been a while and well. I’ve never actually done it like…this.”
“You never rode someone before?”
You shake your head and bite your bottom lip. Frowning, he touches the abused flesh with his thumb and tugs it away, smoothing it with the pad of his finger.
“We can switch positions. It’s okay.”
“But I want to try it.” your words coming out in a rush, it’s followed by a nervous laughter. “I always did, but my partners usually had other plans. And after a while, I just generally chickened out and stopped asking. I got embarrassed.”
“Oh, honey.”
Your eyes widen upon feeling his arms around you, pulling you into a bear hug. His hand cradles the back of your head and you bury your face into the crook of his neck. You kiss the skin. Warmth blossoming in your chest. Both of you suspended in the moment, breathing each other in and out. Soon, his fingers trace a path down your spine, and a chill spreads at the end of your back.
“Believe me,” he mutters, you feel the movement of his jaw. “I would want nothin’ more than to have you on top of me, takin’ you deep. I’m sorry those assholes made you feel otherwise.”
You choke out a sound, smiling and shaking your head. “It’s not that they were assholes—well, maybe some of them—but maybe I just wasn’t good at expressing myself. Or I just didn’t look…” you clear your throat, his arms tighten around you, forcing the air out of your lungs. “Anyway, it’s not important.”
“You express yourself fine if you ask me.” his thumb skims over your clit and you gasp. The digit slides between your folds with ease, he hums in approval. “And it looks like your body is expressin’ itself quite well too.”
An understanding without words forms between your two. He cups your ass and you lift yourself up by holding onto his broad shoulders. Joel jerks himself with one hand before he motions you to lower yourself. Despite how soaking wet you are, the stretch still makes you wince. You continue a bit further, having to stop when it proves to be more painful than pleasurable. Sliding his one hand back to your front, he leisurely circles around your clit. You clench and dig your nails into his shoulders.
“That’s it, go slow sweetheart. We have all the time in the world. You’re doin’ so good for me. Spreading yourself around my cock like that.”
Feeling yourself becoming loose, you sink further down, only having to stop again a few inches later. You groan in frustration and Joel puts his mouth on your breasts, sucking.
You draw in a long breath, “Is that all of it?”
Joel looks up and allows himself to smile.
“Well, nearly. Just a bit more.”
His mouth moves down and captures your nipple between his lips. Your walls flutter around him, adjusting to his size. With a moan, you sink down completely, his hips flush against yours. Joel breaks away from your tender skin, both of you moaning loudly in unison. His head falls back against the bedpost, staring at you between heavy lids. He looks completely blissed out.
Wanting more of the debouched expression, you ever so slightly move up your hips and sit back down again. His eyes squeeze shut, his throat trembling with a wrecked groan. You’re not doing any better, your eyes rolling back as your muscles start to spasm.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you’re wet. Shit. Can I move, sunshine? Please?”
“God yes,” you breathe out, your head spinning. His hands cup your rear, helping you to lift halfway off his cock before lowering you again. Electricity runs up your spine. Your cry out his name, pulsing around him uncontrollably. “J-Joel, I don’t think I’m gonna last,” you say apologetically.
“That’s okay,” he groans, voice hoarse. “I ain’t gonna last long either.”
The two of you capture a soft rhythm that works for the both of you. Joel guides the sloppy roll of your hips, and you do your best to move up and down his cock. Your legs aching due to the swimming. You want to go faster, the burning between your legs growing with every grind of your hips. There’s an itch deep inside. An inch that you can’t seem to scratch with the way you’re moving. You whimper and fix Joel a pleading look. His cock twitches.
“You want it harder?” he rasps, lashes fluttering.
“Yes,” you exhale. “Give it to me, Joel. I want you to fuck me hard with this big cock of yours.” you make a show of rolling your tongue and pressing your hips flush against him, grinding yourself into his pelvis.
“The mouth on you, Jesus.” he drawls but with a smile. Your heart skips a beat, a grin of your own touching your lips.
You’re confused when Joel sucks two fingers into his mouth. Not that you’re complaining. You see the pink of his tongue, the glistening spit that coats his thick fingers. Pulling them out, Joel massages your asscheeks and spreads them, you moan as the open air hits your other hole. He brushes two wet fingers over the rim, making you quiver.
“Feels good?”
You nod and he slips one finger, your entire body jolts, your breath catching in your throat. However, you don’t have time to focus on the new sensation. Joel presses his feet into the mattress and with fervor, he starts fucking up into you. Railing you until you’re gasping for air and left feeling nothing else but the heavy stroke of his cock. You shout his name, your lungs burn.
“That’s it make a mess of me, darlin’. Such a good fuckin’ girl. All you need is my help isn’t it? Look at you, doin’ so well for me.” the words he continues to mutter force out a visceral reaction from you. You claw at his chest. Dragging them down as his cock spears into you over and over. The slick sounds echoing throughout the room. You notice him watching where you two connect, he looks hypnotized. His lips parting as he watches his cock disappear into your wet cunt.
He pushes his finger in deeper and you’re suddenly aware of how full you feel. Your arms that keep you upright buckle and you fall down, covering him like a blanket. An apology touches your lips, but before you can, Joel’s lips are already on your temple, kissing and whispering praise all the while continuing to fuck you senseless. He pulls out his finger and slightly lifts your hips for a better angle. You whine at the loss and hear him chuckle.
“Another time, sunshine.”
Your walls start to spasm and contract, his hips start to stutter. His strong steady strokes becoming sloppy and rushed, he pushes you down against him rolling his hips and grinding deeper into you. Fuck. Your head is spinning violently. Your cunt dripping and making a mess of his cock. He rubs into you again, the dark hairs that crown his length stimulating your throbbing clit.
A silent scream shakes your chest. You see white before you squeeze him tight, the force of it making his breath hitch. You gush around him. Slick rolling down his cock and seeping into the sheets. You don’t even notice the wet tears smeared all over your face as you nuzzle him. Waves of pleasure wash over you again and again. Leaving you shaking and panting for air. Joel holds you still, his hands comforting against your heated skin.
Your jaw goes slack when he gently thrusts up again, shushing you when you let out a whine.
“Where do you want me?”
It takes you a while to understand the question. Lifting your head, you give him a blank stare. His eyes glimmer with amusement, a lopsided smile forming on his lips.
“Look at you,” he coos. “Pretty little thing completely fucked out. You look beautiful, sweetheart.”
You’re pretty sure you actually purr at his words. You leisurely smile. You lift your hips and push them back down, both of you groaning in delight. He keeps uttering pretty from under his breath, his own composure breaking down. Another orgasm rolls over you, albeit much softer this time, like a fire warming your skin. You sigh happily, kissing him on the lips.
“Where?” he asks, a bit more desperate this time.
“My mouth.”
“Oh, fuck.”
Everything is sloppy and uncoordinated. You’re not even sure how you make your way down between his legs. You’re still throbbing when you suck on the tip, your eyes closing as you taste the mixture of you and himself. You take him as deep as you can, feeling him at the back of your throat. He holds your head but doesn’t force you to the more.
“Sweetheart, move your tongue.”
Your skin prickles at how hoarse he sounds. You happily obliged, stroking the underside of his cock with the flat of your tongue. He sucks in a sharp breath, his chest expanding, and on the exhale, he lets out the loudest moan of the night. It comes from the depths of his lungs. His hips jerk, finally spilling down your throat, you swallow him greedily, your walls pulsing with a need to be stretched again.
He comes and comes and comes. There’s so much of it. It floods your mouth, trickling down your chin. You breathe heavily. His cock throbs on your tongue and god you love the feeling.
“Fuuuuuuuuuck, that felt so good.” his hands fall limp to his side. With a grin, you release his cock and swallow once more, more audibly this time. His dark gaze drops to your lips. He shakily wipes the come that spilled from your lips, popping it back into your mouth. You lick at the digit eagerly. “I should thank whoever it was that stole your umbrella,” he mumbles.
“We should get them a cake,” you tease, kissing the empty patch on his beard. “So…should we get cleaned up and then…talk?”
He squeezes your hips and then follows the curve of your spine. “Sounds like a plan, sunshine.”
