anxiousstark - Tumblr blog

anxiousstark · 4 months ago

Text

good enough

description: after a tense moment at the dance, Joel spirals into old guilt and doubt — but in the quiet of your shared home, you remind him he doesn’t have to carry it alone.

pairing: jackson!joel miller x fem!reader

warnings: smut 18+ MINORS DNI. unprotected P in V. submissive joel if you squint. no y/n used. established relationship, fluff, insecure joel

wc: 2.4k

a/n: i'm still practicing at writing smut and i thought what better way to practice than with a little bit of old jackson joel ... he's got me feeling some type of way. but i am extremely sensitive and overprotective of him rn because of whats to happen, i jus wanna lock him in a room and protect him

You saw it happen before anyone else did.

The moment Seth raised his voice at Ellie and Dina, you immediately noticed Joel’s body language’s sudden change and his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“I don’t need your fucking help.”

The whole hall stilled. Your chest tightened. It hurt, seeing Joel stand there - you could see the hurt behind his eyes as if he’d been slapped. Your body moved before your mind could think and immediately followed him outside.

You found him outside, teary eyed with hunched shoulders like he was carrying a huge load of guilt and shame. Embarassed. Ridiculed.

“Joel,” you said softly.

He exhaled through his nose, low and tired. “She hates me.”

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, trying to ground him. “She doesn’t. She’s just angry because she wanted to handle it herself.”

He finally looked at you then. “I just wanted to keep her safe,” he said, voice thick. “Always do.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I know, honey.”

You reached for his hand and laced your fingers with his. He let you. “We already talked about this, Joel. I know your first instinct is to attack,” you whispered, reaching for the grey curls on the back of his head, combing through them slowly. “I know how you feel, but you’re not going to fail Ellie too, I promise, Joel.”

Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was grief that never learned how to stay buried. But ever since Sarah, Joel had carried this silent promise within himself - that if he couldn’t save Sarah, he’d spend the rest of his life trying to save someone else’s.

Trying to save Ellie. Even when she didn’t want him to. Even when it cost him.

He didn’t respond. You kept your fingers threaded through his hair for a moment longer, just breathing next to eachother was enough. Then you leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to his temple, and whispered against his skin, “Alright, cowboy. Let’s get you home.”

The weight in his chest had lifted just a little when he left out a soft laugh. Your fingers stayed laced with his as you turned and started walking together, boots crunching lightly over snow-dusted dirt. He stayed close, his hand gripping yours like it was the only thing grounding him and not making him think about the mess he'd left behind.

The walk home was quiet. There was comfort in the silence, in the way your shoulders brushed every so often. In the way he kept glancing at you like he still couldn’t believe you were real. He didn’t quite understand how someone could stay after seeing all his broken pieces.

He sighed a little when the porch light came into view. When you stepped into the house, it was warm from the fire you'd left going. Familiar. Safe. You slipped off your jacket, turning to look at him, but he just stood in the doorway like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now.

“Come on,” you murmured, reaching for him again. “Let’s get you ready for bed, hm?”

He didn’t argue. Just let you lead him to the bathroom to take a nice warm shower and wash the day off.

The steam rose quickly as the water warmed under your hands, making sure the temperature was perfect for him. Warm enough to loosen the knots on his shoulders, but not scorching. You undressed him slowly, letting your fingers linger over each scar, each line that marked his survival.

He undressed you too, hands rough and calloused but soft, brushing down your arms like he was doing sensory grounding exercises you taught him for when he’s feeling anxious.

When you stepped under the water together, he exhaled. You reached for the bottle of floral shampoo he secretely liked - soft lavender, and poured a little into your palm. He closed his eyes when you started working it into his hair, letting himself lean into your touch like he hadn’t let himself do all day.

“Don’t know how you put up with me,” he mumbled, voice thick.

“Easy,” you whispered. “I love you.”

He cracked one eye open, looked at you like he didn’t quite believe it. You smiled and rinsed the shampoo from his hair, then cupped his face in your hands. “You’re always takin’ care of everyone around you, Joel. Let me take care of you for once.”

When you were done, you dried off slowly, wrapping Joel in one of the thick towels you always made sure were clean and folded. He let you fuss over him, didn’t even try to stop you. He just stood there, heavy and quiet, letting your hands do the talking. That alone told you how tired he was.

In bed, he lowered himself on his side with his back turned to you at first — not because he was upset, just.. used to holding things in. Used to thinking he had to process it alone.

But you weren’t going to let him. You never did. You slipped in behind him, resting your chest against his back, one arm curling around his waist. And after a few minutes, he turned toward you. Slow, hesitant. Your hands immediately found his hair once again, running your fingers through it gently, still a bit damp and smelling like lavender. He closed his eyes, jaw finally resting. “I’m proud of you, Joel,” you whispered. “You did what you thought was right. You always do.”

His hand found yours beneath the sheets. Gave it a squeeze. He’d gone quiet again, always noticing the smallest changes in his body language when he has something going on in his head. You gently nudged his chin up so he’d look at you.

“What’s wrong?”

He hesitated. “Jus’ thinkin’.”

You brushed your thumb over his cheek. “Wanna talk about it?”

Joel looked at you for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose, eyes dropping to the space between you.

“I don’t feel like I’m good enough for you. And for Ellie.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean it,” he said, voice rough. “Ellie’s growin’ up. Don’t want me stickin’ my nose in her business anymore. It’s not even about that, it jus’ feels so sudden, y’know? And you…” He trailed off, brow furrowing. “You’re still young. Strong. Capable. Still got so much life in ya. There’s things I can’t… do, anymore. Not like I used to.”

You quickly realized he was referring to the intimate moments you shared together. Sometimes, when his shoulder starts to hurt, he can’t last a long time on top of you. You absolutely adored being on top and taking control, but he thought he was just being a burden. There were times where he couldn’t keep his dick hard, or couldn’t orgasm at all. You didn’t think anything of it. Not at all. As long as he was comfortable and safe, that was all that mattered to you. But that’s not what his mind was telling him.

He glanced at you then. “And I know it ain’t all about that. But it matters. And I just—” His voice cracked. “—just want to be good enough for you.”

You let the silence hold for a second before you touched his face again, guiding him gently to meet your eyes.

“Joel,” you said softly, “you are more than enough. There’s not a damn thing about you that makes you less of a man. Not to me. Not to Ellie.”

Joel’s eyes dropped to where your hands rested against his chest. His voice was quieter this time. Barely there. “I don’t even know how you still want to be with me.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?” He shook his head slowly. “We were different ten years ago. My back hurts. I’m slow. My knees ache, I got lines on my face I don’t even recognize. Sometimes I look in the mirror and I barely see myself anymore.”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going. “I look at you,” he said, eyes flicking up to yours, “And you’re still so... full of life. Still got that light in you. And I feel like I’m lettin’ you waste it on an old man you gotta take care of.”

Your heart cracked. You knew he had some issues with his self-esteem recently, but you didn’t expect he’d open up to you this way. You reached up and cupped his face again, your thumb brushing the scar on his right temple.

“You’re still my Joel,” you whispered. “You always will be.”

He tried to shake his head and look away, but you didn’t let him. You leaned in, close enough that your forehead touched his, your voice gentle but sure.

“When I say I love you, I mean I love all of you. I love massaging your back, I love crushing up your medication. I love every wrinkle, every scar, every gray hair. You think that time made you less, but it’s only made me love you more, Joel.”

He let out a shaky breath, trembling through his chest. You smiled softly, brushing your fingers through his hair again.

With your voice low and warm, you added, “There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t look at you and feel it. I still want you. All the damn time.” He smiled.

You wanted nothing more than to please him and show him just how much you wanted him, despite what he thought. You tilted your head. “Move back, cowboy.”

Joel raised a brow. “What’re you—?”

But you were already climbing on top of him, straddling him like it was the most natural thing in the world - because it was.

“I like it here,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Feels good.”

Joel’s hands found your hips automatically, like a reflex. His shoulders relaxed beneath your touch, and his eyes fluttered shut when your fingers threaded gently through the hair at the nape of his neck.

You rested your forehead against his, noses brushing, and began to softly grind on him — slow, soft motions, making sure he wanted this just as much as you do. Just enough to remind him that yes, you loved being on top.

His grip on your hips tightened slightly, like he needed that contact to hold himself together.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered. Your hands slid down from his shoulders to his chest, fingers tracing the buttons of his pijama slowly. You undid them one by one, not looking away from his eyes when they finally opened again. He watched you like he was afraid the moment might vanish if he blinked.

You could feel the way his breath hitched just slightly. “You don’t have to do anything,” you whispered against his skin. “Just let me love you.”

When his shirt was open, you let your hands rest over his heart for a second, feeling its steady rhythm beneath your palms. Then, still straddling him, you reached down to the waistband of his briefs, asking for permission with your eyes. You helped him shift enough to slide them down his hips, leaving him with nothing on, the rest of his body warm and solid beneath yours. Then your hands reached for the hem of your own shirt, pulling it off over your head, tossing it to the side, leaving you with nothing but your now soaked panties, and still rocking your hips back and forth, grinding on his length.

Joel’s hand came up to touch the scar on your chest, grazing it with his thumb with featherlight care. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to it — slow, lingering — his beard scratching gently against your skin, his lips soft with admiration, which sent a pulse of heat between your legs. He continued to press light kisses all over your chest, softly grazing your nipples. You opened your mouth slightly and let out a soft moan to let him know he was doing good. You were trying to get his self-esteem back. The thought of him being insecure was eating you from the inside.

His breathing had grown shallow and uneven, each exhale a silent confession, “Can I touch you a lil’ bit?” he begged as he reached for your white cotton panties, waiting for your consent to pull them to the side. You nodded, leaning down to kiss his neck, “Yes, baby.”

Your pleasure was his pleasure — and ever since you’d teasingly confessed how much you loved the way he touched you with his fingers, it had driven him wild.

You were moaning softly against his neck as his soft fingers were rubbing small circles on your clit. He adored the way your body reacted to him. “Jesus christ, darlin’,” he rasped, “Look’t you, so beautiful.”

The words hit you, feeling like electricity in your belly. Without hesitation, you lowered yourself onto him with practiced ease, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. His eyes were shut, “so warm,” he muttered, as you kept the pace gentle, sensually kissing him from his chest all the way to his forehead.

His breathing was uneven, moaning softly as you rocked on top of him. His hands were gripping your waist and he was whimpering beneath you. His hips lifted beneath you, jerking forwards to match your pace and fuck into you.

“Jus’ like that, Joel. Fuck,” you moaned, your voice coming out hoarse as your fingers gripped the curls on the back of his head. Your hips moved in a steady rhythm, breath hitching as you moved your hips and sunk deeper into him, the air turning warm and heavy. His eyes were shut, mouth slightly open. You loved seeing him fall apart like this.

Your head tilted forward, touching his forehead, “i’m so close, Joel,” you gasped, as he was moaning softly beneath you. He continued to rub slow circles on your clit, knowing you don’t always climax when it’s just penetration. So sweet, and so considerate.

You lost your steady pace, hips now moving with a desperation you couldn’t control, and your orgasm hit you like shockwaves. Your release came at the same time, bodies trembling in perfect synchronization. You collapsed against him, both of your breathing erratic as you tried to catch up with gasps as the waves of pleasure slowly faded.

Your head rested against his chest, the steady thump of his heart still fast paced. His arms wrapped around you tightly, protectively, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go of you yet.

You sighed against his skin, one of those quiet, contented sounds that only came after being seen, touched, loved in full.

You pressed a kiss to the crown of Joel’s head. “I’m right here,” you mumbled, voice low and gravelly with sleep. “M’not goin’ anywhere, alright?”

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